Words From the Fragile Spire

Father-Son

It was the first hour of the morning, and the father was again submerged in his study, whipping his pencil back and forth at work on his art. He threw one mark on the untouched page in a singular, fluid motion. He stared at it, imagining the next mark and the next - the beauty of how the final picture would grow out of this first meaningless scratch. After some time, his daydream crumpled and, angrily, he erased the mark, poised to try again for a better one.

He continued at this until he heard a cry from across the house. The noise shocked him into a paralyzed daze, and suddenly his warm desk lamp, the only light in the darkened room, became a burning star. He heard it again: "Daddy!" He stood up, his limbs creaking like the first steps onto the wood floor of an abandoned house and walked upstairs to his son's room. He knocked on the door three times, as was customary between the two, and opened the door to see his son sitting stiffly upright. His eyes were wide, and he was panting; the father noticed an eerie similarity to the strange state that he himself had been thrust into only moments before.

"What's wrong, dinosaur?" the father said as he sat next to his son in bed.

"I saw a ghost out the window, daddy."

"A ghost? That's silly. Ghosts aren't real."

"I swear, I saw it. It looked like a man standing in the yard."

The father sighed, "it was probably just a bad dream." He started to get up.

"No! Don't go! I won't be able to fall back asleep."

"Well, I can't stay with you forever."

The two remained in silence.

"How about this," the father said, "I can go outside and look for the ghost and tell you for sure that there's nothing there; or I can stay here and sleep with you tonight."

If you choose the first option, proceed to the section marked 'A.' If you choose the second option, proceed to the section marked 'B.'

A

"I want you to go out and find the ghost," the son said.

"Alright, dinosaur. I'll be right back. You can watch me through the window; I'll be right there," he said and pointed to the center of the backyard.

The father stood up and walked towards the door, taking one last glance back at his son, who was already searching fervently out the window. He paced slowly back downstairs to his study, slipped on shoes, grabbed a coat and headed to the back door.

The father and son had only moved into this house a month ago. It was old; it was a rare instance when a wood floor panel did not creak under the father's pressure. The father unlocked the door and closed it behind him. However, still somewhat flustered, he forgot that when the old door is shut too heavily, it locked. As the clicking of the locking door sounded, he was already halfway down the length of the yard, and so did not hear it.

He looked up to his son's second-floor window and gave a terse wave. He imagined his son waving back to him. He saw nothing in the yard. He was startled by a sudden rustling in the thick brush behind him and turned to look into the near-total darkness at the back side of the yard. He took a few steps closer, and what looked like a pale, emaciated hand reached out from the brush, and frightened him so much that he screamed and fell on his behind. When he looked again, he saw in the same place the snout of an opossum, which then ran out of the bush and past him, out of his sight.

The father sighed and returned to the back door. He tried to open it, but could not, and realized the mistake he made. He knocked excessively for his son to come down and allow him to return.

The son heard his father's scream and thrust himself under the covers, convinced that the ghost had captured him. He heard the loud, incessant knocking at the door and a muffled voice - surely it was the ghost, again. He knew he could not wait forever, and so sprang out of bed, dragging his bedsheets with him, and ran out of his room towards the stairs. He descended the steps too quickly; his foot got caught in the mass of cloth and sent him tumbling down the hard, wooden stairs.

The father heard the crash from outside and kept knocking and pleading for his son to open the door. He did not hear another sound.

B

"I want you to stay with me," the son said.

"Sure thing, dinosaur," the father responded and laid down on the bed next to his son, who shifted over slightly to account for him. "I'm sure whatever you saw was just an animal. It's not a ghost."

The two sat in silence for a moment before the son spoke again: "Daddy, I need to tell you something."

"Of course, anything."

"I didn't really a see a ghost. I just wanted you to be with me."

"Oh, come here," the father said and put his arm around his son. "I'm always here."

"But you spend so much time in your office, I'm afraid you'll get angry if I come in there."

"No, no. Look into my eyes. You will never make me angry."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You can come in and bother me whenever you want."

"OK. It's just... it's just been so different since mommy..."

"I know, I know. It's hard. But we have each other, right? And together, we'll both be OK."

"Thanks, daddy."

The two smiled at each other and embraced; the son fell asleep in his father's warmth only moments later. He had a moment to reflect on the beautiful person he held in his arms - a real beauty that no picture could capture. He heard some rustling from the bushes outside, and soon after fell into a satisfying rest.