My Father Washed Me Away

Eight. Eight toilets in this house, and I was on my hands and knees in the last one, the sickly-sweet scent of bleach and raw sewage clinging to my uniform T-shirt. My phone buzzed on the floor, pushing a forum post to the top of my feed.

Second marriage to a wealthy man, how do I deal with a bratty stepdaughter?

The suggestions flew fast, but one comment, already flagged with 9,999 downvotes, snagged my eye.

"Establish dominance. Go hard on your own kidmake an example of him. She'll fall in line fast."

I instinctively tapped the downvote button to push the number past ten thousand. No father could be that cruel, I thought.

Just as I set the phone down to scrub the final bowl, the bathroom door was kicked open.

My father, Gavin, stormed in. Without a word, he grabbed the heavy leather belt I used to hold up my too-big shorts, and the pain began, lashing across my back and legs.

"Did you break my razor? You can't even clean a toilet without messing up. What good are you, you little waste of space!"

"No... Dad, I didn't..."

I knelt on the cold tile, begging, but his strikes only grew harder, fueled by a rage I didnt understand.

Through the doorway, my stepsister, Patricia, stood, her face chalk-white, as she timidly called out, "Daddy?"

The fleeting, ugly spark of pleasure on Gavins face was sickening.

"It's okay, Patricia. Your brother messed up, and he needs to face the consequences," he said, his voice suddenly thick with false concern.

Then he grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragged me toward the washing machine, and shoved me inside the drum.

As he walked away, a small, black and white cat named Snowball, who had been hiding behind the hamper, crept onto the touch control panel of the machine.

I slammed my palms against the thick glass door of the washer.

"Dad! The machine started! Let me out!"

"The water is coming in! Dad, please!"

I watched the doorknob turn. I clung to the glass, a surge of desperate hope flooding my chest. I knew he loved me. He couldn't possibly let me drown in here.

"DDad..."

Click. The lock engageda sharp, final sound. Gavins roar followed instantly.

"Still lying! You'll invent any garbage story to escape punishment, won't you?"

"You're going to stay in there and reflect on what you've done! You come out when you realize your mistake!"

The water level rose frighteningly fast, already sloshing above my waist. My forehead cracked against a sharp plastic ridge, and everything went black for a second.

"It hurts... Dad... I'm really hurt..."

I sobbed, the cold water mixing with my tears and flooding my mouth.

Outside, I heard Patricias muffled, crying voice. "Daddy, I hear water..."

"Don't listen to him, Patricia!"

Gavin's voice was suddenly loud, the tone laced with concealed satisfaction.

"Your brother is a drama queen. He's an expert at faking distress to get pity. You must never be like him."

The water passed my chest, then reached my neck. I clawed at the drum seal, struggling to gasp for air.

"Dad... please... just look..."

If you just looked, youd know I was dying.

But all I heard was my fathers sweet, gentle tone.

"Patricia, you've been so good today. Daddy is going to reward you with some gourmet ice cream."

Their footsteps receded.

In that moment, a raw, wrenching scream tore itself from my throata sound no one heard.

I don't know how long passed. Just as the frigid water was about to submerge my head, my pocketed phone flickered to life. I grabbed it, adrenaline giving me a last burst of strength, desperate to dial 911even a one-in-a-million chance.

My finger hovered over the screen when a new reply to the forum post popped up.

"That 'make an example' trick works wonders!"

"I locked my son in the washing machine, and the kid quieted down instantly. He even called me 'Dad' nicely afterward!"

The comment section immediately exploded.

"Are you insane? This is sick! That's actual child abuse!"

"He's sacrificing his own son to please a woman?"

"Ive called the police! Get ready for jail, dude! Who puts a person in a washer?"

My father's panicked reply appeared instantly. "What do you know? It's easy to judge when you're not in my shoes!"

"Do you know how hard it is to live with a piece of baggage like him? If I don't please this woman, my son and I will be homeless!"

"He can take a little pain so we can have a good life. What's the big deal?"

I stared at the words on the screen, and the hand Id raised to call for help froze mid-air.

In my father's eyes, I was just baggage. A piece of dead weight. That's what I wasthe poor, disposable kid you see in old movies.

I had no strength left to type. I simply stared at those three words.

I thought: If Im not here, youll be much happier.

Then, Dad, Ill grant you that wish.

A small smile touched my lips. Air bubbles gurgled from my mouth.

I remembered when I was five, burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever. Dad carried me on his back, running two miles straight to the emergency room. I was scared of the needle, clutching the fabric of his shirt. He squeezed my hand, his palm warm.

He said, "Sammy, be a good boy. Listen to your father. You have to live."

But Dad, I can't listen to you anymore.

My body slipped down with the current, curling up at the bottom of the drum. The only sound was the deep, terrifying roar of the machine's turning drum. My awareness began to fade.

The drum lurched, flipping my body violently. The back of my head smashed against the metal wall.

But I felt no pain.

I sat up in the water, only to realize I was floating in the air.

Looking down, the washing machine was still spinning, filled with murky water and foam. A small, thin body was curled inside, bobbing with the current.

Was that... me?

I reached out to touch the glass door, but my hand passed right through.

Fear made me instinctively search for my father.

I floated out of the bathroom and into the first-floor living room.

No matter how many times I apologized or called out, my father only had eyes for Patricia.

"Why aren't you eating, sweetie? Its your favorite strawberry flavor."

Gavin stroked her hair. "Daddy will buy you this every day, as long as you promise to be a good girl."

Patricia burst into tears, dropping the ice cream cup onto the floor. "Daddy, I promise Ill be good. Dont lock me in the washing machine... I'm scared..."

Seeing the ice cream fall, I lunged to catch it, but my hand passed straight through the cold cup.

Gavin picked up the fallen ice cream, his smile growing. "Patricia is so good. Daddy cherishes you too much to ever punish you like that."

Patricia nodded furiously, snot and tears smearing her face.

Standing behind them, I asked my father sadly, "Dad, didn't you say you cherished me, too?"

He didn't seem to hear me, simply wiping Patricia's tears with tender care.

Just then, the sound of a key in the lock signaled the return of my stepmother, Tracy.

Normally, Patricia would rush to Tracy for hugs and demands, but today, she just called out timidly, "Mom."

Tracy paused. "The sun's coming up in the west? Why isn't this kid throwing a fit?"

Gavin rushed to meet her, taking her designer handbag. "Honey, I told you I had a handle on things. Kids just need the right guidance."

Tracy kicked off her shoes and walked to Patricia, reaching out to pinch her cheek. Patricia flinched but didn't dare pull away.

"Well, I'll be. You actually did a flip. I didn't think you could manage her," Tracy said, a rare satisfied smile on her face. "You really know how to discipline her. She's usually wild."

Hearing the affirmation, Gavin beamed. This was what all of it was for.

The three sat down to dinner, the atmosphere unnervingly harmonious. On the table was the sweet and sour pork ribsmy favorite, which Dad had promised to make for me if I finished cleaning the toilets yesterday.

Tracy paused, glancing around the room. Her brow furrowed. "Where is he? Why isnt that kid eating?"

My heart leaped. I drifted closer to Tracy. Aunt Tracy, I'm right here. Im watching you eat.

Gavin paused while scooping soup. "He messed up today. Broke my electric razor and then denied it."

"I locked him in the washing machine to reflect. A little starvation will sort him out."

Tracy looked toward the bathroom, then sniffed the air, her frown deepening. "What is that smell?"

Our laundry machine was a wash-dry combo. With hot water and the dryer setting running, my body had already begun to putrefy.

Tracy put down her fork and started walking toward the bathroom. "Ill check the toilet. That smell is way too strong. It must be clogged."

Smack. Gavin slammed the ladle down on the table.

"What else could it be! It has to be that brat doing it on purpose!"

"Tracy, don't go. Don't spoil your appetite. The little monster actually relieved himself right there as a protest!" He started walking toward the second-floor bathroom.

"We are eating! Are you deliberately trying to gross us out? You think shitting yourself is going to get you out of this? It won't!"

I frantically waved my hands, trying to dissipate the stench of decay.

"It's not that, Dad! I didn't relieve myself!"

"That's the smell of Sammy decomposing... Dad, please don't go near it."

Hearing no response from the bathroom, Gavin was instantly enraged.

"Fine. Playing mute, are we? You think if you don't talk, I'll forget about this?"

"If you like the smell of rotten filth so much, then you can stay in there and enjoy it!" He grabbed a can of air freshener and sprayed the hallway outside the door aggressively.

"I was planning to let you out tomorrow morning. Now you've earned another twenty-four hours!"

Tracy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He's getting completely out of hand. A boy that age, pulling stunts like this."

"Forget it. The house smells awful. I cant eat here." She smiled at Patricia. "Since Patricia was so good today, lets go out for a seafood buffet."

Gavins eyes instantly lit up. He put away the air freshener and angrily glared at the bathroom door.

"He can stay in there and reflect. Let's see if he ever pulls a stunt like that again!"

Watching them put on their shoes to leave, I spun in the air frantically.

"Don't go... Please don't go..."

"Don't leave me alone in the house. It's so dark in the bathroom. Im scared..."

But my father couldn't hear me.

Because I was already dead.

The next afternoon, they returned.

I floated in the foyer, watching Dad take Tracy's shoes, his face covered in a placating smile.

"Honey, what do you want for dinner? Ill cook whatever you want."

Tracy was in a good mood, humming as she walked toward the bedroom. "Anything. Just don't let the house smell like it did yesterday."

Gavins face tightened, and he quickly laughed it off.

Patricia followed, excitedly holding the huge box of Legos Tracy had bought her.

Clatter.

The Lego box was too big, and Patricia fumbled it, knocking over the large decorative vase in the entryway. The sound of ceramic shattering was deafening.

"What was that noise out there!" Tracys angry shout instantly echoed from the bedroom.

Gavin's face went white. He clapped a hand over Patricias mouth and shouted toward the bedroom.

"Nothing, Honey! Just my clumsy hand! I knocked over the vase by accident!"

"Stop being so careless! Keep it down!"

When Tracy didn't appear, Gavin finally let out a long sigh. Patricias eyes were filled with tears, about to burst into wails.

"Daddy, Im sorry! I won't do it again! Don't lock me"

Gavin clamped his hand over her mouth again, whispering fiercely. "It's okay, Patricia, youre fine. Daddy would never lock you up."

He peered at Tracys closed door, then pulled Patricia toward the second-floor bathroom.

"Come on, lets go check on your brother."

I floated behind, watching Patricias face contorted with fear as Gavin pressed her against the bathroom door frame.

The foul stench wafting from the crack under the door was stronger than yesterday. It was the smell of advanced decomposition.

Gavin covered his nose in disgust and slammed his fist on the door.

"You brat! Still playing dead, are we?"

"Its been a day, and you still haven't cleaned up your mess? Making a stench like thisyou deliberately don't want to come out, do you!"

The bathroom was silent.

After a few more angry curses, the lack of movement made Gavins brow furrow, a flicker of panic in his eyes.

"Did he pass out from hunger?"

But just as he unlocked the door and prepared to push it open, Snowball, startled by the noise, jumped back onto the touch panel.

This time, the small cat paused right on the Heavy Duty button.

The clear, electronic chime of the machine starting up rang out.

The washing machine violently shuddered, and the drum began to spin at high speed.

Gavin froze, shocked by the sudden noise. When he realized it was the washing machine running, his panic instantly turned to blind fury.

"Oh, you think you're clever, you little bastard! I call for you, and you don't answer, but you can start the machine yourself?"

Seeing the machine whirl, I cried out in despair. "It wasn't me, Dad! I didn't start it!"

"My body is already falling apart!"

"Please, open the door and stop the machine!"

But my father couldn't hear my cries. He slammed the door shut and locked it again.

Then he picked up Patricia and walked quickly toward the living room.

"Patricia, you must never be naughty like your brother. Otherwise, you'll have to be punished too."

Patricia trembled, nodding her head vigorously.

I floated in the air, watching the wildly spinning machine with hopeless dread.

The drum speed increased. The body, already badly swollen, was being crushed and distorted by the sheer force of the centrifuge.

Finally, a strange gurgling sound came from the drainpipe.

That was the sound of me clogging the drain.

Back in the living room, Tracy was on the sofa, her brows deeply furrowed. "Still not finished? What is that awful smell in this house?"

She covered her nose, turning up the volume on the TV impatiently. "You can't even manage one child. I have to live with this stench every day."

Gavins face instantly paled. He feared nothing more than Tracy thinking he was incompetent or that we were a burden.

"Don't worry, Tracy. It must be the sewer backing up. That kid was too lazy to clean the toilet."

"I'll clean it! I'll be good!"

Patricia jumped off the sofa. She was terrified of being locked inside that roaring metal box.

To prove herself, she stumbled toward the downstairs bathroom.

"Clean it... If I clean it, the smell will go away..."

Patricia muttered to herself, stirring the water in the toilet bowl with the brush.

A gurgling sound came from the sewer.

Patricia pressed the flush button.

Whoosh. A reddish-brown liquid backed up and overflowed.

"Why won't it flush..."

Patricia was nearly crying, afraid that failing at this simple task would lead to her own punishment.

Suddenly, a fleshy, rounded object floated up with the churning water.

Patricia froze, then her eyes lit up with excitement.

"An action figure! It's a superhero!"

She screamed with joy. She thought this was a reward from the heavens, confirmation that she was a good girl for cleaning the toilet.

She reached out her small hand, grabbed the object, and ran out.

"No! Patricia, drop it! That's not an action figure! That's..."

I lunged, trying to knock the object from her hand, but I passed through her body again and again.

In the living room, Tracy listened to the scrubbing sounds from the bathroom and looked satisfied.

"See? She has a sense of responsibility now. Shes proactively helping out. Much better than before."

Gavin's lips curled into a smile. "Of course. Who do you think trained her?"

Just as he spoke, Patricia's excited voice rang out.

"Daddy, look! The toilet flushed out a superhero!"

"I cleaned it really well. This is my reward!"

Gavin looked at Patricia.

The next second, his face turned ghastly white.