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Michael was not pleased.

Two days since his confrontation with his siblings had passed, and in that window of time his hope dwindled.

The house was quiet. Every day it seemed people were leaving, sometimes early in the morning, other times mid-day, but always leaving. Family members wandering into town, returning late at night absent an explanation. Unfamiliar faces replaced them during the day. Glassy-eyed strangers running chores for his mom.

Not the only ones wrapped around her finger...

Donnie. Cynthia. They ignored everything he thought their intimate conversation had yielded. He'd pinned his sanity on them sticking together -- through the thick and thin of the growing curse. Jacob wasn't himself. Neither was Uma. They had been replaced, though he knew they claimed otherwise.

Donnie. Cynthia. They were supposed to stay on his side!

That was it...he'd go on alone. No point bothering to count on his siblings. One's fallen, the others well on their way to whatever pit of sin they were all being collectively dragged towards.

Sin.

He felt the word stab him, deep and painful.

I've tasted sin.

Where did such thoughts come from? Why did he see his transgression in a religious light? Could it be he was scared? Frightened by the gnawing inside him? It kept getting worse...

Sin.

He clutched his chest, heart pounding.

You've tasted sin.

"And what the fuck is it to you!?" His cries reached no-one, except the taunting voice inside his head. Just wouldn't shut up...

Sin.

The greater the amount of time between his tryst with his mother the more he dwelt on it. That night...the heat, the sweat...

We've tasted sin.

"Everyone has," he said in a guarded whisper.Everyone in the family is involved. Me too. Can't pretend I'm not.

Uma's eyes filled his memory. Those loving purple jewels...what? Don't be ridiculous...they were never a different colour. His mom always had those eyes! Those wonderful, sensitive eyes.

His thoughts were usurped by false memory, and it became harder to separate now from then. Back then she was different -- he knew for sure. She'd changed now. Become someone, something else.

A demon.

Demon. A suitable word for what wrapped its claws around his family. No goat-legs or curled horns to be seen, but that sort of Medieval imagery was out-of-date. Modern demons came in subtler forms...they enhanced what was already there...seeking out weakness -- guilt, shame, inhibition, exploiting their hapless hosts...

No! That wasn't true, the facts didn't match! His theory was incomplete. No foreign sentience had wormed its way into his mom's soul, or Jacob's. He was certain of that, as much as he liked the idea of his long-time pain in the ass brother simply being a hellish creature he could banish with the right ritual.

He laughed. The empty house repeated his strained outburst with a shuddering echo.

No, it wasn't true. They were too like themselves. Gaudy. Lusting. A debauch version of his mother and brother. But ultimately themselves.

He didn't put much stock in the supernatural, but as the days -- nay, weeks -- passed, he got used to the idea. Donnie was probably right, Kianna would know more. She was at the heart of it.

A chill ran down his spine.

Not like I wannabe near her again...

* * *

He watched, obscured behind a corner, the burgeoning love between Donnie and Cynthia. Their moments together, seconds of private sweetness that only grew longer as time passed, and their courage increased. A kiss, a look, a sensual swipe of one's side -- he saw them all.

The decline had set in. They were more open about their relationship. It brought a smile to Uma's lips, and a frown to Michael's brow.

And more people! More god-damned 'helpers'! Everywhere, every place! Never a moment's rest with their work. Clattering, clambering, cacophonous work! What do we need them for!?

He stormed past an idle drone. Dull, blank, and leaning against the hall table. A soft cloth in one hand, spray-can of polish in the other. The house never looked better -- he'd begrudgingly admit that much -- but it was all a farce. A veneer of beauty.

He heard his brother and sister share a joke. Their mirth tortured him. It chased him around the house, past legions of brainwashed slaves. Never stopping, nipping at his heels. He rushed into his room and slammed the door.

Collapsing against the frame, he sighed. Things could only get worse.

What felt like hours passed him by. He sat.

What had his life come to? A brother beaten, a family moved (displaced in heart as well as home), a darkness gathering...

A family cursed.

Their home no longer welcomed him. Jacob and Uma shared her bed. In the briefest of encounters he suffered a mess of taunting, chest-prodding lest he decide to repeat the events of that fateful night in his mom's arms. Donnie and Cynthia bewitched, ignorant to the harm he was sure their mother caused. All these people...these empty slates he didn't recognise, they had families and friends, they belonged to the community. To Carlyle. And she'd ripped them from normalcy and turned them into servants, maids, and butlers. People must've noticed: the dead gazes, the loss of personality?

Was the spell so powerful?

No peace came as the week advanced. The new normal didn't sit well with him.

Axel prowled the house and garden, skulking suspiciously near the strangers who served...us...

Michael flinched. That word:us.

You're a part of this. You belong with them.

His dreams began to frighten him: an azure field, the sky tinged violet, and a field of flowers blowing in the wind, all overcast by the shadow of vast, sickly wings.

Waking with a start, he climbed to his feet. Sweat poured from his face, droplets falling from his nose. His body burned. It filled him, the_sin._

He was going to fester if it lasted. The option of flight was open to him. He could while away his hours miles from the insanity around him. All he had to do was take his car and drive. Drive anywhere. The library? The mall? Cinema? Church (hah!)? Destinations as-yet unknown...? But he did not follow his own warning. Instead, his thoughts turned to envy, and the yawning darkness that it fed off of.

Sin was winning.

He opened the door, stepping onto the landing. He heard the creak of lovemaking, the dull stamp of a bed-frame in turmoil; crude and loud, ignored by all except him.

Stay. Go.

Those two impulses battled.

Stay. Go.

How long had it been? A week? Two weeks? Three? How long had it been since his night with Uma? His mouth felt dry. His breathing sped up.

Stay?

The noise crept closer as he did the same. Uma's aggressive moans were muffled by the solid door between them, as were Jacob's, but they came to him fully-formed. Battering his ears in the process.

Go?

His mind tried to find distraction, but failed. Under the twin feelings of curiosity and caution he was driven to grasp the handle, and turn. The bedroom door opened just a sliver, allowing him to access the secret lust.

In her bed they twisted and turned. Jacob spearing his mother while her cries rang through the house. The full force of the sounds of their incest struck Michael as the spell of silence was broken upon the shifting of the door, deafening him. He peeked at the sinful couple, hips grinding beneath the bedcovers. A mound of rolling cloth hid Jacob's rear from his sight. It swelled and shrank, pulsing with each thrust. Uma's arms surrounded him, locking him close. Michael was blocked from seeing his mom's face, but the memory of her ecstasy atop him was clear as ever.

His heart raced. A tightness in his pants claimed him.

Anger. Lust. The raw ingredients of sin.

How could he bear to watch? She was his! She came to him! Jacob wasn't good enough for her! He snarled, his thoughts translated into a series of low growls. His mom and brother were unperturbed. Their incestuous acts did not waver.

Jealously. Michael realised what that feeling had been, the unease sitting in his soul. It was jealousy.He wanted her. He wanted to claim his mother again. He...

He wanted to reign by her side.

He tore away from the crack in the doorway, the sounds of sex disappearing as he crossed back over the threshold, replaced by a faint rumble as the bed shook under stress.Stop! he pleaded with himself,get out of this house now! Before it's too late!

Michael stumbled towards his room. A plan formed: pack his bags, scrape together some cash, and go. Just go.

Hesitation took him swiftly, barely an inch from his door.I don't know what to do.

Would he stay, or would he leave and be rid of the madness? The curse was growing, inside him and others. It would only be a matter of time...

He wanted to decide, but couldn't.