Page 8 of Inflict

Connor still wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on, and he didn’t move nearly fast enough to please his father’s rage.

“Feckin’ useless thing, I said move!”

Sean didn’t need Connor to do a thing, as he found a handful of his hair clenched in his father’s fist before he was thrown a good three feet across his bedroom floor.

“Thought I’d forget about what you did earlier, did ye?” Sean asked.

Connor didn’t get the chance to respond. He only heard the whistle of the leather belt cutting through the air before he felt the pain. The kicks and hair-grabbing had been nothing—those were things that he was used to, but not the belt.

That always hurt.

Even when he braced for it, even when he had time to know it was coming, and even when he didn’t, the belt hurt.

Connor cried out at the first strike, falling over on all fours just as the second hit from the belt came to land across his back.

“That’s better,” Sean said, “pigs walk on all fours. Just like you should be. To the hole, lad, just like you are.”

His father made the noises of a pig as he beat Connor over and over again, all the way to the familiar rug that smelled like piss no matter how many times it was washed. Sean waited, not using the belt or saying a thing as Connor pulled back the rug to expose the wee hatch that opened up all too easily under his tiny hand to expose a hole in the floor.

It was dark in there.

Smelly.

Cold.

He hated the hole.

Still, Connor slipped down inside, fearing another swat from the belt was sure to follow if he didn’t get in before his father told him to.

Up above, Connor saw the sliver of Sean’s pleased smile before the hatch was closed, and the latch was turned, locking him inside. Through the cracks, just big enough to let light through, he saw the streams of color fade as the rug was tossed back over the door in the floor.

It was dark again.

He wouldn’t sleep now.

Instead, Connor waited for the maid.

She would bring him water.

Maybe a toy or a snack.

She always did.

Except, she didn’t come that night.

One Year Later …

The soft meowing coming from behind the old shed had Connor picking up his pace as he rounded the back side of the building. His father always said to stay away from the shed, because it leaned too much to the left, and a strong wind would blow it over. Sean never used the shed, and just a peek inside the one broken window told Connor it was empty and dirty.

Connor didn’t have much use for the shed, either, but one day, a month earlier, he had heard the strange cries coming from behind the building while he had been carving his name into a tree with his pocketknife. He followed the sounds, both intrigued and scared, until he found what exactly it was that had been making the noise.

A cat.

A tabby, orange-colored, with stripes all up its back and blood on its back legs. She had just been slipping into the large dug out hole that led underneath the shed, when Connor caught sight of her. Unsure of what to do, he’d raced back to the house, sneaked out the flashlight his father kept under the sink, and went back to the hole.

He kept watch while the cat birthed three kittens, hidden in her safe spot. The whole time, she watched Connor, too, probably trying to figure out what in the hell he was doing there. He decided she was a stray, since she was kind of dirty, and she had no collar.

Connor didn’t know much about cats, or what to do when he saw the animal’s kittens come from her body, all wet and slimy in wee sacks. His curiosity kept him there, long enough for him to watch each kitten come out, for the mother to eat the sacks and other bits that came out with the kittens, and then for her to clean each furry bean shape until near soundless meows filled the hole under the shed.