She still won't listen. I've tried everything that I can think of. I almost killed her mother and she still refuses to give up on opening the attic door. I've almost had it with this little brat. Why can't she be a good little girl!? That's fine. Time to work on her dear old dad. Fathers are always better to manipulate in my opinion. That's just me though.
After coming home from the hospital with mom I notice a strange smell in the house. The smell of death. It reeks of it. Only problem is I have no idea where it's coming from.
My mother doesn't seem to smell anything as she tries to make her way up the stairs. "Mom. No. Let me help." I move to her side and slide her arm over my shoulders. She is not doing this by herself.
Just then we reach the top of the stairs and my dad comes out. "Hey dad." He smiles softly at me but for some reason I feel like something is off. Everything today has started running off its rocker. Just wish I could put my finger on it.
"Hey kiddo." Then it hits me; it's the tone in his voice. Not the way he says his words nor the tone exactly but his movements, his behavior. Something is off about him. I can't let him see that I suspect something so I quickly hide my behavior and incline my head toward my beloved mother. "Would you mind helping me out here? Mom really needs to lie down."
He nods a little to much to be my actual father and then slides his hands around my mother's waist. He helps her to stop leaning on me and guides her into their bedroom. I watch as he lays her down on the bed, then I see him make his way to the door; I watch as his eyes change to that almost pitch black color. That's when I realize it's not my dad at all.
