I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 8]

This is Part 8 of this series, links to earlier parts can be found at the bottom of this entry.
The Tulip Journal
Entry dated August 17, 2O13 [For context, this would have been a few weeks after I left for Basic Training.] This entry is in my mother?s handwriting. Tulip would have been about 12 years old. Alan is my dad.
When I got home last night, I knew right away that something was wrong. As I climbed the stairs, I could see through the window that the door to the back deck was open. I came in through the front door as quietly as possible. Alan was on the floor on his back, he was covered in blood like he?d been painted with it. I barely stifled a scream that would have given me away. I crouched down behind the recliner and took a few seconds to make a plan.
Tulip?s door was standing open, but I couldn?t see in from where I was hiding. I COULD see that Alan was breathing despite the blood that was pooled around him. I crept along the wall until I was outside her room. If she was in there, my only chance would be to get the door shut before she could get to me.
And if she wasn?t in there . . .?
Well then I would have announced my presence with a loud bang, and also shut the door when I really needed it to be open. I didn?t really have a choice, though. I reached into her room and grabbed the door knob, trying to balance closing it quickly with closing it quietly. It still made too much noise in the quiet house.
Next step was the fireplace. If she wasn?t her bedroom, I wouldn?t have much time before she realized I was back. I frantically stoked the fire, feeding it as much as I could without squelching it. When I turned around, she was standing about five feet behind me, staring at the fire, her eyes glinted a reflection of the flames. The yellow pajamas she wore was covered in smears of blood, down to the cuffs of her sleeves which looked dark and saturated with it. I tried to back up slowly, but the slightest movement caused her to turn her head and focus on me. I don?t know how to describe the look in her eyes. It just felt like . . . malice. She seemed angry. Angry at ME.
The fire wouldn?t distract her much longer. And she was between me and her bedroom door. The tiny flame of my lighter didn?t even get a sideways look. I was out of choices. My least favorite situation. Choose between something really sucky, or really dead. Whee!
I did the only thing that had a chance of working. From the fireplace I grabbed a piece of wood that was fully aflame. Though I was careful to grab it by the non-flamy end, I felt the skin across my palm start to blister as soon as I picked it up. I could smell my own burning skin. Talk about an adrenaline trigger.
I got to my feet and started moving in a semi-circle around Tulip while I waved the fire at her. She seemed particularly interested in the fact that the fire was moving. One I got on the other side of her, I just kept walking backwards with her following about four feet away. My hand was shaking and part of me was trying to drop the piece of firewood, the other part of me was trying to hold onto it and not pass out.
The fire was losing its brightness. I fumbled with Tulip?s door, looking down for half a second, when I looked back up she was a foot away from me on the other side of the flames. The door swung open and I flung the flaming wood into the room. I know. White hot pain tore through my thoughts like a sheet. At this point, I could have burned down the house, but I was dealing with sucks vs. dead. Then she was gone, into her room. I slammed the door shut and locked everything down.
The kitchen and deck area was the site of a bloodbath. The sliding glass door was open, and on the ground it was clear something bloody had been dragged through it from outside. I ran past it into the kitchen to help Alan. He was still breathing but I couldn?t figure out where all the blood was coming from.
I ran to the bedroom to call 911. When I turned on the lamp I screamed out loud. On our bed was a grotesque display that had been made with various body parts from a dead deer. In the center of the bed was the head, with all of the skin stripped leaving just the muscles and tendons like a macabre anatomy specimen.
Around the head, the four legs of the deer were placed like spokes in a wheel. Around the whole thing was circle around the outside made from the deer?s intestines.
I looked down at the phone in my hand.
?Don?t.? Alan said quietly, standing in the doorway. He was holding his ribs with one hand, but otherwise he seemed ok. I put the phone back in the cradle. Then we just looked at one another, what was there to say? Alan leaned against the door frame and I started thinking again. We got Alan in the shower and thankfully, he wasn?t the source of the blood. Broken ribs, slight concussion, lots of bruising, but no blood loss.
My hand was a mess. I?m lucky it?s not my writing hand, but it?s going to slow me down for a few weeks.
After he got cleaned up, Alan explained that he was making pancakes earlier and turned his back for a second. He blames himself for being careless. But really, it could have happened to anyone. She knocked him unconscious from behind. She didn?t kill him, but instead, it looks like she went out and killed a deer somehow. It sounds crazy. She must have dragged it in here and butchered it in the kitchen right next to where he was laying. Why didn?t she kill Alan? She certainly had the chance to.
Not looking forward to cleanup. Note: We need to get tile floors.
More later,
-Brian
​
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 1]
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 2]
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 3]
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 4]
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 5]
I promised my mom I would kill my sister [Part 6]


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