My dad had come home one night in a hurry. It had woken me up. There was a clatter of pans and rolling drawers, which would have sounded like an intruder if it weren’t for the lack of awareness with each movement.

I walked down the stairs, weary eyed and blinking as I came upon the man standing in the kitchen.

It was difficult to distinguish his features behind the wild hair that covered the madness looming behind his eyes. Even his posture had changed and the gait in his legs fumbled him unfamiliarly about. Mumbling beneath his breath, “If I just kept my mouth shut. Why the hell did I have to go and. No, no. No,” he swung his arms as he spoke. That was when I realized that his clothing draped around him.

Since I last saw him, the man had lost a substantial amount of weight. He now swam in his pants and his belt hung like a rope at his side. His shirt were two big holes that swallowed his demur arms.

“Daddy?”

His froze, “How are you up?” He shakes his head. “How would she know? Why would she know,” he said aloud. “Maybe there’s something different about us,” he walked toward me, “That’s why they let me go? No. No, no. They didn’t let me go. Must escape. Run. Run with the girl,” grabbing my arm.

“What are you doing,” I broke from his grip. He reached for me again. This time his fingers wrapped around my shoulder, hooking me under the arm until it felt as he would dislocate it.

And that was when I smelled the foul odor leaking from his breath. It was like sucking on a rotten tooth.

“Mom!” I pushed my hands against him. “Ricky,” I desperately wailed for my older brother. Hoping that anyone would hear me and come to my rescue. I had never been afraid of my father before but now I was terrified to be alone with him. I shook myself loose and ran behind the couch. Dad took one look at me and then another look at the door before bolting outside to his truck.

I slammed the house shut behind him and locked it. Then I ran to the blinds and pulled down a row to see him scrambling to open the rusty steel door before clambering inside.

The hood on the engine shook as it tried to come alive. It sputtered and died as the headlights dimmed. I could see Dad’s fists bang against the steering wheel.

For a moment I was afraid he would come back inside. There are times that I lay awake at night wishing he did. I would never get to find out what he would have done next because the whites of his eyes began to glow. His hand reached for his throat as a bright beam poured out of his mouth. He turned toward me, his figure blinding as I watched him mouth, “They’re here.”