Sometimes he made them his pets. Joey hated that. It riled him something awful. Didn’t do to get Joey angry.

It began to cry. Archie tried not to listen as its sobs scratched at his heart. He removed the handkerchief from his bibs. Leaned down by the bed. Using soft, gentle swipes to wipe its face, he baptized worn white cotton with its tears. He felt warmth bloom in his chest…

…and pain crushed Archie’s head like his pa’s old vise. “No,” he begged.

Joey was coming!

Red flooded his vision.

Archie got up and stumbled to the sideboard. Picked the knife up from a puddle of congealed fat. Slammed the palm of his mangled hand down on the wood.

“No, Joey!” he cried. “Don’t make me!”

“I told you not to coddle them.” Joey’s voice—Archie’s mouth.

Joey laughed. He made Archie’s good left hand place the blade against his right. Archie began to saw at his thumb.

It screamed. Archie screeched. Joey laughed.

The sounds painted the cabin like Archie’s fresh spilt blood.

The End