The Housewarming From Hell

My husband's cronies came to our new house to celebrate our move.

Some of them sprayed beer everywhere, claiming it was to liven things up.

Some ignored the bathroom and sneaked behind the curtains to relieve themselves when I wasn't looking.

They were wreaking havoc in the new house.

I just smiled calmly and let them do as they pleased.

It's all because in my past life, I kicked these cronies out of the house in a fit of anger.

My drunken husband, unable to accept this, beat me so badly I fell to the ground.

"You say my friends are ruining the new house? We men don't have so many schemes! I think you're just looking for trouble!"

"A man with more friends has more options, you shameless bastards, don't you even understand that?"

I had my ribs broken, missed the window for treatment, and died in agony at home.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my husband's friends came to visit.

The bass from the stereo was shaking the floorboards of our brand-new suburban colonial.

Several grown men, bellies hanging over their belts, stood on my pristine beige sectional, shirtlessly bellowing along to classic rock while shaking beer cans until foam sprayed across the room like confetti.

My new sixty-five-inch flatscreen, the one Id saved three months for, sizzled and popped as liquid seeped into its vents.

The hand-scraped hardwood floors were scuffed with mud. The freshly painted eggshell walls were smeared with something unidentifiable and greasy.

I watched, frozen, as one of them walked out from behind my custom silk drapes, zipping up his fly. The sharp, acrid stench of urine drifted through the air.

My daughter, Hallie, cowered behind my legs, her small hands gripping my skirt.

"Mommy," she whimpered, "Im scared."

A violent shudder ripped through me. The air left my lungs.

Im back.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I was alive. I had been reborn.

I looked down at Hallies tear-stained face and pulled her into a crushing hug, burying my nose in her hair.

In my previous lifethe one that ended in darknessmy husband, Rick, had invited these same parasites back to our home after the initial party. To prove he was the "big man," hed even hired strippers. They turned our living room into a dive bar.

When Hallie had woken up crying from the noise, the boys had jeered at Rick.

Cant even control your own kid, man?

Humiliated, Rick had slapped our daughter across the face. Quit crying! Youre embarrassing me!

The harder she cried, the harder he hit her, desperate to perform his masculinity for an audience of losers. Hallie had fled in terror, triggering a severe asthma attack. She died alone in a corner while they laughed.

And me? When I tried to kick them out, Rickdrunk on cheap lager and fragilitybeat me until my ribs snapped. I lay on the floor, unable to move, slowly dying from internal bleeding while he lectured me.

You think youre better than my friends? A man needs his crew! Youre just looking for trouble.

But that was then. This is now.

"Whoa, look out, the fun police have arrived," Brody sneered. He was Ricks childhood best friend, a man who peaked in high school and had been sliding downhill ever since. He propped his muddy work boots up on the armrest. "Come on, Meredith. Its a housewarming. You gotta break the place in. If Rick wasnt my brother from another mother, I wouldnt even be here."

Rick slammed his beer can down on the coffee table, crushing the aluminum. His face was flushed, eyes glassy.

"Meredith, don't start with that attitude. These are my boys." He pointed a finger at me. "I put up with your nagging usually, but today? Dont push me. Do not embarrass me in my own house."

Another friend, Carter, raised his fist. "Yeah, Rick! Tell her who wears the pants!"

I looked at Rick, really looked at him, and felt nothing but a cold, hollow disappointment.

He came from a rough background, while I grew up in a stable middle-class home. In the beginning, I loved his grit. He seemed grounded, hardworking, real. But as my career in marketing took off and his stalled at the warehouse, the resentment started to rot him from the inside out.

We bought the cars, the house, the life... and his friends couldn't stand it.

They whispered in his ear like poison. Shes making you soft, Rick. Youre whipped. They sabotaged us constantly, dragging him out to blow his paycheck when we had bills, guilt-tripping him if he chose family over them.

In my last life, I thought Rick was just easily led. I thought I could save him.

I was wrong. He wasn't a victim; he was a volunteer. He hated me for my success. The violence wasn't an accident; it was an accumulation of years of inadequacy.

So, I took a deep breath, plastered a smile on my face, and channeled the perfect, submissive housewife they wanted to see.

"You guys are absolutely right," I said, my voice light and airy. "Have fun! Go wild! Rick, honey, theyre your oldest friends. Treat the house like its yours."

The room went silent. The music seemed to stop.

Brody looked confused, deprived of the fight he was itching for. Rick narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

"You usually throw a fit if I leave a coaster out of place," Rick grumbled. "Whats with the change of heart?"

I squeezed Hallies hand reassuringly. "Ive been selfish," I lied smoothly. "I forgot how important male bonding is. You guys go back way further than we do. Why should I stand in the way?"

Brody, disappointed but unable to argue, clapped his hands. "Well damn, Rick. Finally got her trained, huh?"

Rick puffed out his chest, preening. The suspicion vanished, replaced by ego.

"You guys keep the party going," I said. "Im going to take Hallie out for a bit so we dont cramp your style."

I had to get us out. That was priority number one. Survival first, revenge later.

Rick waved a dismissive hand. Hallie, terrified of the loud men, clung to my leg as we moved toward the door.

But Brody wasn't done. He stepped in front of me, blocking the exit, a nasty glint in his eyes.

"Leaving so soon, Meredith? You got a boyfriend on the side or something?"

Ricks head snapped around. The vein in his forehead bulged. He looked like a bull seeing red.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced a laugh. "Brody, you are terrible! Always joking." I turned to Rick, eyes wide and innocent. "Honey, you know Im crazy about you. But Hallies wheezing a little. With all this... excitement, I don't want her asthma acting up and ruining your night. That would make me a terrible hostess, right?"

Rick relaxed slightly.

Brody, however, was relentless. "So just put the kid in the bedroom. If you leave, whos gonna clean this mess up? Whos gonna make us some food?" He looked at Rick. "A house needs a woman in it, Rick. Otherwise, its just a building."

Brody knew exactly which buttons to push.

"Hes right," Rick barked. "You leave, who cleans up the beer spills? If the kids sick, keep her in the bedroom. Just stay out of our way."

Rage flared in my chest. He cared more about his buddies comfort than his daughters ability to breathe.

"Rick"

"Shut up!" he shouted, throwing a hand up. "Look at this place! It's a pigsty! Instead of running away, maybe grab a mop. Youre useless."

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. Not yet. Not yet.

I nodded submissively. "Okay. You're right."

But then, the nightmare scenario unfolded.

Carter pointed at the TV, grinning like a maniac. "The Gatling!" he shouted. "Rick, remember you said when you made it big, youd set off one of those military-grade firework cakes?"

Brodys eyes lit up. "Technically illegal in the city, but hey, there's no law against setting them off inside, right?" He laughed, a cruel, hacking sound. "Christening the new house with a bang! Its good luck!"

"Hell yeah," Rick slurred. "Ive never done one inside before."

I stared at them. They were talking about lighting a high-velocity firework cakeessentially a box of explosivesinside a living room with drywall and polyester furniture. It was suicide.

I grabbed Hallie and started backing away slowly. "We're going to the bedroom," I whispered.

"Hey!" Carter shouted, spotting us. "Didn't Meredith say the kid needs to toughen up? Let Hallie light the fuse! First shot for the princess!"

I shoved Hallie behind me, my voice trembling. "No. She is a child. Absolutely not."

Rick kicked a barstool over, the crash echoing through the house. "Why are you yelling at my guests? You think you run this show?"

"Its dangerous, Rick!" I pleaded, trying to appeal to whatever shred of humanity was left in him. "The smoke alone will trigger her asthma. Its a closed space. Someone will get hurt. Honey, please."

Brody stepped in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Oh, Rick. She really doesn't respect you, does she? In my house, my word is law. Were offering your kid a huge honorlighting the luck candleand your wife is making you look like a gelding in front of the boys."

"Were right here to protect her," Carter added. "Nothings gonna happen."

I looked at themBrody, Carter, Rick. They weren't friends. They were a demolition crew.

"Mommy," Hallie whispered, shaking. "I don't want to. I'm scared."

Last Fourth of July, Brody had thrown firecrackers at Hallie's feet "as a joke." Shed been terrified of loud noises ever since.

While Rick and the boys argued about where to position the explosives, I made a decision.

"Shh," I whispered to Hallie. "Don't make a sound. Were playing a game."

Using the overturned furniture as cover, I guided us toward the front door. We were ten feet away. Five feet.

I reached for the handle.

And found Brody standing there. He had the "Gatling"a massive, multi-shot firework cakecradled in his arms. He hadn't been arguing; hed been waiting.

He smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Going somewhere, Meredith?"

Rick heard him. He turned, saw us, and charged.

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the wall.

"You lying bitch! Trying to sneak my daughter out?"

My vision blurred. Warm blood trickled down my forehead.

"Rick, nice shot!" Carter cheered. "Show her who's boss!"

I crumpled to the floor, pain radiating through my skull. "Rick," I gasped, "shes your daughter. Shes five years old. You will kill her."

"You think my boys would hurt her?" Rick roared, kicking me in the stomach. "They're family! You're the one tearing us apart!"

I looked up at him, through the haze of pain. "They aren't family. They're jealous. They want to ruin you. If you light that thing, the house burns down, Hallie ends up in the hospital, and they walk away laughing. You pay the bill. You go to jail."

For a second, Rick hesitated.

Brody saw the doubt. He moved in for the kill. "Wow. You gonna let her talk to me like that? After everything we've been through? She thinks you're stupid, Rick. She thinks you can't handle a little firework."

"Besides," Carter piped up, "didn't you say you took out a life insurance policy on the kid? Worst case scenario, you get a payout. We take a road trip. Win-win."

"You monsters," I screamed.

Rick didn't look horrified. He looked... calculating. His eyes glazed over with greed.

"Fifty grand..." he muttered.

He grabbed Hallie by the arm, dragging her to the center of the living room. He shoved a lighter into her trembling hand.

"Light it!"

"No!" I tried to crawl forward, but Rick kicked me again, hard, in the ribs.

"You move again, I break her arm," he spat. "Light the fuse, Hallie!"

Hallie was sobbing, hyperventilating. She looked at me, terrified.

"Don't hurt Mommy! I'll do it! I'll do it!"

"Rick, please!" I screamed. "Stop!"

It was useless. I watched, helpless, as my daughters shaking hand brought the flame to the fuse.

The spark caught. The hissing sound filled the room.

And as the first explosion rocked the house, shattering the windows and filling the room with blinding light and choking smoke, I didn't scream.

I smiled.