AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jim’s laughter ricocheted around the barn, bouncing off the musty hay bales and rusty tools. My eyes were drawn to the shovel. The once mundane tool now seemed like a beacon, its edges illuminated ominously in the dim light.
“Nobody will hear you scream,” Jim sneered, a sickening pleasure lining his words. “Just like his mother.”
“No,” I repeated, louder this time. His words were fuel to the fire within me, the heat of my rage growing with every syllable he uttered. The shovel no longer looked like an ordinary farm tool; it was now a symbol of defiance, a way to regain my power.
Jim’s words added weight to my resolve, each vile comment, each repugnant detail, solidifying my determination. His laughter boomed in my ears, a chilling soundtrack to the scene unfolding in my mind’s eye. I envisioned myself, not as a victim, but as a woman reclaiming her power.
“No!” I shouted, the word filling the barn. It was a declaration, a promise to myself and to him. I wouldn’t be a victim again. I wouldn’t allow him to take anything more from me.
With a battle cry in my mind, my pledge of defiance, I lunged.
I sprang forward with a speed and strength I didn’t know I possessed, my hand wrapping around the cool wooden handle of the shovel. My heart pounded in my chest, the beat a thunderous drumline in time with my thoughts: No more. Not again.
That was it. The dam holding my rage back exploded, a storm of fury that had been brewing ever since this nightmare started. All thoughts of fear were erased by a white-hot determination.
“No!” I bellowed, my voice a clarion call piercing the oppressive tension in the barn.
The texture of the handle was rough, splintered from years of use and neglect. Each ridge and groove dug into my palm, grounding me, anchoring me to this singular moment. The weight of it felt both comforting and terrifying, a responsibility and a weapon rolled into one.
I wheeled around, fueled by a raw surge of adrenaline. The shovel sliced through the air, its path a deadly arc. It found its mark on Jim’s body with a sickening thud. Jim gasped, a strangled sound of shock and pain, his body staggering back under the force of the blow.
“You won’t hurt me!” I roared, my words whipping through the cold air. The declaration was as much for me as it was for him. A promise and a war cry that echoed off the barn walls. “Never again!” My voice pitched higher, charged with adrenaline and rage, each syllable syncing with the brutal rhythm of the shovel slamming into Jim’s body.
The impact jolted up my arms, the tremors shaking me to my core. But there was a grim satisfaction in it too. Each strike was a blow against my past, against the terror that had held me captive.
I hit him.
I hit him again.
I hit him again.
Jim’s form crumbled, his knees buckling beneath him. His body folded onto the barn floor, creating a cloud of dust that hung in the air, a grim tableau of our final confrontation. His fall was a cruel mockery of his earlier bravado, the sight of him so diminished fueling my fury.
I stood over him, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, the sharp sting of exertion shooting through my arms. The weight of the shovel felt different now, a symbol of my strength, my survival. I lifted it high, the edge catching a glint of the weak light filtering through the barn slats.
With a yell that scraped raw against my throat, I brought the shovel down. The rusty edge bit into his neck, the resistance giving way to the relentless force of my strike. The sound of tearing flesh and splintering bone was grotesque, the silence that followed even more so.
Jim’s life seeped out of him, pooling on the dust-covered floor, his eyes losing their cruel light. The moment was brutal, harsh in its finality. But in the aftermath of that violence, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. A certainty settling in my bones. It was over. Jim Harlow would never harm anyone again. I had ensured that.
At that moment, with the weight of the shovel still heavy in my hand and the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air, I realized I had done more than just defend myself. I had reclaimed my power, my dignity. This was more than survival. This was a victory. I had stood up against my nightmare, faced it head-on.
I killed.
I endured.
I saved my fucking self.
DECLAN
The barn haunted the horizon like a tombstone, its decrepit figure a chilling echo of a past I wanted to bury. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather groaning a soft protest under the pressure of my white-knuckled hands. This was a battleground, a place of violent loss and harrowing truths. I had to face it. For myself, for my past, and for her. For Clover.
I still remember when the police told my foster mother that they’d found blood at a barn one mile from the river where her body was found.
I still remember running away to see for myself.
The yellow tape. The blood-stained hay.
I stepped out of the car, the scent of aged hay and rusted metal hung heavily in the air. Each stride toward the barn felt weighted, as though every footfall was weighed heavily with the harsh reminder of my mother’s end. But it wasn’t her blood that had me pressing forward, it was Clover’s. Her life was intertwined with my demons, and I would rip those beasts apart to keep her safe.
