Father.

That's what I called the man who lived upstairs. The man who kept me and mother in his cellar with nothing but a dim lightbulb and some food and water three times a week. The man who forced me to call him father, and my mother to call him darling. I had no idea if he was my real father. I didn't really care.

When I was little, I thought that it was just normal. I thought that fathers lived upstairs, and mothers and babies lived in the cellar. I thought it was normal to be forbade from speaking or making any loud noises, and I thought the consequences of breaking that rule was normal as well.

But even if I thought it was normal, it still terrified me. I was still terrified of accidentally dropping my glass of water, or crying if I fell over. I was terrified of being locked in a cupboard over night for messing up. Just because it was normal didn't make it right.

Mother and I were close. She'd cover her hand over my mouth to keep me from making too much noise and angering father at night. She'd hold me while I silently cried in her arms. She'd always make sure I was a good girl for father, and made sure I followed all the rules.

Father and I never really talked much. Normally the interactions we had were him yelling at me, or maybe slapping me across the face if I was extra naughty. But sometimes we would have conversations. If mother wasn't around. The first time I remember him talking to me was when I was around 6.

"Hey you," he said. "Girl. Come here."

I knew I had to obey everything he said, even if he called me girl and not Mara, which was my real name. I rushed over to the top of the cellar stairs, where I could see a hint of light from under the door.

"What is this?" He picked up a small rat by it's tail.

"It's a rat." I answered.

"See, girl, a rat is a pest. You can let it mooch off of you for a while, but sooner or later, you have to get rid of all pests. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes?"

"This rat has been a pest for far too long, don't you think?" He bent down to my eye level. "You must get rid of it, girl. Show it no mercy."

He showed me where to grab the pest's neck, and how hard to squeeze it before it stopped squirming. I obliged, mostly terrified that he'd be upset with me if I didn't.

"There you go, girl. Now that wasn't so hard, was it? You showed it no mercy. I see you are special." He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I prepared for a beating. But he didn't beat me. He simply patted me on the shoulder, and went on about his day, leaving my cellar.

Special? I thought. I had never been called anything nice before, and here father was calling me special. I couldn't help but grin, and the word special replayed through my head all night.

I remember one time, I must've been around 9, when mother had suddenly fallen pregnant.

Mother managed to keep the baby for seven months, we knew because we kept tallies on the walls for days, when her weak and beaten body couldn't handle it anymore, and that's when she had her baby, two months too early.

The result was my brother, a tiny and weak but ultimately healthy little boy who I had named Martin, to match with Mara.

Father wasn't happy about Martin. He didn't like how much he cried, and how much he needed to be fed, and most of all how much attention he was getting from mother. Mother had stopped calling him darling and tending to his needs, because Martin was such a needy baby.

I liked Martin. He was smelly, and cried a lot, but he was my baby brother, almost like my own little baby doll. I loved holding him, and playing with him, and mother loved that I would give her breaks.

One day, when mother was napping and I was rocking Martin, father called me over again. He told me to bring Martin.

"Yes, father?" I said, carrying my little brother.

"Do you remember what I said about pests, girl?" He asked.

"Yes. They must be gotten rid of."

"Your brother, that thing, has been mooching off of me for months now. Don't you think his time has come? All pests have a time." He said.

I didn't know what he was talking about. "What?"

"Here. Place the boy on the ground, right here."

I obliged.

"Now," father said, "Put your hand over it's mouth, just like this." He demonstrated on my own face.

I obliged.

"Girl, I want you to hold your hand there until the boy is blue okay?"

I looked at Martin, who was peacefully sleeping on the ground. I looked back at father, who nodded at me. I shut my eyes, and held down on Martin's face.

"Harder." Father said. I pressed down on Martin's tiny face even harder.

"Harder." He said again. I put my other hand on top of my hand, to put even more pressure on. Martin woke up and tried to cry, but my hands muffled it.

"Harder!" Father nearly yelled, and I put all my weight down on my poor brother's face, until he was blue and unbreathing.

Father's demeaner changed after that, to a calmer man. "There we go," He said calmly. "That was easy now, wasn't it? Now take the baby and put it next to your mother. When she wakes up, pretend you had nothing to do with it. You did a good job, Mara. I can see great things in you."

As I brought Martin down to mother, and wiped tears from my eyes, I couldn't help but smile through my tears. Father called me by my name! I was so happy that I had finally pleased him enough to call me by my name, not girl, not thing, not you, Mara.

As mother woke up, I quickly hid my smile and tears and turned my back to her.

Even when I heard her screams and cries, I didn't turn back.

Martin was a pest, after all.

After that, father started paying even more attention to me, and I in return became infatuated with him. I looked forward to the three times a week he'd bring us food, and I began to enjoy the times he'd yell at us, because that meant hearing his voice again. Over the next 8 years, I just stared becoming more and more obsessed with him.

Mother didn't seem to have the same enthusiasm as me. In fact, she was planning on escaping. I had just turned 17 when she told me her plan.

"Mara, honey, listen to me. I've noticed that every 30 days, father goes into town for groceries. If we break down the cellar door, and escape through the windows, I'm sure we can get out. The next time he leaves is in six days, and that's our chance. Do you understand?" She said.

In reality, I didn't. I couldn't imagine leaving father. He gave us food and water and called me special. But I couldn't tell mother that.

"Yes." I lied.

But I couldn't leave father. I waited until mother had fallen asleep when I told father.

"I see. Your mother wants to escape." He said. He banged his fist against the wall. "Your mother wants to FUCKING ESCAPE? AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR HER?" He yelled, and I rushed to comfort him.

"Save it, Mara. I know you won't leave me, darling, right? I would never leave you." He said.

"Of course not, father." I said.

"Good girl. I tell you what. I have a plan. Come with me." He grabbed my hand, and to my surprise, opened the cellar door for me to see the other side.

I was shocked. It wasn't quite like I expected, there were no fountains of water or fields of grass or beautiful oak trees like mother had described the outside world to me. There was a couch, and a light, and a small table. But still, it was a change of scenery, and I loved it.

He sat me down on the couch, and I told him mother's escape plan in detail.

"I see." He said finally, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Well, here's my plan. You'll work with me like a good girl, right?"

"Right."

"Good," he said, and leaned in to whisper his plan to me.

"So that's it?" I said. "It's that easy?"

"Of course. And after that, you'll get to spend the rest of your life with me. How does that sound?" He said, smiling at me.

I smiled.

For the next six days, I could barely wait. Mother was preparing for our "escape" and would tell me all these wonderous stories about the outside world. I just pretended to listen. I didn't actually care. All I cared about was leaving with father.

At last, the six days was up, and at 3:00 sharp, father opened and closed the front door, pretending to have left.

Mother grinned at me. "It's time, darling! I have a few things left to pack; take this." She had sawed off a piece of wood from the wall, something that had taken her days as we had nothing sharp in the cellar, so she had to rip it off with her bare hands. I knew she had no strength to do it again. "You escape before me. I want you to get out first."

I started to walk up the cellar stairs.

"Wait, Mara!" I stopped.

"In case you make it out and I don't, I want you to know- I love you. More than anything in the world." She said, hugging me. I reluctantly hugged her back.

"I love you too, mother." I said through my teeth, and as I turned around, I stifled a giggle. She was such a fool.

"Oh wow, mother!" I called from the top of the stairs. "Father left the door to the cellar unlocked! We can just leave!"

"That's great, darling!" I'll be right up in a few minutes! Go on without me!"

I kept the wooden board, and left the cellar door, locking it on the way out, just like father ordered me to. He waited on the other side of the door, smiling at me.

I ignored my mother as she banged on the door. "Mara, it's locked! Mara, help me!" She cried, and father and I laughed to each other.

As we left the house, he handed me a pack of matches.

"Alright, darling, go on. Get rid of the pest." He said.

I shut my eyes as I threw the lit match onto the house, setting it ablaze. Father had doused it in gasoline before I did this.

The fire burnt so beautifully, I could almost ignore mother's screams as she tried to escape.

"There we go. Now that wasn't so hard, now was it, Mara? Now, I already have a place set up for us to stay in. How about we go see it?"

Father took me by the hand, and led me to another beautiful house, just up the street from his old one.

He opened the door, and I was amazed.

"Oh father, it's so beautiful!" I cried, and he nodded. "Which room will be mine?"

"I'll show you." He said, grabbing me by my shirt. My excitement turned to horror when I realized where he was taking me: the cellar.

"No, no!" I cried. "You promised me! You promised if I did everything you said I'd get to live with you!"

Father laughed. "Oh, darling." He said.

"But you said I was special! I thought I was special!" I yelled as he threw me back into the dark cellar that looked too familiar to my old one.

"Oh, did you? Well your mother thought she was special, too. And so did the last one, and the one before that. You are all the same. But don't worry- you're just a pest. And I get rid of all pests sooner or later.