My father had always been a little off. Especially after my mother mysteriously turned up dead in her car a mile down the road. My father would blame the voices and say that they were coming for us, but he wouldn’t let anything happen. I always thought he was just crazy.
I didn’t realize how things would change as I climbed into my bed that night. My father had come into my room to say goodnight. It was our nightly routine.. He rushed over to the window, making sure it was locked. Locking all windows and doors was also his nightly routine, to keep the voices away.
“I don’t want them to get you too.”
I looked at him and tucked further into my duvet, ready to fall asleep. I was used to him saying this, after all he said it every night. He came over, kissed my head and exited my room, being sure to leave my door cracked.
“In case they come to get you” was his reasoning.
I was always the one to take care of him. I didn’t mind because he needed me. If people were to hear the things he said they wouldn’t hesitate to throw him in the loony bin. I was basically his protector, or that was what I thought.
That night, as I lay in bed, I had forgotten the things he said, as usual. I had forgotten them until I heard the voices whispering outside of my second story bedroom window.