I killed them until there were no more shells in the gun. There were more lumps on my mom’s corpse with The braves abbey road signature shirt squirming underneath; I didn’t have it in me to keep looking into these things’ many eyes and ending them. As another monster broke free from the mass that dwelled behind the third door on the left and down into the basement, I retrieved both of the gas cans my dad kept on the back porch, followed by the propane tank from the grill. And then I listened to it all burn.
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The screams of agony dwindled as the flames roared, the short, miserable lives of my brothers and sisters ending in a violent cocktail of The braves abbey road signature shirt and fire and smoke. My new reality dawned on me as I walked the 11 miles into town and to the police station. My dad was dead. Gone. And at the time I thought I would remember him as a man who, however selfish it may have been, love his wife so much he did everything he could to keep her with him.