The evening sky dimmed into a soft purple haze outside the kitchen window as Rody stirred a pot of soup on the stove, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. He had gotten used to these quiet moments—the calm before everything shifted. He glanced at the table where Vincent and Emilie sat, an awkward silence thick between them. Emilie, ever the beacon of positivity, was drawing on a sketchpad, smiling softly as she shaded in the petals of a sunflower.
Vincent, on the other hand, sat rigidly in his chair, hands clenched into tight fists on the table, his eyes never leaving her. He wasn’t eating, wasn’t speaking, just staring. Rody could feel the tension radiating from him like heat from a fire.
“How was school today, Emilie?” Rody asked, trying to break the uncomfortable quiet.
Emilie looked up, her smile bright as always. “It was good! I made a new friend, she loves to draw too. We spent the whole lunch period talking about comics.”
“That’s great,” Rody said, trying to catch Vincent’s eye to share in the moment. But Vincent didn’t look at him. His eyes were still locked on their daughter, the muscles in his jaw twitching.
“Vincent?” Rody prompted gently. “You want to say anything?”
For a moment, it seemed like Vincent hadn’t heard him. Then, slowly, his eyes flicked to Rody, and there was something there—something haunted, feral. His lips pressed into a thin line before he muttered, barely loud enough to hear, “Keep her away from me.”
Rody stiffened. “Vincent, what the hell is this about? She’s not doing anything—”
“Keep her away from me,” Vincent repeated, louder this time, pushing his chair back with a screech as he stood. His hands were shaking, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Emilie looked between them, her smile faltering for the first time.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with confusion.
“No,” Rody said quickly, moving to her side, his heart aching as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything, honey. Dad’s just… he’s not feeling well. Right, Vincent?” He shot his partner a warning look.
Vincent’s eyes darkened. “You don’t see it, Rody,” he said, his voice low and trembling with barely controlled rage. “You don’t see what she is.”
Rody’s stomach tightened. He had heard these words before, in the dead of night, whispered in the dark as Vincent lay awake, paranoid and sleepless. At first, Rody had brushed it off as stress—a byproduct of adopting a teenager, adjusting to a new routine, juggling work and parenthood. But lately, Vincent’s behavior had become more erratic, more disturbing. And it always centered around Emilie.
“I’m going for a walk,” Vincent snapped, storming out of the kitchen before Rody could say another word. The front door slammed shut with a sharp crack, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Rody let out a slow, shaky breath and sat down beside Emilie. She was staring at the door, her sketchpad forgotten, her fingers gripping the pencil tightly.
“Is Dad mad at me?” she asked softly.
Rody’s heart sank. “No, sweetie. He’s not mad at you. He’s… going through something right now. It’s not your fault, okay?”
She nodded but didn’t seem convinced. Rody could see the hurt in her eyes, the way she clutched her sketchpad like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“I’ll talk to him,” Rody promised, ruffling her hair gently. “We’ll figure this out.”
But the truth was, Rody didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know what had happened to the Vincent he loved, the man who had been so excited about adopting Emilie, who had held her close the first night she came into their home, promising to always protect her. That man was gone, replaced by someone Rody barely recognized.
—
Days passed, and Vincent’s paranoia only worsened. He avoided Emilie at every turn, flinching whenever she entered the room, his eyes wide with a fear that Rody couldn’t understand.
“I don’t want her near me,” Vincent whispered late one night, his voice trembling as he sat at the edge of their bed, staring blankly at the floor. “She’s not what you think she is, Rody. She’s not human.”
Rody sat up, exasperation and worry gnawing at him. “Vincent, stop. Please. She’s a *kid.* Our daughter. What are you even saying?”
Vincent shook his head violently, running his hands through his already disheveled hair. “I don’t expect you to understand. She’s tricked you—she’s tricking both of us. But I see it, Rody. I see it in her eyes, the way she looks at me. She’s waiting for something.”
“Jesus, Vincent,” Rody muttered, rubbing his face. “You need help. This isn’t normal.”
“I’m protecting you,” Vincent snapped, standing abruptly. “I’m protecting both of us.”
“From a fifteen-year-old girl?” Rody shot back, standing to face him. “From the girl we raised together, who’s never done anything but *love* us?”
Vincent’s expression twisted into something bitter and broken. “You don’t see it,” he whispered. “But you will. Soon.”
—
It all came crashing down one rainy afternoon.
Rody had just finished a shift at work and arrived home, eager to relax. But as soon as he opened the door, he could hear shouting—Vincent’s voice, loud and frantic, echoing down the hall. His heart immediately dropped into his stomach as he rushed inside, barely managing to kick off his shoes before sprinting towards the living room.
What he saw made his blood freeze.
Vincent had Emilie pinned against the wall, his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing tightly as she struggled, her face contorted in pain and terror. Her wide eyes met Rody’s, silently pleading for help, her hands clawing weakly at Vincent’s arms.
“Vincent!” Rody roared, lunging forward and grabbing Vincent by the shoulders. “Let her go!”
Vincent’s grip didn’t loosen. His face was twisted into a mask of madness, his eyes wild and unhinged as he stared at Emilie with pure hatred. “She’s a demon!” he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. “She’s going to kill us—she’s going to—”
Rody yanked him away from Emilie with all his strength, throwing him to the floor. Emilie collapsed, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sobbed, her hands trembling as she clutched her throat.
Rody turned to Vincent, fury burning in his chest. “What the *fuck* is wrong with you!?” he shouted, his voice shaking with rage.
Vincent scrambled to his feet, his eyes still locked on Emilie, his body shaking with barely controlled fear. “She’s not human,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “She’s been tricking us this whole time. You have to believe me, Rody. She’s going to—”
“She’s our *daughter,*” Rody snapped, stepping between Vincent and Emilie, shielding her with his body. “You need to stop this—right now.”
Vincent’s face contorted in fury, his eyes flashing with something dark and unhinged. “I’m doing this for you, Rody! She’s going to destroy everything—”
Before Rody could react, Vincent lunged at Emilie again, his hands outstretched. Without thinking, Rody shoved him back, harder this time. Vincent staggered, his foot catching on the edge of the coffee table. He fell backwards, hitting his head on the corner with a sickening crack.
Blood immediately began to pool around his head, soaking into the carpet. But even as Vincent bled, his eyes remained locked on Emilie, his expression twisted with manic obsession. His body twitched, and he tried to push himself up again, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
Rody stood frozen, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he watched Vincent struggle. He didn’t want to do this—he didn’t want to hurt him, but… Vincent wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill their daughter.
Before he could fully process what he was doing, Rody was on top of him, his hands around Vincent’s throat, squeezing. Vincent’s eyes widened in shock, his bloodied fingers clawing weakly at Rody’s arms, trying to break free, but Rody held firm. His grip tightened, his heart pounding in his ears, his mind filled with nothing but fear and anger and desperation.
Vincent’s gasps turned into gurgles, his body convulsing beneath Rody’s weight. But Rody couldn’t let go. He couldn’t stop. Not after what Vincent had done. Not after what he had become.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Vincent’s body went limp. His eyes rolled back into his head, his chest no longer rising and falling.
Rody let go, stumbling back, his hands trembling as he gasped for breath, his mind spinning. He looked down at Vincent’s still body, at the blood pooling beneath his head, and felt a wave of nausea crash over him.
He had killed him. He had killed the man he loved.
A small laugh echoed through the room, low and distorted. Rody froze, his breath catching in his throat as he slowly turned around.
Emilie stood in the corner of the room, her wide eyes staring directly at him, her face illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. But something was wrong. Her expression… it wasn’t one of fear or shock, but of amusement. The small, innocent smile she always wore had twisted into something darker, more sinister.
The laugh came again, bubbling up from her throat, deeper than it should have been, far too deep for a girl of her age. It sent chills down Rody’s spine.
“Emilie?” he whispered, his voice trembling, a sickening realization starting to claw at the back of his mind.
She stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the floor. “You did it,” she said softly, her voice layered with an unsettling undertone. “You finally did it.”
Rody stumbled back, his mind reeling. “What… what are you talking about?” His heart pounded in his chest as the air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides.
Emilie tilted her head, her smile widening as she looked down at Vincent’s lifeless body. “He was right, you know. He could see what you couldn’t.” She paused, her eyes flickering with something malevolent. “I guess he was just a little too late.”
Rody’s stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat. “No… no, this isn’t… this can’t be happening.” He looked between Emilie and Vincent, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing, of the horror unfolding before him.
“You should’ve listened to him,” Emilie continued, her voice dripping with condescension. “But you were too busy playing the good dad, weren’t you? Too busy trying to save someone who didn’t need saving.”
Rody’s chest tightened as the room seemed to close in around him, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. He backed away from Emilie, his eyes darting to the door, but his legs felt weak, unsteady. His mind raced with the horrific realization that Vincent had been telling the truth all along.
“Why?” Rody croaked, barely able to get the word out. “Why are you doing this? What are you?”
Emilie’s smile never faltered. “What am I?” she echoed, her voice mocking. “I’m exactly what Dad said I was. But you never wanted to believe it, did you?”
She took another step closer, her eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. “You let him die because you refused to see me for what I am. I never had to lift a finger—he destroyed himself trying to protect you from me. And you… you finished the job.”
Rody shook his head, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. “No… this isn’t real. You’re lying. *You’re lying!*”
Emilie’s laughter filled the room, echoing off the walls in a way that made Rody’s skin crawl. “It’s real, Daddy. It’s very real.” She knelt beside Vincent’s body, tracing her fingers lightly over the pool of blood, her smile widening as she looked back up at Rody. “And now, it’s just the two of us.”
Rody stumbled back, his mind a swirling storm of terror and disbelief. How could he have been so blind? How could he have ignored all the signs, all the warnings? He had been so desperate to protect Emilie, to keep their family together, that he had failed to see the monster lurking right in front of him.
“I loved you,” Rody whispered, his voice breaking as he collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.
Emilie’s smile softened into something almost sympathetic, but the darkness in her eyes remained. “I know you did,” she said softly, her voice almost sweet again, as if she were a child trying to comfort him. “But love was never going to save you.”
As Rody sat there, broken and defeated, Emilie stood up and began to walk towards the door. She stopped just before leaving the room, turning back to him one last time. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said, her voice light and cheerful again, as if nothing had happened. “I’ll take good care of everything from now on.”
With that, she left, the front door closing quietly behind her.
Rody stayed on the floor, his hands trembling as he stared at Vincent’s lifeless body, his mind unable to fully comprehend the nightmare that had just unfolded. The silence in the house was deafening, the weight of his actions crashing down on him all at once.
And somewhere, in the depths of that silence, he could still hear that laugh—the laugh of a demon wearing the face of a child he had loved so dearly.
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