Read Online 3 Ghosts of Our Fathers by Michael Richan - Free Book Online Page B

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 don’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