Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

Anniversary - 1

Rosalind filled the thermal bottle with cold tea, grabbed the lunch box and walked out the kitchen door toward the east fence, where Bootter had been working all morning. Her parents were taking their mandatory nap after lunch and the house quiet oddly quiet without Alex and Claire around. Rosalind's little sister had taken her daughter to Seattle for a week, and they wouldn't be back for another couple of days.

It was a sunny, windy day in late September, just perfect to be outdoors, so Rosalind didn't mind bringing lunch to Bootter. Something Alex usually took care of, so the old grouch wouldn't work non-stop all day without a bite, like he were forty years younger.

Rosalind saw him from the distance, in the shadow of the trees growing by the fence. He had his back turned to her as he pointed ahead, to the lake, hammer in hand. Then she spotted what looked like two girls with him, just past the fence. The wore tight denim shorts and flannels on light tops, rucksacks hanging from their shoulders. The hiking season was already over, but tourists would show up as late as October when the weather was that good. Surely those girls had taken a wrong turn on their way down from Mont Baker and ended up near the farm. It happened at least a couple of times a summer.

The wind carried Bootter's voice, making Rosalind frown. He was yelling at the girls to leave? Jeez, damn oldtimer! He was really out of line sometimes.

She pressed on and saw him swing the hammer, like attacking the girls. To her utter surprise, one of them, a nimble brunette, jumped over the fence with a single move and punched him in the face. Bootter staggered back, struggling to keep his balance, and swung the hammer at them again. The other girl, a tall blonde, laughed out loud and sat on top of the fence to watch the fight.

Rosalind had no idea what the hell was going on, but the brunette kicked her Grandpa's belly. He bent over, dropping the hammer. Bootter was a grumpy nutjob, withdrawing more and more from any contact with anyone outside the family, and Rosalind wasn't about to deny it. But she was a Corban, and she knew enough to realize there was no way those girls were completely human. Else, Grandpa would've never attacked them, and they would've never overcome him like that.

Rosalind knew she was supposed to spin around, run back home, block the door, grab the shotgun and wait until Bootter told her it was safe outside. He'd taught her so when she was still in elementary: never engage, never try to be the hero to the rescue. No matter the situation, she had to run and hide somewhere safe, and let him deal with things.

But it was too late. The blonde had spotted her and told her brunette friend, who grasped Bootter's white hair and yanked his head up, so hard he let out a sore grunt. Rosalind saw their crooked smirks and slowed down. She dropped the thermal bottle, fished into the lunch box for the knife and dropped the box too.

The brunette forced Bootter to face Rosalind. They traded a look without a word. He would pretend he didn't know her to try to keep her safe. The blonde jumped down from the fence and stepped up to meet her.

Rosalind sprinted to them, leaning in, and sunk her shoulder in the blonde's belly, throwing her down to the grass. Their laughter didn't distract her. She tried to stab the blonde, but the girl kicked her away and rolled over. Rosalind only got to kick her in the back.

In a flash, the blonde turned around and smashed her fist into Rosalind's face. Everything seemed to spin around, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She tried to punch back anyway. The blonde ducked and kicked her down to the ground.

"Let her go!" Bootter snarled, his white beard sprayed in blood from his face.

"Who is she, hunter?" the brunette asked, tugging his hair.

"How would I know? I'm only here working for the day. Never seen her before in my life."

The blonde grabbed the chest of Rosalind's shirt and pulled her up to her feet, twisting the collar around her neck. She let out a suffocated groan, clasping at the iron fist choking her.

"So you don't know this butcher?" the blonde asked her.

Rosalind shook her head, trusting Bootter's reasons to deny her. The blonde backhanded her so hard she spitted blood.

"Liars!" the brunette yelled, and leaned in keep yelling in Bootter's ear. "You live here! This bitch is your family!"

The blonde yanked Rosalind closer with a fierce sneer. "Did you know he's a murderer, bitch? He killed our mother and our aunt when we were but babies. And now he's gonna pay for it. He's gonna pay, you're gonna pay, everyone with his blood's gonna pay."

She punched Rosalind's belly. Rosalind bent over and fell face to the grass. Barely conscious, she felt they grabbed one of her ankles and dragged her. The grass burned her cheek, but she was so sore and numb, there was nothing she could do. Breathing was hard. Grass and soil mixed with blood in her mouth. Daylight faded away. Before everything went dark, she got to feel grateful because Alex had taken Claire away.