Moxie's eyes filled, lip quivered, but she held up her chin. "It was that junk, wasn't it?!" she demanded.

"Yes," he shifted.

"She loved us less than that garbage," Moxie said, tone flat. Her body quivered; yet, she kept her chin high in defiance.

Gage felt the tears spill. Their warmth left a cold caress. "I don't know," he said, though he had suspected it. "I'm sorry," he offered, for nothing else came to mind. He blushed. Dad is right; I am useless, Gage thought with curse.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"Dad cut the phone cords," he looked at the floor. Men called, after the truth was no longer an open secret. None would act on rumors, and none would tell the truth, until Brian had seen those women fired.

"Maybe, we should leave," she said, chin still high in defiance of her tears.

"The closest farm is Haas's place," he nodded. Brian had met the other man at his property line with a shotgun once.

"Why did it sound like Dad?" Moxie shivered

"I think we just heard him in the other room," he said, but his eyes slid away from her. Question of why or how always destroyed his resolve.

"We should leave," she said. The answer to her question was too great and terrible. "We can open the lock to the master bedroom."

Gage nodded, "We should try to rouse Dad."

They moved down the hall, as the house shivered and moaned. Whispers, deep and blasphemous, coiled about the air, slithered into the ear. Gage grabbed a small screwdriver, which could open the doors lock. It slid in and the door popped open. Both stared at the bed, and then the ceiling. The vent in the room's corner was wrecked. Shredded clothes rested atop the bed, which was also torn to pieces. Moxie's sobs were low, but Gage frowned at the bedding.

"No blood," he said, and she stopped crying.

"What happened?" Moxie held her chin high, though her eyes were tinged red.

"I don't know," he frowned. "Dad had to have torn up his clothes, because there is no blood."

She scowled, lips pouted, "Did he crawl into the vent too?"

"I don't know," he studied the torn up floor, where dark utterances bloomed. He probably did some of that junk," he looked at the deep shadows. "It is night time, and we need help."

Moxie nodded, and followed him with her shield raised. Silent tears fell from both of them, for the world was a savage place for abandoned children. Bruised purple light traced their steps, as low curses followed.

Gage turned the knob, which moved with ease. The door held firm. He frowned, but pulled with both hands. It finally gave with a rip like adhesive being torn. Both frowned. A thin membrane stretched over the frame, blood vessels shimmered with bruised purple light.

"Gage," Moxie pleaded, voice trembled.

Numb, he raised the wooden sword. It pressed against the membrane, and the house hissed in rapid clicks. Bruised purple light shimmered over the thin layer of flesh, which made his head feel disconnected. Teeth, jagged and yellow, formed around the carved stick. Like a man who dips, Gage's mind whimpered. The hateful little mouth bit at the practice weapon's tip.

Gage screamed, and his sister, too proud to yowl, let out a long whistle. Both rushed away, minds numb. "I killed and I killed," it called to them, threat and confession. The whisper haunted the air with its alien rasp.

To the back door they flew, and he led her by the hand. They cried, as the house shifted. A dead laugh crawled up from below. Down upon them, words uttered by the wall of skin rained from a thousand mouths. Another membrane stretched over the door frame. Gage pulled her away. He tried to think of every exit.

Every means of escape was covered by riotous, vile flesh. They mocked and jeered. Each proclaimed the same mantra, a prayer to a hidden god. In the walls, ceiling, and floor the bruised purple light slithered just below the surface. Blood crept out of cracks; its stink gentle as a kiss. Although the heating and cooling unit had ceased, a balmy heat filled the rooms. Clicks vibrated through the walls. Inside of timbers the hiss resounded. Sweat broke over their skin, but felt cold as pins of ice. Lines of the structure, carpentry old but straight, bent before the eye; yet, it remained unchanged after a blink. Like a funhouse, Gage's mind groaned. Everything felt tilted or flipped. Their vision reeled from the banality turned insane.

"It is all locked," Gage groaned.

"What do we do?" she held up the shield, but a tremor ran through her legs.

A croak popped up behind them, though it was garbled like a man choking to death on spit. Both turned to the small creature. It hopped on legs like clawed thumbs. Eyes covered the top of the frog-like abomination, which rolled in every direction. Its wide mouth encircled nearly its entire body, lips misshapen. "I killed and I killed," the creature swore in the voice of their father. With a small hop, it came closer to them with another of their father's curse.

"I told you that Hunky Punks were real!" Moxie groaned.

Gage kicked, across the room it flew, and popped. Eyes splattered across the wall, though crept over the surface. Legs kicked. Ichor held a shimmer, purple and eldritch. A hissing cut up from beneath, and the buzz of clicks vibrated through the house. Moxie kicked one of its legs away, which still moved. Every part held a malignant life.

Moxie's lips curled. A low laugh squeaked out beside her, delight cruel as an imp. Like a corrupted fruit, there hung a little creature of molted flesh. An idiot god of disgusting mirth could produce such a failure, which shared its creator's vile glee. Body like a pudgy baby, its warped face leered with bulging eyes. Crooked teeth in a sideways mouth gleamed at her with alien desires. Three fingers gripped the wall with eyes the same color as the misshapen frog.