3 Ghosts of Our Fathers

by Michael Richan

  “Sean decided he’d place the matchbox under Frank’s bed that night, since Frank would likely be passed out already. He planned to sneak upstairs in the middle of the night into Frank’s room, and leave the matchbox. I asked him how he planned on getting the powder into something Frank would drink. We thought maybe we’d try his coffee, since he always took a thermos of coffee with him to the farm in the morning, and we could put the power into the thermos overnight, and he’d fill it in the morning. But we couldn’t risk him rinsing the thermos out before he poured the coffee into it. We weren’t sure if we lost the powder or somehow wasted it if the boy would give us more. We wanted to make sure it worked the first time.

  “We settled on putting it into his booze, since Frank drinking his whiskey was as predictable as the sunrise. The problem with that plan was that Frank tended to bring a bottle home with him from work, and he’d polish off the bottle that night. There weren’t bottles of whiskey lying around.

  “We solved that problem by borrowing a bottle from Davy’s father. It was the same kind of whiskey that Frank drank, and there was an inch in the bottom of the bottle, so we hoped Davy’s dad wouldn’t miss it. Sean dumped the powder into the bottle and snuck upstairs one night to place the bottle somewhere Frank would run into it the next day. We were betting that in his drunken stupor he’d never remember whether or not he’d finished last night’s bottle before he passed out, and that he’d polish off the remaining whiskey once he discovered it.

  “The next day and night Sean and I were on pins and needles, wondering if our plan would work. Would he find the bottle and drink it? Or would he just drink the new bottle he brought home every day?”

  -

  Sean and Garth were lying in bed. It was just after midnight. Neither boy had heard sounds from upstairs for over an hour, and Garth was telling Sean he should head upstairs to collect the hair and fingernails.

  “Easy for you to say,” Sean told Garth. “You’re not going up to do it.”

  “I will if you want,” Garth said. “You cut his hair, I’ll cut a fingernail.”

  “No, I’ll work the scissors,” Sean said. “You might stab him and wake him up.”

  “How will we know if he’s really passed out?” Garth said. “If he wakes up and finds us in his room, he’ll be mad as hell.”

  “He snores,” Sean said. “I’ll be sure he’s snoring before we start. You just stand watch while I clip him, whisper to me if he wakes up.”

  Garth nodded. The two boys crawled out of the bed and slipped upstairs in their bedclothes. They avoided all floorboards known to creak. It was a warm evening and Frank had a fan going in his bedroom. Its sound helped mask their movements.

  Sean tip-toed to the bed and listened for the sound of Frank snoring. In the darkness of the room he could see Frank’s chest rising and falling slowly, the careful measured breathing of sleep. He glanced to the bedside table where Sean had left the whiskey that he’d dosed with the powder. The bottle was empty. He turned to Garth. Once their eyes met, Sean nodded, and Garth knew they were in the clear.

  Sean leaned over the bed and held the scissors up to Frank’s head. He squeezed the scissors slowly so they wouldn’t close all the way. He took only a few strands of hair so that Frank wouldn’t notice when he woke up. Then he moved to Frank’s hands.

  Frank was lying on his right hand, but his left was free and dangling. Sean moved the scissors down to the hand lying about six inches off the mattress, hanging towards the floor. He inspected each finger in the dim light, looking for one nail that he could cut. They all appeared to be short, too short to clip. The longest nail was on Frank’s little finger. He might be able to cut it, but he wasn’t sure. He raised the scissors into position and tried to slide the edge of the nail against the blades.

  Before he could squeeze the scissor’s handles he heard a creak from the base of the bed, and Sean looked up at Garth. Garth was frozen in fear. He’d taken a step back from the bed and the floorboard under him had let out a loud squeak. Frank roused.

  Sean pulled the scissors back and stayed down low. Frank’s hand raised up and flopped up over his body as he turned in bed. Both boys stayed frozen, waiting to see if Frank had been only disturbed or fully awaken. Sean looked up at Garth again. He was petrified and shaking, stifling a frightened whine. Sean held a finger up to his lips, reminding Garth to stay silent.

  After a moment, Frank’s breathing returned to normal. Sean mouthed the words “don’t move” to Garth and Garth quickly nodded his agreement.

  Sean resurveyed the landscape. Frank’s head was turned away from Sean, and his left hand was now on the other side of the bed, but his right had become exposed. The hand was pressed tightly against the mattress with the fingers spread out, and Sean saw several nails that might work. Sean knew it would be difficult to get the scissors between the nails and the mattress.

  He took his time, sliding the blades of the scissors into position under the nails. As the bottom blade slid in, it raised the finger a little from the mattress. He heard Frank’s breathing sputter and he quickly removed the blade in case Frank decided to turn again. After a moment Frank quieted again, and Sean reinserted the blade.

  He slowly closed the top blade, only wanting a small section of nail to come off. As the blades connected he saw the nail chip free and fall to the mattress. He removed the scissors and placed them in his back pocket.

  Frank began to adjust in bed again. The hand slid away and Frank’s body was rolling back towards him. He reached forward quickly and picked up the clipped nail, pressing the nail tightly between the flesh pads of his finger and thumb so he wouldn’t lose it. He stepped back from Frank and looked at Garth, who was in the same frozen position as before, holding his breath. He nodded towards the door and Garth let the breath out. They slipped out of the room and into the kitchen. When they reached the kitchen door, Sean silently opened it and the two boys crept out into the shadows of the yard.

  “Let’s take it to the boy now,” Sean said. “I don’t want to wait.”

  “OK,” Garth agreed, and followed Sean closely.

  They walked through the back yard feeling the cool grass under their bare feet. When they reached the garage, Sean went in first and Garth followed. Sean approached the junk pile. Within a few moments, the boy’s face appeared and an arm emerged, holding out an open palm.

  “Give them to me,” the boy said. Sean let the nail drop from his tightly pressed fingers into the boy’s palm. He had been pressing so hard the nail had made an indentation in the tip of his finger. Then he reached into his pocket and removed the few strands of hair he’d clipped from Frank’s head. The fingers on the palm closed around the items and the arm retreated into the junk pile. The boy’s face disappeared from view. For a moment, Sean and Garth began to wonder if anything more would happen. They waited patiently and after a few seconds the boy’s face reappeared and the arm reemerged from the junk pile. It was holding a small watch, about the size of a quarter. The straps of the watch were gone. Sean picked up the watch from the palm and looked at it. The numbers on it were strange, not numbers he was used to seeing on clocks. There was only one hand on the watch.

  “Place it in the box,” the boy said. The arm one again retreated into the junk pile and the face disappeared, leaving the boys to themselves in the garage.

  “The box?” Garth asked.

  “The matchbox,” Sean said. “The one I put under the bed last night.”

  “You mean we have to go back in there?” Garth asked.

  “Only I will go back in,” Sean said. “You nearly gave us away. You go back down to bed, and I’ll come down as soon as I’ve placed this in the matchbox.”

  “OK,” Garth said, and began walking out of the garage and back to the house. Once inside the door they parted ways, Garth heading down the stairs to their bedroom and Sean continuing into the kitchen. “Be careful,” Garth whispered as Sean turned to leave him.

  “I will,” Sean said, “but d
on’t make any noise when you go down the stairs.”

  “I won’t,” Garth said, taking his first step down to the basement.

  Sean traced his previous path through the kitchen and living room and into the hallway and Frank’s bedroom. As he entered Frank’s room he kept low to the floor, moving towards the spot under the bed where he’d hidden the matchbox.

  He found it and opened it. He reached into his pocket and removed the watch, then carefully placed it inside the matchbox. Then he replaced the matchbox where he’d found it, next to a pair of shoes.

  Something seemed wrong. He listened, straining his ears. He couldn’t hear anything.

  I should be hearing him snoring, or breathing, Sean thought.

  He heard the sound of the toilet flushing in the hallway bathroom. Frank was walking back into the room.

  Sean slid under the bed and held his breath. He couldn’t fit all of the way under the bed. As long as Frank didn’t look down as he returned, he’d be fine and he could wait until Frank fell asleep and then leave the room. He heard the feet approaching. He angled his head so he could see the feet.

  They stopped at the bed. Sean expected to see the feet turn, hear the mattress groan above him and then see the feel rise up into the bed, but they didn’t. They just stood there.

  He’s caught me, Sean thought, still holding his breath.

  He felt the hand wrap around his shirt and pull. He was yanked from under the bed. He felt the wooden slat of the bed frame scrape against his back and arm as Frank lifted him by his shirt.

  “Always a thief!” Frank said, slurring his words. He held Sean by the back of his shirt. Sean struggled to get out of the shirt, but Frank was gripping it too tightly. Frank sensed the attempt to escape and brought his other hand down hard against Sean’s face. Sean felt the room spinning and felt as though he would pass out.

  “Gonna teach you a lesson,” Frank said, wobbling on his feet. Sean wondered how Frank had the balance to make it to the bathroom and back. He also wondered how long before the boy’s object took effect and the promise of stopping Frank engaged. He didn’t know how it would work, but he’d done everything the boy had asked, and right now its engagement was his only salvation from Frank.

  Frank slapped him again hard, and Sean tasted blood. A ring on Frank’s hand had hit his eyebrow and he could feel something warm dripping down into his eye, blurring his vision, making the dim images of the room dark red. He pulled down inside the shirt Frank was holding, hoping his wiggling would somehow set him free, but he couldn’t get his arms out of the shirt.

  “Now you’ll pay!” Frank said, lifting him higher and shaking him. He pulled back his hand again and brought it down hard on Sean’s head. The force of it twisted Sean’s head hard to the right and he felt some of the blood on his face go flying to the floor. He couldn’t see anything through his left eye anymore. Frank pulled back again and hit him in the stomach. Sean felt all of the air leave his lungs and the blood enter his open mouth as he tried to suck in air.

  Why isn’t it stopping him? Sean wondered. Please, stop him! He’s so drunk he’ll kill me.

  Sean thought about the matchbox. Had he placed it in the right place? Yes, it was under the bed, right where it had been before Frank drank the powder.

  Under the bed, Sean thought. Maybe the bed has something to do with it.

  Frank was winding his hand back for another slap. Sean shifted his feet and instead of trying to pull away from Frank he pushed into him. Frank lost his balance and fell sideways onto the bed.

  Sean was pulled down onto the bed with Frank, but Frank wasn’t moving. He wondered if he’d passed out. Sean wiggled his shirt free from Frank’s hands and stepped away from the bed.

  Frank was lying with his face to the side towards Sean. His eyes were open but his body was still. It was as though his body was paralyzed. Sean fought to suck in a breath and finally his lungs cooperated with him. He took several deep breaths, feeling a pain in his side each time he did. Frank still hadn’t moved. He wiped the blood from his eyes and moved up towards Frank to look more closely at Frank’s face. Frank’s eyes just stared, unable to do anything.

  Sean poked at Frank, trying to get him to respond. Nothing worked. He slapped his face. No response.

  Sean turned on the bedroom light and thought about what to do. He decided to run to the basement stairwell and call for Garth.

  Garth came up the stairs and followed Sean into the bedroom. Once he entered the lit room he saw the damage to Sean’s face. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Sean nodded.

  Garth approached Frank tentatively.

  “Is he dead?” Garth asked.

  “No,” Sean said. “He’s breathing. His eyes are open. He just can’t move.”

  “Do you think he can hear us?” Garth asked, still afraid Frank might reanimate and turn on them.

  “I don’t know,” Sean said. “Here, help me get him back into bed.”

  The two boys maneuvered Frank’s legs up onto the bed and positioned him normally. Frank’s body was limp, dead weight. Occasionally Frank’s eyes would settle on one of them and give them a disquieting moment, but they became bolder with each minute that passed.

  “What do we do now?” Garth asked, staring at Frank who was lying still on the bed.

  “I guess we go to bed,” Sean said. “Let’s see how he looks in the morning.”

  -

  Garth took another sip of coffee. The waiter showed up to remove their dishes, and Steven and Daniel took the moment to lean back in their chairs after having been on the edge of them for the past several minutes.

  “The next day he was the same,” Garth said. “Comatose. Just staring into space. Couldn’t move or do anything other than open his eyes and breathe. Didn’t eat, went to the bathroom in the bed. We explained it all to Davy and then decided we’d better tell Davy’s mom. We told her that Frank had been in bed all day and couldn’t move, and we were afraid something was wrong with him. Of course we didn’t tell her what we’d done.

  “She didn’t relish the idea of coming over to the house with us to check on him, since Frank was a terrible neighbor, but she had seen the look of worry on our faces and decided she’d better check it out. Once she saw him she called a doctor. The next thing you know, Frank was in an asylum and Sean and I were sent off to live in a foster home. It wasn’t great, but it was an awful lot better than living with Frank, let me tell you.”

  Garth paused. He took a long sip of coffee and then sighed, as though he’d just freed himself of a terrible secret.

  “You already know Frank died in the asylum years ago. Sean passed away from cancer. I never married, no kids of my own, and now I’m here. But gentlemen, I’ve still got some fight left in me. If Frank has found a way back, I’ll do whatever I can to help you fight that terrible son of a bitch. I’m not as afraid of him now as I was back then.”

  Steven and Daniel looked at each other. Daniel spoke first.

  “I think what you created was a soul cage,” Daniel said. “It sounds to me like it was designed to last for eighty years.”

  “But why come after me?” Steven asked. “No offense Garth, but you’d think his target would be you.”

  “True,” Garth said. “I’ve not seen Frank in the manner you describe. Maybe he’s been visiting me here and I’ve slept through it. Or, maybe he’s targeting you because you have the gift, like Davy had.”

  Steven looked up at Garth. He’d not told Garth anything about his abilities.

  “Yes, Mr. Hall,” Garth said, “I can tell. I could see it in Davy, the way he could communicate with the boy, and I can see it in you. In fact, you look a lot like him.”

  Garth stared at Steven, pinching his eyes a little. Then his eyes went wide, and he set his coffee mug down on the table.

  “How daft of me,” Garth said. “Of course.”

  “Of course?” Steven asked. “What?”

  “Davy,” Garth said. “And you. What was you
r grandfather’s name, Steven?”

  “Blair on my mother’s side,” Steven said, “and David on my father’s.”

  “Davy’s last name,” Garth said, “was Hall. I believe it was your grandfather who helped us imprison Frank.”

  Everyone sat quietly around the coffee table, letting this revelation sink in.

  “How would Frank know Davy was involved?” Steven asked.

  “Depends on the soul cage,” Daniel said. “Frank’s body was useless, but his soul could continue to observe things, learn things.”

  “Did you ever discuss this with David…Davy after it happened?” Steven asked Garth.

  “Oh yes,” Garth said. “Davy had asked us for the details, and both Sean and I told him everything that had played out. Davy was as delighted in Frank’s situation as we were, but we were also afraid we’d done something terrible. All three of us went back to the boy in the garage to ask him what had happened to Frank. Davy did all of the communicating with the boy, interpreting the answers the boy gave so we could understand. He never mentioned anything about the soul cage expiring, just said that Frank was alive, was fine, and wouldn’t ever bother us again. Sean and I were taken from the home almost immediately after that – we never went into the garage again. I saw Davy once more at a high school dance. He was dating a girl from our school. I remember we talked briefly about Frank. I told him Frank was still in an institution, and I remember Davy saying, ‘good, good.’ Then our conversation shifted to girls and how to score some beer after the dance. Never saw him again after that.”

  “Steven, is your grandfather still alive?” Daniel asked.

  “No,” Steven said, “he died years ago.”

  “My guess,” Daniel said, “is that when Frank’s soul was caged, he was angry, in a rage. That’s never gone away. He holds Sean, Garth, and David accountable. No offense intended, but Garth is elderly and without children. David, on the other hand, has living children who continue to use the gift. It doesn’t surprise me he’d try to exact vengeance there.”