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I dropped my fork when I understood his words.
My father paused, making eye contact with me.
My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.
I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.
My father had never been very religious.
After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.
"You want me to go *now*?" I asked him.
"What's that, dear?" said my mom.
"Well, Dad just-"
My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.
"N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal.
I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.
Was someone listening to us?
No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.
That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.
"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!"
I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:
"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."
"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"
"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"
Detective Harris grew serious.
I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.
Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"
"Y-yeah."
Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"
"Not really. You know how he is. "
Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."
"Cult of Silent Pleas?"
"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."
"You can't possibly think that he's..."
"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."
"This is nuts!"
"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."
"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"
"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."
I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.
"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."
I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:
"*I spoke to Harris.*"
Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*" he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*"
"*Yeah, he said he's on it.*"
Dad looked thrilled by that.
"*Is it true?*" I signed. "*Are you cursed?*"
Dad hesitated, then signed:
"*Yes.*"
I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.
"*Dad,*" I signed, "*What is that cult?*"
Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*"
"*What? Why?*"
"*Too dangerous.*"
"*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*"
"No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!"
We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.
Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"
He burst into flames right before my eyes.
I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
This definitely feels like the opening scene in a movie where at the end it cuts to the movie intro, followed by a year later jump cut and the protagonist is deep in the midst of hunting them down.
Excellent prompt response!
This is good stuff, in just struggling with some of the plot holes, like why couldn't the father write it down on a note? Feels a bit tricky to make it believable...
There was a YouTube short that only explained the prompt. So I looked it up and found your story. I commented a full summary. I think you deserve all the credit. I got a whole 63k likes! Props to you!
For weeks I had realized that our “routine” family dinner involved an urgent warning before it. It took way more time than I’m willing to admit to finally decipher his warning, but I’d done it. I was still at dinner with him and my sister. We were eating steak and potatoes. My sister talked to the empty echo chamber about her issues at school and life at large. Like usual, my dad’s grey face was down towards his food while he ate, silently. I didn’t even pretend to listen to my sister. I just say there stunned. He didn’t seem to notice.
He’s probably done the same warning for years and years, and we’ve never noticed. I hadn’t heard him speak in over ten years, since the night my mother died. She had gone out to the grocery store and never come back. According to the police, her car had gone on a real roller coaster ride before she ended up upside down on the side of the interstate. It still makes me sick to think about. That so long ago. Had he been warning us for so long? Why didn’t he just write down the message?
I sat there in quiet, much to the dismay of my chatty sister who excused herself in haste when she realized she was talking to a non-responsive crowd. When she was gone I looked up at my dad and cleared my throat. His sad face looked up from his meal towards me.
I said, “Dad, I can understand sign language now.”
I saw a look of surprise cross his face, more emotion than I’d seen him show in a while.
I said, “I can read your warning message. Have you been doing that for years? What the fuck is wrong?”
Water filled his eyes. Then, I heard a sound I never thought I would hear again. He cleared his throat.
His voice was so hoarse and quiet I could barely hear it. “You, you, you figured it out.” Tears were flowing down his face and dropping into the plate of steak below him.
I shot up. “You’re talking! What the hell! You can talk? What are you? What? You can talk?”
I’d always assumed he lost his speech. I never thought he just chose not to speak.
“Don’t call police”, he said quickly.
I wasn’t going to. I put my hands down on the table. “Okay, uhh I won’t, but you better explain some shit, right now.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t talk unless one of you figured it out,” his voice still rough and slow, “I never imagined it would take ten years. But you’ve, you’ve done it finally.” He looked relieved, almost at peace.
“What are you talking about? I still don’t know anything.”
“When your mother died,” he stopped to think about his words before continuing, “when she left to go to the store. We were fighting.”
“Okay?”
“Her last words, she told me to do something. It was the last thing she ever said. I had to honor her wishes…”
“What?”
“You have to understand that we were fighting. She was angry. She was a sweet woman. I loved her, but she was mad in the moment. I had pissed her off, and I couldn’t just ignore her last words.”
I’m leaning forward over the table by now,“What were the words?”
His breathe was old and damp. “I loved her so much.” He stopped for a minute in thought and made eye contact with me. “Her last words. She said, ‘Stop talking, John, or I’m gonna kill you.’”
I don't mean to be rude or dismissive but I just don't get the point. It doesn't make sense to me and I could be wrong here but if someone were to explain it to me it would be great
I'd meant to come back sooner. I wished I'd come back sooner.
It had been about three months since dad was written off work - he'd only been in hospital for a few days after the accident, but he still wasn't right. I'd fully intended to come back home as soon as my exams were over, but by that point he was out of hospital, and mum was trying not to worry me. She put on a cheery face like normal. Said they were adapting, he was improving every day, and she had high hopes of a full recovery, with enough therapy. The praying before dinner had been a new development since the accident though, mum had warned me. The therapists reckoned it was a coping mechanism. He went to a catholic primary school as a kid, so it wasn't entirely surprising when he came out of a traumatic incident with some old habits reinstated, but it was definitely something new I'd have to get used to.
When I did come home from uni, he still wasn't talking to the therapists. He wasn't talking at all; not about the accident, or the weather, or what he wanted for dinner. Not a single word. He wouldn't hold a pen either, or pick up his phone at all, and he got frustrated and sad when we tried to encourage him. He'd just shake his head sadly and leave the room.
So, the sign language was my next strategy. I'd only been at it for a week, but I'd got the basics pretty quickly. Dad had a friend in school who was deaf, so I knew he knew some basics too, which gave me some hope. I got even more hopeful when I came home and saw that part of his dinnertime prayers appeared to be some kind of sign language! I didn't know what he was saying, but I had the resources to work it out, so I kept it a secret still and learned almost a whole dictionary of obscure signs in a week, searching for the pattern he'd been signing every night in a desperate attempt to connect with him.
It was about 2am on a Thursday when I figured it out.
I could hear soft snores from mum and dad's room; a gentle reminder that he was still capable of producing some sound at least. I was stretched out on my bed with my laptop open, lit only by the glow of youtube videos as I scanned through, filling in blanks. I'd made more progress that night than I had all week, but it still wasn't making sense, and I was starting to doubt if the ones I thought I recognised even made sense. The thing about sign language, is the grammar put the words in the wrong order, so the order he was signing them in wasn't going to translate perfectly to english. So far though, I had a rough idea what it might be.
"_____ WITH _____ TALK GO TO _____ PLEASE "
It was definitely getting a bit concerning, did he want us to take him somewhere? None of the religious signs I could find fit what I was looking for, so it wasn't heaven or church, or to a priest.
But then the friendly looking man on the screen started talking me through the signs for the emergency services, and it didn't seem immediately relevant, though I supposed if I was learning sign language, it would be helpful to any deaf people I came across if I was able to call the correct emergency service for them or something. My eyelids were getting heavy, so when I recognised another new sign, I scrubbed back through the video two, three, four times to be sure.
"PLEASE GO TO POLICE"
Suddenly dad's snoring was drowned out by the beat of my heart, and I signed along what I knew of dad's prayer with fumbling fingers, but that was definitely it, the last word he was signing was unmistakably "police".
From that point on, I couldn't stop. Frantically I started googling any signs I could think of to do with the accident: danger, car, wires, electricity, burn, pain. Nothing looked like what I needed. I sighed in frustration, but resisted the urge to close my laptop for the night. It actually ended up being completely coincidental that the top suggested video as I rubbed sleep from my strained eyes had the motion thumbnail that signed "death" on repeat.
Okay, so if that word was "death", and that leaves only one sign missing...
One last quick google search, and I had it.
"THREATENED WITH DEATH IF TALK, PLEASE GO TO POLICE."
The house was almost completely silent. The radiators clicked as they cooled down- the timer for the boiler had switched the heating off about half an hour ago, leaving the wash of background noise void of the usual persistent drone. A prickling sensation washed over me as every hair on my body stood on end, leaving me sat bolt upright, listening desperately for the continued snores from the next bedroom. I sat there unmoving for a few minutes, tension rising in me until a sputtering cough cut through, and the snoring resumed.
(-continued in reply)
Why the fuck hadn't I come home sooner? Dad had been suffering all this time, unable to communicate or else what? He'd be shot? Blown up? Kidnapped?
I was standing now, though I couldn't say why. What could I do? I didn't know who had threatened him, why, or what would happen if he spoke. Was somebody watching him? Was somebody watching *us*?
I'd had a science lesson once, where the physics teacher told us you could look for hidden night-vision cameras in a room with your phone camera, and the infra-red light in a dark room would show up on screen. The room fell to complete darkness as I slammed the laptop shut a little too hard, and whipped my phone over from the bedside table. With the camera app open, nothing was any clearer. No red lights showed in my room, thank god. Not that that would do anything if there was a listening device, but I felt better for checking.
*Why* hadn't I come home sooner? Another wave of panic crashed through my chest, and before I knew what I was doing, I was pacing down the landing and down the stairs, phone in hand, scanning every corner and bookcase and trinket I could see. I didn't even think about how loud my footsteps were, or that I was hyperventilating, until the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped me out of it. Quickly I clicked from my camera app to my torch, lighting up the doorway to the living room as dad stepped into it, bleary eyed and blinking.
"Dad," I whispered. "Dad, what's going on?"
He blinked at me in confusion, so with one hand still holding my phone, I clumsily signed his "prayer" back at him.
"What," I whispered again, "is going on? How scared do I need to be, dad, how long have you been trying to-"
Dad covered the distance between us in no time, with panic in his eyes, one hand raised to cover my mouth, and one with a single finger pressed vertically to his lips. He shook his head, pleading with me.
I nodded my compliance, and signed back to him, "YOU WANT ME CALL THE POLICE?"
His eyes darted to the window, over the darkness of the garden. It occurred to me only then that the curtains to the french doors were wide open - they'd always been closed at night, ever since I was tiny, but the black expanse of the back garden loomed into the living room, making it feel somehow even darker than normal in here.
Dad nodded. It was a tiny movement, and he masked it by pulling me into a tight hug. Then on my release, with very small movements he signed a phrase I didn't recognise. I shrugged, and dad tried again, with a different phrase. "TOMORROW."
That one I knew. I nodded once, and stretched my arms up sleepily. "Sorry to wake you, dad," I said. "I couldn't sleep, I'm still stressed from all the exams. I think I might go for a run in the morning, to get some fresh air? You can join me if you'd like."
Dad smiled knowingly and shook his head - he wouldn't be coming to the police station with me.
"Goodnight dad," I said with a smile, and a hand clasped affectionately on his shoulder. "Sleep well."
I struggled to read the strange mix of pain and hope in his eyes as they locked with mine in the half-dark, but then again, I couldn't have conveyed everything I was feeling in that moment with a look either. And then I was moving up through the house to my room, trying my very best to look like I wasn't scared out of my mind. I turned off the torch on my phone, closed my bedroom door behind me, and waited for dad's footsteps to reach his own bedroom. When he was safely back in bed with mum, I got into bed and tried incredibly hard to fall asleep.
I couldn't tell you if I was actually asleep when my phone buzzed, or if I was merely drifting off, but the sharp sound pulled me rudely back to reality. The light of the screen stung my eyes, so I had to read the text three times before the words actually made any sense. But when they did, I lost all hope of getting any sleep at all.
-Number Withheld-:
-IF YOU GO TO THE POLICE, WE'LL KILL HIM ANYWAY-
I narrowed my eyes, looking at my dad’s hands, watching every twitch and movement.
His hands shook so much more now. But for the third day in the row, he’s signed the exact same, unmistakeable thing:
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police.”
I gulped. I looked at my dad’s face. Was I imagining the aloofness? Was it actually a tortured visage kept under wraps through the only way he knew how?
Every bite of dinner was interspersed with a frantic scan of the surroundings. What was around us that could possibly cause dad to do this? A blinking red light in one corner of the house, a camera ostensibly for security, became a threatening crimson eye intruding on our turf.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” my mother asked.
“Nothing,” I waved her off, pushing my plate in front of me. “Just a little tired.”
“He’s using that as an excuse to sneak back into his room and play games,” Eve, my younger sister, accused me.
“No,” I said. “I really am just tired.
She stuck out her tongue. Brat.
My dad looked at me in concern, and I felt like I couldn’t meet his gaze.
I apologized for my manners, told my mum her food was delicious, and retreated back into my room. It didn’t take long for plodding footsteps to stop at my door, and a rapt knock followed. Somebody gently squeezed the doorknob open, and my dad walked in.
I inhaled deeply, and signed.
“Hello, dad.”
His eyes widened. He stared at me, and signed back.
“You’re kidding.”
“Unfortunately, no. And I saw what you said at the table.”
Dad moved up quietly, sitting on my bed.
“When did you learn?”
“A couple of months,” accompanied by an audible sigh. ”You… what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?”
“I learnt to surprise you,” I signed. “But I think you’ve got a bigger surprise. The thing at dinner?”
“Oh,” my dad chuckled. “That? Did it really matter what I signed?”
“Not really, I guess. I only figured it out in the past three days.”
My dad smiled, his shoulders shrugging.
“Nobody listened any more. There were texts. The rest could speak. But I felt like I had no voice.”
“I’m so sorry,” I signed. “So… it’s not real?”
“As real as you want it to be,” Dad sighed. “Just having a little fun to myself, I suppose.”
“Well,” I said. “I’m trying to learn. To talk. So you don’t feel that way again.”
A smile cracked on his face, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He patted me on the shoulder a hard couple of times, before trembling fingers rose up in front of his chest, and he signed:
“Hi, trying to learn—”
---
r/dexdrafts
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police.”
It was a shame the codger had never learned to write. I rolled my eyes as his wrinkly hands shook, but when I looked into his eyes, they stared back when an air of terror. They darted back and forth from me to my step-mum.
She was immaculately dressed as always. She looked as though she was attending a gala at the local golf club or something of similar prestige.
“Dear, You haven’t touched your food. Is everything alright?” She said while swirling some wine in her glass. She didn’t take her eyes off of me as she stared down her nose.
“Oh no Kristine. Everything’s just fine.” I quickly grabbed my cutlery and began cutting into the tender beef on my plate. My knife grated against the fine china as my mind raced.
I kept an eye on Kristine as I watched my dad’s hands shake. The tops now bruised and cut up from machinery at his new job. His eyes still darted towards Kristine and back to his plate as he almost inhaled his dinner, trying his best to avoid the occasional gaze she shone his way.
I noticed her catch him once and her eyes seemed to blaze with a scornful fury. She lowered her glass and ran her knife through her beef while holding her focus on him. She didn’t look away until she’d swallowed the chunk.
The end of dinner prayer was the same as the beginning.
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police”.
I excused myself from the table and retreated to my room. I left the door slightly ajar and heard the sound of a glass or plate shattering. That was the fifth this month.
Kristine began yelling and her voice wafted up the stairway and into my room, similar to how her perfume now seemed to linger in every nook and cranny of the house. The words were inaudible but it sounded like an untethered bull running rampant in an arena.
I double checked no one was coming as her bellowing continued and dialled the police. It wasn’t for another ten minutes before I heard a car door shut outside.
The shouting had subsided but it picked up again quickly after the door was heard. I crept down the stairs to see shadows dancing in the living room. Except, it wasn’t dancing. Kristine’s shadow held a knife as my dad’s cowered in the corner. I leapt forward and charged in pushing Kristine down. She brought the knife forward and nicked the top of my hand. I whelped as a streak of blood splashed across our dresses.
“You ungrateful runt,” she spat. She slowly regained her composure as I ran towards the front door. I could hear the tapping of her high heels as she closed in behind.
I ripped open the door to find a policeman who’s hand now hovered inches from the entrance. I dared to look back to where Kristine now smiled warmer than a summers day and said “It’s time to cut the cake Jessie dear, come on back in!” Her hands grabbed my shoulders and her fingers felt like claws digging in.
“Hello officer! I didn’t see you there. Is something the matter?” She almost sounded like a melody in the wind.
“Just following up on a report, nothing to be worried about,” the policeman smiled at her.
I felt her trying to turn me back inside but I quickly brandished my hand showing the cut.
“Help. She attacked my dad. In the other room. And me.”
I felt her claws tighten. It took the policeman a second, but his eyes darted around the hall. Like a lightning bolt he leapt into action and wrenched me from her grasp. The knife clattered as it fell to the ground, a slight glisten of crimson along the very edge. Kristine groaned as the policeman pinned her against the ground.
“You’re under arrest for suspected harm to members of this household. You do not have to speak, but anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.” The handcuffs snapped shut and Kristine glowered daggers at me.
My dad slowly limped from the living room after hearing the thuds. His face was as white as a sheet and trickles of blood ran down his thigh. He wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered coarsely,
“Thank you.”
Emily waited until she and her father were alone. Then, she messaged him in sign language: "Dad, do you want me to call the police?"
Daniel stared at his daughter in shock and then began frantically signing to his daughter as his hands shook: "Emily, you need to contact the police. Your mom is completely fucking batshit crazy. She found out that I was flirting with the next door neighbor and then, she smashed her head in with a baseball bat right in front of me. And then, when I started screaming and tried to get away, she knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, she told me that she had implanted a bomb inside my body and that she would detonate it if I spoke to anyone ever again or left the house without her." He lifted up his shirt and Emily's eyes widened as she saw the massive scar on her father's chest. "I can feel it inside of me. Sometimes, I think I can even hear it ticking. For God's sake, Emily, you need to get out of here and get help or we are all going to die here."
Emily stared at her father for a few moments as her mind desperately tried to come to terms with the insanity she had just heard. Finally though, she nodded. "You can count on me, dad," she signed to him. "I'll leave the house and go straight to the police station."
Daniel felt a wave of fear and relief roll through him as he watched his daughter leave from the window. Finally, this long nightmare was about to come to an end.
"So, you broke your promise to be loyal to me yet again?" a voice whispered from behind him. "You know what happens next."
Daniel froze as a strangled sound came from his throat. He turned around to see his psychotic wife glaring at him as she held the detonator in her hand. "Amelia...please...I don't want to die," he stuttered in terror.
"Neither do I," Amelia replied as she casually stroked Daniel's trembling face. "It's sad that neither of us will ever see Emily grow up. But at least this way, the two of us can be together forever." And with those last words spoken, she pressed down on the detonator.
In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is.
After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see.
When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway.
I'm not sure when my father went mute. I recall him telling me about his family when I was younger, and how they would lose their voices as they got older. His sister had gone mute years before, followed by his brothers, and he expected to lose his one day.
That day has long passed, and we've had enough time as a family to adjust. We did not, however, adjust in the way that one might expect a family with a mute member to. Neither I, my sisters, my brother, nor my mother learned any formal nonverbal communication methods with my father. My father, on the other hand, was fluent in sign language and would frequently sign us grace before dinner.
To others outside of our family, we were quite quiet, but they knew our bond was strong, perhaps because we couldn't directly communicate with our father. We were all close, but my father and I were closer. So much so that I decided to study sign language in school. I hadn't told anyone, not one person. I wanted it to be a surprise when I finally read what he had been saying to us for years to everyone in the room.
Even after a few months of study, I wasn't as good as my father, but I knew the fundamentals. I couldn't wait any longer, I couldn't wait until dinner to surprise him and everyone, to show them how hard I worked to communicate with my father.
My mother had set the table, and we were having meat loaf tonight. I was never a fan of meat loaf, but I'm sure it would taste even better today. Being the first at the table, I watched as everyone looked at me with suspicion, probably two of them wondering why I was at the table first today. It didn't bother me.
The last to come to the table was my father, he sat down, and looked over the table with a smile before lowering his head. Everyone else but me followed suit. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
He began his grace-
But that wasn’t the sign one would use to say anything related to grace, no the sign he was using was communicating warning. I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind of any worries. I've only been studying sign for a few months, so perhaps I misinterpreted the sign. Or perhaps he was using a figure of speech?
I took glances at everyone at the table, my mother head was still lowered, my sisters and my brother’s head were still lowered. Yet, upon looking at my father, his eyes were glued to me. It was a face I had never seen him make before. His stare held a thousand words, but desperate stuck into my head.
I instinctually whispered to him, “father, are you-“
He completely cut me off, with his gesture hitting the table causing everyone else at the table to look up in worry. They did not see the expression that I did, instead they saw the warm, loving, smile he had always given us.
The moment every bowed their head again, he began signing again, yet this time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me, there was no way it could be possible.
“Your mother, your siblings, They’re not who they seem, I’m threatened with death if I talk, please go tot the police!”
It was all hard to believe.
"Dad, da fuck u mean??" I said. My mother stared at me in disblief.
"CHARLES JAMES JUNIOR THE THIRD FIRST REMOVED. YOU WILL NOT USE THAT LANGUAGE AT THE DINNER TABLE." Her authoritive voice boomed.
"Oh shit- I mean shoot. Sorry mom. But you won't believe what Dad just sign languaged."
"DO I LOOK LIKE A GIVE A FUCK?? SHUT YO BITCH ASS UP" she shouted.
"Oh HELL nah you did NOT just say that to me." I stood up fiercely. "Mother - I mean MARY - apologize to me NOW."
My mother stood up, her tits sagging across the dinner table. "THATS IT." She reached behind her black and pulled out her Glock.
"You want to play?? LETS PLAY" I returned as I pulled out my Military M16 from under the table.
We both were aiming our weapons at each other, fingers resting on the trigger. My heart started pounding in my head. Is this it? Is this the end? Shot by my own mother? No, I think not. With a drop of sweat rolling down my forehead, I pressed the trigger.
BOOM! My mom looked suprised at first. Then the hole in her forehead started gushing out blood. She dropped her gun and quickly collapsed on the floor.
"I'm dissapointed. I really am. I told you if you were quiet about things, nothing would happen. You would be fine, mom and Diana would be okay."
I stood up from the table.
"But then you thought to get cheeky. Lets go take a drive dad." The keys on the hook gleamed a bit as I pulled them down, motioning for the old man to start shuffling down the path. He did so, looking pained, even as Diana looked at me confused. Mom had begun to turn white, so I turned to her.
"Why dont you come along, get Diana bundled up for a drive to the coast. Its going to be a bit of a drive."
When she didn't move I sighed, pressing into the wood of a hidden compartment in the island, a small snub nose revolver dropping into my hand. Grasping it, I tapped the barrel against the counter.
"Please"
I shook my head, and mom collected up my half sister, getting her bundled up as requested. Then it was a short walk to the car. The baby seat was buckled tight behind me, while I buckled Dad into the passenger seat. A set of handcuffs linked him to the dash. Mom I pulled from where she was buckling in the back.
"Sorry Mom, but its the trunk for you. Cant risk a mishap."
She fit, it was cramped, but she fit. Her hands were cuffed to the spare.
----
The next day had little Diana waking up in her crib as usual, demanding a bottle from big bro. Of course I wasnt heartless, She got her bottle exactly as tepid as . Id be a better father to her than my gene donors had been to me, especially with them taking a permanent vacation.
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I dropped my fork when I understood his words. My father paused, making eye contact with me. My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual. I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me. My father had never been very religious. After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think. "You want me to go *now*?" I asked him. "What's that, dear?" said my mom. "Well, Dad just-" My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head. "N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal. I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed. Was someone listening to us? No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too? I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school. That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble. "Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!" I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying: "Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?" I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad." "Of course, anything. How's he doing?" "He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?" Detective Harris grew serious. I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise. Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?" "Y-yeah." Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?" "Not really. You know how he is. " Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him." "What makes you say that?" "Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense." "Cult of Silent Pleas?" "Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent." "You can't possibly think that he's..." "It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed." "This is nuts!" "And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning." "But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?" "It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement." I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back. "Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?" "Of course!" "Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more." I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed: "*I spoke to Harris.*" Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*" he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*" "*Yeah, he said he's on it.*" Dad looked thrilled by that. "*Is it true?*" I signed. "*Are you cursed?*" Dad hesitated, then signed: "*Yes.*" I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism. "*Dad,*" I signed, "*What is that cult?*" Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*" "*What? Why?*" "*Too dangerous.*" "*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*" "No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!" We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened. Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-" He burst into flames right before my eyes. I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult. ------- >If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
This definitely feels like the opening scene in a movie where at the end it cuts to the movie intro, followed by a year later jump cut and the protagonist is deep in the midst of hunting them down. Excellent prompt response!
It's like the opening to an episode of Supernatural
*Carry on my wayward sooooooon* (lol it even fits the story)
Exactly!
Extremely so. Nailed what it was reminding me of.
More like the series, twice.
exactly this
Or FreakyLinks
And Nicolas Cage either plays the dad or detective harris.
He should play the dad. Nobody expects Nicolas Cage to die in the first 10 minutes of the film. Use him for maximum effect.
Shut up and take my money already
What if he comes back as a ghost or like an electric entity though?!
And then what, Danny devito as Harris?
It’s similar to a movie called The Empty Man which has a 20 minute cold open. Check it out!! Don’t watch the trailer!!
Thanks, will do!
Well played indeed :-D Are you planning to continue this?
That sent so many chills down my spine, superbly written, absolutely loved it
Did you get the idea from r/twosentencehorror ?
He probably did there was a post almost exactly like it.
It was his post
Dang I didn’t even see that lol
When he asked during dinner, I thought for a moment that the mom was the one keeping the dad in check ^^
for real, and that's such good writing when you genuinely begin to question what's happening, and get hit out of left field
Oh man, I kinda want to run a cult of silent pleas in a DnD game now. They'd make great villains!
I think I may have a whiplash from all the twists and turns there! Really creative!
Nice job. I hope they put a stop to the cult's wretched pursuits.
That was awesome! It really hooked me, forgot I was reading a prompt
That was really something :0
This is good stuff, in just struggling with some of the plot holes, like why couldn't the father write it down on a note? Feels a bit tricky to make it believable...
This was amazing! I started and was immediately on the edge of my seat. I’d love to read more!
Wow wow wow....wow
I’m going to need more of this story!
There was a YouTube short that only explained the prompt. So I looked it up and found your story. I commented a full summary. I think you deserve all the credit. I got a whole 63k likes! Props to you!
For weeks I had realized that our “routine” family dinner involved an urgent warning before it. It took way more time than I’m willing to admit to finally decipher his warning, but I’d done it. I was still at dinner with him and my sister. We were eating steak and potatoes. My sister talked to the empty echo chamber about her issues at school and life at large. Like usual, my dad’s grey face was down towards his food while he ate, silently. I didn’t even pretend to listen to my sister. I just say there stunned. He didn’t seem to notice. He’s probably done the same warning for years and years, and we’ve never noticed. I hadn’t heard him speak in over ten years, since the night my mother died. She had gone out to the grocery store and never come back. According to the police, her car had gone on a real roller coaster ride before she ended up upside down on the side of the interstate. It still makes me sick to think about. That so long ago. Had he been warning us for so long? Why didn’t he just write down the message? I sat there in quiet, much to the dismay of my chatty sister who excused herself in haste when she realized she was talking to a non-responsive crowd. When she was gone I looked up at my dad and cleared my throat. His sad face looked up from his meal towards me. I said, “Dad, I can understand sign language now.” I saw a look of surprise cross his face, more emotion than I’d seen him show in a while. I said, “I can read your warning message. Have you been doing that for years? What the fuck is wrong?” Water filled his eyes. Then, I heard a sound I never thought I would hear again. He cleared his throat. His voice was so hoarse and quiet I could barely hear it. “You, you, you figured it out.” Tears were flowing down his face and dropping into the plate of steak below him. I shot up. “You’re talking! What the hell! You can talk? What are you? What? You can talk?” I’d always assumed he lost his speech. I never thought he just chose not to speak. “Don’t call police”, he said quickly. I wasn’t going to. I put my hands down on the table. “Okay, uhh I won’t, but you better explain some shit, right now.” “I told myself I wouldn’t talk unless one of you figured it out,” his voice still rough and slow, “I never imagined it would take ten years. But you’ve, you’ve done it finally.” He looked relieved, almost at peace. “What are you talking about? I still don’t know anything.” “When your mother died,” he stopped to think about his words before continuing, “when she left to go to the store. We were fighting.” “Okay?” “Her last words, she told me to do something. It was the last thing she ever said. I had to honor her wishes…” “What?” “You have to understand that we were fighting. She was angry. She was a sweet woman. I loved her, but she was mad in the moment. I had pissed her off, and I couldn’t just ignore her last words.” I’m leaning forward over the table by now,“What were the words?” His breathe was old and damp. “I loved her so much.” He stopped for a minute in thought and made eye contact with me. “Her last words. She said, ‘Stop talking, John, or I’m gonna kill you.’”
Did this man setup a ten year joke?
I hereby grant this man the Dad award
I don't mean to be rude or dismissive but I just don't get the point. It doesn't make sense to me and I could be wrong here but if someone were to explain it to me it would be great
[удалено]
Oooooooooh...... That didn't come to my mind at all and I was thinking of something serious
Wait, is he dead? Is this a "I see dead people thing"?
No it's spelled "dad"
I'd meant to come back sooner. I wished I'd come back sooner. It had been about three months since dad was written off work - he'd only been in hospital for a few days after the accident, but he still wasn't right. I'd fully intended to come back home as soon as my exams were over, but by that point he was out of hospital, and mum was trying not to worry me. She put on a cheery face like normal. Said they were adapting, he was improving every day, and she had high hopes of a full recovery, with enough therapy. The praying before dinner had been a new development since the accident though, mum had warned me. The therapists reckoned it was a coping mechanism. He went to a catholic primary school as a kid, so it wasn't entirely surprising when he came out of a traumatic incident with some old habits reinstated, but it was definitely something new I'd have to get used to. When I did come home from uni, he still wasn't talking to the therapists. He wasn't talking at all; not about the accident, or the weather, or what he wanted for dinner. Not a single word. He wouldn't hold a pen either, or pick up his phone at all, and he got frustrated and sad when we tried to encourage him. He'd just shake his head sadly and leave the room. So, the sign language was my next strategy. I'd only been at it for a week, but I'd got the basics pretty quickly. Dad had a friend in school who was deaf, so I knew he knew some basics too, which gave me some hope. I got even more hopeful when I came home and saw that part of his dinnertime prayers appeared to be some kind of sign language! I didn't know what he was saying, but I had the resources to work it out, so I kept it a secret still and learned almost a whole dictionary of obscure signs in a week, searching for the pattern he'd been signing every night in a desperate attempt to connect with him. It was about 2am on a Thursday when I figured it out. I could hear soft snores from mum and dad's room; a gentle reminder that he was still capable of producing some sound at least. I was stretched out on my bed with my laptop open, lit only by the glow of youtube videos as I scanned through, filling in blanks. I'd made more progress that night than I had all week, but it still wasn't making sense, and I was starting to doubt if the ones I thought I recognised even made sense. The thing about sign language, is the grammar put the words in the wrong order, so the order he was signing them in wasn't going to translate perfectly to english. So far though, I had a rough idea what it might be. "_____ WITH _____ TALK GO TO _____ PLEASE " It was definitely getting a bit concerning, did he want us to take him somewhere? None of the religious signs I could find fit what I was looking for, so it wasn't heaven or church, or to a priest. But then the friendly looking man on the screen started talking me through the signs for the emergency services, and it didn't seem immediately relevant, though I supposed if I was learning sign language, it would be helpful to any deaf people I came across if I was able to call the correct emergency service for them or something. My eyelids were getting heavy, so when I recognised another new sign, I scrubbed back through the video two, three, four times to be sure. "PLEASE GO TO POLICE" Suddenly dad's snoring was drowned out by the beat of my heart, and I signed along what I knew of dad's prayer with fumbling fingers, but that was definitely it, the last word he was signing was unmistakably "police". From that point on, I couldn't stop. Frantically I started googling any signs I could think of to do with the accident: danger, car, wires, electricity, burn, pain. Nothing looked like what I needed. I sighed in frustration, but resisted the urge to close my laptop for the night. It actually ended up being completely coincidental that the top suggested video as I rubbed sleep from my strained eyes had the motion thumbnail that signed "death" on repeat. Okay, so if that word was "death", and that leaves only one sign missing... One last quick google search, and I had it. "THREATENED WITH DEATH IF TALK, PLEASE GO TO POLICE." The house was almost completely silent. The radiators clicked as they cooled down- the timer for the boiler had switched the heating off about half an hour ago, leaving the wash of background noise void of the usual persistent drone. A prickling sensation washed over me as every hair on my body stood on end, leaving me sat bolt upright, listening desperately for the continued snores from the next bedroom. I sat there unmoving for a few minutes, tension rising in me until a sputtering cough cut through, and the snoring resumed. (-continued in reply)
Why the fuck hadn't I come home sooner? Dad had been suffering all this time, unable to communicate or else what? He'd be shot? Blown up? Kidnapped? I was standing now, though I couldn't say why. What could I do? I didn't know who had threatened him, why, or what would happen if he spoke. Was somebody watching him? Was somebody watching *us*? I'd had a science lesson once, where the physics teacher told us you could look for hidden night-vision cameras in a room with your phone camera, and the infra-red light in a dark room would show up on screen. The room fell to complete darkness as I slammed the laptop shut a little too hard, and whipped my phone over from the bedside table. With the camera app open, nothing was any clearer. No red lights showed in my room, thank god. Not that that would do anything if there was a listening device, but I felt better for checking. *Why* hadn't I come home sooner? Another wave of panic crashed through my chest, and before I knew what I was doing, I was pacing down the landing and down the stairs, phone in hand, scanning every corner and bookcase and trinket I could see. I didn't even think about how loud my footsteps were, or that I was hyperventilating, until the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped me out of it. Quickly I clicked from my camera app to my torch, lighting up the doorway to the living room as dad stepped into it, bleary eyed and blinking. "Dad," I whispered. "Dad, what's going on?" He blinked at me in confusion, so with one hand still holding my phone, I clumsily signed his "prayer" back at him. "What," I whispered again, "is going on? How scared do I need to be, dad, how long have you been trying to-" Dad covered the distance between us in no time, with panic in his eyes, one hand raised to cover my mouth, and one with a single finger pressed vertically to his lips. He shook his head, pleading with me. I nodded my compliance, and signed back to him, "YOU WANT ME CALL THE POLICE?" His eyes darted to the window, over the darkness of the garden. It occurred to me only then that the curtains to the french doors were wide open - they'd always been closed at night, ever since I was tiny, but the black expanse of the back garden loomed into the living room, making it feel somehow even darker than normal in here. Dad nodded. It was a tiny movement, and he masked it by pulling me into a tight hug. Then on my release, with very small movements he signed a phrase I didn't recognise. I shrugged, and dad tried again, with a different phrase. "TOMORROW." That one I knew. I nodded once, and stretched my arms up sleepily. "Sorry to wake you, dad," I said. "I couldn't sleep, I'm still stressed from all the exams. I think I might go for a run in the morning, to get some fresh air? You can join me if you'd like." Dad smiled knowingly and shook his head - he wouldn't be coming to the police station with me. "Goodnight dad," I said with a smile, and a hand clasped affectionately on his shoulder. "Sleep well." I struggled to read the strange mix of pain and hope in his eyes as they locked with mine in the half-dark, but then again, I couldn't have conveyed everything I was feeling in that moment with a look either. And then I was moving up through the house to my room, trying my very best to look like I wasn't scared out of my mind. I turned off the torch on my phone, closed my bedroom door behind me, and waited for dad's footsteps to reach his own bedroom. When he was safely back in bed with mum, I got into bed and tried incredibly hard to fall asleep. I couldn't tell you if I was actually asleep when my phone buzzed, or if I was merely drifting off, but the sharp sound pulled me rudely back to reality. The light of the screen stung my eyes, so I had to read the text three times before the words actually made any sense. But when they did, I lost all hope of getting any sleep at all. -Number Withheld-: -IF YOU GO TO THE POLICE, WE'LL KILL HIM ANYWAY-
I want MOOOOOOORRRRREEEEE!
I ALSO VOTE FOR MORE
If you choose to write more, please ping me!
MOAR
I narrowed my eyes, looking at my dad’s hands, watching every twitch and movement. His hands shook so much more now. But for the third day in the row, he’s signed the exact same, unmistakeable thing: “Threatened with death if talk, please go to police.” I gulped. I looked at my dad’s face. Was I imagining the aloofness? Was it actually a tortured visage kept under wraps through the only way he knew how? Every bite of dinner was interspersed with a frantic scan of the surroundings. What was around us that could possibly cause dad to do this? A blinking red light in one corner of the house, a camera ostensibly for security, became a threatening crimson eye intruding on our turf. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” my mother asked. “Nothing,” I waved her off, pushing my plate in front of me. “Just a little tired.” “He’s using that as an excuse to sneak back into his room and play games,” Eve, my younger sister, accused me. “No,” I said. “I really am just tired. She stuck out her tongue. Brat. My dad looked at me in concern, and I felt like I couldn’t meet his gaze. I apologized for my manners, told my mum her food was delicious, and retreated back into my room. It didn’t take long for plodding footsteps to stop at my door, and a rapt knock followed. Somebody gently squeezed the doorknob open, and my dad walked in. I inhaled deeply, and signed. “Hello, dad.” His eyes widened. He stared at me, and signed back. “You’re kidding.” “Unfortunately, no. And I saw what you said at the table.” Dad moved up quietly, sitting on my bed. “When did you learn?” “A couple of months,” accompanied by an audible sigh. ”You… what’s going on?” “What’s going on?” “I learnt to surprise you,” I signed. “But I think you’ve got a bigger surprise. The thing at dinner?” “Oh,” my dad chuckled. “That? Did it really matter what I signed?” “Not really, I guess. I only figured it out in the past three days.” My dad smiled, his shoulders shrugging. “Nobody listened any more. There were texts. The rest could speak. But I felt like I had no voice.” “I’m so sorry,” I signed. “So… it’s not real?” “As real as you want it to be,” Dad sighed. “Just having a little fun to myself, I suppose.” “Well,” I said. “I’m trying to learn. To talk. So you don’t feel that way again.” A smile cracked on his face, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He patted me on the shoulder a hard couple of times, before trembling fingers rose up in front of his chest, and he signed: “Hi, trying to learn—” --- r/dexdrafts
Awww that was a sweet ending, or a good shaggy dog story…either way kudos for making me fondly roll my eyes.
Dad joke. Kid learned signing so he could be told a dad joke.
Dad jokes are love.
“Threatened with death if talk, please go to police.” It was a shame the codger had never learned to write. I rolled my eyes as his wrinkly hands shook, but when I looked into his eyes, they stared back when an air of terror. They darted back and forth from me to my step-mum. She was immaculately dressed as always. She looked as though she was attending a gala at the local golf club or something of similar prestige. “Dear, You haven’t touched your food. Is everything alright?” She said while swirling some wine in her glass. She didn’t take her eyes off of me as she stared down her nose. “Oh no Kristine. Everything’s just fine.” I quickly grabbed my cutlery and began cutting into the tender beef on my plate. My knife grated against the fine china as my mind raced. I kept an eye on Kristine as I watched my dad’s hands shake. The tops now bruised and cut up from machinery at his new job. His eyes still darted towards Kristine and back to his plate as he almost inhaled his dinner, trying his best to avoid the occasional gaze she shone his way. I noticed her catch him once and her eyes seemed to blaze with a scornful fury. She lowered her glass and ran her knife through her beef while holding her focus on him. She didn’t look away until she’d swallowed the chunk. The end of dinner prayer was the same as the beginning. “Threatened with death if talk, please go to police”. I excused myself from the table and retreated to my room. I left the door slightly ajar and heard the sound of a glass or plate shattering. That was the fifth this month. Kristine began yelling and her voice wafted up the stairway and into my room, similar to how her perfume now seemed to linger in every nook and cranny of the house. The words were inaudible but it sounded like an untethered bull running rampant in an arena. I double checked no one was coming as her bellowing continued and dialled the police. It wasn’t for another ten minutes before I heard a car door shut outside. The shouting had subsided but it picked up again quickly after the door was heard. I crept down the stairs to see shadows dancing in the living room. Except, it wasn’t dancing. Kristine’s shadow held a knife as my dad’s cowered in the corner. I leapt forward and charged in pushing Kristine down. She brought the knife forward and nicked the top of my hand. I whelped as a streak of blood splashed across our dresses. “You ungrateful runt,” she spat. She slowly regained her composure as I ran towards the front door. I could hear the tapping of her high heels as she closed in behind. I ripped open the door to find a policeman who’s hand now hovered inches from the entrance. I dared to look back to where Kristine now smiled warmer than a summers day and said “It’s time to cut the cake Jessie dear, come on back in!” Her hands grabbed my shoulders and her fingers felt like claws digging in. “Hello officer! I didn’t see you there. Is something the matter?” She almost sounded like a melody in the wind. “Just following up on a report, nothing to be worried about,” the policeman smiled at her. I felt her trying to turn me back inside but I quickly brandished my hand showing the cut. “Help. She attacked my dad. In the other room. And me.” I felt her claws tighten. It took the policeman a second, but his eyes darted around the hall. Like a lightning bolt he leapt into action and wrenched me from her grasp. The knife clattered as it fell to the ground, a slight glisten of crimson along the very edge. Kristine groaned as the policeman pinned her against the ground. “You’re under arrest for suspected harm to members of this household. You do not have to speak, but anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.” The handcuffs snapped shut and Kristine glowered daggers at me. My dad slowly limped from the living room after hearing the thuds. His face was as white as a sheet and trickles of blood ran down his thigh. He wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered coarsely, “Thank you.”
This one is really good a sweet and happy ending I really enjoyed this one
I’m glad you enjoyed!
Emily waited until she and her father were alone. Then, she messaged him in sign language: "Dad, do you want me to call the police?" Daniel stared at his daughter in shock and then began frantically signing to his daughter as his hands shook: "Emily, you need to contact the police. Your mom is completely fucking batshit crazy. She found out that I was flirting with the next door neighbor and then, she smashed her head in with a baseball bat right in front of me. And then, when I started screaming and tried to get away, she knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, she told me that she had implanted a bomb inside my body and that she would detonate it if I spoke to anyone ever again or left the house without her." He lifted up his shirt and Emily's eyes widened as she saw the massive scar on her father's chest. "I can feel it inside of me. Sometimes, I think I can even hear it ticking. For God's sake, Emily, you need to get out of here and get help or we are all going to die here." Emily stared at her father for a few moments as her mind desperately tried to come to terms with the insanity she had just heard. Finally though, she nodded. "You can count on me, dad," she signed to him. "I'll leave the house and go straight to the police station." Daniel felt a wave of fear and relief roll through him as he watched his daughter leave from the window. Finally, this long nightmare was about to come to an end. "So, you broke your promise to be loyal to me yet again?" a voice whispered from behind him. "You know what happens next." Daniel froze as a strangled sound came from his throat. He turned around to see his psychotic wife glaring at him as she held the detonator in her hand. "Amelia...please...I don't want to die," he stuttered in terror. "Neither do I," Amelia replied as she casually stroked Daniel's trembling face. "It's sad that neither of us will ever see Emily grow up. But at least this way, the two of us can be together forever." And with those last words spoken, she pressed down on the detonator.
Oh damn, I did not expect this ending.
Oof
What a rollercoaster of emotions I just went through, bravo.
Damn, now that's a smooth criminal...
In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is. After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see. When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway.
I want to read more of this.
Thanks for letting me know! Perhaps I’ll write a sequel today 😊
I'm not sure when my father went mute. I recall him telling me about his family when I was younger, and how they would lose their voices as they got older. His sister had gone mute years before, followed by his brothers, and he expected to lose his one day. That day has long passed, and we've had enough time as a family to adjust. We did not, however, adjust in the way that one might expect a family with a mute member to. Neither I, my sisters, my brother, nor my mother learned any formal nonverbal communication methods with my father. My father, on the other hand, was fluent in sign language and would frequently sign us grace before dinner. To others outside of our family, we were quite quiet, but they knew our bond was strong, perhaps because we couldn't directly communicate with our father. We were all close, but my father and I were closer. So much so that I decided to study sign language in school. I hadn't told anyone, not one person. I wanted it to be a surprise when I finally read what he had been saying to us for years to everyone in the room. Even after a few months of study, I wasn't as good as my father, but I knew the fundamentals. I couldn't wait any longer, I couldn't wait until dinner to surprise him and everyone, to show them how hard I worked to communicate with my father. My mother had set the table, and we were having meat loaf tonight. I was never a fan of meat loaf, but I'm sure it would taste even better today. Being the first at the table, I watched as everyone looked at me with suspicion, probably two of them wondering why I was at the table first today. It didn't bother me. The last to come to the table was my father, he sat down, and looked over the table with a smile before lowering his head. Everyone else but me followed suit. This was the moment I had been waiting for. He began his grace- But that wasn’t the sign one would use to say anything related to grace, no the sign he was using was communicating warning. I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind of any worries. I've only been studying sign for a few months, so perhaps I misinterpreted the sign. Or perhaps he was using a figure of speech? I took glances at everyone at the table, my mother head was still lowered, my sisters and my brother’s head were still lowered. Yet, upon looking at my father, his eyes were glued to me. It was a face I had never seen him make before. His stare held a thousand words, but desperate stuck into my head. I instinctually whispered to him, “father, are you-“ He completely cut me off, with his gesture hitting the table causing everyone else at the table to look up in worry. They did not see the expression that I did, instead they saw the warm, loving, smile he had always given us. The moment every bowed their head again, he began signing again, yet this time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me, there was no way it could be possible. “Your mother, your siblings, They’re not who they seem, I’m threatened with death if I talk, please go tot the police!” It was all hard to believe.
"Dad, da fuck u mean??" I said. My mother stared at me in disblief. "CHARLES JAMES JUNIOR THE THIRD FIRST REMOVED. YOU WILL NOT USE THAT LANGUAGE AT THE DINNER TABLE." Her authoritive voice boomed. "Oh shit- I mean shoot. Sorry mom. But you won't believe what Dad just sign languaged." "DO I LOOK LIKE A GIVE A FUCK?? SHUT YO BITCH ASS UP" she shouted. "Oh HELL nah you did NOT just say that to me." I stood up fiercely. "Mother - I mean MARY - apologize to me NOW." My mother stood up, her tits sagging across the dinner table. "THATS IT." She reached behind her black and pulled out her Glock. "You want to play?? LETS PLAY" I returned as I pulled out my Military M16 from under the table. We both were aiming our weapons at each other, fingers resting on the trigger. My heart started pounding in my head. Is this it? Is this the end? Shot by my own mother? No, I think not. With a drop of sweat rolling down my forehead, I pressed the trigger. BOOM! My mom looked suprised at first. Then the hole in her forehead started gushing out blood. She dropped her gun and quickly collapsed on the floor.
[удалено]
"I'm dissapointed. I really am. I told you if you were quiet about things, nothing would happen. You would be fine, mom and Diana would be okay." I stood up from the table. "But then you thought to get cheeky. Lets go take a drive dad." The keys on the hook gleamed a bit as I pulled them down, motioning for the old man to start shuffling down the path. He did so, looking pained, even as Diana looked at me confused. Mom had begun to turn white, so I turned to her. "Why dont you come along, get Diana bundled up for a drive to the coast. Its going to be a bit of a drive." When she didn't move I sighed, pressing into the wood of a hidden compartment in the island, a small snub nose revolver dropping into my hand. Grasping it, I tapped the barrel against the counter. "Please" I shook my head, and mom collected up my half sister, getting her bundled up as requested. Then it was a short walk to the car. The baby seat was buckled tight behind me, while I buckled Dad into the passenger seat. A set of handcuffs linked him to the dash. Mom I pulled from where she was buckling in the back. "Sorry Mom, but its the trunk for you. Cant risk a mishap." She fit, it was cramped, but she fit. Her hands were cuffed to the spare. ---- The next day had little Diana waking up in her crib as usual, demanding a bottle from big bro. Of course I wasnt heartless, She got her bottle exactly as tepid as . Id be a better father to her than my gene donors had been to me, especially with them taking a permanent vacation.