Thursday, February 23, 2012


By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Let’s get this over with.” Even as I said the words, I couldn’t believe they had come out of my mouth. Stealing myself, I said a prayer and then opened the door to my daughter’s room. My husband followed me, my support and my rock. Kylie was where we had left her, tied to the bed, with tears running down her face, catching the light, like crystal prisms.
 “Honey, are you sure?”
 So much for my rock.  “Crocodile tears. You’ve seen what she can do.”
 “Mommy, please, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
 “No, you won’t.” My voice cracked. How  could I do this? She was only seven.
“What if we’re wrong?” Even after what she had done, Kyle was only too willing to accept her excuses. I wanted to believe her too, but when we found her floating above her bed, I’d called a priest. The poor man lay dead in the corner of the room, his blood pooling around him.
“Mommy, I didn’t mean to. He scared me.”
 “I know sweetie, but…this has to be done.”
Suddenly her face changed and the tears dried up.  “He’ll come for you, just as he came for me,” she hissed, revealing her new teeth. “What will you do then, bitch? What will he do?” Kylie nodded to her dad. She knew he wouldn’t have the strength.
 “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”  Then before I could change my mind, I slammed the stake through her heart.

Word Count: 249 

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