Page 74 of Shadowface 1979

Bax looks at me, tense. “Fuck, man, I don’t wanna be cursed. She’s cursing me, man.”

“She’s not cursing you,” I snap. “She’s full of shit; she’s just some washed-up fanatic. Now tie her up. We need to get this over with.”

Sweat beads on my forehead. I don’t want to be in this house longer than I have to be. It’s terrible in here, much worse than I remember, and it smells like death and decay.

Didi’s mama may be holier than thou, but this place has a presence. I sense it all around me.

Bax binds her hands, and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She keeps her head down, refusing to look at us, barely audible whispers escaping her lips, like she’s swirling her tongue.

Now that she’s contained, I kick around old newspapers, rifling through what little possessions she has.

I grab a candle and walk into the kitchen, the small counter full of garbage, and a plastic bag from FreshMart is on the dirty floor. I grab the bag and stuff it in my pocket.

It’s dark, too dark to find a key, with just the light of the candles causing shadows to dance on the walls.

I can hear her talking to Bax, threatening him with curses, calling him the devil.

She’s lucky Bax is handling her, not me. He doesn’t realize the abuse she’s inflicted on her daughter. I’m not sure I could restrain myself if I were dealing with her on my own.

I push open the door and pause, looking at the tidy room. Didi’s clothes are piled neatly in the corner, a small mirror leaning up against the wall, and a terrible-looking mattress sits on the floor. Hidden behind the scent of decay is her—the only sweet scent in the house.

“Oh, hell,” I mutter, staring at a dark stain on the ground a few feet from her bed.

Mr. Sheffield slaughtered his family in this house. Killed his daughter in this very room.

I can’t look at where she sleeps. It breaks my heart, especially since my family home has eight bedrooms and she has a coiled mattress on the floor, with no sheets.

“Hurry, man,” Bax calls from the living room.

“One second,” I call back to him without disrupting the room in the slightest, shutting the door. I step across the hall and open the second door, a waft of stale liquor hitting my nose.

Didi’s mama has a similar bed, but it rests on a tiny metal frame, with clothes and other random shit piled up everywhere.

This is pointless. It’s too dark, and I’ll never find it this way.

I take my candle and walk to where Didi’s mama is still sitting on the floor and step in front of her.

She gazes up at me. “What do you want?” She stares right through my mask and for one second, it’s as if she can see me. “I said, what do you want from me, demon?”

I grab her mouth, squeezing her lips. “I want you to shut up and stay on your knees while I think.”

Her lips pucker into a disgusting smile as I let go of her. “You’re that boy who’s after my Diana, aren’t you?” she asks me carefully.

My nostrils flare. “Shut up.”

She blinks a couple of times. “I heard about you from Mrs. Holly.”

“Shut up.”

A vile smirk hits her lips. “Tommy, isn’t it?”

A swell of anger pushes through my stomach, and I grab the plastic bag and place it over her head before she can stop me.

She panics, twists and turns and claws at me, but I hold it tight, pulling it around her neck and mouth. Muffled moans escape her, but every time she sucks in a breath, she sucks in the bag with it.

I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Are you going to shut up now?”

Her body goes limp, and I release the bag so I don’t kill her. That is not the goal tonight, even though it’s becoming increasingly appealing.