The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

was consumed until it was nearly dry, Lucy would cry out in
pain, begging for her father to stop. His rancid breath stung
her nostrils as he hissed into her mouth, “Don’t you love
your Daddy, Lucy?”
Lucy would cry and squirm while her father would
tighten his grip and continue to hurt her – to love her – until
he was satisfied, or until the alcohol rendered him unconscious.
Night after night this continued, some nights worse
than others, and still, Lucy never told. At first, the secret
seemed exciting to keep, but now, the secret terrified her. Her
father told her once, that if she told anyone that they would
take her away from him, and then she would have no one to
take care of her, and no one to love her as much as he did.
So she kept quiet every day that she would go to school and
every night when she would go to bed, even when her father
saw it fit to join her in the middle of the night.
After a year of this sick love, Lucy taught herself not
to cry or scream when he had her. She had learned that protest
led to more pain, to objects gagging her mouth, to slaps
across the face, to a harder grip pinning her down. She had
learned that physical struggle made it last longer, so she lay
still when she could bear it. He taught her to thank him for
loving her so dearly, and she would, with tears running down
her face, do as she was told.
One night, though, it all became too much for poor
little Lucy to handle. When he was finished with her, she
ran to her closet to hide, unafraid of whatever monsters may
be hiding there as well. For Lucy, the real monsters were
always in her bed, between her sheets. She cocooned herself
among her clothes, holding herself for what little comfort
her frail arms could give her, praying for a guardian angel
to come and protect her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as
she prayed and cried in silence. Someone, somewhere, had
to care enough to save this little girl from her father’s sick
embrace. To offer comfort when the love became too painful
169