Childhood Demons
by Cynthia McDonald
Tread lightly
there are demons here
behind the pleasant smiles.
Often we go hungry but
today there is a feast laid out
a beautifully roasted turkey
lovely soft and luscious rolls with
butter to melt and run down the sides to
coat my fingers.
I paste a smile on my face to hide the fear
I must not let the demons know I know they’re here
I pour gravy into the divot in my mashed potatoes.
Bright cranberries on my plate divert my gaze
from the stares
I know they feel that I suspect.
Mother serves a beautiful pie
it is pumpkin and there is whipped cream and
as she slices every piece
She looks away from me because she always does.
Stepfather meets my gaze and I see the red flare in his eyes
They know I know
This family has never been mine
and I have always lived in fear.
Today, the feast is served and
It is not on the table.
I push my chair back and try to hide the trembling
In my hands
excusing myself so politely but they smile
I bolt for the door the sick taste of pumpkin coats my mouth
the sound of a chair falling to the floor and pounding footsteps and
I glance frantically over my shoulder as my hand finds the coolness
of the doorknob
I turn it and glimpse the safety of daylight.
Stepfather hits the door hiding the sun
grinning down at me with sharp teeth he always had
I am trapped with them forever
I have always known that
there were demons here
there are demons here
behind the pleasant smiles.
Often we go hungry but
today there is a feast laid out
a beautifully roasted turkey
lovely soft and luscious rolls with
butter to melt and run down the sides to
coat my fingers.
I paste a smile on my face to hide the fear
I must not let the demons know I know they’re here
I pour gravy into the divot in my mashed potatoes.
Bright cranberries on my plate divert my gaze
from the stares
I know they feel that I suspect.
Mother serves a beautiful pie
it is pumpkin and there is whipped cream and
as she slices every piece
She looks away from me because she always does.
Stepfather meets my gaze and I see the red flare in his eyes
They know I know
This family has never been mine
and I have always lived in fear.
Today, the feast is served and
It is not on the table.
I push my chair back and try to hide the trembling
In my hands
excusing myself so politely but they smile
I bolt for the door the sick taste of pumpkin coats my mouth
the sound of a chair falling to the floor and pounding footsteps and
I glance frantically over my shoulder as my hand finds the coolness
of the doorknob
I turn it and glimpse the safety of daylight.
Stepfather hits the door hiding the sun
grinning down at me with sharp teeth he always had
I am trapped with them forever
I have always known that
there were demons here
Cynthia McDonald is a full-time writer in Oregon who has self-published four books, including two memoirs and two history books. Her first traditionally published YA Fantasy, Drōmfrangil, was released in August of 2021. Several of her short stories have been published by Cinnabar Moth, LLC, and her other work has been published in SurvivorLit and Gutslut Press. She is also serving as writer-in-residence for Cinnabar Moth’s e-zine for 2022.