Gothic Bite Magazine is now opening their gates to all authors who would enjoy sharing their work with the public. We welcome all writers, from the enthusiasts to the professionals.
This week, we are sharing the fantastic work of our author and writer Evilest Gem. Enjoy the obscure story and words!
Gothic Bite Magazine Presents
A Different Kind of Torment
By: T.A. Patterson aka Evilest Gem
I deserve this all of this, that is all I can think, and she drags me into the mirror, all of these months of torments that my family went through all of it was because of me. I just wanted to die, is that so wrong why would I want my torment to continue? Why would I want to continue living in what I thought was hell? I had done nothing to deserve what happened to me, any of it; I didn’t think that I deserved the way that my father treated me. His near constant abuse of my brothers and me, all of it was too much. It is not like both of my brothers were innocent though. My youngest showed an aptitude for being a little too much like our father, not that this made our father love the little heartless beast any. He subjected him to just as much torment as he did the rest of us.
My little brother also tormented all of us as well, the times when my father wasn’t present, well he didn’t hold anything back. Even me, his older sister got subjected to some of his violent thoughts and actions. My poor mother was not free of this torment either; you would think that she would be, being his mother and all but no. The horrible little beast also thought it would be fun to take apart our family cat, the only animal we were allowed since our father kind of liked the furball. He didn’t know what my younger brother did to her. I didn’t even realize what had been done when I first stumbled onto them in our old backyard. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. The gruesome sight that was my first pet, my first laugh and sense of happiness was with this pet; I loved her and then she was suddenly gone, taken away by my younger brother.
I would spend years reliving the realization of what my little brother did to our cat. My mother was the one that hid the evidence, took the body and buried it. Just telling my father that she died, he beat her for delivering that news. She took the fall for my little brothers’ actions. His evil deeds, I think that she thought he was going through a phase. Anyone else would have been able to tell her that she was wrong. However, she wanted to live in her little world closed off and lying to herself.
My only hope as I get dragged into this mirror to the place that is going to house my final days is that Mary also visits my little brother. I opened the portal to her and all of her horrors, I hope that she goes and gives my brother some of the torment that he gave to me and many others.
I knew what was happening, even in the beginning, I knew what was wrong with my father. I heard all of the stories, did my research online. It didn’t take me long at all to see what was happening. I was ecstatic at; first, she was my savior the one, who would come and kill off all who were tormenting me. I didn’t take me long to realize that she wasn’t my hero, but my nightmare, the thing that stalks me at night. You see in the beginning, during those first days, she kept her gaze solely on my father, no one else got any torment at all.
It wasn’t five days into my father’s torment that she visited me, showing me that she didn’t spare me as a favor to me. She didn’t spare me at all; she was saving my death for later, I think she wanted me to see what she could do. To live it through my father and know that as soon as she was done, she was coming for me. Whatever her plan was, I felt fear nonstop, for the next few months. It was the anticipation that made it all that much worse. They wait anticipating that she would be coming for me soon, that had me losing sleep as well. I knew my father stopped sleeping; my mother lets us know. So, I knew what to expect, but I was suffering before she even set her sights solely on me.
I knew that she had finished with my father when she finally started on me, my days were blending even at that point. My younger brother now had nothing to stop him from enjoying our fulltime pain. Our mother has never been a strong woman, she bowed down, over and over for our father. However, the lengths that she went through to make my younger brother happy made me hate her a little. At first, I pitied her for loving such a horrible man, but when I realized that she also let my younger brother do with her and her other children what he will, even hiding the evidence and picking up after him.
Well, it made my pity quickly turn to anger, why couldn’t she put in the same effort to save her other children did she not love us as much? Were we not worth a little more protection? Maybe it was the abused mentality that she was clinging too, if she did everything to make her abuser happy, she would be safe. They would show her a tiny amount of love; I knew it wasn’t love, I just couldn’t do anything about it, at least this is what I told myself.
I ended up lying to myself as much as my mother; I was my mother’s daughter after all. Reflecting on it all, I can see so many things that I should have done. How I should have acted, if I was a better person. I am not a strong woman either; if I were strong, I would have told someone, I didn’t, neither did my older brother. Both of us kept our mouths shut and said nothing about what we were going through; this is how we got through our days, alone. We had stopped being a family long ago; if we ever were one, to begin with, it would be hard for me to say.
I loved my mother and father as only a small child could, entirely, nothing they did was ever wrong. I forgave so much in those beginning years, all they had to do was smile at me. I would forgive them. That was nothing something that I was able to hold onto, that forgiving nature, it was my innocence. Which was now long gone, I can remember the first time I tried to end my life, over and over things kept happening that stopped me. In the beginning, it was because I was too much of a coward to do so, I was too scared of the unknown. I still was, I don’t know what made me call out to her, through our bathroom mirror. I can not tell you what I was thinking, what thoughts and actions drove me to see if the legends were true.
I can now say with total accuracy that these legends are true, people get it wrong on how you need to do it. Not fast like a dare, not yelling it in the mirror, no you must beg her to come, feel it in your whole body. Want her to come and end your life, calling to her, whispering her name sweetly. This and only this will call to her.
For the next two months after she finished with my father, I knew that whatever my father or even my little brother thought up it had nothing on her. She had too much practice, and you know what they say about practice. She indeed is perfect at what she does; I can at least admire that, I can look back now and see her for what she is. Masterful at the art of death, and torment, torture, she could spend hours without fail or boredom, picking at my sanity. Driving to beg her to hurt me, I eventually begged her to, not kill me, but hurt me. The pain brought a certain amount of clarity and even freedom for me.
An escape from my life, this time of pain let way to a place of peace, I was at peace with everything around me, as long as she hurt me. This peace couldn’t and didn’t last though, but I lived my next short while, living for the time of pain. I could recognize that I was pathetic, I knew it, and so did she, she loved to laugh at my desperation. Part of me was ashamed of myself, but the rest of me spent my time hoping for pain.
“I was right,” Mary stated after her little session of pain. “You are so delightful; I enjoy this more than what I did to your father.”
I don’t respond; I knew from experience that she never expected me to say anything in response to her. It was like I wasn’t a real person with actions and thoughts of my own, she treated me like an unloved animal. That is as close as I can describe her actions towards anyone other than herself. No one was a real person to her, no matter how happy they made her. In this, she reminded me of my father; he also didn’t seem to realize or even care that we had feelings as well.
I sigh as I watch the daughter gaze unseeing at the wall in front of her, I enjoyed our time together, so much that I stuck around for a longer than I should have. It happens more than you would think, victims who eventually beg for the pain. It has been so long, that I forgot how much enjoyment I get at watching them fall further and further down the rabbit hole of pain and despair. To honestly watch someone, find out what they are at their core. Are they a strong person? Are they weak? Alternatively, are they a survivor?
No one survives me, though it is fun to watch them try, to watch them scramble and try to be brave through it all. I can feel another calling on me, so sweetly, I need to finish this, I have too many open portals in this realm. If I don’t complete my tasks, others might decide to use them, cutting in on my fun. I do not like for my fun to be interrupted.
I reach over and grab the daughter by her hair, flicking my knives, sheathing them, yanking her around behind me, dragging her, unresisting body to the mirror. Her never even cries out in pain or terror, her gaze still unseeing, focused somewhere within. I might have gone a little too far with this one, in my excitement, I might have used her all up. She won’t be much fun for the rest of this, I think, regretfully. It is so much more interesting when they interact through this next part. Maybe I will burn this one; I think joyfully, that will get a reaction, burning them alive always results in the most delightful screams. I smile to myself; this day might end well after all!
T.A. Patterson aka Evilest Gem
One thought on “Ghost Story Sunday”
Great ghost story!!! Loved it! Shared on all my socials!!💖😉