Submitted by: http://dickwagonofdicks.tumblr.com/
TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED CHILD ABUSE AND ANIMAL CRUELTY
It took me a very long time to come to terms with what my parents did to me.
The first time Mom saw Dad doing that, I was only three. But you know how that story goes, right? The Mom sees her man doing that horrible thing to his daughter, drunk one night when she comes home early from a long shift and stays with him. It’s an old story that we don’t admit is as common as it really is.
My mother was different, though. She banned alcohol from our house for 16 years and found a sick, yet handy way of twisting her only child’s mind. She encouraged it, praised him for using rape and beating as a punishment even. Her motive seemed to be making him the villain so she can keep me around to protect and care for her.
We all knew the kind of shitty excuse for a person he was, the kind that bans internet for 20 years in his house so he won’t be caught looking up the really fucked up child pornography. He’s the same guy who got caught with his infant son by his last wife when he was 17 and managed to disgust her so much she left without a word, not even asking for child support.
I, however, turned out to be an excellent child with little need for scolding. Mom didn’t let that stop her. She liked to parade around, convincing Dad I had done something wrong, and demanding the usual punishment.
The broken bones never fazed me, but I’m finally getting over the latter. It isn’t easy cutting parents from your life, as I did at 19 but it’s more than worth it.
My outlet for all my less desirable thoughts and feelings is the pages of Nosleep and the really good blogs that specialize in the dark tales of horror and gore.
Lately I’ve been grappling with a new repressed memory, one that some of my favorite stories have brought to light.
It lived in the forest by that decrepit trailer my parents imprisoned me in. I always stayed nestled in those trees, at peace in the comfort of nature. I never saw it there, but it always saw me. I only saw it once, watching in my bedroom window before ducking and sliding away.
It didn’t look like a fox.
Its eyes were huge and black, framed by wrinkled pink flesh that clung to its lanky, elongated frame. The sight was horrifying, but it seemed genuinely surprised that I had noticed it so I don’t think it intended to frighten me.
It wasn’t long before I saw it again. Only this time it was standing in broad daylight and facing off against a very still beagle in our yard, frozen as if in shock. It was drastically different. It was hunched over, huge still, and covered in a gray fox’s pelt. It didn’t seem to fit quite right, but it didn’t care.
Dad yelled out at it, in his trademark stained briefs. I wasn’t sure at first, until the beagle snapped out of its trance and bolted out of view, leaving the fox to turn and face us and I saw those same glossy black eyes. Dad turned and threw me inside, making me slam into the wall.
That’s when the fox started walking towards him. I stared in disbelief as he slammed the door, the fox growing closer with slow, disjointed steps.
They let me outside again a bit later, despite the ‘rabid fox’.
I started talking to myself a bit later, desperate for some communication with the world. I stared up at the sky and told the trees about my cats, the only solace I had when confined to that trailer. I spoke about how much I loved them and wanted to carry them with me everywhere just so I could squeeze their cute little paws whenever I was scared.
A few days later, the severed feet of the stray cats started appearing at our front door. Mom hid them at first, which I am very thankful for, until one day I came outside and saw four little cat feet sitting on the stoop. I cried and wailed and they never appeared again.
Then our cat had kittens. Dad didn’t want them in the house, so we kept them outside.
I was so sure they would get eaten by the fox but they didn’t listen to me. Mom had convinced that I was killing all neighborhood felines but they didn’t want the kittens anyway. Imagine my surprise that these 7 little cats never even got lost.
The mother was inside at night, so they wandered all around, despite my efforts to corral them by nightfall. Every morning they were tucked safely in their little box and comfortably snoozing.
I always thought it odd, but never really questioned it.
Dad was particularly upset one evening, Mom apparently caught him attempting to cheat on her. I was out in the forest that night, pretending the yelling from inside the house wasn’t happening until Dad began calling to me. I was scared, but still warily ambled back into the house.
That night everything was a tense silence until I heard Dad’s scream.
I didn’t move until the morning, praying he had met his end, but in my twisted mind also hoped he was okay.
He was in the garage, perfectly unharmed, and staring at the door in disbelief. I followed his gaze and my jaw dropped. Something had ripped the door off its hinge, leaving enormous gouges in the frame.
Dad explained to Mom that he had been passing by the door that night and accidentally tripped the alarm, which wasn’t very loud outside of the garage, but blaring within. He was about to turn it off, but something huge had suddenly appeared, making him slam the door in panic.
They didn’t seem to acknowledge that the door leading to the outside was dangling from the frame and the deep scratches very clearly showed whatever was in that garage had clawed its way out, not in.
We moved eventually, and were upset to find that within a month of the landlord cleaning it out she had that trailer bulldozed.
Apparently there had been some issues. It had been declared unlivable, which I doubt the landlord cared about. More discomforting was learning that something had ripped the place apart as soon as we left.
I knew I had left my favorite toy, a little salamander, there by mistake just in the middle of my bedroom floor. It was missing too. My room was by far the most destroyed. A chill ran down my spine when she told me whoever broke in must have done so through my window, as it had been smashed inwards.
To this day I don’t know exactly what it was and I won’t be asking my parents for details.
All I know, from the bottom of my heart are two things.
I owe it a great deal for all the times it tried to make my hellish life just a little easier.
And I know it wasn’t just a fox.
Credits to: http://dickwagonofdicks.tumblr.com/
The fox was trying to protect the author from the abuse inflicted by her parents. The severed cat paws were a gift from the fox to the author, after it had heard her telling the trees that she loved cat paws. The fox was also trying to enter the house through the garage, which eventually led to the author and her family moving away. The destruction to the house at the end of the story was due to the fox’s rage of not being able to protect the author anymore.