Turning the Tables

Before I could take another look at Freddy, Roy dragged me backward by the ankle from behind, flipped me over, and clamped both hands around my throat.

"Go catch the little one," Roy told Martin viciously.

He hardly needed to say it. Martin hunched over and hurried downstairs toward Freddy, unable to wait.

"Good boy... Freddy... how about playing a game with Uncle? Just like before... let's finish the game we never finished."

I wanted to stop him, but I was powerless to fight back. Unlike Martin, who was tall, thin, and twitchy, Roy was short and fat, with absurd strength-at least, far more than I could contend with now. I could take on a dozen children, but right now I couldn't even struggle.

He spoke with a savage grin.

"You little bastard. You dared to stab me?"

Gripping my throat, he slammed me against the floor twice. My vision went black, and my ears buzzed. The rusty dagger, my only means of fighting back, had fallen somewhere when I tumbled down the stairs.

His grip hurt my throat terribly. Suffocation and dizziness washed over me as I struggled for air. My fingers clawed wildly at Roy's wrists, my nails digging into his coarse skin, but that only made him squeeze harder, his knuckles nearly sinking into the flesh of my neck.

Nearby, I heard Martin's oily coaxing and Freddy's footsteps racing through the living room. He collided with the solid wood dining table with a clatter, amid Lady Nova's bristling screeches-the cat must have lunged at Martin and scratched him, only to be kicked away hard with an agonized whimper.

My eyes reddened with desperation, but as the air in my lungs dwindled, the sounds blurred together, and even the light and shadows before me swam.

"Don't run, Freddy. Uncle brought you something fun..."

An enamel basin in the kitchen hit the floor and broke. Water splashed amid the crash of falling objects. Roy's grip on my throat loosened slightly as he looked that way. He spat.

"Quite the little runner. Martin will deal with him." He freed one hand and slapped me hard. Bloody spittle sprayed from my mouth onto the floor, mixing with the blood from my split forehead. The metallic smell made me gag. "Stab me, will you? Just see what I do to you."

The bloody gleam in his eyes and the savage grin on his lips formed the most terrifying sight of the night. He had no intention of simply killing me.

I had no strength left. All I could do was grope blindly with one hand, until I suddenly touched something cool.

As he spoke, he raised his hand to strike again. But in that brief chance to breathe, I drove the knife hard into his belly-that soft flesh was his weak point. Caught off guard by the pain, Roy abruptly released my throat and doubled over with a grunt.

I scrambled free, my throat burning. The air I sucked in tasted of blood. Without even stopping to cough, I stumbled toward the sounds nearby.

The living room was a wreck. The plate holding the pumpkin pie lay shattered on the floor, cream and crumbs smeared everywhere. Nova crouched in the corner by the fireplace, her back arched as she growled low, while Martin's sickening coaxing came from the kitchen.

I rushed into the kitchen and saw Martin had cornered Freddy in the gap between the counter and the refrigerator. One rough hand gripped Freddy's arm while the other reached for his face, and he kept babbling.

"Good boy, don't hide..."

Freddy's face was bright red, but he neither cried nor shouted. He simply bit down hard on Martin's wrist, sinking his teeth into the flesh. Martin let out a strange cry of pain and raised his hand to slap him.

"Get away from him!"

I charged over with a hoarse roar, grabbed the copper kettle from the counter, and smashed it into the back of Martin's head.

The copper kettle struck his skull with a dull thud. Martin swayed and released Freddy's arm, then turned to glare at me, obsession mingling with ferocity in his eyes.

Freddy seized the opening to grab the blunt knife used to cut the pumpkin from the counter and drive it hard into Martin's thigh-blunt as it was, he put all his strength behind it, burying it deep in the flesh.

Martin screamed shrilly and fell to the floor, clutching his leg and rolling around. Blood quickly seeped out, wetting the floor.

I swallowed. The front door was out of the question. We could only leave through the back.

I grabbed Freddy and was about to run for the door when heavy footsteps sounded behind us-Roy had caught up, his face full of viciousness, his gaze as venomous as poison.

"You two little bastards. Neither of you is leaving today. You'll both die here."

As he lunged, I pulled Freddy aside. Roy hit the doorframe with a dull thud. I seized the brass fire tongs from behind the door and brought them down hard on his arm. He screamed and fell, rolling around clutching his arm, all his earlier brute strength gone.

I gripped the fire tongs and stood in front of Freddy, my chest heaving. My throat hurt too much to speak, but I kept my eyes fixed on the two men wailing on the floor. Freddy pressed against my back, staring viciously at them. His little hand clutched the hem of my clothes, his fingertips still stained with Martin's blood, without loosening in the slightest.

The logs still burned in the fireplace. The flickering firelight illuminated the blood and wreckage on the floor, Martin's and Roy's twisted faces, and Freddy and me pressed close together.

Nova slowly approached and rubbed against my ankle, her green eyes fixed on the two men on the floor as a low growl rumbled in her throat.

I gripped the longer iron tongs, while Freddy held the longest table knife. One of the men had been stabbed in the thigh; the other had some injuries to his arm.

I watched them both warily, keeping Freddy firmly behind me.

The first to attack was, unexpectedly, Martin, who had been lying on the floor. She shakily rose to her feet, her expression indescribably crazed. He let out a strange cry and lunged at us. I swung the fire tongs hard at his head, but he seemed unable to feel pain now and kept coming.

Only then did I notice that his eyes were fixed on Freddy. I stepped forward and knocked him to the floor with all my strength. I could no longer worry about anything else. Once, twice, three times... until he lay on the floor, blood spattering my face, its metallic smell spreading.

Was he dead? In that single moment I froze, Roy roared and lunged at me. He pinned me squarely, slamming my back against the stove. The brass dagger slipped from my pocket.

Whether it was the sight of blood or grief at losing his companion, he seemed to have gone mad, tightening his hands savagely around my throat.

Freddy gripped the table knife and stabbed him hard in the back. Roy screamed, snatched up the brass dagger beside him, and thrust it behind himself with all his strength. Blood splashed everywhere.

I watched the dagger plunge into Freddy's arm under that brute force.

Freddy did not so much as grunt. He fell, immediately scrambled back up without loosening his grip on the knife, then clenched it hard and drove it into Roy's neck.

Roy's roar was still caught in his throat when the table knife plunged deep into his neck. Blood instantly spurted out, splashing Freddy's cheeks and my blood-smeared face.

His hand gripping the brass dagger abruptly stiffened, and the pressure around my throat suddenly eased. His eyes bulged as bloody bubbles gurgled from his mouth. His fingers tried uselessly to pull the table knife from his neck, only making the blood gush harder.

I took the chance to shove him away and staggered upright, bracing myself against the stove. My throat burned fiercely, but I immediately looked at Freddy-he stood perfectly straight, his little body upright, the brass dagger still buried deep in his arm. Its rust-speckled handle protruded, and dark red blood ran down his forearm, soaking his dark blue pajamas and dripping from his fingertips onto the floor, spreading into a small wet patch.

Yet he seemed completely unable to feel pain. Without so much as a furrow of his brow, he coldly watched Roy collapse clutching his neck, twitch a few times, and go still. The firelight shone on his face, leaving half bright and half dark. His bloodstained little face was expressionless, his eyes steeped in an unrelenting viciousness. There was nothing childlike about him at all.

But I had no attention to spare for anything else. I was utterly panicked.

"Freddy!"

I rushed over with a hoarse cry and reached for the dagger, afraid of hurting him if I tugged it. My voice shook badly. "Don't move. I'll pull it out for you..."

My fingertips had barely touched the handle when I suddenly stopped-the rust on the blade of the brass dagger embedded in his arm was fading at a speed visible to the naked eye. The chips in its edge slowly closed, and even the bleeding where it pierced his skin gradually stopped.

Before my eyes, the knife slid gently out of his arm and fell to the floor with a clang. The wound on his arm healed in an instant, leaving only a faint red mark that vanished a moment later. His smooth skin looked as though that vicious stab had never happened.

The brass dagger lay on the floor, looking completely renewed compared to before. The dull brass had regained its color, and the blade once covered in red rust now gleamed coldly. Even the stone set into it shone like a gem.

I stood frozen, looking at Freddy's uninjured arm, then at the dagger on the floor. A chill ran up my back. I reached out and hugged him. He still clutched the table knife, blood dripping from its blade, but he nestled obediently into my arms, his little body trembling slightly.

Nova padded over and rubbed her head against Freddy's hand. Her green eyes swept over the two motionless bodies on the floor, and she let out a low whimper, as though offering comfort, yet also as though keeping watch.

The living room was deathly quiet, save for the crackling logs in the fireplace. The smell of blood mingled with cream and the sweet scent of pumpkin, combining into an eerie smell. The floor was a wreck, shards of the pumpkin pie plate mixed with sticky cream and dark red bloodstains. Martin's and Roy's bodies lay crooked on the floor, their earlier ferocity gone.

I sat on the floor holding Freddy, my back against the stove. I looked at his face. He was a complete mess, but fortunately, he had no real injuries.