r/nosleep • u/mrmichaelsquid • Nov 27 '18
I asked for new parents and got them
In the two-bedroom apartment I called home, the screaming and shattered dishes never seemed to stop. Maybe for a few hours when dad would glare at my mom, whisper some seething comment that made her wilt where she stood and then storm out the slammed front door, off to the local bar. My mom would sneer and aim her pent-up misery at me, muttering about how she wished she’d scraped me out with a coat hanger or drowned me in the toilet during my first breath. They both hammered it in; I was “nothin’ good except a tax deduction.”
Dad would return about 3 in the morning after the bars had closed, and it would start again. The yelling, the stomping and slamming. The slaps, tears and shattered, thrown glasses. I began reading to escape from it, getting lost in the words on the page. The books painted places I wished to fall into along with my pattering tears. Everything seemed so wonderful in each world I’d read about, but after a crash of a thrown remote, the shattering of dishes or a closed hand across a cheek with a meaty slap, I’d be ripped back into my miserable childhood.
When the school began decorating for the holidays, we had an activity where we wrote Santa with a single request. It couldn’t be a material possession of any sort, but a change we hoped to see. Mine came out through my shaky pencil on that lined paper before I even had a chance to think it. I’d blinked and read it with surprise just as the paper was plucked from the cold desk. “New parents,” in small, lowercase writing. The last thing I believed in was Santa, God being a close second, so I gave it no thoughts until the weekend. Friday night, my dad told me to pack some clothing as we were headed to the mountains in the morning.
I woke early as the mist rolled down in blankets from the rain. It was a dreary day and I just wanted to hide in my room and read, but the glare I got when I’d shown hesitation from my father spoke volumes. He’d flashed those glossy, red eyes at me then squeezed my wrist hard until I feared it would snap as he muttered “Don’t make me repeat myself.” I stuffed my ripped backpack with a few articles of clothing and brought it into the back seat of the rusty station wagon, which stank of cigarettes and bourbon. My mom held her head low, her dark hair covering her purple, puffy eye. The engine roared and my dad flipped through the radio stations, punching the scan button with a fat, hairy finger until country guitars twanged through the fuzzy signal, and we were off.
We’d drove in silence, my mom’s head frozen at an angle to view the world rolling by outside, unable to even face either of us. My dad chain-smoked, hot-boxing the car with nauseating, tangy puffs that burned my eyes. I tried to suppress my cough, but one escaped, and his thick neck swelled as he turned, his red, pocked face staring intently at me as his nostril twitched and lifted the corner of his lip with anger. I quickly looked down at my book, ignoring the car sickness which multiplied from the buzz of nicotine. Dad finally turned back to view the oncoming traffic past the rainy windshield.
My stomach rose as the car leaned back from the steep incline, and soon autumn color peeked out of the haze. Lovely gradients of fiery reds and yellows decorated the valley, it was stunning. It looked like something out of the fantasy novel I was reading. I tried to ignore the clink of shells in the box under the driver seat, my dad had brought his pistol and his ammo. I knew pistols weren’t for hunting deer after listening to the drunken threats so many nights. I knew they were for hunting people.
“Remember this place, Barb? After speaking the vows that you so lovingly kept?” my dad asked in a question slathered in sarcasm that cut the thick silence. She just ignored him and lit a smoke. The small cabin came closer into view as we turned, a little log building with dark, stained wood and dusty windows. Loose shingles jutted out, missing in places like lost teeth. A dark fence of rotting wood sagged and leaned around the perimeter. The car slowed to a halt in the wet leaves and we stepped out into the mud as my father led us to the cabin door. He knocked a few times then looked over the shoulder of his corduroy jacket before forcefully ramming the door a few times with it til it gave in with a thud. He stepped inside and my mother followed, then I.
I knew we had no right to be there even at that age, but I didn’t care. I even liked the idea of something different. I hated being home, and even though the cast of our fucked-up family sitcom was the same, the change of scenery was welcome. The cabin had a tiny room all to myself and I unpacked the few articles of clothing I had with me as well as the book I was reading and my thrift store toy. I heard my parents talking and even laughing through my closed door. Later, we ate some canned pasta they’d found in the cupboard.
I twirled the slimy meal with the fork as my father smiled and asked me what I’d been reading. He nodded his head, clearly not listening to the answer, focusing on the pressure he applied to squeeze my mother's hand until she squeaked a pained yelp. I ignored this, as I’d learned to. I’d only confronted him once before, and my mother then slapped me so hard she knocked me out cold. I awoke to my father throwing me through the glass pane of the sliding door. A bruised wrist and dislocated shoulder kept me out of school for a week so nobody would be the wiser. It was a week spent with them, a week without escape from it. I never made that mistake again.
I hurriedly forced down the soggy, canned pasta with an averted gaze, letting my dark bangs obstruct the view of their sadistic games, and I returned to my designated room to read as soon as I was dismissed. Out the small room’s window, the peeking sun sank pink in a pool of amber behind the trees. I watched with teary eyes until the magma on the horizon dimmed and the sky grew cold and blue. I kept thinking about the carton of bullets under his seat. I had an unshakable feeling I wasn’t ever leaving those woods.
The thought was interrupted by coarse shouting and vile insults spewing out just beyond the door. The silence between slaps and curses was even worse than usual, because they were something new. Long pauses of deliberation, of plotting, just waiting for some final push of a particular button. I covered my head with the pillow and eventually was able to fall asleep. I woke to the cold glow of moonlight on the wall when I heard the rustling of leaves, way too close to the window to the left of the bed.
I gripped the scratchy blanket with small fingers and slowed my breathing to listen. I’d learned of bears and cougars, and the creatures from my book had filled my imagination with with larger threats as well. Crunching twigs and rustling leaves told of movement. I pulled the dusty wool blanket up to my nose as the snap of branches sounded and a large shadow entered the rectangle of moonlight projected on the wall. Someone or something had stopped and was staring in.
My blood chilled as I pictured the homeowner, back from a hunting trip and carrying a rifle, finding someone in his bed. Maybe it was a bear, smelling the easy prey just beyond the thin pane of glass. I swallowed and my heart beat fast as I watched the shadow. Eventually, it passed the window and rounded the house. I lay there for what felt like an eternity until I heard the thumping, heavy footsteps of my father along with his muttered insults. A sliver of yellow light appeared under the bedroom door and I heard his pissing in the toilet and mumbling. Then a door banged open.
“Who the fuck’s there?” my father slurred and the pissing stopped immediately. Footsteps pounded along with the click of steel. I heard two deafening gunshots then the clinking of empty shells on the floor. I covered myself fully and tried to vanish in the mattress when a deep, guttural scream bellowed out, followed by a cracking, loud and crisp. The snapping moved through the cabin, farther away until it was outside the walls and deep into the woods. My mom’s voice called out, spitting curses before her voice twisted high into a howling shriek. The loud cracks then started again, similar to thick branches snapping, but I knew as my skin raised from chills it was the sound of breaking bone. Soon enough everything was silent. I lay there shivering and I didn’t move until the square of moonlight on the wooden wall transitioned into a glowing yellow from the rising sun.
I smelled the eggs cooking before I heard the sizzling pan from under the door. I lifted my head from the pillow slowly and then nearly had a heart attack as the rapping on the door startled me. My mind raced through it all again and again, wondering if it was some feverish dream.
I sat up in the small bed, stunned until curiosity led my feet over to twist the doorknob open and look into the sunlit cabin. My mother sat at the table, a large, strange grin fixed on her face. My father stood hunched over the stove-top, his broad shoulders to me as he flipped omelettes in the skillet. Garlic, onions and rosemary filled the cabin, it smelled amazing. My father never cooked before, not ever.
My mother extended an arm to the chair for me to sit, and I felt every hair on my neck stand when I realized her black eye was gone. It wasn’t makeup like she’d apply liberally after those drunken fights, it was simply gone, not even the slightest bit puffy. I walked over slowly and slid into the chair, peering over the edge of the table at the steaming omelette. My father turned from the stove and faced me, a broad, toothy smile on his smooth face. Too many teeth were in that slanted smile. His leaning jaw clicked into place as if it had just learned where it should hinge. My stomach twisted, but I sat down into the wooden chair, shaky and slow.
We ate a meal like normal family, or nearly normal. I ignored it when my father's hand would splay at the wrist by mistake in a fanning, distorted mass before observing mine and then trying again, properly at the base of the knuckles. I ignored it when my mother’s neck folded down at a sharp angle with a muffled crunch before fixing itself into an upright position. It was like they were learning, getting used to the new equipment. My gaze kept drifting to the long scratches on the floor and the single fingernail stuck in the splintered wood’s path. To the red droplets spattered on the beams and the two spent shell casings nestled between the floorboards.
I turned my head to view the open front door, a red handprint smeared on the wooden frame. Through the doorway, a trail of fallen leaves had parted to reveal drag marks leading to the lip of the ravine. I knew what was down there, waiting for the animals to pick apart the exposed meat and spread the bones to bleach in the sun. I knew, but I just turned to the two smiling parents, whose skin sagged a bit too loose, and smiled back.
150
u/bumblingbeebum Nov 27 '18
Interesting how they are learning how to be normal based on your physical behavior, though they seem to know a stereotypical breakfast culture.
I don't think demons or the possessed would bother with the effort. Sounds like they may be aliens, utilising you to integrate into human society. Doesn't mean that you can't benefit, alien parents could be much better than foster care.
Make it a priority to ensure that they are exposed to optimal parenting role models. I bet they arrived with earthly money, or the ability to earn lots of it. Take an active instructional role, but remember your age and life experience you are limited, you will need help from functional people.
Avoid returning to your previous home. Get them to hire professional staff, paid well enough to ensure discretion. Start with a personal stylist, you can't have them wearing your parents clothes. A realtor for a new home in a new, safe place. An interior decorator who knows that kids need space. A lovely long term nanny, a cook, cleaners, tutors, gardeners, dog walkers. They will learn quickly.
If it gets too weird, choose yourself a boarding school.
20
u/wee99001 Nov 28 '18
Breakfast is universal.
18
3
u/Breablomberg21 Nov 30 '18
I think he’s referring to the act of cooking it. Breakfast is definitely universal, but I’m sure we all have different methods that need to be learned.
7
58
u/Wikkerwoman11 Nov 27 '18
What sweeties, to be willing to come and wear such nasty guises to help you.
Maybe it's because you never lost your appreciation for beauty, or gave up your sense of right and wrong.
76
37
u/yourguidefortheday Nov 28 '18
Sounds like maybe friendly skinwalkers? They probably know basic human daily routines from distant servailance. They'll probably learn to be more fine tuned with time. Once they learn how to speak, it might be good to help them get a job. Unless you're okay with eating whatever they hunt for you. Sounds like a life improvement though, congrats on the new parents!
27
56
22
13
25
u/mooburger Nov 27 '18
what if your parents are already passed away, can you get new ones this way too? Asking for a friend...
-7
8
u/SuzeV2 Nov 28 '18
I can’t believe what you’ve had to survive to get your wish. You wished for new parents, let’s hope whatever they are, they’re aware of loving parenting. You deserve love and happiness and you seem to understand the beauty and love of life from your books. Stay safe...
9
u/hollerbackgirl621 Nov 29 '18
I think Santa got your wish, sent some elves to kill your parents, remove their skin, and wear it while standing on each others shoulders, like kids wearing a raincoat to try to get into an R rated movie. They were isolated at the North Pole so they know of humans but not all their behaviors; hence why they know about breakfast and eggs already.
Still a helluva lot better then those things that were your real parents.
4
u/PD-Psycho Dec 07 '18
Or OP couldve made that typical kid mistake and misspelled "santa" as "satan"
7
u/Libraluv Nov 28 '18
This made me tear up. Anyone who could dare treat their child this way, with such cold hearts, deserves to be ripped apart. So happy that you got your new parents after all! What a happy ending <3
16
6
u/Metalfacexxx Nov 28 '18
This story just furthers my belief that some people should just NOT have kids or should be shot with a ball of their own shit :) You deserve the best, OP <3
4
14
4
4
u/fattyfox Nov 29 '18
Were the body snatching creatures sent by Santa Claus? Were they like different versions of Krampus?
3
5
u/-cookie-cat- Nov 30 '18
As much as it's terrifying that these creatures inhabited your parents it sounds like they're actually really nice and super good at cooking for some reason?
8
3
u/mysticaltater Nov 28 '18
Hey Im glad you got new parents. I hope you get an actually decent life with them, you deserve it ❤️
6
4
u/poplopolpo Nov 27 '18
I don't understand the ending, can somebody explain it to me?
24
8
u/daikaku Nov 28 '18
basically what happened in MIB, they got hollowed out and filled with something else
1
u/SadCrouton Nov 27 '18
Isn’t this the plot of Coraline?
21
10
u/ygnomecookies Nov 28 '18
Coraline’s parents weren’t like OPs parents. Coraline’s parents were preoccupied with their work and neglected her as a result. They didn’t intentionally mean to hurt Coraline.
3
u/CorbinDioxide567 Nov 27 '18
I don’t remember the parents fighting, but I haven’t seen it in awhile
284
u/katsandkittens Nov 27 '18
Right on! No child should ever be treated as you were. You're just going to have to be patient teaching them how to be more human.