Read Online Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fran Friel
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mother. I cannot imagine your suffering at this time, and I will no doubt be judged for my part in her demise. I would bring you into my own home and adopt you as my son, but circumstances are such that this is impossible. I will be sure to leave you food from time to time when I am able. I wish I could do more for you, son. You have always been a fine boy.
Whatever you do from this time on to support yourself and find your way in the world, please keep your dear mother in your thoughts. Be the man that would make her proud.
With My Sincere Condolences,
Your Servant,
David M. Worthing
Just how long had he been sleeping? Small token for the death of your mother? Will ran through the doorway to the front of the shop. He stomped his feet into his shoes, pulled his coat tight around his chest, and threw open the door to the cold winter night. He ran down the moonlit street, the chill wind slicing at his skin, and there before the town hall stood the gallows, his mother's stiff body swaying in the wind.
He stumbled up the wooden stairs of the hangman's platform and tried with all his strength to pull his mother's body up from below. In his futile effort, the rough fibers of the rope dug into his small hands. The wind numbed his fingers, but he continued his work until the rope was slick with his blood. Falling to his knees on the moonlit planks of the gallows, young Will wept for his mother, Maire Pennycock.
* * * *
The boy holed up in the tailor shop for weeks. He lay curled in his bed, leaving only for a bite of food from his dwindling supplies or to relieve himself.
He finally decided to light a fire when ice formed on the chamber pot. His movements were slow and labored, the cold and hunger sapping his strength. He was huddled by the fire when a pounding came at the front door. A man had come each day, shouting to be let in, but Will ignored him. This time his shouting was relentless.
"I know you're in there, boy. I see the smoke coming from the chimney. You let me in or I'll come in after ye!"
He heard a crash and the tinkling of glass on the floor in the front room. Fearing for his life, he forced his cold body to move. He grabbed a thick piece of firewood, as heavy as his small hand could grip, and crept forward, peering through the doorway into the shop. A man's hand snaked through the broken pane of glass in the door and turned the key. Will rushed forward with his stick of wood and struck the man's hand as he was pulling it back through the broken window.
The man screamed and burst through the door, his hand dripping blood, cut by the loose shards in the window pane.
"Ye little bastard. I'll break yer neck."
Like a wild animal cornered in its den, Will ran for the safety of his bed with the man following in hard pursuit. As the stranger entered the back room he stopped cold, covering his mouth and nose with his good hand to stave off the stench from the un-emptied chamber pot and rotting food. He looked around at the filth and complete chaos of the room Will had been hiding in for weeks. The man walked to the side of the bed and struck Will so hard that his head snapped back against the wall.
"What have ye done to my shop, boy? Not only was your bitch of a mother in arrears for the rent, now I'll have to pay to have this shit hole cleaned because of the swine she left behind."
He looked around in disgust and eyed the boy trembling under the bedcovers.
"Get up, pig, and get yer clothes on. I'll have the missus clean the stink off ye', and you'll work off yer mother's debts at the inn."
Will didn't move.
"Go on before I drag ye through the snow and mud in that wretched coat and yer underclothes."
Slowly, Will reached for a pair of britches, already too short for him. He shrugged out of his father's coat, folding it carefully and laying it on the bed with reverence.
"What did I tell ye, boy? Get movin’ or I'll call the constable. It's only my good Christian charity that'll keep ye out of jail for the
Whatever you do from this time on to support yourself and find your way in the world, please keep your dear mother in your thoughts. Be the man that would make her proud.
With My Sincere Condolences,
Your Servant,
David M. Worthing
Just how long had he been sleeping? Small token for the death of your mother? Will ran through the doorway to the front of the shop. He stomped his feet into his shoes, pulled his coat tight around his chest, and threw open the door to the cold winter night. He ran down the moonlit street, the chill wind slicing at his skin, and there before the town hall stood the gallows, his mother's stiff body swaying in the wind.
He stumbled up the wooden stairs of the hangman's platform and tried with all his strength to pull his mother's body up from below. In his futile effort, the rough fibers of the rope dug into his small hands. The wind numbed his fingers, but he continued his work until the rope was slick with his blood. Falling to his knees on the moonlit planks of the gallows, young Will wept for his mother, Maire Pennycock.
* * * *
The boy holed up in the tailor shop for weeks. He lay curled in his bed, leaving only for a bite of food from his dwindling supplies or to relieve himself.
He finally decided to light a fire when ice formed on the chamber pot. His movements were slow and labored, the cold and hunger sapping his strength. He was huddled by the fire when a pounding came at the front door. A man had come each day, shouting to be let in, but Will ignored him. This time his shouting was relentless.
"I know you're in there, boy. I see the smoke coming from the chimney. You let me in or I'll come in after ye!"
He heard a crash and the tinkling of glass on the floor in the front room. Fearing for his life, he forced his cold body to move. He grabbed a thick piece of firewood, as heavy as his small hand could grip, and crept forward, peering through the doorway into the shop. A man's hand snaked through the broken pane of glass in the door and turned the key. Will rushed forward with his stick of wood and struck the man's hand as he was pulling it back through the broken window.
The man screamed and burst through the door, his hand dripping blood, cut by the loose shards in the window pane.
"Ye little bastard. I'll break yer neck."
Like a wild animal cornered in its den, Will ran for the safety of his bed with the man following in hard pursuit. As the stranger entered the back room he stopped cold, covering his mouth and nose with his good hand to stave off the stench from the un-emptied chamber pot and rotting food. He looked around at the filth and complete chaos of the room Will had been hiding in for weeks. The man walked to the side of the bed and struck Will so hard that his head snapped back against the wall.
"What have ye done to my shop, boy? Not only was your bitch of a mother in arrears for the rent, now I'll have to pay to have this shit hole cleaned because of the swine she left behind."
He looked around in disgust and eyed the boy trembling under the bedcovers.
"Get up, pig, and get yer clothes on. I'll have the missus clean the stink off ye', and you'll work off yer mother's debts at the inn."
Will didn't move.
"Go on before I drag ye through the snow and mud in that wretched coat and yer underclothes."
Slowly, Will reached for a pair of britches, already too short for him. He shrugged out of his father's coat, folding it carefully and laying it on the bed with reverence.
"What did I tell ye, boy? Get movin’ or I'll call the constable. It's only my good Christian charity that'll keep ye out of jail for the
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