Villains

Sometimes, the villain is only hinted at. The house so orderly and pristine before the villain comes. Our parents giggling and embracing like giddy teenagers. When the villain shows up, there's blood everywhere. On the floor, the knife. In the oatmeal. The villain is a mimic. Daylight and safety are a mirage. There is always something lurking in the forest that can sniff our innocence from miles away. The villain builds a house in the woods to lure us. It's not hard. We're aching to get away from them, to learn of grown-up things. How they always lie to us. Kissing us before bed but arsenic in our tea. How quickly the word mother becomes monster. The flashing sliver of light on the floorboards as they wait silently at our door.