Wind howled through the prairie night, finding every gap and crevice in the old house’s construction. The front door, left slightly ajar, creaked rhythmically—a metronome marking time in an otherwise suspended moment. The sound penetrated the walls, a persistent reminder of something not quite closed, not quite secure.
Grace sat on the couch, corporate in her bearing but with something else beneath the surface—something that felt ancient and calculating. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the evening chill, and she repeatedly dabbed at it with a personal towel she kept folded beside her. Steam rose from the paper cup in her hand, curling upward in ghostly tendrils before dissipating into nothing.
Beside her, Hope watched her own cup with wary eyes. Everything about her suggested caution—the way she held herself slightly apart from the others, how she observed before speaking, the tentative way she attempted to sip her tea only to withdraw from the scalding heat. Her tender-hearted disposition made her an unlikely companion for Grace, whose very presence seemed to lower the temperature in the room.
Grace took a gulp from her cup, allowing the steam to momentarily envelop her face. The liquid was hot enough to scald any normal person, but Grace showed no discomfort. For a brief moment, the steam transformed her features, lending her face a distorted, almost inhuman quality.
Faith settled into a chair across from them, her gaze fixed on her own untouched cup. "I'm beside myself," she said, her voice hollow. "What have I done to be forsaken?"
Hope ventured a cautious sip from her cup, winced at the heat, and lowered it. "Maybe she's just—"
"That girl has strayed far from the righteous path," Grace interrupted, her voice carrying the weight of judgment. "She may have to endure grief to rediscover the presence of the Lord."
Hope's eyes widened slightly. "She's just a young girl. How can you wish her harm?"
Grace's eyes narrowed to slits. "You're so ignorant."
The reprimand hung in the air between them. Hope retreated into silence, seeking refuge in her tea. The wind outside intensified, and the door's creaking grew more insistent.
"Gabriel intended to bring forth Hell on Earth," Grace continued, her voice taking on a strange cadence that didn't match her corporate appearance. "He believed that only then would the human race prove worthy of God's love... and he's an angel!"
Faith nodded absently, as if only half-listening. "Maybe she has wandered from the path. I, I try to set a good example... show her the beauty I've found, being reborn, but..." Her voice faltered. "Ever since the separation, she's—"
The front door swung open with sudden violence, cutting Faith off mid-sentence. Madison stood in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the porch light. For a moment, she resembled something not entirely human—a creature materializing from the darkness outside.
"—been so hard to deal with," Faith finished as Madison stepped into the light, reclaiming her humanity.
Madison set down her keys and bag with deliberate casualness, pretending not to have heard Faith's words while making it clear that she had.
"My sweet, little girl's transformed into a little monster," Faith said, her eyes fixed on Madison.
Madison responded with a playful spin, arms outstretched. "ROAR!" she exclaimed, then burst into laughter—a sound too sharp and bright to be genuinely amused.
Faith's face remained stony.
"Really, Faith, a monster?" Madison continued the performance, stomping toward her mother with exaggerated monster-like movements. Faith instinctively scooted back, a small movement that spoke volumes.
Madison halted mid-stomp, her face registering the hurt that Faith's recoil had caused. She shook her head with visible disappointment, then turned to Hope. "Hi, Hope," she said, her voice softening as she placed a kiss on the woman's head. Then, with calculated coolness: "Grace."
Grace acknowledged her with a nod that contained neither warmth nor welcome.
"How was your day?" Faith asked, her voice strained with forced normalcy.
Madison rolled her eyes, the gesture dismissing not just the question but the entire premise that they were a normal family having a normal conversation.
"Madison, answer your Mother," Hope interjected, her gentle tone a stark contrast to the tension filling the room.
Madison's posture shifted, defiance replacing her earlier hurt. "Being stuck out here fucking sucks," she declared, then smirked, awaiting the inevitable reaction.
"Madison!" Grace's voice cracked like a whip.
"See what I mean!?" Faith looked between Grace and Hope, seeking validation.
Madison's eyes flashed. "What do you expect? Look around you. Open your eyes!"
Faith met Madison's gaze directly, something she rarely did these days. "I don't know what I see," she said, her voice suddenly distant, then turned to Grace. "Do you!?"
Hope shifted uncomfortably. "She's just being a brat."
"Jeez, I was joking," Madison said, though no one was laughing.
Grace leaned forward, her cup held between both hands like something precious. "Acting like a monster to your mother is no joke."
"Says the woman with no kids," Madison fired back.
Faith slapped the table with such force that tea sloshed from cups. "Madison!"
"Okay, that's enough," Hope said, her placating tone falling flat in the supercharged atmosphere.
Grace turned her cold gaze on Hope. "Did anyone ask for your opinion?"
Madison looked at Hope with something like pity. "Just give up. There's no reasoning with these two," she said. "Faith believes that 'The Smurfs' was created by the Devil. They use a kid's cartoon to lure people to his side. I mean, com—"
"It is pure evil!" Faith's voice rose, her eyes widening with genuine fear. "Magical creatures, a sorcerer, spells, the occult. It's a way to introduce kids to the dark arts, using colorful images and fun."
Madison threw her hands up in a gesture of defeat. "This is what I have to deal with! I just can't right now. My tummy hurts. Maybe I'm having cramps."
She turned and disappeared into the hallway, but her voice drifted back, laden with calculated cruelty: "Or... maybe I'm pregnant!"
A door slammed shut, the sound reverberating out of the hallway, and through the house. Faith flinched as if struck. She rose from her chair and walked into the hallway, her movements stiff with anger and fear.
"Don't think you're coming out of that room tonight!" she called after Madison.
Hope cast a worried glance toward the hallway, her eyes reflecting genuine concern. But Grace's gaze was different—fixed on the hallway with an ominous intensity that went beyond judgment. There was hunger in that look, a predatory gleam.
"Evil has taken root within her," Grace said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "and its influence grows."
The wind outside howled louder, and the front door—still ajar despite Madison's entrance—creaked on its hinges, as if something unseen was slowly pushing it open wider.
Chapter 11