1917: A Family of Joy, Hope, Faith and Grace [Part 4]

The storm battered the house with relentless fury, rattling the windows and howling through the cracks in the walls like some unseen beast. The world outside had disappeared, swallowed whole by the blackness of the night and the sheets of rain that slammed against the house, demanding to be let in. Inside, everything felt tight, suffocating—the air thick with tension, the rooms heavy with unspoken fears.

Mother’s mood had grown darker, more volatile, her anxiety spilling over into every corner of the house. I watched her pace the living room, muttering to herself, her eyes wide and unfocused. She kept glancing toward the windows, toward the doors, as though expecting something—or someone.

Faith

Mother was wrong.

I could see it now, though I had tried not to for so long. Obedience was everything to her. It had been everything to me, too. I had spent years listening to her, trusting her, doing exactly as she said, believing that by following her rules, we would be safe. But now I saw it for what it was—fear. Everything she did, every command she gave, was born out of her own terror.

The figure wasn’t the enemy. I had felt its presence, just as Grace had, and I had come to understand. It wasn’t here to harm us—it was here to free us. Mother was the one who didn’t understand. She was the one keeping us trapped.

I stood in the hallway, my fists clenched at my sides, my mind spinning with thoughts I could barely control. I had to break away. I had to escape her control. The entity—it—was the only way out.

I heard her calling from the living room, her voice sharp and commanding as she ordered me to prepare the salt lines again, to reinforce the doors and windows. But I didn’t move. I stayed rooted to the spot, my heart pounding in my chest, a strange feeling rising inside me—rebellion, resistance.

“Faith!”

I took a deep breath and turned, walking toward her. But I wasn’t going to obey this time. I wasn’t going to follow her commands anymore. I was going to find Grace. I was going to free her.

Grace

The house was alive now. I could feel it pulsing around me, its whispers filling my ears, soft and comforting, like a lullaby. The entity was with me, guiding me, showing me what I had to do. I had always been graceless, always been the one who didn’t belong, but here—now—I was something else. I had a purpose.

I stood in the hallway, the knife cold in my hand, the storm outside echoing the storm inside me. I was ready. I was ready to bring them peace, to end their suffering, to finally be the grace they needed.

I took a step forward, then another, my movements slow, deliberate. My heart was racing, but my mind was calm, clear. The entity was there, just behind me, its presence steady and strong. It understood. It had always understood.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Faith, her face pale, her eyes wide.

“Grace,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I smiled at her, a soft, sad smile. “It’s okay, Faith. I know what to do now.”

Hope

I don’t know when I realized it, but at some point, I knew—everything was falling apart. The storm, the house, us. The thin thread that had held us together for so long had snapped, and we were spiraling into something I didn’t understand, something I couldn’t stop.

I heard footsteps, voices, and I knew something was happening. I ran down the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest, and found them—Faith and Grace—standing in the dark, the storm raging behind them. And then I saw it—the knife in Grace’s hand, the look on her face, distant, like she was somewhere else entirely.

“Grace, no,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the roar of the wind.

She looked at me, her eyes calm, serene in a way that made my blood run cold. “I have to do this, Hope. I have to save us.”

“Save us? No, you can’t—”

“She’s right,” Faith said suddenly, her voice stronger than I had ever heard it. “Mother’s wrong, Hope. This is the only way.”

I shook my head, stepping back, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “No, no, this isn’t right. We have to leave. We have to get out of here. Please, just stop!”

But they didn’t listen. They were too far gone.

The house seemed to close in around us, the walls pulsing with the storm outside, the air thick with dread. The knife gleamed in the dim light, slick with rainwater as Grace raised it, her hands trembling, but not with fear—with resolve.

“I’m sorry, Hope,” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “But this is the only way. I can’t let you suffer anymore.”

“Don’t do this!” I screamed, my voice cracking, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t make myself move. I was frozen, trapped in the horror of the moment.

Grace stepped forward, her movements awkward, clumsy, as she always was. The knife slipped in her grasp, and for a moment, it seemed like everything would fall apart, like she would falter. But the entity was there, guiding her hand, steadying her.

And then, everything went dark.

Hope

I don’t remember what happened after that. Not clearly. The storm, the house, it all became a blur—a violent, chaotic blur of screams, crashing, and the sound of the wind howling through the halls. I remember seeing Grace fall, her body crumpling to the floor. I remember seeing Faith standing over her, a look of horror on her face. And then I remember nothing.

The next morning, the storm was gone. The air was still, silent, as if the world had been scrubbed clean of everything that had happened.

I woke up in the living room, lying in my sleeping bag, the remnants of the storm still clinging to the walls. I looked around, but I couldn’t find the others. Mother. Faith. Grace.

And then I saw them.

They were lying there, side by side, their bodies still, their faces pale. The knife was still clutched in Grace’s hand, her fingers stiff and cold. And on the wall above them, written in dark, dripping letters, were the words: His Red Right Hand.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. I was trapped, just like we had always been. The house had taken us, one by one, and now there was nothing left.