The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller by Richard Long

was his birthday. Momma never told him. The table was set for three, with name cards in front of each chair spelled out in big block letters in what looked like Momma’s red lipstick: MOMMA. DADDY. MARTIN. Three cards. Not four. He looked at the cards and the cake and back at Daddy. He wanted to ask why Norine wasn’t coming, but Daddy was pointing at the door on the other end of the room. His sad eyes told him something awful was coming.
    Martin’s eyes followed past the cake and the balloons. Past the cards and the napkins. Past the toys and the shining wrapped presents. The door opened slowly and Momma walked inside. She had a look in her eyes he’d never seen, even in the cellar. She was all made up, blue eye shadow and bright red lipstick, her hair brushed down, soft and blond, wisping against her naked shoulders.
    Her smile was scary. So was the look in her eyes. But that wasn’t what made him want to run. It wasn’t just her shoulders that were naked. Momma wasn’t wearing anything at all.
    She came toward him slowly, leering and swaying her wide hips.
    “Look at her, Martin!” Paul leered with his arms stretched open, as if his naked mother were the icing on the cake. “Just look at your dear sweet Momma!”
    Momma smiled crookedly and cupped her breasts in both hands. Martin turned to run out the wide French doors on the other side of the room, but let out a scream when he saw they’d been locked. “Where you goin’, honey?” Momma asked, still walking toward him. “Don’t you want to play with me?”
    Martin sat and cried, trying to turn his head away, not being able to. Her hair was dark down there, almost black. Even in his blind panic he couldn’t help but wonder why it didn’t match the brassy blond hair on her head.
    She came closer. Her breasts wobbled as she walked.
    Martin looked at the doors and at Paul with an expression that could only be a called a prayer. Please. Please help me, Daddy.
    Daddy was wearing the dead mask.
    The mask didn’t change when she squatted down, resting her hand on Martin’s leg, moving it slowly up his thigh. It wasn’t until she put Martin’s hand on her breast that Daddy’s face came alive.
    “Would you look at that , Martin!” Paul shouted, his eyes wild and savage, his smile sliding up and down like a see-saw. “Would you look at that evil skank of a whore cunt!”
    Momma shot up like her legs were spring-loaded. “You bastard!” she shrieked, so humiliated by his unforeseen betrayal that she didn’t know whether to scramble for her clothes or attack. She attacked, rushing at Paul with her nails poised like talons, ready to rip the sneer from his face. Paul pushed her backwards on the floor with the one-handed ease of a farmer tipping over a sack of grain.
    “ Me a bastard?” he asked in a gurgling laugh that sounded like a toilet flushing. “That’s pretty cheeky comin’ from a kiddie-raping cunt like you!” He walked over, plucking up Martin’s easy weight and cradling him in a single arm, their heads side by side. Together, they stared into the blast furnace of Momma’s hate. “Look at her, Martin…just look at her!”
    Martin couldn’t. He buried his face in Paul’s thick neck as Momma tried to cover herself with an ugly throw rug by the door.
    “I’ll cut your balls off, you fucking ape!” she growled, regaining her footing.
    “Well, isn’t that exactly what I’m talking about, eh?” Paul mocked, turning Martin’s chin out, forcing him to watch her. “Do you know what she wanted to do?” Paul asked sadly. Martin’s stomach tightened with dread.
    “ Stop it!” Momma shrieked, rushing in for another attack.
    Paul pushed her against the wall with a head-thumping thwack. Her eyes rolled in a lazy orbit that made Martin wonder if he’d killed her. Paul began talking again as if nothing had happened. “Not only did she want to foul your proud virgin member, but she wanted me , your own dear daddy, to take me big willy here