I Hate Easter

Always have, always will. I couldn’t tell you why, maybe it was the fever that came every waking spring, my nose clogged with pollen and a hacking cough that refused to die.

Maybe it was the asinine egg hunt that my extended family all flew down for, the lumbering masses with their sloppy beer-stained kisses and the same two questions burning the tips of their tongues:

“How’d you do on that Math quiz?” and “Could you grab me another beer sport?”

Maybe it was the fact I never once won the stupid thing, it was always my smug cousins with their buck teeth and slack jawed grins, which sounds like an oxymoron but I don’t care, I despised the smug looks they’d shoot me after they were declared the winner and received their meager prize of five crumpled bills.

I busted my ass looking for those shoddy plastic eggs, and I always fell short. I suspect they were cheating, coordinating with my traitorous aunts and uncles.

I’d always throw a fit then my dad would slap me be in the back of the head for being a sore loser and we’d march inside to munch on some severely dry ham.

Ah, Easter.

My shit heel little brother, with his whinny little attitude and grubby palms didn’t have that problem. He adored Easter, loved stuffing his fat mouth with Cadbury cream and heaps of jellybeans. He would take a handful out of his basket, fully mixed in with that shredded lime paper mind you, and shove it into his mouth and obnoxiously chew it. It was like watching a steer eat, and he didn’t even swallow it. He’d look me right in the eyes and open his mouth, a rainbow wad of pulpy slop would slowly drip from his gaping maw, and he’d spit it out on the ground right in front of me.

Then, with a shit eating grin, he’d grab some more and do it all again.

You get the picture, my brother is an annoying, spoiled, pain in the ass my parents dote on and let him get away with everything. Don’t even get me started on Christmas. Piles of shinny wrapped toys for little Ricky, and an envelope and a limp hug for Steve. Maybe some socks if they decide I’ve earned them.

Ever since he was old enough to compete, he’d won at the stupid egg hunt. I aged out right around then, and frankly I’ve been seething ever since. For five years I’ve had to endure the sickening amount of praise the little cunt gets every year for being the best at zipping around the yard. Helps that there’s only like three cousins still young enough to compete, and they’re slow and complain about the humidity.

You don’t hear me complain about the goddamn humidity, and I live in this swamp.

This year I had already resigned myself to my fate and promised my parents I wouldn’t sulk around the house and would actually talk to my stupid cousins instead of hiding in my room with the shades drawn counting the seconds till my solitude was reclaimed.

This year would end up being the end of us all. This was the year my snot-nosed bastard mistake of a brother found the egg.

————-

The hunt started like any other. My family was huddled in the backyard; the sun was buzzing above. It was unseasonably hot for early Spring, the marshlands just a few meters away were bubbling and frothing from the sweltering heat. As much as I complained about not winning, I was glad I didn’t have to run around in the bog ankle deep in muck and botflies. My father, in his buzzed sense of humor, always hid at least one out in the swamp lands.

Not too far mind you, he wasn’t a sadist. I had watched him stumble in there half an hour ago, can of bud light in one hand and egg tucked beneath his other.

The contestants were lined up, eager to make their mark. My brother stood tall among his peers, and about double their weight. He had wavy black hair that was coated in grease, you could smell his unwashed scalp from the deck it was nauseating.

He had that smarmy look on his pudgy face; God I wanted to throttle him just looking at him. But I fought the urge, and focused on my breathing, and went back to listening to my Aunt Sally nag at me about what I was going to major in.

Dad stumbled forth, that faint glazed over-look in his eyes. He wobbled where he stood, the crowd before him snickered at his plight. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother taking a steep drag of a cigarette. Her once vibrant chalky black hair was now dull and spotted with grey speckles. There were bags under her eyes that would drop a camel.

It was a nice juxtaposition to my father’s manic weariness, if that makes sense. Anyway, my father gave a quick speech, slurred and barely coherent. As is tradition.

“Ok buckos, welcome to the family egg hunt. Each of you little go -getters will have ten minutes to round up all the eggs you can carry. Go out and get em, be careful if you’re crawling around the bog, it’s rutting season for the gators. AWRIGHT GO GET EM!” He bellowed as everyone cheered and the contestants sped off. The aunts and uncles and slightly buzzed cousins roared with fake cheer as they scrambled and tripped over each other. Ricky, to the little shit’s credit, was like lightning. You blinked and it was just; boom-boom-boom-egg after egg.

Soon enough he had vanished into the brush and part of me hope he’d trip and fall into quicksand or something like that. Not deep enough to kill him, he was my brother and I loved him-I think. But something about his willfully arrogant smirk pissed me off.

So, I sat there in the afternoon sun soaking up rays and occasionally nodding my head whilst my aunt rattled on and on about nothing. I kept an eye on the hunt, two had already given up, grown bored with the futile chase. One was on his hands and knees pulling up the grass and throwing the mulch around in a silent tantrum.

The bog beyond made its usual noise, the gurgle of steaming swamp gas, the groan of a grazing stork, the chips and chitters that shook the bark loose at night and made my imagination go wild. My grandpa used to tell me wild stories about critters in the bog, scary stories to frighten a young boy from wandering too far out of boredom.

He spoke of terrible lizards with rainbow feathers, gnashing maws that snapped bone in twain and had claws that cut through soft bellies like melted butter. Wonderful tales to hear as a child, never ventured too far into the backyard because of them.

Wish Ricky had heard those stories.

I was broken out of my nostalgic stupor when I heard him cheering with wicked glee. All heads turned to see him storm out of the brush, basket dangling from his flabby arms as he held something above his head. He was out of breath and wheezing as he approached my dad and presented his prize. It was a semi-large egg; it was of a pale hue and had speckles of mud and moisture on it.

“I found them dad; I found all the eggs.” Ricky wheezed. Curious got the better of me and I left the deck, wanting to expect the strange egg. I stood next to my father, a pungent aroma of whiskey laced coke surrounding him. Ricky’s face was puffy and red, sweat clung to him like it would a pig grazing in the mud. He smirked at me as he showed off his mystery egg.

Dad furrowed his brow and calmly slurred.

“Sorry Rick, this ain’t one of ours. I ain’t never seen it before, you go put it back before-” A buzzer went off and the contestants all lined up, baskets in hand. Against Ricky’s protests and whines for more time Dad counted up all the eggs.

Turns out Ricky’s total was beaten by a single egg; dorky cousin roger broke out a triumphant smile as My father patted him on the back a bit too hard. I admit, I couldn’t help but relish Ricky’s defeat. That is until he had a complete meltdown.

His face turned a shade of crimson never seen before, his fat face contorted, feverish ripples of rage shot across his blubber, like echoes of a rogue wave.

“That’s not FAIR.” He shrieked, piercing my ears and almost causing me to double over. “It’s my house, I’m supposed to win!” he whined. He stomped his feet and throw his basket to the ground, juggling the strange egg in his grubby little hands.

“Now son, we can’t always get what we want. Don’t be a spoil sport now.” My father spoke calmly, suddenly deadly sober from the judgmental glares and sneers of our extended family.

I was kinda impressed actually, if it were me, he would have already smacked me across the face. Guess he’s mellowed in his age.

Ricky refused dad’s mercy and doubled down on his sickening attitude. With a guttural roar that could only be described as the cry of a furious whale he raised the egg into the air and spiked it into the dirt.

It shattered on impact, naturally, and the gathered crowd gasped and let out a collective, mournful whimper. You see, twitching on the ground in a pile of yolk and goop was a small little thing. It looked like a half-formed chick with scaley skin, two slimy legs and nubs for arms. There was a franticly blinking serpentine eye on the poor thing, as what I assumed was the beak tried to cry out for its mama.

My heart broke looking at the poor thing, and what does my sociopath, sadistic little shit brother do?

Before anyone can stop him, he rose his foot above the dying critter and drove his heel into it, splattering what was left of the poor creature.

A wave of horrified chattering broke out among the crowd, the little cousins were sobbing, and poor roger look ghostly pale.

“Stupid egg, wasting my time.” grumbled Ricky as he grinded his foot. Mom’s mortified shriek broke us out of our stupor and my father quickly grabbed Ricky’s arm and yanked him towards him. Ricky twisted and clawed but my father’s grip was iron clad. He dragged him towards the house kicking and screaming, slamming the glass door behind him.

Mom was quick to calm the crowd by saying food was up and tried as best she could to steer the crowd towards the meat plater on the deck. There were some shaking heads and grumbling, and I overheard Aunt Sally saying you’d never see one of her kids acting like that.

Mom whispered to me to get rid of “It” and pointed a bony finger at the ground. I scooped up the smushed critter with care and trudged towards the woods. I suppose she would have preferred I dump it in the garbage, but it felt wrong. I didn’t go far, just the edge of the marshlands, right out of sight when the brush meets the yard. I dug a little trench and as stupid as it is, said I was sorry.

I quickly got out of the brush, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Like the trees had ears. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, I swore I saw the trees rattle and this chirping bark, spiteful and full of mourning. The rest of my family moved on, dad eventually came back down and put ice on his knuckles. No one asked how Ricky was, nor did they care to after that display.

The sun set on an awkward party, some of the family had left for the evening, most stayed, too drunk to navigate the way back. I excused myself when the fireflies came out to dance, sick of the day’s events. My father was getting a stern talking too by one of his brothers, saying something about discipline. Dad’s head wobbled and weaved in the night; he probably wouldn’t even remember his own name in the morning.

Mom watched with disdain, standing against the backdoor with a lit cigarette in her hands. She gave my shoulder a limp squeeze as I walked past her. I went up the sprawling staircase for some much-needed rest. I passed Ricky’s bedroom. The door was shut but I heard light whimpering and sniffling from behind. I lingered at the door, thinking I should go in and comfort him. He was just a kid after all.

Then I thought-fuck it, let him take his medicine for once in his life. I regret that now.

I slipped into my room without another thought and collapsed onto my soft bed. I was out like a light.

————

I awoke dazed and confused, cold sweat clinging to my brow. From outside my window, I could hear some kind of commotion. I glanced out and saw shadows racing across the yard. They were low to the ground, moving with purpose. I heard muffled shouts and pleading. There was this coarse bark, like a chittering rooster with something caught in its throat.

It was all around the house. I recognized some of the voices, Aunt Sally was crying until her shrill voice was cut short. Some of them didn’t make sense, I heard cousin roger’s timid voice, but it felt wrong. A taunting, robotic mimic almost. It just kept repeating the same phrases; “Mommy. Over here. I’m Here. Help me.” Over and over again. I sat up in bed and tried to gleam just what the hell was going on outside.

That’s when I heard a thud from outside the hall. I whipped towards the front of the room, my eyes slow to adjust to the bleak dark. My door creaked open, a lumbering shadow briskly moving past. I saw something, a tendril like appendage at the bottom, almost beckoning me near it.

I froze in bed, feeling like a little kid again, all scared of the monsters in the dark.

“Stephen.” My mother’s voice harshly barked at me. It was faint, deeper in the hallway, wasn’t even sure I heard it at first.

“M-mom?” I sheepishly asked, my voice barely a choked whisper.

“Stephen. Help. Come. Help.” She repeated. The voice was the same, but the tone felt cold. I carefully left my bed and wandered to the door. I peered out and saw nothing in the dank hall. The air felt chill, like the windows were open. From the base of the stairs, I heard it once more-

“Stephen. Help.”

“Mom what’s wrong?” I called out once more. I was met with silence. At the top of the stairs, I stood, and I saw something lurking at the bottom. Beady eyes with a faint glow to them. From the top I could make out the pained screams of my family from outside, along with sickening barks and hisses.

“Stephen. Come. Here.” the thing using her voice choked out. I backed up and felt a hand grasp my shoulder. I yelped and turned to see the bloodied face of my mother. She was bleeding profusely, a gash on her forehead and clumps of hair torn from her scalp. I could barely see the rest of her, but I could smell the gore and iron she was caked in. She put a finger to her lips to shush me and her gaze darted to the bottom of the steps.

There was a groan, an animalistic whine of frustration and the looming shadow took a step closer. It was bipedal and appeared to have wings for arms and a long leathery tale.

“Stephen.” Mom hoarsely whispered next to me. She didn’t wait for a response and instead put a pair of keys in my hand. “I couldn’t get in from any of the doors. They’re all around us. I need you to get your brother and climb down the ladder in my room. Take the car.” She ordered.

“Mom what’s happening-” I started but stopped as she squeezed my hands. They felt warm and wet; I couldn’t bear to look down. Without another word she pushed me towards the hall and raced downstairs. I heard the rapid clumps of the monster as she pounced on it, and they both tumbled down. I raced to my brother’s room, stumbling in the dark. Finally, I found my bearings and practically kicked it down, screaming Ricky’s name.

They had gotten there first.

There were two of them, cast in a dim light from a fallen lamp. Their eyes glowed like white phosphorus when the light hit them. They were colorful, vibrant reds and tropical orange all mixed together. Their arms were long and lanky, beautiful feathers coated their leather hide. They had meat back legs with a single curled claw that almost looked like a dancer’s heel.

The creatures stood over what was left of Ricky. His belly was cut open, guts spilled all over the floor in a steamy pile, torn and stripped like string cheese. his sternum was ripped open, like the creatures had pried it open. His tattered lungs still gasped and wheezed at nothing, like a sheet in the breeze. His face was gray and his eyes dull. The one two his left had a mouth full of intestines, slurping it up like noodles. The one to his right just had meat spilling out of its maw. It saw me enter and flashed a predator’s grin at me.

“Ri-Ricky.” I stuttered, warmth pooling down my trousers. The monsters made a quick lunge at me and I bolted. I ran to my parents’ bedroom, out of the corner of my eye seeing the monster on the stairs dragging half a limp object up them. My pulse quickened and I crashed into my parents’ bedroom, franticly searching for the ladder.

The terrible lizards barked at me, meat spilling from their gluttonous mouths, hungry for something fresh. I rushed to the window and glanced down, a ladder haphazardly leaning against the wall. I could hear what was left of my family be slaughtered by the things more clearly now. I shut it all out and climbed out the window. The bars were slick with what I assumed was blood and dirt. I was halfway down when I heard something bark at me.

I glanced back up and meat dropped from its gnashing mouth. A slab of gore crashed onto my face, and I screamed and let go of the ladder. I hit the ground hard, my sides crying out in agony. I didn’t have time to spare though, I limped to my mom’s car, a nice sedan, and crawled in. It sputtered to life and I booked it out of there. Not once looking back.

I think I was several miles away until I finally pulled over to the side of the road, my lungs beating out of my chest and my heart aching at the carnage I had seen. As quickly as started, it was over just as soon. In the distance, I swear I could still hear the screams.

I led the charge in the morning. I had found the lucky few who made it to their motel and we got the cops; told them a wild animal had attacked our house. The creatures were long gone, as were several of the bodies. We found my father’s torso dangling over the deck, rotten whiskey fermenting on the ground below in a bloody heap. We ended up searching the marshlands for our dead.

We only found Ricky. He was slumped up against a fallen log, his face clawed to hell and his eyes long gone. In the pit of what was once his stomach was bundles of mud, and freshly laid eggs.

We left him there, the lesson of respecting nature already harshly learned.

I left then; I couldn’t’ stay in that slaughterhouse. Ended up selling it to a cousin who wanted to sit and stew, maybe bait the creatures out. I’m sure he’s raptor chow by now. I avoid the woods when I can, but sometimes I swear I hear those hoarse barks, lingering in the shadows waiting to finish what they started.