""THOMAS!?" The shout echoes down the staircase, followed by a door slam.

Thomas scrambled to his feet, tucking a comic book under the stairs before running up the steps to see what his father wanted.

"I went into town today, and that woman in the library asked how you were enjoying your comic book." The boy's father growled, holding a brown bottle in his hand, spittle flying from his lips as the smell of alcohol wafted around him. "I thought I told you that stuff will rot your brain, you ungrateful brat!?"

"I... I just wanted to read," Thomas sputters, trying to get words out, as his face begins to burn and tears form in the corners of his eyes.

"What was that, boy!?" The man shouts, not giving Thomas a chance to respond, swinging his bottle into the side of his head with a resounding crash. "I'm working fifty-hour weeks down in that fucking mine, just to pay the bills around here, just for some spoiled brat that ain't mine to disrespect me."

Thomas's head spun, drenched in cheap liquor and glass; as he tumbled to the floor, the lights dimming, he couldn't tell if the sound came from the bottle or his skull. However, the answer was likely both.

Thomas came to, seeing the sky above him. He tried to reach up to shield his eyes from the sun, and found himself unable to; he was bound.

"I've had enough of you disrespecting me, you ungrateful piece of shit..." The man sputtered between drinks from a clear liquor bottle, splashing Thomas with some before pouring the rest of the bottle on him.

Thomas struggles against his restraints, "People like you belong in hell..."

"Funny ye mention that, boy, because that's where I plan on sending ye." Just then, the man strikes a match and tosses it in the hole with the alcohol soaked Thomas.

Thomas writhes and screams as his clothes light on fire, melting to his flesh, causing immediate second-degree burns. His screams echo through the surrounding forest. As Thomas' light began to fade, he felt shovelfuls of dirt get tossed over him.

Hours later, a deformed hand emerged from the dirt. A hand that was no longer human. Roots and vines weaved with the flesh, repairing what he lost in the fire.

Thomas, now crawling out of what was once his grave, needing a new form; He needed a new body.

He slunk towards the scarecrow, pulling it from its post and slipping inside of it; Thomas then grabbed the splitting axe, heading up the hill toward the house.

Thomas knocks on the door. He knocks hard and fast, the pounding echoing through the house, a crack forming in the old wood. "Oh Father..."

Tim is frozen with fear as the door flies open, nearly flying off its hinges. "Who the hell... What the hell are you..."

"Your actions have consequences, Father." The last word's laced with venom, the same venom that he experienced daily. "You reap what you sow."

"No... No... It can't be..." Tim stammers, dropping his bottle as he stumbles backward, tripping over his own two feet. "You're dead... I killed you..."

"You tried to kill me, Father. But you failed." Thomas takes a step forward, the axe raised high above his head. "And now... It's time to finish the job."

Thomas, without hesitation, swings the axe into the head of the monster that used to be his stepfather, ending his pain, albeit too late. As Thomas removes the axe from the skull with a wet pop and a dull crunch, he hears a scream behind him; a familiar scream: His mother.

"Thomas?" She asks, her voice trembling as she looks at the blood-soaked scarecrow. "What... What did you do?"

Thomas stops, his crooked jaw slack, looking like a scolded puppy. "I ended our suffering... all the years of abuse from that man you decided to replace Dad with after he passed. You're free; we're free."

"Free?" She asks, tears welling up in her eyes. "You killed him, Thomas! You killed a man!"

"He wasn't a man, Mother. He was a monster. And I... I'm a monster too." Thomas drops the axe, his body slumping forward as he collapses to his knees. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"You need to leave, Thomas. Now."

Thomas pushes past his mother and dashes into the night, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

He runs until he can't run anymore, until his legs give out, and he collapses to the ground, sobbing. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here. He's a monster, and he doesn't belong here.

Several months later, the police came to check on Joan, and the crops were beginning to rot. The only thing they found was a note and a partially decomposed body dangling from the ceiling by a rope.