Dark Matter

Tilly knew there was no other avenue left for her; she would have to find that box of her mother’s old letters if she was to prove her stepfather’s guilt. Since his death, her childhood house of horrors had reverted to her family’s ownership, by way of a clause in her mother’s will – that bastard’s own offspring were not getting their hands on anything. To be honest, Tilly was conflicted by this. She agreed with her brother that it was rightfully theirs, but he had not been there over the years to witness Frank’s brutality. Her stepfather had created such a home of fear for she and her mother, all Tilly could ever think of was escaping, even if that meant leaving her mother behind.

She stood in front of the basement door, cold stagnant sweat and nausea sweeping through her. On the other side of this door, at the bottom of the stairs, was where she found her mother all those years ago when she had made that mercy dash home; limbs and neck at grotesque angles, varying skin shades of black, blue and purple betraying her usual coverup, and eyes opened to her last image of Frank pushing her down the stairs. Even the door handle felt foul in her hand as she turned the unlocked latch. Breath. Tilly fumbled for the top-of-stairs light switch despite having an innate knowledge of where it was located. The hopelessly lit bulb barely registered through the airborne dust. One step at a time. Her ankle weakened as she connected with the first step down. Tilly overreached for the handrail, only just securing herself from falling and mirroring her mother’s own ultimate end. She breathed heavily, taking several minutes to calm herself. She knew the harder part was yet to come.