Free Strangewood by Christopher Golden

mother running around
with some guy."
    She glared at him.
    "Jesus, Emily, the corpse isn't even cool yet. And the
boy's only five years old, for God's sake, give him a break!" Thomas said,
wishing he could just shut up but overwhelmed by the pressure on his temples,
the shortness of breath, the ice cube in his gut.
    He loved her. And he could see in her eyes that he'd hurt
her. Again. They'd hurt each other a lot, and saving Nathan from that was the
whole point of the divorce.
    "You done?" she growled.
    Thomas looked away and sighed, ashamed of himself, but
unwilling to let go of the pain.
    "Nathan doesn't know I'm seeing anyone, and he won't
until I think the time is right. I'd give my life for that kid, just like I
know you would. But I have to build a future for myself, too. You should be
doing the same," Emily said sternly. "Now, if you are done,
why don't you fuck off home and see if you can't find the asshole who smeared
peanut butter on your window," she added.
    Emily rose from her chair and went to the sink to angrily
bang pots and dishes around. Thomas waited for the sound of a dish breaking,
but none did. It always amazed him, when she did that, that the dishes didn't
shatter.
    "Why don't you go kiss your son good night?" she
said gruffly, without turning. "Tell him I'll be right in."
    Thomas slid his chair back and rose slowly. He walked over
to where Emily stood, still with her back to him. He kissed her on the top of
the head and whispered an apology, which she ignored. Thomas knew she felt
guilty, and he'd used her guilt and her love for Nathan against her. His
apology was genuine.
    Leaving her to the dishes, he walked down the hallway of the
large raised ranch home and into his son's bedroom.
    "Okay, buster, time for kisses from Daddy!" he
announced as he crossed the threshold.
    Nathan wasn't there. Thomas raised an eyebrow. Faintly, in
the back of his mind, he recalled his alarm in the backyard that morning. But
the thought was gone as soon as it came. They were at home now. Nathan had
nothing to fear here, especially with both his parents right down the hall.
    Must be in the bathroom, Thomas thought. As he stepped into
the hall, he heard the water running in the sink. Thomas smiled. Nathan was a
good kid. Brushed his teeth all by himself, morning and night. Sure, he could
be bratty and selfish and cranky, but all kids were those things once in a
while. In so many other ways, the important ways, Nathan was every parent's
dream child.
    "Okay, buddy, I've got to go," he said as he
pushed open the bathroom door.
    Nathan wore mismatched pajamas, Mickey Mouse on top and
airplanes on the bottoms. He stood on a small stool Thomas had bought for him
when he was three, and Nathan held his toothpaste-foamed toothbrush to his
front teeth, lips curled back in a bizarre rictus. Toothpaste dripped down his
chin. Water ran in the sink.
    But Nathan wasn't brushing.
    The boy stared into the mirror, unblinking, tooth-brushing
hand frozen in place.
    "Nathan?" Thomas asked weakly.
    His son didn't turn, didn't respond — his eyes didn't
even flicker over to glance at Thomas. Shock became horror. Curiosity became
desperate fear, triphammer-slamming into his chest.
    Thomas moved quickly to his son and grabbed Nathan by the
shoulders, shaking him, gently at first. Any other day, he might have waited to
see what the joke was. But he knew there was no fakery involved just by looking
at the boy.
    "Nathan!" he shouted and turned his son's body so
he could stare into Nathan's eyes, get his attention.
    He could hear, dimly, somewhere in another world, the voice
of his ex-wife, Nathan's mother, shouting to him, asking what was wrong. He
could hear her running down the hall toward the bathroom. But Thomas wasn't
really registering those things. All he could focus on in that moment was the
saliva and toothpaste running down his son's chin in a greenish white rivulet
of foamy drool.
    "Jesus!" Emily cried behind him. "What's
wrong with