The Dark Ones by Bryan Smith

gash that wasn’t there.
    Silly , Suzie McGregor thought.
    That didn’t happen. That was just an idea in my silly head. A visualization of something that could happen, but I won’t let it. No, I won’t let you do that to me. You want that to happen, don’t you ?
    “Don’t you?”
    Her voice emerged soft but steady, belying how she really felt.
    It wasn’t enough that the force that controlled the universe was maliciously messing with her in the usual insidious and hateful ways. Oh, no. And it wasn’t enough that it had planted that awful image of her split-open noggin in her head. That was its way of saying, Look, Suzie, there you are dead. Doesn’t that look about right to you?
    Wouldn’t you be better off not alive anymore?
    She sneered at her reflection in the mirror, knowing the powers working against her could see it. “How subtle. Fuck you. FUCK YOU! Go to hell! You can take your stupid little subliminal suggestions and shove them up your fat fucking cosmic ass!”
    She thrust an upraised middle finger against the mirror. “FUCK YOU!”
    No.
    This . . . nonsense . . . was par for the course. This was Standard Operating Procedure. It was Situation Normal, All Fucked Up. She had been dealing with it nearly all her life. She was used to it. The thing that had her perhaps seconds away from a total meltdown was the lingering psychological sting from the confrontation with her son. It hurt to even look at herself, knowing the galling degree of weakness that lurked within her. She didn’t know how she could face Derek again. Hell, she didn’t know how she could even be in the same room with him.
    There’s something really wrong with you, Mom .
    “There’s nothing wrong with me, boy. You’re the problem.”
    She watched her lips move and it occurred to her what any casual observer would think upon viewing this scene . . .
    . . . something really wrong with you . . .
    “ Nothing is wrong with me.”
    She watched her face harden again and felt anger at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.
    “I’ll teach you, child. Learn you a permanent lesson.”
    He would have to come home at some point. All his stuff was here. And he was a minor. There was no way around it, unless he ran away, and he was too much of a weakling to fend for himself out in the world just yet. His little show of defiance tonight was an anomaly and did nothing to change that essential fact. He’d be back. And she’d be ready for him.
    I am going to kill my little boy. So help me, I am .
    The notion filled her not with sorrow or self-disgust, the things one might expect, but rather with a sense of glorious exultation, of freedom within reach.
    Yes , she thought. Death is the answer .
    She would start with her son.
    And then move on to her husband. Stupid, useless Kurt.
    And she’d top the dance of death off by killing herself.
    She began to smile. “Yes. Die, die, die, my darling, we’re all going to fucking die.”
    She laughed.
    There was a knock on the door.
    “Hon?” came the muffled voice of her husband. “Is something . . . wrong?”
    Suzie hated it when stupid Kurt intruded on one of her little dialogues with the adversary. He would express the usual concern and suggest she “see someone.” Oh, it made her so mad. When it happened, he always had that same wary look in his eyes, a look that reminded her very much of the expression she’d seen on her son’s face earlier. That look was meant to convey concern, of course, but that was just a lie. You’re crazy , was what that look really said. You’re simply out of your skull . . . and I’m better than you .
    She would not have anyone looking down on her, especially anyone in her own family.
    What right did he have to pry? And why was the useless pig of a man out of bed anyway? She gripped the edge of the sink and forced her voice to remain steady. “Nothing is wrong, Kurt. Go back to bed. You have to get up early, remember.”
    She heard him sigh.
    Asshole .
    “I know,