The Gramarye Genocide

I remember when the Gramarye brothers and I went camping. The moment I stepped out of the car after we pulled up at the Gramarye house, I felt a strange energy. Their grandfather built it many years ago, and although it was neatly tucked away in the heart of a pine forest, it was no safer than being out in the open world.

I met the Gramarye brothers during our last year at high school and have been friends since then. Drake and his brother Damian were like the brothers I was never fortunate enough to have, so when they showed up at my house after two years of without contact and asked me to camp with them at their late grandfather's house, I was more than happy to go.

"Damian, I thought we were going to a grandfather's house?" Drake asked, staring at the old house before us.

"Dude, it's right in front of you. Are you blind or just stupid?" Damian rolled his eyes at his brother, who hissed in return.

"You know I have OCD I cannot stay here. If it is so filthy out here, imagine how dirty inside is."

I walked up to Drake and patted his shoulder. "We'll clean it up, man," I told him. It was true, the house was filthy. Even I was skeptical about staying there, but it was already too late to turn back. I let out a long sigh and took one last look at the house before following the guys inside. Overgrown bushes and weeds almost covered the front yard. The old pinewood had been stripped in a pitch patch pattern of the gray paint it wore and the windows were either blacked up or smashed out.

"Well, this is a surprise." Damian playfully pushed Drake through the front door. "Seems your OCD won't be kicking in, after all."

"I'd prefer cleaning up over finding an old house like this," Drake said. "It is spick and span." He placed one hand on his hip and used the other to fix his hair. "This shit is weird."

"You're just paranoid. You said it is your Grandfather's house, so maybe someone comes here often and clean up," I said. I didn't believe my own opinion, but It made sense to think so since their family was the only one who knew about the house, and although no one lived there, it was important to them. It silently bothered me how everything was still in its place so many years after their grandfather died and I wondered why someone would clean up the inside and leave the outside of the house to be taken by the forest.

"We are the last of our family," Damian informed. He leaned against the sofa while I and Drake sat across from each other on identical wooden chairs.

Drake quietly picked at his lips as he would whenever he is nervous. "Joseph, Damian," He called to me and his brother. "We're not safe here."

I looked into his eyes and I saw fear. I looked down at his pants and I saw his crotch was wet. He had pissed himself. Damian and I glanced at each other before bursting into laughter.

"What the fuck, dude?" Damian raised himself from the couch and walked through the door behind Drake. It led him into what seemed to be the bathroom. When he returned, his face wore the same expression his brother did.

My laughter came to an abrupt stop. "What?" I asked, but they didn't respond.

Damian pointed behind me. "We're not safe here," He repeated the same thing Drake did.

When I turned to see what had startled them, my heart nearly stopped. I would have been glad if it were their father, for what I saw was far worse. It was outside when they saw something. I now saw it too, a blackbird lying in the dirt. It was slowly turning into something else, a woman. My mouth fell agape. It wasn't possible, what I was seeing. I rushed to the door and slammed it shut. Drake and Damian were still frightened. "Wake up!" I clapped at them both.

"What the hell was that?" Damian asked.

"You should know, you're the one who brought us here." Drake finally got up from his chair and entered the bathroom behind him.

"We should leave." I sighed. "There was a lot of strong energy there and I doubted it was good.

Drake later returned and leaned against the door frame. "There's no water," He said.

"It doesn't matter, we're leaving," Damian said.

"Damian, I reek of piss, I have to shower first or at least wash up a bit."

"The water is in the car, you can wash up after we leave." I wanted to leave as soon as possible. I wanted to leave before anything bad actually happened. I had a feeling something bad would happen and I didn't want us to stick around to find out what that would be.

"Fine, then come on," Drake said.

"Not another step, Gramarye." A woman's voice barked behind me.

I turned to find it was the black-haired woman or the blackbird woman, whatever she was. She was draped in a silky black robe that drew on the ground behind her. Her lips were painted black and her nose was unusually pointy. Although she was a bit too skinny for the robe, she wore it well.

"Who the hell are you?" Damian asked."

The woman chuckled evilly. "your worst nightmare." She stalked further into the house as we slowly backed away into the bathroom.

When we were all inside, I slammed the door shut.

"That's the woman who killed mom, I recognize her from the description she gave me right before she died, "Drake told Damian and me.

"So what is she doing here?" Damian raked his slender fingers through the curls of his hair.

"Unfinished business," I wondered aloud.

"That's right, you. Wait, you're not a Gramarye?" The woman startled us. She stepped out of the bathtub behind us and grinned. "You can run but you cannot hide."

"She's a ghost," Drake cried before collapsing beside Damian and me.

"I'm a witch And I have cursed your bloodline to death by my bare hands." The woman pointed at the door and it flew open.

I didn't believe in the supernatural, and it puzzled me how she could open the door from where she stood and how she found herself in the bathroom when we left her on the other side of the door. "Witches are not real, I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me, I'm not here for you, I'm here for them and they believe me." The woman pointed at the chair at the far end of the living room and then stared at Damian who rushed toward it in reluctance. She looked back at me and grinned again, then pointed at Drake who was still unconscious on the floor. His body rose from the floor floated out of the bathroom and fell onto the couch. "Do you believe me now," She asked me.

I tried to say yes, but the word was stuck in the back of my throat so I nodded instead.

"Sit and stay quiet or I'll change my mind about cutting your heart out."

"Yes, ma'am." I rushed into the living room and sat on the same chair I had sat on earlier.

The woman walked into the living room and stood at the wall that separates it from the kitchen. "Wake up," She said, and Drake awoke and sat up. "You lot listen while I tell a story."

The brothers exchanged looks and then glanced at me. They tried to talk to me but no words left their lips. It was as if they had been sealed shut.

I felt afraid for my friends as I watched them tremble in fear. I was scared too, but not as much as them. After all, the woman was about to kill them and not me. The fear in their faces broke my heart. The worst part was, that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't help them.

"Many years ago, your grandfather murdered my mother in cold blood," The woman spoke. "She gave him everything and he killed her because he couldn't be satisfied." That's why I'm going to kill you last two Gramarye." She looked at me and uttered two words, Don't move."

Suddenly, I felt a strange pull beneath my bottom on the chair. I was stuck to it and it was stuck to the wood of the floor. I was afraid. I believed in witches now, since she was right in front of me, proving herself.

"I will avenge my mother with the blood of the very last Gramarye poured into the urn that holds her ashes and her soul will be free." The woman let out a boisterous laugh.

I felt the tears in the corner of my eyes run down my cheeks. There was nothing either of us could do, neither to save ourselves nor to save each other. They were doomed to a fate chosen by this woman. Only God knew what she would do to me too.

The woman stalked to her left, toward Damian and stood before him. He too had pissed his pants out of fear and if it wasn't for the situation, Drake would've had his fair share of laughter. He shook like a leaf in the wind as the woman caressed his face. I then saw her outstretched hand turn black. Her fingers became pointy and she grinned as she admired them. She caressed Damian's face once more, then in a swift action, plunged her hand into his throat.

"One more, mother. One more," The woman said.

It hurt to watch my friends get killed, but there was nothing I could do to save them. At that moment I hoped she would take my life as well and not leave me to live with such a heartbreaking memory. Damian was dead. His body lay lifeless across the living room. I couldn't hold back the rest of the tears that were coming, for my heart was broken into a million pieces.

The woman looked at me as she walked over to Drake who had fainted again, upon the sight of his brother's death. She tugged at his shirt and he woke up. He fell to the floor in an attempt to rise from the chair and the woman hauled him to his feet. She kissed his forehead, which was now soaked in perspiration.

She looked at me and I stared into her eyes. They were filled with satisfaction and joy. It was obvious it wasn't just revenge. I could tell she enjoyed inflicting pain on people. She liked to kill.

"Die! Gramarye," The witch bellowed as she snapped the neck of the last Gramarye. She cut Drake's wrist with one of her fingers and drained his blood into an urn that appeared in her hand. Outside, the skies turned gray and lightning flashed in the distance. A clap of thunder shook the house and an evil laugh escaped the woman's lips. She looked down at me and winked, before opening her arms wide. With one flap of them, she turned back into a blackbird and flew away.

I remember how depressed I was for years. Nobody believed me when I told them what happened that day at the Gramarye house. To everyone, I was the brute who killed the Gramarye brothers. After all, witches aren't real.