Last week, a brown package arrived on our ivied porch. Sitting on the crooked stairway that overlooks the front door, I watched the shadows of the feet moving about from under the door. They eventually grew tinier and caved into the light, leaving a package unguarded. My eyes lit up. They had actually left something!
I couldn’t resist. I slowly unlatched the lock and let the door slide ajar. It stared at me motionlessly. I am breaking the rule. I crouched down to lift it and brought it inside. The package was smooth, but the bottom had dampened – probably because the rain that usually seeped into the floor got to it first. I placed it on the kitchen counter. Dad hadn’t returned from buying the groceries yet. He normally knew how to handle a situation like this, when things from the outside entered our property. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have brought it inside. I shouldn’t have opened the door. I am only going to upset him…
I removed the box from the counter and made my way back to the door. I kept chewing my lips like they were a mere piece of candy. If I returned the box to where I found it, maybe he wouldn’t notice. Then I saw it. Lodged in the top corner with dark ink.
ELVIRA THORN.
The almost diluted ink stain with a faint cursive font. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of it. I didn’t go back to the door. Instead I went back to my room.
ELVIRA THORN ELVIRA THORN ELVIRA THORN…I kept seeing it.
My mom named me before she died. The name Elvira, it was from her favorite novel. She wanted great things for me. At least that was what I assumed after she named me after the heroine.
It was addressed to me. Who could have possibly sent it to me? Dad always said I was nobody. I have never met anyone else other then my dad in my entire life. I couldn’t wait anymore. I rip the paper until it was naked.
        It was silver, like a sheet of mist.  Its cold smooth surface exuded a futuristic confidence. I did not understand it. A slit in the middle, they are halves stuck to each other. I lifted the lip and exposed buttons came into view. They were like the ones on Dad’s old typewriter. They had letters, numbers and other symbols etched onto them. My eyes race across the board of keys until I found a familiar one. It was the same as the button that turns the oven on.  I run my fingers over it. Nothing happened. I pressed harder. A bright light came on. Then I heard him coming up the stairs. He’s back! The footsteps grew louder. My hands developed a mind of their own. The door busted open. He stood in the vestibule; scan the room for anything out of the ordinary.
?           “What are you doing?” he started. I opened my mouth to answer, but I saw that he had already moved on.
“Food. Downstairs”, he announced.
I exhaled. He didn’t see the ruffled pieces of brown paper and the thing hiding under the bed. That was too close. If I hadn’t shoved everything at the possible moment…I shivered.
I went down to the kitchen as obligated, after I hid my tracks. Dinner was quiet as usual. Steak with garlic: Dad’s special.
One glass of wine.
“So what did you do today?”, he started.
“I finished reading Alice again today…also washed all the dishes”, I said.
“Nothing else happened?”
“Yeah…it was a quiet day.”
He finished the drink without breaking eye contact.
Two glasses of wine.
“Um…Dad can you get me a new book?”
“What happened to the last book I got you?”
“I finished it.”
He groaned.
Six glasses of wine.
“Like mother like daughter…always wanting more…ungrateful…” he muttered, “ she was mine. And she took herself away…”
He stood up, walked around the table. His fingers lingered playfully on the table as he made his way towards me. His face curved into a smile. Unfortunately, a smile too familiar. Then he stopped. Dropped himself down on to his knees. He started licking his lips maliciously. He crept forward. One step.
It seemed  like blood was pumping through my arteries vigorously whilst at the same time, pumping none at all. I tried chewing the ugly cut of steak. I kept chewing.
Two steps… He was almost at an arm’s reach. What was that feeling of discomfort and comfort coexisting or rather the discomfort slowly seeping into your comfort zone? I kept my eyes on the food, but that didn’t stop me from seeing his bulging arms reach for me.
I swallowed. It was coming.
“No…please…”, I murmured.
He stood up, or at least tried to. One of his knees caved on his way up and he collapsed onto my lap.
“Sweeeetie…. Come to Daddy…”
A wave of humidity hit my face as he cupped his sweaty hands on my face. I tried to move away. Then I remembered. That was not a good idea. The protocol is to just hold my breath and say inert as possible.
His hands started creeping below. His breaths were heavy, like the moans of a willow tree.
I closed my eyes. It was beginning. But, I knew it was also going to end soon. I hoped.
I saw a bright green field, full flowers of different colors and forms. Warmth. It was a world beyond this old house. It was home. I started skipping and vigorously jumping about my amiable heaven. The sky was incredible, a beautiful combination of blue and purple. I felt tears dripping down my face as I stared hard at the sky above.
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe anymore. I looked around, desperately searching for an explanation. The field of flowers and the sky had faded. It was back where I usually found myself after. Except something wasn’t the same. The hands were now hugging my neck…tighter and tighter.
He was over me now. My arms were trapped under his knees, unable to come to my own rescue. I grasp for air, or at least I tried.
My eyes were focused on only one thing now. Him. Why is he doing this?
I guess he heard my question…because–
“That was a test. You ungrateful liar…”, he said as he squeezed harder and harder, “trying to hide it from ME… you deserve the same fate as your whore mother.”