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I'd like you all to know that the title to this story might be a tad misleading. My father and I never knew each other, very well. He was a child molester and perhaps a murderer (the trial never concluded before he died). My mother took my brother and I to live with her for our safety, and we moved to Arizona from Maine, I loved the warmth, even more so after what happened to me.

I've never been able to tell this story to anyone before, but my cigarette and my Jack seem to be giving me the boosted confidence needed to tell a story with the emotional value attached to mine. I'd also like Reddit to know, that I'm not a drinker nor do I do drugs, aside from a few bong hits in high school.

Well, here goes nothing. I was a normal guy, I was a waiter at a restaurant in Arizona at the time, it will be important to know that I was financially unstable at the time. I had no friends, and no girlfriend. My father was on trial for child molestation, which I mentioned a little earlier. When I was very young, maybe about four or five, my mother found out his secret. My father was a teacher to give you some context, but he never touched my brother or me. My mother found out, and she left in the middle of the night, too afraid to tell authorities with my brother and I in her arms. We got a bus to the airport and flew to Arizona, where we stayed with her mother and father for a while. My father wasn't caught for a few years later, by the mother of a child that he had raped. I should probably mention now, that he had a cabin, in the deep woods of Maine. This is where he would commit all of his acts, supposedly he murdered a child there as well, but I suppose as far as the rest of the world is concerned, it'll just be another unanswered mystery. It wasn't for me.

Fast forward ten years, I'm twenty-one waiting tables at Olive Garden, broke severely depressed, I might've even been on the verge of suicide, I seldom think about it. I get a phone call on my shift, my manager waves me to come take it. It's my father's attorney, said that he had left me something, well, he left my brother something, but since he had passed, I was next in line. Ah, I should mention that, my brother died in a robbery, he tried to stop the guy and ended up getting shot in the heart, bled out on the store's floor. Nothing like having a brother die in a stupid way Reddit, that's something that doesn't leave you. Anyway, the attorney had called to tell me that my father left me his cabin, I was never sure why he left to us, maybe his final act of regret.

He told me I was to fly up to Maine, and clear out the belongings my father had left, then I could decide what to do with it. Reddit, if I could go back, and stop myself from going I would, it was the biggest mistake of my life to go up to that cabin. However at the time, being broke, with my apartment about to evict me, I thought maybe he left something there worth money he wanted my brother and me to have. I booked my ticket to Maine and got on my flight. The whole time, I had this feeling that I should turn around and just run off the plane, but I didn't and it took off.

It was mid-winter at the time my father died, and if you know Maine, the northern part can get hit really hard with snow. Planes were delayed as mine rolled in, the airport director or whatever you call those assholes that decided to delay flights, had been saying that all other flights have been grounded for the time being as a big storm was about to roll in, I know I heard her to, but I didn't listen, or maybe I couldn't listen. I walked outside, and hailed a taxi, told them to take me to the closest auto-rental place. I rented a Toyota fuckin Prius, these things in the snow, are not well-off to say the least. I figured that if I got up there, I could stay there a few nights, in case it got bad. I decided to go get my things, a toothbrush, a few lighters and, a flashlight.

The cabin, was small, there was nothing around it but a bunch of trees, basked in their winter get-up. There was a small driveway to the left side of the house, that you could pull your truck up to, in my case, a Toyota Prius. The door was made of a think wood, like the rest of the cabin, it was brown and almost a stereotypical cabin in the woods. There was a circular window in the bathroom up stairs, it was foggy and really creepy. If I my attention hadn't been so diverted to getting the things out of my car, I probably could have gotten a better look at the face peering inside down at me. At the time, I thought it was my imagination, I hadn't slept much so I figure that must've been it. I was so wrong. I got my box of shit, looked one last time up at the window, nothing, and I walked inside.

The interior was as bleak if not bleaker than the exterior. There was a TV from 1977 in the right hand corner of the living room, and a stained purple couch to accompany it. There was a small kitchen adjacent to the living room, it had nothing besides for some rotten salami from God knows when, and a few drawers with knives. On the left hand side facing the door, was a set of stairs, leading up to a pitch-black second floor. The stairs were old and worn, and creaked with every step, so loud you thought you might lose your hearing if you stepped down too hard. I turned on my flashlight and walked up the stairs, each step felt like an hour, the thought of children being stuck here in this horrid, bleak hell made me cringe, and my stomach turn. Finally I reached the top of the stairs, there were three rooms. My father's bedroom, a bathroom, and a spare bedroom. I thought for the fuck of it, I would check the bathroom last. As I went to open the spare bedroom's door, I heard laughter coming from outside, at the time, I had no clue that this cabin was the only man-made thing in about 15 miles. So I figured another family must've been living nearby and that was their child playing outside. I opened the door slowly, each creak of the rotted wood made me more and more anxious. Finally in open view was the spare bedroom. It was small, and the bed hadn't been changed in close to ten years I assume, the sheets had Buzz Light-year on them. I was sickened if not angry more than anything, as my thoughts coming up the stairs were no longer thoughts, and an actual truth in front of my face. God, at the time I thought that was the worst of it. I leapt out of the room and threw my hand on the door adjacent, my father's room. I could still smell that awful cologne he used to wear, it haunted me. Inside was the same deal, sheets that hadn't been changed in about ten years, and a dresser with a small mirror attached. I went through the drawers and found a handgun, and a few pieces of paper, I think it was student homework, probably how he got them to follow him up there. I left everything as is, and walked out of the room. I was standing in front of the bathroom door for about ten minutes maybe a little longer, I was just so creeped out, by what I thought I saw earlier. My common sense, and skepticism kicked in a few seconds later and I swung open the door. There was nothing, but a rusty old bathtub and a rusty old towel rack. The toilet was yellow from age, and it smelled terrible, for whatever reason. I should probably mention at this time, the water and electricity had been turned off for quite a while. It was getting late, I thought I would go plug in my hot-plate, light a fire, and cook some Campbell’s Chicken and Noodle. I brought one of those battery things, that you could plug wires into, like my phone charger and my hot-plate. It was late after I finished and decided to go lay down in front of the fire-place with my blanket and an episode of the Office that I had on my phone.

This is when everything gets bad for me Reddit, this is where I think I lost a part of me. I was sleeping next to my blanket, when at about two in the morning I heard something unmistakable. It was a gunshot. It had come from upstairs, I backed my ass up next to the dwindling flame, and clutched my flashlight. A thousand thoughts ran through my head, the one that was most prevalent and made the most sense, was that the kid who I heard laughing earlier found his way in and got the gun my father had. I ran upstairs so fast, I couldn't bear to think of his parents losing their son like that. I threw open the door to the spare bedroom, I stood still, frozen, what I saw, it wasn't a child. My brother was laying on the floor, in a pile of his own blood. He was holding his chest, I'll never forget, he said “come over here Richard, come sit down.” I couldn't control my movements, tears were streaming down my face like waterfalls. I knelt next to him and grabbed his hand it was cold, so cold. I looked him in the eyes, and he looked back at me and said “why didn't you help me, why did you let him kill me?” I was crying, balling my eyes out like one of the children my father tormented. In this dark, room only illuminated by my flashlight laid my brother who had been long dead. I stayed knelt down at his side saying “I'm sorry” I must've said it one hundred times before I felt his hand go limp, and I brought it to my face and closed my eyes, when I opened them, he was gone.

I'm sorry Reddit, I had to take a break, the tears were making it very difficult for me to write this. I stood up, still not sure of what I had just witnessed. I walked down the stairs, knowing one thing, which was that I wanted to leave. I got my keys and bolted for my car, the snow was up to my thighs at this point, which was roughly way too much fucking snow for my Prius to get out. I couldn't bare staying there a minute longer, I wanted to leave. I managed to get the car door open, and got inside, I turned on the headlights and saw that the road I came in on, was far too impassable. I was stuck, at my dad's cabin, where I just saw my brother die in front of my eyes. I walked back inside, I didn't know what to think at this point, I knew I had to call the cops or someone to come help me. That's what I did, I called 911 and they linked me to the closest police station in my area. I said that I had witnessed a murder, and I needed help, I said anything to get them to come out faster. They said they couldn't until the storm had passed, and gave me a bunch of bullshit tips to stay safe in case he was still around. I crawled up in a ball next to the fire that I had re-lit. It was about 3 in the morning now, and I was starting to fall asleep.

About fifteen or so minutes after I started to drift off, I heard moans. Not the kind of moans where someone was in pain, but sexual moans, they were female. I knew at this point, something was going on, I couldn't figure out what. I decided to try and ignore it, but it just kept getting louder and louder, till the point where I stood up. I screamed from the bottom of the stairs, “whatever is up there, I'm not coming up, you can come down here and get me!” I walked back behind the purple couch, and the moaning stopped. Just has I finished breathing my sigh of relief, it started again. This time however, I recognized the moan, it was my ex. I guess I should tell you now Reddit, I mentioned earlier I didn't have a girlfriend at the time, that was because a few months earlier, I caught her cheating on me with some guy. She and I had dated for about five years, and I was head-over-heels in love with her, in fact, in a few weeks, barring if I hadn't found her cheating, I was going to ask her to marry me. Almost forcibly compelled, I walked up the stairs again, stood in front of the spare bedroom door, reached out my sweaty palms in the pitch-blackness and grabbed the door handle. I opened it very slowly, and was terrified by what I was witnessing. My ex, was straddling the guy, and riding him, she was moaning. I stood frozen, angry, so damn angry. She looked right at me, and said “you loved me, but I still did this to you, why would I do that?” I asked almost defeated, “what do you want from me?” She looked at me, and said “for you to end up like your father.” My flashlight stopped working for a moment, when I had banged it against my hand in a futile effort to fix it a few times it came back on and shone on an empty bed.

At this point, I knew the cabin was evil, it wanted me to see all of my failures, it wanted me to see my life was going nowhere, and I ended up in the place where I could end it. I thought to myself, it would be so easy, just to take the handgun, and when the police came, they would find me and give me a good burial for my mother. I wanted to do it, I wanted to blow my brains out right there in that cabin, and I wanted it to win. I went upstairs to get the gun, and realized I had never shut the spare bedroom's door. From the opening I could see, a casket, I went inside and looked at the name. It was mine, there were also a row of chairs, to which no one was sitting. I had enough at that point, I smashed the coffin over on to the floor, and I kicked the door off of the hinges. I walked over to the bathroom door and kicked it down, I smashed the toilet in with my foot. It was about five in the morning when my rampage had ended, and the sun was starting to rise. The storm had ended on the police were on their way.

I walked outside and sat in my car, when I dozed off. I woke up to the sound of a plow and sirens behind it. They asked me a bunch of questions, I couldn't answer them. I told them not to send anyone in there, to which they responded “our officers are able to handle any persons still in the residence.” I chuckled. They drove me away in the back, and said that I would be okay in time. It wasn't till an hour later when they realized there had been no murder, that something might've been wrong with me. They put me in counseling which didn't help any. I think in a lot of ways, I'm still recovering from that night, despite it being a long time ago.

Fiction


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