Cross Stitch: Finale (special preview)

I loved my father very much. For the longest time, it had always just been the two of us. I never knew my mother, all my father ever said was that she had run away. It didn’t matter to me, as long as I had him, I was happy. I didn’t need a mom at all, he was everything.

There were times when I was told things about myself. My father would tell me I had nightmares and I would sleepwalk, so he would lock my door for me at night. That way, I wouldn’t get hurt. I just had to tell myself that anything I heard or saw at night was a nightmare. I believed him, why would I believe anything else?

My nightmares often sounded like babies crying. I could hear them screaming all night. My heart would race and pound, and I would sit up in bed, terrified. I would tell myself over and over it was just the nightmares that Dad warned me about. That’s all it is. Lay down before I sleepwalk and do something.

There was a night, though, where I didn’t listen to myself. Instead, I got up out of bed because the crying was so loud and so terrifying. I just wanted my dad, I wanted to see him and hold him, and feel safe in his arms. I found the door unlocked, so I left. If it was a dream, it felt so real. I wandered down the hallway to my father’s bedroom, but he wasn’t there. The crying was coming from downstairs, and there was a light on.

I was told that the basement wasn’t safe for me. My dad made me promise I wouldn’t go down there, or I could get hurt. He told me there were all sorts of wires that could electrocute me, pipes that could burn me. But I told myself that this was a nightmare, and maybe if I could find my dad, it would end for good.

I went slowly down the stairs and I could see my father’s back. He was bent over a table and something smelled horribly gross. The baby’s crying had faded and now there was just the sound of my dad sobbing.

“Dad?” I said sleepily. “What are you doing?”

He whipped around so fast, but he didn’t look like my father. There was blood on his hands and face. Behind him, on the table, there was a small baby, and on the floor, there was a woman crumpled into a ball.

“Amy! Little one.” He removed the bloody gloves and came to the foot of the stairs. “You’re having your nightmare again. Go back to your room.”

“What’s going on?” I whispered. “Dad. What’s happening?”

I was in a nightmare, and I had been since I was born. It took a long time for me to realize I was not having nightmares. My father had been doing this for years. In fact, he had done it to my mother. I wasn’t even his daughter, I was just the first of his so called experiments to find God.

I was left in the care of a couple who I came to call my parents; they tried really hard to help me, to help me feel safe. My father was killed before he went to trial, when he was beaten to death in his cell. After that, I really did start having nightmares. I saw him everywhere, he stayed with me no matter what I did or where I went. I was told he was a manifestation of my guilt, but it really wasn’t so simple. He was there with me, so I locked him in a box.

It wasn’t until I met Ivan I was able to realize what was happening to me. I was haunted, plagued by the spirit of my father. With Ivan’s help, I was able to lock him away. I was able to put my past behind me and move on. But he was still there, he hadn’t left like I told Ivan. My father was simply locked away with me, I kept him chained and hidden. I ignored him as best I could. But there were still moments when I could feel him lingering beside me.

Ivan had always wanted children, but he knew what I had gone through would probably mean it was never going to happen. But I felt I owed it to Ivan, he saved me, he protected me. I loved him more than I ever thought I could love someone. So I agreed to a baby. And yes, I was terrified, but I just told myself that everything else was a nightmare, as long as I had Ivan beside me, I had nothing to fear.

Ethelinda sat me at a table and, all around us, there were dressforms covered in leathery dresses and shirts. I can see the man with scissors stalking about them, hiding between them and then scurrying around, avoiding Ethelinda as she goes to poke the smoldering coals in the fireplace.

“Are you cold, Mrs. Young?” She asks. “It’s important to keep a nice, warm temperature for the baby.”

I look down at the arms of the chair where there were claw marks from a struggle. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.” Ethelinda stands stiff and looks back. “I do not think you are, though.”

“Keeping me trapped here isn’t good for the baby,” I throw back at her.

She grits her teeth and tilts her head to the side. “Don’t be a sour mouth, Mrs. Young,” she sneers. “It doesn’t suit such a pretty woman like yourself.” She struts across the room, her limbs twitching and her knees buckling. Her movements jerk and buck as she makes her way across the room. She grabs hold onto the wall, snarling under her breath and hitting her stomach. She stands erect and turns slowly.