Page 217 of Light Leech

A boy ran into the room and up to his mother. “Devóne,” she said, “did you finish your–”

“Not yet, Moooom.” He dragged out his complaint, stopping when we locked eyes. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He was five. Memories of his birth raced through my mind. Naoma had chosen a natural birth. She wore white on that day.

Still no memories of light.

There never was physical light.

“Your dad’s just tired from work, right, Pet?”

I laughed, trying to dispel the tension. “Just trying to work as hard as your mom.”

Naoma scowled at me, though it was a playful gesture. “Handling these two isn’t the same as what you do.”

And that is? I couldn’t recall. I tried to ponder ‌it, but my son spoke to cut off my cognitive trail.

“Is dinner ready?”

“Almost,” Naoma replied.

“What is it?”

“Can’t you smell it?”

My boy shook his head.

“Teeth just like–” She stopped and I felt like time rewound to correct a mistake. “Soup just like you asked for.”

Something was wrong.

“Devóne,” I said.

My son turned to me. “Yeah, Dad?”

Devóne. That name resonated deep within my memory, yet its ties to my life were beyond my reach. Where had I gotten that name? Why had I given it to my son?

Devóne shrugged, seeing that I was not going to answer him, and walked towards the kitchen.

Devóne. Boyband. Teeth. These ideas pulled memories that felt forbidden as if the world was trying to convince me that they were false, despite my personal assurance.

A voice spoke to the deepest part of my conscience. “This is your reality.”

“No.”

My son turned to look at me, confusion coloring his face. I had but a moment to glimpse him before a metallic tentacle, pulsing with black aura, wrapped around his waist and cut him in two with a rapid constriction.

Naoma screamed. I didn’t know how to react. Nevertheless, I ran to her side.

“Petya!” she cried as multiple smaller tentacles wrapped around her face. I reached out, ready to pull them apart, but they sliced my love’s face into pieces. Brain, eyes, and bones fell onto Syla, who screamed without her mother to hold her. I reached for my child, holding her, but could not lift her. My wife’s remains were too enticing.

A tentacle wrapped around Syla, then another. I did not care to touch them, only to pick up Naoma’s bloody, perfect teeth, and put them into my mouth. I screamed, bawling as I chewed. The imp within me savored the crunch and pop of each tooth as my conscience screamed for an end to my suffering.

I picked up the rest of my wife’s teeth, chewing them and longing for more as the tentacles split my infant into gory fragments.

I have no humanity and I must scream.

Chapter two