My family locked me in the basement to give birth. Days later, they returned to find a dark red liquid seeping from the door. As my mother screamed, a voice whispered behind her, “Looking for me?”

violently, clutching the heavy steel of his Smith & Wesson revolver, aimed at the shadows.

“Rebecca?” he gasped, the word barely escaping his constricted throat.

I stepped out of the gloom and into the shaft of light, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Welcome home from Europe, Dad,” I stated, my voice echoing with terrifying calm. “I trust the weather continue reading …