Page 75 of Long Pig

When he returned, his expression had changed. The sight of her twisted his features into something dark. His lips pressed thin, flexing his jaw. Somehow, she had known he wouldn’t like her attempt at cleaning.

But she knew he would focus on that and not wonder what she’d done while he was gone.

Her biggest fear was that he’d send her back downstairs into the dark. This was her only chance.

When she finally asked if she could make tea and start dinner, something in his eyes shifted. The spark of control that made him appear human was gone.

Seconds slipped away before he answered. She moved slowly and began the water for tea before gathering what she needed for dinner.

When he stood, her body reacted before her mind caught up. Her heart stuttered. She backed into the corner and felt for the rifle. Her fingers tightened around the stock.

He saw it.

And he smiled.

Slowly, the most horrifying grin spread across his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. They burned with insanity.

“Now your true colors show,” he said softly.

She didn’t breathe. Didn’t think.

She pulled the trigger.

The look of shock on his face was short-lived. He took one step towards her before he fell. She fired again, but missed.

He lay still, and she didn’t trust it. Lifting the rifle, she approached him. Red seeped into the back of his shirt. She lifted the rifle and brought it down.

Memories flooded her.

Her father lay on the dirty carpet, crying.

“Call the police,” he said.

She went to the phone, watching her mother, who wasn’t moving. Her mother’s eyes stared at nothing, and blood smeared her face.

“Willow!” the shout came from her father.

He gained his knees, then stood. He looked around and stumbled a few feet.

“Willow,” he said softly this time.

She inched toward the front door.

He smiled.

All she had was the bat, and she lifted it.

“You little bitch,” he said.

She swung.

And swung.

And swung.

Chapter Fifty

Joan’s Granddaughter