Eat the Devil and Spit Out My Demons

The knife beckons to her like a siren. She hears her father’s voice, feels the chill down her spine. When Sam looks up at the glass and sees that smirk, those eyes, her eyes, staring back at her, she is met with the familiar sensation of ice running through her blood.

Not now.

Fuck no, not now.

He speaks, and she hates that she can’t tell where his voice stops and her inner monologue begins. She was past this. He hadn’t appeared to her like this since that horrible day. After all those months of therapy — although really, she’d barely made any progress due to the constant need to chop and change who she saw — she’d hoped she would never see him again. 

But he’s here now.

And it wasn’t like this had come out of nowhere. She is standing before his mask, his knife, his Ghostface. 

Billy tilts his head sweetly at her. “Come on, Sam. This is our legacy. You just need to stop resisting.”

“S-Shut up.” She says under her breath.

“You can run, but you can’t hide from who you are. Who we are.”

“Shut up!” Sam screams, and suddenly all is quiet.

The vision of her father is gone, and all she sees now are the reddened, spidery cracks of the glass from where she’s punched the pane. For a moment, she is relieved, thinking that it’s over, that for now, at least, she has succeeded. 

But Sam is horrified when she realises she can still hear him somewhere in the back of her mind. He is the devil on her shoulder. He is the darkness inside her, the darkness she’s tried so desperately to keep buried, to suppress. She squeezes her eyes shut, desperate to ground herself, desperate to bring herself to the present. When she opens her eyes, the bloody knife is in her hand, fitting in too well with the wounds on her knuckles. The handle is cold in her grip. She can’t recall picking it up. Sam meets her reflection and sees a vacant look in her eyes, not the fear she expects. Her heart stops when she sees Tara behind her, her mouth agape, her skin ashen.

“Sam?” Tara asks in a very small, very afraid, voice.

She wants to let go of the knife. She needs to. She isn’t this person. She can’t be this person.

“You can run, but you can’t hide from who you are.”

Everything happens all at once. Before Sam knows it, the knife is buried deep in Tara’s chest, right to the hilt. She pulls it out and stabs her again, and again, feeling autonomous of her body. Sam watches Tara’s pleading, terrified expression helplessly, hears her shriek, feels the splash of warm blood, her blood, on her skin. She hates herself. She wants nothing more than to drive the knife into her own body, to end this. But what she hates more is the fact that something in her feels right, something in her is honoured by this treacherous act. The violence doesn’t scare her. But Tara’s endangerment does. More than anything. And yet, she can’t stop herself until Tara falls to the floor, clinging to the fabric of her shirt as though trying one last time to reason with her, to ask her why.

Tara’s eyes shut, her body stills, and the blood pools beneath her slowly. Sam looks down at her hands, and they shake. The knife falls to the floor with a deafening clang. She hears herself wail. She glances back up, and everybody is staring at her with some mix of terror and disgust. They don’t need to open their mouths for her to know what they think of her.

Monster.

How could she have been so stupid to think that she could deny the darkness within her?

Why, oh why, did she let herself back into Tara’s life?

She was supposed to keep her safe. She was her sister, that was her job, to keep her safe. She never should have come back.

“Sam!” A familiar voice calls distantly, teeming with worry.

When she blinks, she is sitting up in bed. The room is dark. Strong hands jostle her shoulders. She is still screaming, still feels it emerging from the depths of her lungs. Sam collapses forward, gasping for air and panting loudly. There is a lump in her throat. A soft, warm light suddenly appears, and she turns towards it. She sees Danny’s eyes, full of concern. Her vision blurs from tears. Sam lets out a choked sob as Danny takes her into his arms.

“You’re okay.” He whispers, stroking her hair. “It was a dream, you’re okay.”

“T-Tara,” Sam asks. “Where’s Tara?”

He pulls back a little, furrowing his brow. “She’s safe. She’s okay. She’s across the street with Chad and Mindy, remember?”

Sam nods shakily, but she needs to see her, needs to hear her voice, needs something to replace the vivid image playing over and over again in her mind. She turns around, crawling over to the bedside table and reaching for her phone. Sam goes into the ‘Favourites’ section of her contacts and calls her sister. The phone rings out a couple of times before she picks up.

“Sam?”

“H-Hey…” She says hoarsely, immediately feeling grounded by hearing her.

“Is something wrong?” Tara asks, worried, likely too used to receiving horrible news and warnings over the phone.

She shakes her head, quick to reassure her. “N-No. I just…I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Sam, are you okay?”

She wipes under her eyes, sniffling, unable to form words.

“It was another nightmare, wasn’t it?”

“God, was I screaming that loudly?” 

“No, but I know you.” She replies. “Come to the window.” 

“What?”

“Come to the window.” She repeats.

Sam obliges, feeling her legs shake as she stands and walks over. For a moment, she shudders, the memory of Anika’s harrowing scream as she fell off the ladder echoing in her mind. But seeing Tara’s face appear, seeing her alive and well, puts her at ease.

“You want to tell me what it was about?”

The image flashes in her mind again, and she stifles another sob. She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to push Tara away right now. She doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to give her any reason not to trust her when she trusts so few people right now.

But Tara already seems to have a hint. “You saw him again, didn’t you?”

She looks up at her, taken aback by her acuteness. “How did you…”

Tara shrugs. “Well, if it was just something from that day, you would have told me. I know you hate talking about him.”

“Y-Yeah,” Sam admits after a beat. “I saw him…and I listened to him and I…” The words die in her throat. “I…I hurt you.”

It’s hard to see from this distance, but Tara doesn’t seem too shocked or offended. She’s stronger than she could ever be, she always has been. While she’ll never not see her as her kid sister, she knows that Tara’s wise beyond her years. And her understanding is exactly what she needs right now.

“Well, whatever happened, it was a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. Whatever he told you, it’s not true.” She hardens her voice, maybe to mask discomfort, but it also gives her more conviction. “Yes, you might be his daughter, but you are nothing like him. You will never be like him.”

“Y-You’re right.” Sam takes in a deep breath, realising her sister’s words of reassurance have comforted her beyond belief. “You’re right.”

“I trust you, and I love you, and I know you will never hurt me or anybody else we care about.”

She gives her a watery smile. “I love you too.”

“Try and get some sleep, okay?” Tara offers with a small smile. "You need it."

“Yeah, you too. Thanks.”

Sam hangs up and watches her walk away. She stands there for a moment, collecting herself, before turning towards the bed where Danny is sitting, waiting for her.

“You feeling a little better?”

She nods and gets under the covers, letting him pull her closer towards her.

“I wish I could tell you that everything’s going to be okay.” He sighs. “But I can’t. What I can tell you, though, is that I’m here for you and Tara in whatever way you both need me to be.”

“Thank you.” She whispers, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.

His words are painfully true, but Sam knows that with him here, someone who has seen through every fucked-up part of her and still chooses every day to be there for her and respect her boundaries and care for her and be patient, that they will get through this. 

They have to.