Page 76 of Shadowface 1979

I freeze as the breeze hits my cheek, looking around for any sign of Clyde, Billy or any of their cousins.

Surely, they know we live here. Who’s to say they wouldn’t come here and take me to their hamlet?

I take a deep breath and creep to the side of the house, along the small path toward the well. A stream of moonlight shines on the scarecrow, which, to my relief, is still rooted in its spot. I glance down and notice the outline of a boot print in the mud, and my hairs prickle along the back of my neck. Someone’s been here recently. Perhaps whoever it is, is still here watching me.

“Remy,” I whisper into the wind. “Is that you?” It can’t be…unless he followed me. The breeze caresses the grass in response.

I hold my groceries in one hand, and the knife Remy gave me in the other, remembering what he said to do if anyone touches me again.

Stick it in their flesh and twist.

I step up to the house and pause, wondering if the light is playing tricks on me. The door isn’t open; it’s broken off the hinges entirely, and a low static sound is playing from Mama’s battery-powered radio.

My stomach knots, and a profound emptiness washes over me.

I should have a sense of freedom, but a rolling ache fills my gut instead, knowing Mama is going to think I’m one of those whoring girls who slid away from the arms of Jesus. That, and my suspicion that Remy wants to kill me…

Screw Remy for making me yearn for him the same way I used to crave the Holy Spirit. And damn Tommy for being so cute, even when his darkness shines through.

The very thing Mama’s making me pray for is coming to fruition. I will end up with both of them, Tommy and Remy simply won’t allow any other outcome.

Lust is consuming me…I’ve let it take control.

I hold my breath as I step through the carnage that was once the door frame, only now noticing the broken window.

“Mama,” I call out. “I’m home.”

I set the groceries down, check her dark room—which is empty—and quickly hide the knife under my bed. I head back into the living room and my eyes fall onto a single, flickering candle almost extinguished on the floor. A shiver runs through me as a cool breeze cuts through our otherwise stuffy and stale house.

“Mama,” I call out again, but no answer.

The cassette player is blazing, the sound higher than usual, giving off a crackling sound. I walk over to it and turn it down, and that’s when I realize what’s playing.

The only song Mama ever let me listen to. The only song she played repeatedly during the lonely nights when Papa kicked her out and she got exiled from the church for her sin.

Nights in White Satin.

My stomach still remembers those raw early days when Mama was grieving. She didn’t feed me for five days straight at one point, when things were at their worst.

This song reminds me of that—of mourning, sadness, the death of our family. Before that Mama loved me—I know she did—and I’ve been chasing her love ever since.

I see her lying lifeless on the ground in the living room, wearing her white nightgown—the one she always wears under her robe.

Blood sullies her face.

“Mama,” I scream, running and crouching down beside her. I nudge her head up, and she complies, but she won’t look at me. She keeps her head facing the window, staring out into the darkness. I check her over and find the blood is from a slight cut on her chin, but otherwise she looks fine. My heart sinks when I see a trickle of blood on her arm, too. No deep wounds, but someone hurt her. Someone was sending a message.

“Mama.” I lower my voice and help her up. “What happened?”

“Where were you, Diana?” she asks darkly.

“I was at work, Mama. Who did this to you?”

She pulls her arm away. “He came to me…”

“Who did, Mama?”

“The devil himself, you filthy girl,” she spits.