Free 3 Ghosts of Our Fathers by Michael Richan

bed. As long as Frank didn’t
look down as he returned, he’d be fine and he could wait until Frank fell
asleep and then leave the room. He heard the feet approaching. He angled his
head so he could see the feet.
    They stopped at the bed. Sean
expected to see the feet turn, hear the mattress groan above him and then see
the feel rise up into the bed, but they didn’t. They just stood there.
    He’s caught me, Sean
thought, still holding his breath.
    He felt the hand wrap around his
shirt and pull. He was yanked from under the bed. He felt the wooden slat of
the bed frame scrape against his back and arm as Frank lifted him by his shirt.
    “Always a thief!” Frank said,
slurring his words. He held Sean by the back of his shirt. Sean struggled to
get out of the shirt, but Frank was gripping it too tightly. Frank sensed the
attempt to escape and brought his other hand down hard against Sean’s face.
Sean felt the room spinning and felt as though he would pass out.
    “Gonna teach you a lesson,” Frank
said, wobbling on his feet. Sean wondered how Frank had the balance to make it
to the bathroom and back. He also wondered how long before the boy’s object
took effect and the promise of stopping Frank engaged. He didn’t know how it
would work, but he’d done everything the boy had asked, and right now its
engagement was his only salvation from Frank.
    Frank slapped him again hard, and
Sean tasted blood. A ring on Frank’s hand had hit his eyebrow and he could feel
something warm dripping down into his eye, blurring his vision, making the dim
images of the room dark red. He pulled down inside the shirt Frank was holding,
hoping his wiggling would somehow set him free, but he couldn’t get his arms
out of the shirt.
    “Now you’ll pay!” Frank said,
lifting him higher and shaking him. He pulled back his hand again and brought
it down hard on Sean’s head. The force of it twisted Sean’s head hard to the
right and he felt some of the blood on his face go flying to the floor. He couldn’t
see anything through his left eye anymore. Frank pulled back again and hit him
in the stomach. Sean felt all of the air leave his lungs and the blood enter
his open mouth as he tried to suck in air.
    Why isn’t it stopping him? Sean
wondered. Please, stop him! He’s so drunk he’ll kill me.
    Sean thought about the matchbox.
Had he placed it in the right place? Yes, it was under the bed, right where it
had been before Frank drank the powder.
    Under the bed, Sean
thought. Maybe the bed has something to do with it.
    Frank was winding his hand back
for another slap. Sean shifted his feet and instead of trying to pull away from
Frank he pushed into him. Frank lost his balance and fell sideways onto the
bed.
    Sean was pulled down onto the bed
with Frank, but Frank wasn’t moving. He wondered if he’d passed out. Sean
wiggled his shirt free from Frank’s hands and stepped away from the bed.
    Frank was lying with his face to
the side towards Sean. His eyes were open but his body was still. It was as
though his body was paralyzed. Sean fought to suck in a breath and finally his
lungs cooperated with him. He took several deep breaths, feeling a pain in his
side each time he did. Frank still hadn’t moved. He wiped the blood from his
eyes and moved up towards Frank to look more closely at Frank’s face. Frank’s
eyes just stared, unable to do anything.
    Sean poked at Frank, trying to get
him to respond. Nothing worked. He slapped his face. No response.
    Sean turned on the bedroom light
and thought about what to do. He decided to run to the basement stairwell and
call for Garth.
    Garth came up the stairs and
followed Sean into the bedroom. Once he entered the lit room he saw the damage
to Sean’s face. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    Sean nodded.
    Garth approached Frank
tentatively.
    “Is he dead?” Garth asked.
    “No,” Sean said. “He’s breathing.
His eyes are open. He just can’t move.”
    “Do you think he can hear