Her Kind of Love

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, psychological and physical abuse, and obsessive love that may be distressing to some readers

Grandma beat me again today.

She used Daddy's old leather belt, and told me to be a good girl and bend over the garden railing so that the good Lord in heaven would be able to see me when I cried. I don't know why the good Lord always wanted to see me cry, but I was happy to send some of my demons away. Nasty things, demons. Grandma always said demons lived in children, and that if you didn't beat them the demons would grow and grow till the child was nothing but one great black hairy demon. With horns. Urgh! I didn't want to be a demon. They're smelly.

So grandma took me out today to the garden and told me to bend over the railing. Then she pulled my knickers down with one hand and beat me across my bum. Twenty-four strokes. Twelve for my age and then twelve more to make sure today's demons were all gone. I cried. A fat squirrel watched me from the old tree in grandma's backyard. It had an acorn in its mouth, and I hated it because it looked like it was laughing at me. I don't like people laughing at me. It's bad manners.

When grandma was done she left me there a while to genuflect before the Lord. Ge-nu-flect. To bend your knee, especially in worship. I knelt and genuflected, smelling the cool October breeze and the soft dirt and the flowers that were waving in the garden. Pretty flowers. Grandma cared for them so much, but not as much as she cared for me. I was special, she said. I reminded her of my mother, she said.

My mother? I can't really remember her anyways, or my father too. Grandma said they both died in a car accident long ago when I was three. Ac-ci-dent. I wonder what that means. I'll have to ask her if I can use the dictionary again today though I hope she doesn't get mad. She's scary when she's mad. She screams and breaks things and throws them at me. The last time it was a big old flowerpot she threw at my head that knocked me over and made me see stars. Smash! My head was all cut up and painful after, and I cried every time I tried to go to sleep. But I knew I shouldn't fuss about the pain too much; that was tough love, and smart, loving grown-ups did it to their little ones all the time.

My bum was all painful and sweaty. I thought there might be some blood there so I checked it carefully with one hand.

Ouch! There was blood, only a little, but I was happy to see the red on my fingers anyways. Blood was a good sign. It meant plenty of today's demons had gone out. I knew I had a lot of blood in me, and once when I was ten I'd tried to remove all of it at once so that I'll be free of demons forever. Smart! I used one of grandma's kitchen knives, the sharp ones she used for cutting meat, but then I got tired, and when grandma found me I was feeling really sleepy and my arms were all red and pretty as satin. She beat me later for trying. She said only a grown-up like herself could remove demons. She said—

"Claire!"

I jumped to my feet at grandma's stern voice and pulled up my knickers. I ran inside. She was in the parlor, sitting in her favorite rocking chair by the window and knitting a pretty yellow sweater. She looked up as I came running in.

"Claire," said grandma. "It's been ten minutes already. Aren't you done genuflecting?"

"Yes." I hopped to her side and showed her the blood on my fingertips. "We did good today, grandma. There goes some of the demons. And I genuflected real good even though there was a squirrel that looked like it was laughing at me."

"Squirrels can't laugh," said grandma, frowning at the blood as I waved my fingers before her face.

"I know, but—"

"Shut it, Claire," said grandma. She pushed my hand away from her face, then said, "Your food is in the kitchen, so go and eat it before it gets cold. And wash that blood off your hands first. It's disgusting."

"Okay." I turned and hopped away, happy as anything, even though my bum ached something horrible with each spring. It was a good ache. It showed grandma's love for me by helping me get rid of my demons, something that not all grown-ups did to hear her talk about it. A sad thing, what society was coming to, according to her. When I became a grown-up myself I would beat any little ones I had and drive their demons away and then teach them to genuflect before the good Lord, like grandma taught me to. Can't let any demons live on in my loved ones. That's not a sign of care. And besides it's a scary to think about. Sometimes I wondered why grandma didn't just get rid of all my demons at once instead of beating me every day. It wouldn't be so hard; all she'd have to do was cut me deep enough so that all my blood would rush out, and it would work this time because she would be the one doing it, not me. But maybe she had her reasons. She knew what was best for me, in any case, and that was why I loved her.

"Oh, Claire," said grandma from behind me as I reached the kitchen door. I stopped and turned.

"Yes, grandma?"

She raised the sweater she was knitting, so that a line of October sunlight from the window fell across it and made the threads shine like soft gold.

"It's for you," she said. "It'll match the gold flecks in your eyes."

***

In the kitchen I ate standing up, because my bum was tingling with heat and a bunch of little pins and needles, and I could feel more blood coming out under my knickers. I looked at the clock hanging over the counter. Fifteen past one. My hymn recitals were by thirty-five past one, and then I had to be in my hole by two o' clock for my afternoon nap. I hated the afternoon naps, but grandma said they were for refreshing me after I got rid of the day's demons, so I agreed with her. I always agreed with her because she was so smart, and because she was always so nice to me, even though I had a lot of demons.

I finished eating and tidied up the dishes and put them away, clean and dry like grandma liked. I was still a little hungry, but I'd gotten used to it by now. Hunger was good. It meant I was starving my demons, so a lot more of them would come out when I took my next beating.

I hurried up the stairs to the chapel.

The wooden door always creaked when I opened it. I stepped into the small, gloomy prayer room at the end of the hall and lit the candles on the altar. There was only one tiny window in the room, but I closed it so that the breeze wouldn't disturb the candles, then I got my hymnal from the little shelf by the door and knelt before the altar.

I never liked the hymn-recitals. Never.

There was a statue of the good Lord on his cross just behind the altar, and I always felt like he was watching me close with his little statue eyes. And all the candles and the dim light and the crosses on the walls made it worse. Sometimes when I knelt there it looked like the statue was alive, and once I had looked up from my hymn chanting to see it turn its head and grin down at me with blood starting to flow from its eyes. I almost screamed then. But I remembered that grandma didn't like me making too loud noises, so I ran out of the chapel instead and lied to her that I'd finished my hymn-recital.

I had to punish myself for lying to grandma, later, in my hole. I hit my head on the wall five times, each one for a letter of my name, as grandma taught me to do every time I sinned. And then I told the good Lord I was sorry too, for running out on him like that, and promised not to do it again. So every time I went up to the chapel for hymn-recitals I would do it with my eyes closed, because I'd already memorized all the hymns in the book long ago, and because that way I wouldn't see anything move, not even if the statue itself got down from the cross and bent down in front of my face.

Today wasn't any different.

I had already started up my chanting, and had my eyes tightly closed as I knelt by the altar, when I heard the statue move.

Don't open your eyes, Claire, I thought. Don't open them. Don't!

I sped up my chanting. The blood in my knickers was dripping slowly down my legs now, and my bum was already feeling dead as I rested my weight down on it. But I had to finish my recital. I just had to. It was only—

The statue was climbing down from the cross.

"Oh Lord!" I squeaked, suddenly terrified at the sounds the statue was making. I was gripping the hymn book tightly. My legs were all stiff and tense. And my eyes were screwed up so tight that they had begun to hurt.

Don't open them, Claire, no matter what! Don't look at it!

I heard the thing drop down onto the altar. The wood groaned under its weight. A joint popped.

Don't look at it, Claire! DON'T!

I resumed my hymn chanting. My voice was all shaky and weak, and I was scared I would pee on myself if I didn't finish on time, so I went through the rest of the hymns as fast as I could.

The thing was moving about on the altar. I could hear it blow on the candles to put them out. Pfft! Pfft! It threw them on the floor. They rolled about the chapel. One hit my knee, and I squeaked again in terror.

The smell of blood was heavy in my nose now. Blood and sweat from me, and something else that smelled like the shit bucket down in my hole smelled every time it was full and I hadn't emptied it yet. It was a horrible smell. It wasn't a smell meant for the chapel at all. It was the smell of the thing on the altar. The smell of the statue that had somehow come alive once again.

The thing touched my face. Its hand was cold and dead like.

I screamed then.

***

Grandma beat me again. She caught me lurking by the stairs and hit my head with her stick and kicked me on my bum for disturbing the peace. That hurt real bad, and I cried.

"Shut up, Claire," said grandma, pissed. Then she saw the blood on my legs, and saw that my knickers were soaked through at the back.

"You're bleeding," she said, simple as anything.

"Y-yes, g-grandma." I sniffed and wiped my eyes. My bum felt like it was on fire, and my legs were still shaking at the thought of what had happened in the chapel. But I couldn't tell grandma that. I couldn't! And I didn't want to lie to her either. Lying would make me a bad girl. And bad girls attracted a lot of mean demons. Getting rid of them would put more stress on grandma, and I didn't like to stress her at all because she was always so considering of me.

"Did you finish your recitals yet, Claire?"

I looked up at her. She was frowning at me, and had her stick up between her hands again. I licked my lips and said in a teeny, tiny voice:

"No, grandma."

Whack! Right on my forehead this time, and I cried again as my eyes burned from the pain. Grandma stood looking over at me for a moment, then she dragged me back up the stairs to finish my hymn-recitals.

"Hurry it up, and don't come out again till you're done!"

Bang! She swept the door shut behind me.

***

I was scared, of course. Alone in the dark chapel with that thing I had heard. The thing that had climbed down from its cross and touched my face.

I was sweating and bleeding still, but the chapel smell hadn't changed one bit, that nasty, awful smell like the shit bucket down in my hole. There was the smell of candle smoke too, and I stood in front of the door, listening to the fading sound of grandma's footsteps and afraid to turn back towards the altar and see the statue that had somehow come alive.

Creak! Behind me.

I shut my eyes with a gasp. I started up my recital where I stood.

Creeak! Creeeakk!

Something warm was trickling down my thighs, and I realized it was pee as a new type of fear rose up all quick and sudden in my chest. Oh no! I thought. Not in the chapel! And not with that thing standing behind me now, touching my neck with its cold and dead hands.

I swallowed my scream this time, and all the pee came out in a hot gush that soaked the rest of my knickers and pattered down on the floor like October rain.

Bad girl, Claire. Bad girl!

My legs were thick and rubbery. I spun around on my heels. I saw the thing at last, and it wasn't the good Lord at all. It wasn't. It was—

A demon.

It was a long pale thing with bleeding eyes and no mouth at all, and I collapsed back against the door at the sight of it.

The demon looked at me. It had pretended to be the good Lord all the while, the nasty, evil thing, and I shrank back as it came nearer. And nearer. It raised a hand. The nails were blunt and blackened, as if it had held them over a fire for far too long, and it touched my face, and I burst out crying in fear.

The demon wiped off my tears with its cold hand.

The demon patted my head with its other hand.

I didn't know what evil thing it was planning, so I pulled myself out of its grip and hugged my shoulders tight.

The demon bent its pale and ugly head. It blinked. Drops of blood flew from its eyes.

The demon turned and went towards the altar.

"Go away, you evil thing," I whispered, trying to sound all brave, like grandma. "Go away."

But the demon came back with the altar covering in its hands. It looked at me. Then it ripped the heavy cloth in two, pushed the bigger part into my hands, and bent towards the chapel floor with the other part.

The demon started mopping up my pee.

It was a scary thing to watch, the evil creature in front of me that only pretended to be good, and I knew it had some other bad plan. To catch me unaware maybe. Un-a-ware. I felt suddenly sick. I closed my eyes and opened them.

The demon had moved away. It was cleaning my blood off the floor with its fingers.

It raised its head and blinked at me.

"Go away, you evil thing," I whispered again. "I'm not falling for your tricks."

Then I turned and ran, back to grandma, and back to love and safety.