Chapter Text
“Isabelle-Louisa May! You get in this house right now!”
The girl who bore that name sat cross-legged in the grass, picking at weeds and idly plucking daisies and dandelions from the ground, bony fingers stained golden. Her flaxen tresses were in tight ribbon bound plaits, and they hung long past her shoulders like thick ropes. Could strangle someone with ‘em, would make a mighty fine noose, she often thought. However, Izzie-May is a good child, she does like to think, and so she gets to her feet, dusting off her blue checkered dress. Not that it did much, dirt and grass stains were practically sewn into that frock.
Izzie-May sauntered past the barn, giving jagged-toothed smiles to the cows and ewes. They shuffle back, some of the herd giving a huff or stomp in return. She did love them animals.
“Yes, Pa?” She had that look in her eye that Pa never did like.
Pa’s face was red and sticky with sweat, his hat draped just barely over his thinning hair. His fists were tight and his knuckles white. Izzie couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle at the sight.
Pa’s face goes a shade more crimson, and he lets out a long, hot hissed breath.
“You wanna explain why there’s a rabbit missin’ from the hutch?”
“I didn’t do-”
Pa strikes his fist against the table like a clap of thunder, and splinters from the grain dig into his hand.
Izzie-May’s mouth first opens and closes like a fish out of water, hesitant and finding her words. Then it twists into a soft smile, alongside bowed brows and the lack of guilty eyes. Just that look.
“I was just playin’, Pa… Didn’t mean to hurt him none, honest.”
Pa’s expression shifts, and he drags his palm across his face.
“Izzie-May…” Pa pauses, wondering if he wants to know the answer to his question, “Where is he? What’d’ya do?”
Izzie-May gives an innocent enough smile, twirling her braid through her fingers.
“Under my bed,” she replies.
“Aw’right. Jus’... jus’ stay here, understood?” Pa gives her a sideways look, pointing at her with a fat finger. Izzie-May nods, she’s a good child, she likes to think.
With every step, Pa’s knuckles grow whiter. The stairs creak and moan, crying out that he shouldn’t go no further, but Pa’s grown to ignore their pleas, striding up the stairs and across the floor to Izzie-May’s room. Her door is eggshell-white, paint slightly chipped and faded from the years and the thick air. It’s just slightly ajar. Just a push of a finger would open it right up, let him in. Pa’s a farmer, he ain’t one to shy away from the ugly, so just why, why is he waitin’? His nose twitches, taking in the scent of rust and flowers, gently wafting through the gap in the door.
“Open the damn door,” Pa mutters to himself, and that seems to encourage him a bit, pushing past the door and not quite registering what he sees. He knows for sure he sees blood, that much is easy to tell. There’s just a mess of red and pink flopping and sliding from under the girl’s bed. He manages a soft “Lord…”, before trudging closer. What’s strange to Pa as he steps further, is the distinct lack of guts. No intestines slick and glossy with blood, no stomach leaking bile, none of that acrid stench. He can only notice blood and wet fur with a cursory glance. Pa picks up the hide, it’d be usable, he’d grant that, but this still weren’t right. He turns it over in his hands, his thumb tracing idle circles along the backside of it. There was barely any damage and the only sign of the carnage was the thin line of crimson where he suspected she’d made some sorta incision.
He’d be proud if it didn’t make him sick to his stomach.