Sins of The Father

CW: Physical violence, gore, suicide or self harm

Sins of The Father

By: Jodi Eaton

12/11/2025

I woke up to four dead dogs. The house was quiet, rain slapping the cold metal roof. Wind howled through cracks in the old house, pushing the damp air through the insulation. The structure was over 100 years old. I should be grateful to have bought this run-down shack, especially after my 15-year marriage ended in a lie. Like the rain, my marriage was cold, relentless, and unapologetic.

A chill spread through my chakras as death spread through an infected village. My dogs, my only companions, were nowhere to be found. White and black specs formed at the corners of my eyes, threatening to black out. I screamed, but my fear drowned out my voice. Feet heavy, I pulled them out of the invisible quicksand, sinking deeper into the cold earth.

Fear paralyzes when realization sets in and the brain has no time to process facts. Dark crimson streaks glistened in the snowflakes. At first, I thought they were my beloved pets, a rabbit caught or a cut paw from Opal’s soft indoor living skin. But what I saw was nothing so menial. The dark liquid grew in size as the macabre scene revealed the truth. Four mangled bodies, unrecognizable, spilled in a slop pile, fur, teeth, and eyes scattered on top.

My feet released, propelling me towards the canine heap. “What’s happening?” I choked, the lump in my throat tightening. I reached the door, tears concealed by the rain and snow. Panic, anger, and terror crept in as reality sank in. Who would do this? What purpose did killing four innocent animals serve any prey?

Something deep in the forest caught my attention. Lights, a red truck, oversized tires, and a silhouette with long red hair stood out against the high beams of my ex-husband’s truck. My ex-husband’s mistress stood, legs spread wide, hair wild and untended. Why her? I relaxed, realizing my 22-year-old ex-husband had chosen her over me.

Rain soaked us both, wind howling like razor wire. I didn’t see the whole picture. I almost offered her help, but then I saw her tiny hand holding my skinning knife. I used it to dress the deer I hunted, keeping the scent of blood from attracting prey. I kept the blade in the farthest barn, deep in the hills of our 1000 acres, far from us or our dogs. My ex-husband and my father knew I kept it there. Crimson liquid flowed down a steep valley, puddling and spreading around her frame.

Her glazed, fiery green eyes slowly looked away from the pile of slaughtered carcasses. They eerily reached mine with a smooth, intentionally slow deception. I almost charged her. Luckily, logic and reason prevented me from thinking I could overpower this psychotic individual with a freshly sharpened 18-inch knife, already gleaming with the evidence of her first kill.

The heavy rain through the Pacific Northwest pines created a muddy path to my car. I had no choice but to run barefoot, covered only in a white tee shirt and pajama bottoms. The cold temperatures stung, but I refused to let Gizele Heartman destroy our memories. In my mind, she ran too, her footsteps echoing behind me. I gained every second, but she was closer to me, and I was closer to death. My college state championship-winning legs refused to let me down. Every step, every painful stick, gave me the strength to keep going. I reached the lake, determined to swim across and help. But I was convinced that Blade would gut me at the edge. Not a single one ever made it across this lake, my father’s voice echoing in my childhood memories. He stood beside me now, tall, dark, handsome, and alive. We kept our secrets, and no one would ever know. Clara, you love Daddy right? Instinctively, I shook my head yes. His voice, thick with a sound I recalled as he took his last breath, grew louder. Then his skin fell from his, and a pile of bones lay beside me. As quickly as he appeared, the dark icy waters reappeared, filling my lungs. I couldn’t swim across, so I called out to the image of my father.

My arms floated above my head as fear subsided, replaced by the comfort of death. I fell for what felt like forever into the lonely blackness of our lake, enveloped in the soft, slimy muck. I saw the carnage my father meant that day: hundreds of skeletons scattered in the clear, dark waters, a stark contrast to their tomb. My father was a serial killer. Why?

As death turned the last spark of life to nothingness, my last thoughts were just that.

Standing above the surface, her lovers’ wives’ dogs’ blood still thick on her skin. Gizelle’s odd smile curled as icy rain chilled her, but her mind wasn’t focused on her actions or the death she witnessed. She didn’t hate Clara; she never planned her escape or her dive into the icy waters. “Well, Clara, your father was mistaken,” she said to the lapping shore. “Everyone, except for me, Clara.” Gizelle turned and walked back to the farmhouse, past the dead dogs, showering in one of Clara’s plain outfits. She placed the knife where it had always been kept. She closed the chained barn doors and whispered, “You see, Clara, I knew where the knife was kept because either was under the dungeon your father held me prisoner in until he tried to use me as a target.” “Runs little piggy, run,” he said, and I did right into the waters he thought I never would make it out of. Gizelle slammed the doors tight, ensuring no evidence of her presence. By the time she returned to her love-struck man, he was still sound asleep, incapacitated by the lethal quality of drugs she gave him. “Good boy, Gizelle hummed, crawling next to him, falling into the last sleep they would ever know. “Thanks for letting me in, I made amends today.” No words came from his shallow breaths. As the pills lulled her into a comfortable dream like state, she stumbled out of the bedroom. Giselle, reassured the last family heir would not survive death. Struggling to drag her body out to the front yard, wincing at the merciless rain and sleet splitting the bare skin. Giselle’s heart slowing as the medication spread deep in to her veins. Life draining in slow motion each step became more arduous. Until finally falling face first into the cold blades of grass. Here in front of the “perfect” family’s majestic estate entrance is where she would be found. The detectives would eventually discover the carefully detailed events of those 3 days 12 years ago. Along with a clear description of where to find the hundred of other women lost, waiting to be reunited with their loved ones. The rain came harder now as the remaining thoughts of him flooded her mind. Giselle pushed smirks going to the edges of her dying mouth. The truth, shame, and eternal shunning would reign down on his wife. A cold, controlling venomous witch that governed their city. Family with power evil enough to shut up entire justice departments. Yet, now would be forced to face a long deserved poetic justice. Giselle’s body twitched once more as her young organs struggled to remain alive. Time took her last breath in its cold heartless fingers with that her painful memories dissipated to mist rolling through the harsh shadows of the property. Forever her should would be a part of this cursed ground. Giselle now had the power to blacken the roads of the future through relinquishing the souls of it’s past.

As her last thought faded, a white pearlescent Porsche SUV rolled in to view. For a moment Giselle swore she heard a woman’s voice piercing the air in horror and grief.