Vengeful Night

December 24th, 1997

Christmas used to be my favourite holiday. When I was a kid, I loved helping to put the decorations up. I loved setting out cookies for Santa. Of course I loved getting all the presents on Christmas Day. Christmas just has that special euphoric feeling that no other time of year has. At least that’s how it felt for me. I wish I still felt that way.

A couple of years ago, my entire life changed in less than a minute. My little brother, Jarrod got hit by a car while crossing the road. We rushed him to the nearby hospital, but by the time we got there, he was already gone. This was on Christmas Day. Ever since that day, nothing has felt the same. My family keeps pretending that it’s all okay, and that we “have to be strong for Jarrod”, but it wasn’t okay. Everything had just simply felt…empty. Last year’s Christmas, a whole year after Jarrod’s death, we all pretended like nothing was wrong, like we could go on without him. In reality, it felt more like a mockery of Jarrod’s short life and untimely death and I wasn’t sure how much longer I can keep going like this.

This year, the unexpected happened. My Grandpa, George contacted my dad after years of alienating him and the rest of the family. My mom was skeptical about the whole thing, and rightfully so in my opinion, but dad figured that Grandpa had changed for the better. I loved my dad, but he was being incredibly stupid. He was blindly accepting someone who has not wanted a single thing to do with him his whole life basically, and just out of the blue decided he can just waltz right into his life after our tragedy. I guess I couldn’t blame him too much. This has been an awful two years, so of course he’d jump at the chance to have at least some happiness. Fixing his relationship with his old man was always something he wanted to do.

So there I was, in the car with my parents, driving down a sketchy, empty road in the middle of nowhere, on the way to the house of some grandpa I didn’t even know. I hated long drives with the family now. There was nothing but dead, empty silence every time. We used to talk and laugh, but ever since Jarrod’s death, we’ve had nothing to talk or laugh about. These drives were a constant reminder of the fact that Jarrod was gone, that I had lost someone I cared about. Jarrod was one of the happiest kids I had ever met. He saw the positives in just about everything, and he was kind to everyone he met. He annoyed me sometimes with his overly optimistic attitude, but I would give anything, just to see his smile one more time. again.

It was late at night by the time we arrived at Grandpa’s house. It was a large old-fashioned farmhouse at the top of a hill on the side of the road. It was incredibly windy that night, and the whole place creaked and groaned with each gust. There were cracks and chips in the paint lining the walls. The windows at the front had been completely shattered, and it was entirely pitch black inside. Anyone passing by would’ve assumed the place had been long abandoned. Seeing this big, decrepit farmhouse, menacingly overlooking the road made me think back to town we stopped at a few hours earlier. The cashier at the general store asked my mom where we were going, and when she told him we were going to the house north, he seemed concerned, and told us that we must’ve been mistaken. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant, he just told us that we shouldn’t go and seemed utterly terrified we wouldn’t listen to his warning. Everyone else we met said the same things; “don’t go to that house”, “turn around and get as far away as possible”. Not a single person explained why we shouldn’t go to that house. The more people told us to stay away, the more on edge I became. You could’ve chalked up the general store cashier as being just another old guy who’s gone crazy, but all those other people? And mom and dad were choosing to ignore it. Maybe I’ve watched too many horror movies, but this felt simply wrong.

We walked up the steps, and knocked on the door. There was a long, drawn out silence as we waited for what felt like an hour outside the old house, but eventually the lights inside flickered on and the door creaked open. An old man with barely any hair left answered. It was grandpa. Dad smiled. “Hey, dad” he said happily. “Good to see you, John,” Grandpa replied, “you too, Marilyn.” Grandpa seemed off and somewhat stressed. I could hear the anxiety in his voice. This whole thing just felt…weird. “I don’t think you’ve met Cindy yet, she’s my daughter.” Dad said, pointing to me. Grandpa smiled weakly and extended his hand for a hand shake. I shook his hand hesitantly, and avoided direct eye contact. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but something about him just creeped me out.

Grandpa invited us in and we walked down a dim hallway to the living room. While walking, I looked to my left and saw a door with the name “Rosemary” on it. I quickly noticed that there were multiple locks on the door and that there was a large drawer blocking it. For a brief second, I thought I could hear something on the other side. I couldn’t make out what the noise was, but it almost sounded like a voice. What the voice was saying I couldn’t figure out. My train of thought was interrupted by the lights suddenly flickering. I kept walking, the floors creaking with every step I took, and made my way to the living room. “So, how was the trip here?” Grandpa asked from the kitchen as he made tea. “I hope it wasn’t too much.”

”Oh, not at all,” replied dad. “I’m just surprised that you decided to move all the way out here. How long have you had this place?”

“Last 16 years or so. I know it’s not exactly a royal palace but, I figured it would be nice place to spend my golden years.” 

There was a momentary silence, as Grandpa handed the tea to mom and dad. He was about to give a cup to me but I didn’t accept it. “I don’t drink tea.” I said abruptly. Grandpa looked taken aback. He nodded and went back to the kitchen to pour out the cup. 

“Cindy! Don’t be rude!” My mom said whispering. was she being serious? How was she so oblivious to how off this whole thing was? Something was clearly wrong here, and my parents were ignoring it completely! 

“Don’t be rude?” I responded. “Are the two of you dumb? This guy’s a creep.” 

My dad cut me off. “Cindy! Don’t you dare talk to us like that! He is your grandfather, and you can’t talk about him like that!” 

“I can’t believe either of you! Your dad just comes back into your life after years of ignoring you, he lives in a creepy as hell house in the middle of nowhere, a whole fucking town tells us to stay away, what more red flags do you want?” 

Just when Dad was about to speak, he looks behind him and sees Grandpa charging us from the kitchen, a knife in his hand. 

Mom screamed in terror. Dad jumped right out of his seat, narrowly avoiding the blade, which plunges into the cushion. I hastily got up, and backed away. Grandpa pulled the knife out of the couch and looked my way, preparing to attack, but Dad jumped in front, grappling with him for the knife. They struggled as dad tries to rip the blade out of Grandpa’s hands. Grandpa gained the upper hand as he plunged the knife into Dad’s back. Dad yelped in agony as the blade dug into his spine, as blood dripped from the wound. With surprising strength, he quickly pulled the knife out, as blood gushes out, splattering the walls in a thick cluster of crimson. Some the blood flew at me, drenching me in a mushy, clumpy substance. Dad fell to the ground, and just as Grandpa was about to attack again, mom stepped in and hit grandpa on the head with a vase, causing him to fall to floor, dropping the knife. I rushed to my dad. “Oh my god! Dad! Are you ok?” I asked urgently. 

“Yeah! Just in a lot of pain!” He replied.

Grandpa was still conscious, although barely. “What have you all done?” He said weakly. Before anyone could ask, lightning struck outside. A storm had arrived. It was at that moment, I felt my heart sink into my chest, when I heard a creepy giggling coming from the all around us. The house began to shake, as the thunder outside worsened, and it was at that point, when this couldn’t possibly get worse, I heard my mom let out a blood curdling scream. I turned around and I saw something I never thought I’d see.

It was a man in ripped and torn clothes. He was wearing what looked like a Vietnamese farmer’s hat, and his skin was burnt and scarred. His eyes were a ghastly white, and he had an uncannily large smile, surrounded by rotting, melted flesh. He laughed maniacally, and spoke in a truely demonic sounding voice. “…Free…Us…”

Me and Mom stood up immediately, and started to run to the front door. But we stopped when we realised the door was blocked by another man in ragged and torn clothing. His skin was also burnt and rotted, but unlike the other one, he was missing half his face, blood and bits of ripped flesh surrounding his exposed skull. we turned to the stairs and ran as fast as we could. My mind was racing, my heart was pounding. What the hell was happening? What were those things? Why did Grandpa try to kill us? I thought I was going insane. We ran into the bedroom and locked the door behind us. 

With that, we had some time to breathe. I couldn’t help myself. I started to cry, I collapsed to my knees and sobbed into my hands. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” my mom said consolingly. “We just… have to call the police…” 

“Call the police?” I said through tears. “What the fuck could the police do against those… things!?” 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

Suddenly, Arms broke through the door and grabbed at Mom. I jumped up and tried to pull her away, but I couldn’t save her. She was pulled through the door and dragged away into darkness. I was the only one left. I had to make it out.

I looked around the room, and saw a shotgun on the wall. It looked old, like one of those 18th century hunting shotguns, and it was heavily rusted, but it might do the trick. I grabbed it and opened it up. It was empty, but luckily, I found some shells in the drawer nearby. Mustering up all the courage I had inside me, I walked out the room and made my way down stairs. I could hear the manic laughter of those monsters all around me. I kept hearing them repeating the same words over and over; “Free us.” Just as my anxiety rose to its peak, I heard a creak behind me and turned to see Grandpa with a knife in his hand, hands raised in attack. I panicked and pulled the trigger. A loud boom sounds as a wave of thick, oozing crimson splashes from Grandpa’s chest, splattering the walls. I stood there in shock, as Grandpa spoke his last words. “They need a sacrifice… that’s why I brought you here… you must kill yourself… or evil will be unleashed…”

Without another word, I ran for the stairs, only to be met with Dad standing in front of me. His eyes had turned a ghastly white, and his skin looked decayed, just like those monsters. He spoke in a truely demonic voice “…Free… us… Cindy…” 

That wasn’t Dad anymore. I fired a shot into his chest, sending him flying down the stairs. For a moment I stood, shocked, but I composed myself, and ran down the stairs. I had to get out of here. 

I ran as fast as I could, and got to the front door. My heart sank as I realised it was locked. I heard a giggle from behind, and turned to see my mom floating. Her eyes were white and her flesh rotten and decaying. She began slowly floating in my direction. I started to panic, using the butt of the shotgun to try and bust open the lock. She was getting closer. I opened the shotgun, and the empty shells popped out. I reached into my pocket and struggled to find the other shells. She came even closer, as adrenaline pumped through my veins. I pulled out two shells, shoved them into the gun, and fired at Mom’s head. Blood, brains, and bits of skull spewed everywhere. I was completely drenched in a thick, warm, foul-smelling liquid, with small pieces of gooey, fleshy brain matter stuck in my hair. I hunched over and vomited out whatever was in my stomach. I felt tears forming behind my eyes, but I stood up, pointed the shotgun at the lock, and blasted the door open. I ran, and I ran, and I ran, until I couldn’t. 

I eventually got back the town, and told the local sheriff what had happened. When they arrived at the house, they found the bodies of Mom, Dad, and Grandpa. Naturally, they didn’t buy my story. They arrested me, believing I had gone insane and murdered them. I was sent to a psychiatric ward, where I’ve been for years now. Every now and then, I see those horrible things, with their ragged and ripped up clothes, and rotting, zombie-like bodies, always following me. No one but me sees them. One time, one of them spoke to me. I didn’t know what to make of his words. 

“…Thanks… for freeing us…”