We are Wormwood by Autumn Christian Read Free Book Online Page B

than going to school to have
children throw rocks at me, or having my teachers tell me that Schizophrenia
was like the modern Greek cannibal’s curse. In five years time, they said, I’d
be eating my mother like Tantalus ate his son. I’d butcher her, cook her in a
stew, and then try to feed her to Zeus.
    That myth, of course, I’d learned about from Charlie and his
books.
    I dreamed of him sometimes, shivering wet on the edge of my
bed. His chubby pale skin turned blue. Not dead, but trapped in Hades with a
silent, lipless mouth. A sleepwalker on the ground and a
sleepwalker underneath the water.
    I dreamed of the pomegranate he fed to me, and sometimes
when I awoke in the middle of the night, I thought he came back from the river
and slipped it underneath my sheets.  
    “Ke-ke-ke-ke-ke.”
    “Phaedra, something’s after me.”
    She turned the glossy page of Beautiful Killers.
    “There’s this girl,” I said, and then paused,   “well, I’ve never told anyone this. I
don’t really know where to begin.”
    I scratched at my knees, but I didn’t feel it.
    “I’ve known her for a long time.”
    For once Phaedra set her book down. I continued.
    “She tormented Charlie. She made him chase her. It was like
a game to her. But I think she was only trying to get to me through him.”
    “Yeah, well. Good riddance.”
    “Forget it,” I said.
    I went home and Momma found me in the kitchen with my head
in my hands, tears ebbing at my eyelids. She said, “Baby girl, warriors don’t
cry,” and held her arms out toward me.
    “Someone left this for you,” she said.
    In her arms she held a stuffed teddy bear. A pink ribbon around its neck. Ears singed.

 
Chapter Nine
    THAT
NIGHT I WENT to the woods and found her dead tree. It shuddered as I
spilled gasoline over its hollowed out trunk. The insects screamed when I
wedged the fireworks inside. A fat, silver beetle landed on the back of my
hand. The rest of the insects - centipedes, spiders, and roly-polies - scurried
away across my feet.
    I knelt in the dirt and struck the first match. I threw it
on the ground but it didn’t catch. The silver beetle crawled up my arm. My
neck. It had the demon’s eyes lodged in its back. I lit a second match.
    The tree burned slowly at first. The fire started at the
base, where the wood was the soggiest. The tree burned so slow and pale, I
thought the fire might die out. I knelt and blew on it. The roots, poking out
of the ground like grafted bones, caught fire as well, curled inwards and
turned blue.
    The flames shot up the trunk. It seared an angry face on the
wood and climbed higher. I took a step back, nearly tripping in the dark.
    I didn’t want to look away and miss anything.
    I stood in the hunched shadow of the tree as the trunk split
apart. I threw my head back and spots burst in my eyes as the limbs burned. The
fire unrolled them like scrolls and they crashed to the ground at my feet.
    The fireworks went off and the tree exploded, showering me
in silver sparks. They struck my face, my arms. The heat felt good. I could’ve
been blinded, but I didn’t care, I was crazed by Phaedra’s vodka and Mommy’s
schizophrenia that night. I wanted the demon to come screeching out of the
woods so I could spit in her eyes and rub dirt in her face. I’d laugh as I spun
her around by her thick black hair, taunting her, “Do you remember when I crawled
in here to find you? I hope you burn with what’s left.”
    This was your real funeral, Charlie. This was the best I
could do.
    The beetle crawled onto my face. I slapped it away. In my
peripheral vision I saw her silhouette appear. She held the funereal veil, and
when I turned towards her, she threw it over my face. I tore it away and it
fell into the fire.
    CRACK. The branches broke and crumbled. A wounded moan
escaped from the demon’s throat.
    She ran through the trees; I chased after her. Branches
reached out to grab me, like in a bad fairy-tale. I twisted my ankle in