Free Moribund Tales by Erik Hofstatter Page B

What I didn't understand was… why? Father never explained his reasons. One thing I did know for sure was that if he ever caught me anywhere near the cellar… he would kill me.
    I've ignored his cruelty for the past fourteen years, but no more. I can no longer, with good conscience, ignore what is under the floorboards.
    As usual, I was sick with fear as compassion invaded my mind. Nevertheless, I must obey what my heart asks of me.
    My hands began to tremble as I descended the uneven stairs. The only source of light available to me was the tiny candle in my hand. Darkness devoured everything around me as I heard the unmistakeable sound of nails scratching at the walls.
    There was a door in front of me. I pressed my ear against it and listened intently. Strange wailing came from within. My father's callousness was beyond belief. No human could ignore such pleading, but my Father's heart was immune to empathy.
    Out of the darkness, a powerful hand emerged and grabbed me by the collar. I was thrown backwards. Everything blurred. When my sight returned, I could see the savage face of my father looking down at me. I was petrified.
    He took a handful of hair and began to drag me towards the stairs. I tried to resist, but my Father's hands were like iron clamps. I couldn't break his hold.
    “What did I tell you, boy?” I held my breath.
    “This is for your own good!” he said as he removed his belt. “I told you to stay outta there!”
    I sobbed. My tears only served to fuel Father's anger.
    He was a massive man. All the endless hours spent slaving in the mines had given him a robust and frightening physique. I wept with every blow as rage and disappointment burned in his merciless eyes. Then he stopped.
    That night, pain kept me awake. As much as I wanted to help, my own safety came first. My death would be of no use to anyone.
    The following night, after supper, I made Father some coffee. He stood in front of the blazing fireplace, lighting his pipe. The smoke created a bitter taste in my mouth. He took the cup gratefully and offered me a chair.
    “Father,” I began, tentatively. “You know you can't leave him down there in the cellar forever.”
    “He is an abomination, son. Work of the devil. God would never create such a monster. You know I only keep him alive out of pity.”
    “Why don't you kill him if you hate him so much?”
    Father shifted in his chair and took a sip of his drink. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he replied, “I thought about it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.”
    “He is a human being!” I protested. “You can't keep him imprisoned forever!”
    He gave me a sharp glance. “You'd better watch that tone, boy. He's against nature! He's against the bible! I'm telling you he is the devil's minion. If I ever catch you near the door again, it will be an axe in my hand, not a belt. End of discussion.”
    My mind was made up. I would do it that night, and he wouldn't stop me.
    While Father slept, I took hold of my grey rucksack and packed as many rations as I could find. Then I saw the shotgun resting above the fireplace. I took it down and laid it beside my bag.
    Creeping upstairs, taking caution with every step, I tried not to let them reveal my presence. Peeking through a crack in the doorway, I saw my father. His face was calm and peaceful. He was snoring obliviously.
    I licked my lower lip and reached for his keys. My heart plunged into my stomach as he suddenly shifted. For a moment, I thought he would grab my hand and chop it off, but he remained immobile. After liberating them, I hurried away. The cellar was my next destination.
    I descended the stairs. If Father was incapable of mercy, it was my duty to find it for him. A sudden sense of shame penetrated my mind. If only I'd found my courage earlier.
    As I took the rusty keys out of my pocket, a sudden wave of anticipation hit me. I unlocked the door and removed the heavy chains. I could hear the same distant wails.
    Once