A Collection of Stories

THE CAPTIVE

He had no proof, so how could he blame them for doubting? His mother, with her lighthearted air, considered it the effect of him having watched too many horror movies. Dad only grunted from behind his newspaper and the morning mocha his dutiful wife made for him each morning and his cousin gave him a dubious look before refocusing on the 6.7 inch screen depicting some nonsense on YouTube. Granddad and his twelve-year-old brother were the only ones who appeared interested in what he'd said.

"It was only a shadow?" his grandfather mused, running his worn fingers over the light grey stubble on his chin.

Little Tomas perked up, tapping a pencil against his palm.

"Was it a girl or a boy ghost?"

He earned a frown, while Grandad let out a soft chuckle.

"Dude, how would anyone know if it was a girl or guy? And what makes you think it was a ghost?"

Tomas shook his head.

"Firstly, dunderhead, anyone can tell the difference between a girl or boy shadow." He shot a cautious glance at their mother before forming fists and putting them up in front of his chest while batting his lashes, causing Grandad to bark with laughter.

"We guys don't have those, now do we?"

"Have what?" both ladies asked in an innocent tone and expression. Grandad waved them off.

"Just having a hearty chat with my boys, that's all."

Mom smiled sweetly before turning back to her waffles, while their pretty cousin frowned at a receiving text message.

Tomas leans in almost conspiratorially. "And secondly, doofus, it has to be a ghost—it's the only plausible explanation! You say an old guy died in it some years back, right?" His eyes took on a glossy sheen. "Maybe he's trapped in the place and trying to scare you out of it."

Their mom came over, snatching her husband's paper as she passed.

"Alright, my precious men, time to start your day," she said, clearing the table. "Come on, chop-chop! Beatrice and Tomas, school. Husband and oldest son, work. And Daddy," she kissed the old man affectionately on the temple, "that writer's block isn't going to unblock itself. Get to your book."

"Yes, Mom," everyone echoed, making her giggle like a delighted school girl.

Outside, Tomas tossed his favorite baseball to his brother as he climbed into their dad's sedan.

"Let me sleep over at yours tonight, Jake. I wanna see the shadow too!"

"No way, man. I don't need any mysterious beings snatching my brother in the middle of the night and carrying him to the afterlife." He gave him a cordial salute. "Your safer here with Grandad."

His father gave him a venomous look.

"And Dad," he added with a laugh. The man scoffed and drove off.

Days passed, and Jake's shadow guest hadn't visited his home. After a two weeks, he wondered if he really imagined everything. Tomas remained unconvinced, and pestered him each day for details, including gender. He frequently dismissed him. His grandfather, finding inspiration in his grandson's ghost, found ideas for the book he was working on, but still listened intently for further development in the mysterious shadow case.

"Nothing yet?" his grandad questioned some days later. The family had just finished dinner, and all wandered to their respective places: the back porch for Dad and his paperwork. Cousin Bea sprawled out on the sofa with her phone in her face while Tomas watched TV and Mom sang along to Kelly Clarkson and Celine Dion while scrubbing dishes. Jake and his grandfather remained at the dinner table.