Tim unlocked the bolt lock to his tool shed in his backyard and walked in. It is a fairly big tool shed, where he keeps all his tools for farming. There is a carefully outlined spot for the pickaxe to go on the wall. As he hangs his pickaxe up, he starts to wonder to himself for the first time how it had gotten stuck in the back porch. Suddenly, all the feelings he had stirred up inside of him over the recent events vanished and he only felt anger once again. Angry for whoever had used his tools and not put them back! Angry to be disrespected! He had always been particular of his tools. If you ever used one or borrowed one you better bring it back when you said you would and in the same condition.
He had learned the consequences for not doing this from his father and grandfather. The Woodland men had reputations. They were all known for being strict men, strict fathers, strict husbands. Everyone knew Woodland men did not take shit off anyone and have always had what the townsfolk called a short fuse. Still to this day every time he went into town the old men still told stories about how great his father and grandfather were. Stories that at one time had been so sweet to hear but now had turned sour. He did not think they were great. In fact, he had never really liked them and quite frankly was tired of being compared to them. There was one story in particular that he had grown to hate about his grandfather. His grandfather had borrowed a horse from a friend and local farmer a few days earlier. The Woodlands have always been good with horses, they would buy them wild for cheap, train them and then sell them. When his grandfather and friends decided to leave the bar and ride their horses around town, Tim's grandfather had decided to show off a little bit. On that day however, the horse he had borrowed did not comply with his demands. So, in front of everyone in town, his grandfather took out a pistol from his pocket and shot the horse in the head while sitting on it in the middle of the street. Tim had always thought this was cruel.
No, he had never wanted to be like them. He had always just wanted to be his own man. He wanted to do what he wanted to do and be who he wanted to be, but here he was despite his own dreams and desires following their footsteps.
He thought to himself despite all that I am, I am still being disrespected. Someone must pay for the disrespect. One day there will be a reckoning. As he was locking his shed up, he heard Abby coming down the driveway. Doing his best to swallow his aggravation and paint on a smile, he walked around the front of the house and motions for her to meet him at the barn. Once they had unloaded everything, He told Abby a watered-down version of events that had occurred while she was in town and ended the story with, "You know how your mother is..." in a sarcastic tone accompanied by a smirk and a wink. The kind only a father knew how to do to make you feel that precious sentimental feeling of childhood bliss. "Okay, I'll talk to her." Abby responded. As darkness fell over the day turning it into night smothering out the light.
YOU ARE READING
The PickAx House
TerrorSample: A scream, a scream came from the distance. A woman's scream. Looking up at the full moon, he seen his breath. The wind screaming at him. Threatening him. So many questions... Was that a scream or was that the wind? How did I get down here? A...
