The Place By The Lake by JustSadeTo
Claire had been studying classical dance at EMU and her third year was more onerous than she thought it would be. It was exhaustion from the heavy workload and from the constant practice that made her want to visit her family’s summer home by Michigan Lake. It was a serene spot and the family had been going there together for years. Her mother had asked if she wanted company but Claire had declined on that. Really all she wanted was the natural environment, a bit of peace and quite and some time just to be alone with herself.
She’d only been in the summer home three nights though when the first visitor appeared and, as it happened, it was the worst person who could have shown up. The door was knocked raucously around midnight and Claire went to answer it. On opening the door her heart sank at the sight of him. It was her uncle, Malcolm and some other guy she didn’t know at all.
“Malcolm!” She said, “what are you doing here?”
“I heard you were up here for a few weeks,” Malcolm said through a slur of drink, “I thought I’d bring my buddy up to see the old place.”
Claire didn’t even want to let them in. They were drunk as fuck. Claire, just like the rest of the family, hated Malcolm. He was a hardened alcoholic and an ex-con. Completely disgusting and utterly different from the rest. Also, and she knew it shouldn’t have mattered, but he physically repulsed her. He was overweight and looked kind of unhealthy most of the time; probably because of the drink. His hygiene wasn’t the best and he smelled kind of musty most of the time. Claire had hated him since she first met him after he got out of prison and she’d only been a teenager then. Now, twenty two, her feelings towards him hadn’t changed.
“You better come in,” she said, just to be polite.
“This is Bret.” Malcolm pointed vaguely at the other man. He was a taller guy with long hair pulled back in a band.
She nodded at the stranger.
“Listen Malcolm,” she said to her uncle, “there’s spare rooms for both of you if you’re staying but I’m going to bed now okay. I’ve been out running today.”
Malcolm looked at her through a haze of drunkenness. He smirked a disgusting smirk.
“Okay, Claire,” he said, “we’ll just keep the party going down here then.”
She tried to ignore the comment. Any party Malcolm was at is one she would definitely steer clear of.
“Okay, goodnight.” She said flatly.
She went up the stairs to bed; uncomfortable that the men were even in the same house as her. She locked the door to make sure they would disturb her and then stripped off to her bra and panties. She got into bed and began to drift off as best she could. It wasn’t easy with the obnoxious sounds of the two men drinking and slurring their words downstairs. With any luck tomorrow when she got back indoors they’d have got bored of the place and moved on to some bar and out of her life.
*
Next morning she went a run down by the lake and when she got back, sure enough, their trucks were gone. Thank God, she remembered thinking. Having a room for them was one thing but she certainly didn’t want to talk to either of them.
She got in, showered and ate dinner. She’d just settled down afterwards though, to watch some TV, when the door went again. She answered it and there was Malcolm and his buddy Brett again. Wasted as usual. Too early for bed this time she sat with them in the living room; watching whatever dumb movie was on and counting the minutes until she could leave the pair of assholes. Malcolm produced a bottle of whiskey round nine.
“You mind?” He slurred at Claire.
She shook her head dismissively and Malcolm and Brett took turns at swigging from the bottle. They were getting more wasted and a little louder in the way they were speaking as the night went on.
“You know what that asshole says,” Malcolm said to Claire about an hour later, he was pointing at Brett, “he rides my fucking back all the time telling me I came from a nice fucking family and turned out a piece of shit.”
Claire was silent. She agreed. He did turn out a piece of shit and the family had nothing to do with it. Malcolm stood up and crossed the room; sitting down painfully close to his niece. So close she could smell that he hadn’t showered that weekend. The stench of the whiskey and yesterday’s food between his teeth was revolting.
“He says my family hate me.” He said. “we gotta prove this asshole wrong, Claire. You get me?”
“No,” Claire said, “you’re drunk.”
“We gotta show him so he stops riding me about this shit,” Malcolm explained, “we gotta show him my family doesn’t fucking hate me. Give me a hug and show this fucking asshole.”
“Drop dead Malcolm,” Claire said, standing up and walking away into the kitchen.
From in there she could hear Brett starting to laugh drunkenly.
“I fucking told you, man, your fucking family hates your guts!”
Malcolm said nothing but a second later Claire’s heart jumped into her throat when he stormed into the kitchen and grabbed her by the nape of the neck. He was unfit as fuck but strong enough to pull her around. He dragged her back into the living room.
“I’m fucking serious, Claire!” He bawled, “this fucker needs to see you guys don’t hate me.”
He forced her onto the couch and sat down as close to her as he could get. His flabby, hairy arm went round her body and he forced her head against his fat chest. The smell of him was overwhelming. Claire wanted to puke.
“Now stay there and let’s watch the movie!” Malcolm demanded.
“Fuck man,” Brett laughed, “she doesn’t want to be there; you can so fucking tell.”
Malcolm pulled her closer into his sweaty flab.
“She’ll get used to it!”
Claire was too scared to move so she just lay there; embarrassed as hell and forced against the man she’d hated for years. She stared at the screen, humiliated, and tried to zone out the feel and smell of her disgusting uncle and Brett’s eyed on them; his frequent laughter. Finally the movie finished. It must have been around twelve. Malcolm let her sit up on the couch; his fat arm remained around her shoulder.
“You believe me now,” Malcolm slurred, he used his free hand to pour a slug of whiskey down his throat, “my family like me fine.”
“Dude,” Brett said, “that fucking girl hates you even more than she did when you came in the fucking door. You’ve got shit for brains if you think any fucking different.”
Malcolm’s eyes got wide and angry looking. Then the most terrifying thing happened. He dropped the whiskey and reached down to the waistband of his pants; pulling out the gun that Claire never knew he’d brought into the house. He pointed it directly at Brett. Claire froze with the deepest fear of her life. Brett looked less impressed.
“You ain’t gonna shoot me.” He said.
“No, I’m not,” Malcolm said, shifting his fat body on the couch, “but I’m gonna prove to you my fucking family don’t hate me…”
He turned the gun on Claire; resting the muzzle against her collarbone. She tightened up.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Claire,” he said, “I just wanna prove to this asshole I got people who care about me.”