Everything had changed. Only a few years earlier my dad had been a clean-cut, thin-tied suit-wearing guy who was opening for the Supremes in Vegas and doing spots on "The Ed Sullivan Show. Now in , his hair was down past his shoulders, tie-dyed shirts and denim jeans were his fashion staple, and he was headlining at almost every college campus in America.
During a sleepover, a friend even knocked a hole in the sheetrock as we rode sleeping bags down the basement stairs like sleds. I woke up still aching from the lashes, which had left bruised stripes on my back and thighs and forearms in the pattern of the braided belt my father wore. My mind was addled, ringing, half-delirious. Eventually, with a little coaxing, I told a teaching assistant what had happened. From there I was sent to the guidance counselor, to whom I repeated the story. That night, I told my mother about my disclosure. She frantically demanded that I take it all back. For as long as I could remember, my father had been physically abusive and my mother nervous and cowed by him, an unreliable guardian.
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta. Looking for author contact information? If available, it will be featured at the conclusion of the story. I was surprised by a tiny voice saying that, in the cramped corridors of the crappy apartment complex my brother used to live in. The girl was like a cornered kitten in every way. I asked her age and she told me she was 10, but seemed smaller. I asked her if she was with someone, and she told me she was alone.