Sanford Crow

CHAPTER 6

"He was standing in the freezing snow, Eric, naked!" Sanford said, trying to explain the hysteria of the night before.

"But, why?" Eric responded. His body was half leaning out of bed, his hair stood up in patches, adding to his look of confusion.

"Cause he heard me outside. He's not normal!"

It felt good to say it out loud.

"I don't believe you!"

"He had a picture of some family in a frame and he was smashing it, then he hid it in the floor. I could show it to you and prove it!"

"Why would he have a picture of a family?"

"Cause there's something wrong with him! Maybe you're just too young to see it, but I do. He scares me, Eric. He scares me a lot."

"He doesn't scare me," Eric said, sitting straight now, his chin jutting up.

"That's because you don't see him, not the way I do."

Eric stopped and looked at Sanford, studying his face.

"You really think he's a bad man?" Eric asked.

"I really do. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No, but—"

"I'm not gonna start now," he said. "I think Dad hurts people, I think he kills them. I don't know why, and I'm scared to find out. But I'm more afraid that one of these days he's gonna hurt us, that he's going to—"

The bedroom door swung open before he could finish his sentence. The boom of it sent the boys back in their beds.

There he stood in the opened doorway, their father, a wolf draped in the skin of a lamb. He stood large, covering every inch of the door, of their escape. He appeared dressed for battle. Military boots were strapped on his feet, used and wet, dripping puddles on the rug. Sanford saw the hunting knife, sitting in a sheath, dangling from his belt like an idle threat. A green army, surplus jacket was zipped up to his throat. His crew-cut was bristling and tight. His horn-rimmed glasses were there as always, with his dark brown eyes, almost black, looming behind.

Sanford was terrified.

How long had he been there? What did he hear?

"Gather up boys," he barked. "We got some work to do."

"What kind of—"

"I said gather up, now gather up! Get your long johns and snow pants on. Dress warm. We're taking a walk through the woods." He spoke like he was back at war.

The pit in Sanford's stomach deepened. He couldn't help from swallowing.

His father was focused, intently, sharpening his eyes on Sanford like a whetstone.

"You all right, Sanford?" Jonathan asked. His smile arched to jagged points.

"Yes, -s-sir."

"Because you don't look too good, you look pale. Maybe me and Eric should go and you can just stay here."

"No! I wanna come," Sanford proclaimed.

He couldn't leave Eric alone with him. He didn't know what his father was capable of, or where his limits were.

A sweat broke out on Sanford's forehead as they gathered up and did as their father commanded. He could tell Eric wasn't as scared as he was; he didn't believe, but Sanford had an inkling that he would soon enough.