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Evil That Fathers Do
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11 Evil That Fathers Do Mathew Chokuwenga The door squeaked as it slowly opened. In two or three pulses it lost its movement and its irritating noise died. An adult size figure in complete blackness that the darkness of the room had given him, almost tiptoeing, entered the room and its darkness. In a few steps he found the bed and sat himself first, before slipping into the blankets to lie, his face to the roof. After lying still and silent for a while, he moved his hand, hesitantly as if he was to pet the head of a strange dog, towards the subject that lay almost lifeless with its back to him. Outside the night was so dark and not completely silent. Just there and then an owl sang an owl song and the night filled with a feeling of evil and fear filled the hearts of those who heard its song. Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown. The hand found its subject. The subject froze. The hand began to caress the subject, the subject that gathered its small bones together, tightly coiling itself like a millipede in rejection and fear of the hand and its master. The adult figure drew itself closer to the small, fragile and raw bones that made up the child being of Chipo. Many tears had already flowed from the child’s eyes and sunk into her soft blue pillow. The past two nights had been hell for her. Nights of horror, pain and despair. The child shivered and cried softly. She was so much of a child that even her chest had not yet bloomed. Suddenly sound was born in this mute room. The adult spoke. His voice roaring like a lion’s. “If you ever tell your mother or anyone else I will kill you, I will cut you into a hundred pieces, you hear? You know that big knife of mine, that’s the one I will use on you. Even if you tell anyone, they cannot do anything to me because I’m your father. I own you.” His words finished and he continued with his evil. ...