Read Online A Boy and His Corpse by Richard B. Knight - Free Book Online Page B

Alan squealed in pain. His arms still ached from yesterday’s push-ups.
                  “Did anybody follow you here?” Herbert asked. “I saw Heinzelman and Covington parked outside. Was there anyone else?”
                  “No. I didn’t see anyone. Dad, what’s wrong? What happened today?”
                  Behind his dad, Alan saw Mort pop his head in from the kitchen. But something was off about him. As Alan tried to mentally connect with his pet corpse, it just didn’t feel right. The whole room actually didn’t feel right. He felt hot underneath the collar even though it wasn’t hot in the house. It was the same feeling he had when he was back at school, sitting on the toilet. It was like he was just about to be dropped into a boiling caldron or something. Alan stared down at the floor boards and for a minute, he was terrified that the ground might give out beneath him and there would be nothing but Hellfire below.
                  As if he shared the same thought, his father looked him directly in the eyes and released him. Herbert held his head, staggered over to the couch and fell into it. He slumped back, and in the sunlight that peeked through the living room curtains, his hair looked almost completely white. Just yesterday, it was mostly black with just a few white hairs by his ears.
                  “What the hell is going on, dad?” Alan asked again, rubbing his aching arms.
                  “Nothing,” Herbert said, before shaking his head and sitting up. “Actually, everything’s wrong, boy. We need to talk.”
                  Alan stared at Mort again and suddenly realized what was so “off” about him. His father was controlling him. For a moment, they had been sharing the same corpse, and it was awkward, like an uncomfortable hug or accidently brushing hands with a girl you liked.
    “What happened to you today?” Alan asked. “I felt something at school.”
                  “What did you feel?” Herbert asked. The rings underneath his eyes, along with the new shock of white hair, made him look like he aged ten years in a day.
                  “I felt hot,” Alan told him, wiping his suddenly sweaty forehead. “Burning hot. I actually feel hot right now.”
                  “Hot how?” Herbert asked, standing back up. “Tell me everything.”
                  As soon as Alan looked in his father’s watery eyes, he understood. He saw Mr. Rovas shooting fire at him with a flame thrower. But there was something else, too. Something even more terrifying than Mr. Rovas. That “something else” was what truly terrified his father, and Alan felt it in the room with him.
                  “Dad,” Alan said slowly as he backed away from him, “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me. Where did we get our powers from? And I mean, really. No BS this time. I want the truth.”
    It was a question he had asked his father a few times in the past, but he never got more of a response than, “We’re just different, Alan, that’s all.” But the older Alan got, the more he feared the truth, and now he truly needed to know why they were the way they were.
    Even though his body still felt uncomfortably hot, he shivered. The oppressive force in the room grew thicker. Pretty soon, he was afraid he’d be swallowed up by it completely.
    The fear in his father’s face turned over to a menacing scowl. “There’s no telling when they’re coming to get us,” Herbert said suddenly. “You need to practice. Take control of Mort.”
    Alan felt pops in his head like firecrackers going off and he was back in control of Mort again. The corpse’s arms were more fluid now, but his eyes were still just as frightened.
                  “Who’s coming to get us, dad?” Alan asked. “What aren’t you