Work Text:
The room smells different now. It’s no longer the familiar scent of Casey’s childhood—freshly washed clothes, Goldfish crackers, and cat hair. Since the funeral, the air has grown stale and suffocating, like something rotting, almost sickly sweet, clinging to the mildewed carpet. He stands frozen in the corner of the room, his gaze drifting towards his stepfather.
The man crouches onto his knees, impatiently grumbling to himself as he forages through boxes, tossing things aside without a second thought. He does so robotically, not even bothering to ask if anything should be kept, as if nothing there mattered anymore. Casey shifts his gaze back to the bed, the one thing in the room that still brings a familiar comfort.
“Come on, Casey,” he, causing his stepson to jolt back to the situation at hand. “Don’t just stand there. We’ve got work to do.”
Casey hardly registers the command, his mind still wandering to the image of his mother’s emaciated body in her casket. He finally nods, but it feels unnatural, as if he’s merely responding to a script. He begrudgingly saunters forward, approaching the bed and crouching down. He reaches underneath, allowing his hand to hover across the dusty floor, until he finally feels an unfamiliar texture.
Crouching down further, he reaches for it, his fingers trembling, until a foul, putrid stench hits him before he sees it.
He retches in disgust at the sight, but he can’t look away. He grips the carpet harder, desperation kicking in.
“No… no, no, no—” he whispers, each word more frantic than the last.
He hits his head against the wooden frame as he sits up, groaning as the pain courses through his head, but it doesn’t even compare to what he had just seen.
There, beneath the bed, is Socks.
The cat he’d once adored when he was younger—his only source of comfort when the house felt too quiet, too empty. Only now, Socks is no longer the warm, fluffy friend he remembers. The fur is matted and falling out in thick patches, a revolting blend of brown and black crusted with indeterminate fluids. The body is misshapen, bloated in some parts and sinking in on itself in others. Maggots writhe in the little bit of skin remaining, feeding on whatever’s left. The once friendly face of the furry companion is now contorted with sunken eye sockets and an open mouth, as if the animal is screaming in anguish.
Casey blinks, trying to focus, but the sight is too much. His breath hitches as he tries to force his body to stay upright, fighting for control. Everything seems blurry as darkness creeps in at the edges of his vision. He stumbles back, his entire body shaking, his eyes never leaving the grotesque sight of Socks under the bed.
He’s too late.
“Casey…” his stepfather’s voice cuts through the haze, flat and devoid of empathy.
Casey doesn’t move. His breaths are jagged, his chest still tightening as though he’s being crushed.
The man steps forward, his larger shadow looming over Casey’s fragile form, staring at the decayed body, his lips pressing into a thin, unyielding line. “Didn’t even notice the poor thing had been under there for so long,” he drawls. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re too busy sulking like a fucking sissy to care, huh?”
Casey opens his mouth to speak, but can’t answer. His throat burns with the bitter taste of bile. He stumbles backwards, eyes still wide with horror, but his body refuses to cooperate, causing him to land on the floor, dry heaving in an attempt to stall out the sickness threatening to overtake him. He shivers violently, now sobbing silently as he covers his face, afraid to meet his stepfather’s unmoving gaze.
Aside from a few sniffles, the house is deathly quiet.
The older man stands there for a long moment, tuning out the sound of his son’s cries. He takes in the bloated corpse, watching the wriggling maggots, but his expression remains uncannily stagnant. There’s something cold in his gaze—an emptiness that mirrors the decay right next to him.
He leaves the room, the door slamming behind him, leaving Casey gasping for air, surrounded by the stench of the final thing he held dear.