The LAte Night Showers

by Miriam Beltran

As a girl, I was always told how to be a proper lady. How to eat, how to drink, how to dress, how to act, and what to say. But the oddest thing my mother would tell me is to take a shower every single day- morning and afternoon.

I understand that taking a shower is very important to every girl as much as it is for every guy, but my mother insisted I take hot showers. Very hot showers. Hot to the point that steam would collect on the porcelain walls and mirrors blurring out any reflection. I know every girl may enjoy a hot shower, but my showers were always much hotter.

“Can I please take a cold shower? I feel too hot. I'm sweating already enough.” I asked my mom many times, but she would always tell me no without hesitation and without question. She’d just point to the bathroom, and I’d head off.

Another odd thing was my dad’s eating habits. Now, he always had a healthy diet, but the way he ate his meat always concerned me. He prepared his meat stale and not fully cooked. I always thought it was just the media or advice he was given for a healthy diet, but the way he ate it always made me feel weird.

One night, as my parents slept in their bed, I went to the bathroom to take a hot shower as my mother always told me to do. But, then I thought that this was the chance to shower in cold water. My parents were asleep, after all, so why not?

After I had taken my first cold shower, I felt strange. While in the abyss of my hallway, I felt uneasy. My heart beat faster. Why did it beat faster?

Then, the hair of the back of my neck froze. I stared down the dark hallway. The only source of light came the kitchen, and I saw my dad. He held a piece of meat, fresh, and not cooked. He looked up at me, saliva dripping down from his lips. The way the fresh meat stained his shirt and mouth made him look he just killed someone. It was unsettling.

“D-Dad..where’s mom?” I stuttered. He was quiet.

Then, I noticed him drop the raw meat on the floor and sniff. Like some kind of dog, he got on all fours and began to rush me, screaming like a mad man. I turned around and ran. Crying, confused, I tried to make my way upstairs when suddenly I felt someone pull my arm then my whole body into a room that led to the basement.

It was my mother, alive.

“I told you to take hot showers, didn’t I?!” She yelled at me with anger and fear.

Before I could even speak, I heard a banging on the door. My mom pushed me behind her. I noticed something gleaming in her arms. It was a shotgun.

“Mom, why is dad acting like this?!” I asked, terrified and worried.

She aimed the shotgun at the door and spoke with a blunt expression. “I told you to take hot showers. Your father hates his food cooked. He prefers them stale and raw.”