*Title In Construction/Progress*

Chapter 1--John--Nightime Shock

"What's for dinner, Pa?" I shrug off my coat and toss it on the coat rack my dad carved, way before I was born. I walk into the kitchen, kicking off my shoes.

My dad is sitting at the kitchen table, bills before him. He looks up wearily, the bags under his eyes drooping. He runs a hand through his diminishing salt-and-pepper hair.

"Um," he says, glancing at the pantry. "There's some chili in there; mind putting it in a pot and cooking it up?"

I really don't want to cook any more food after a two-hour shift at Harry's Hamburger Shack, but Jesus would do this willingly, so I will.

"Sure." I walk across the weathered wooden floors and grab the can out of the pantry.

"Thanks, John," he returns to the bills.

I grab a pot that doesn't look that dirty and toss the chili in.

The chili only takes about five minutes to heat up.

"How was your day?" I force my voice to sound cheerful as I slide a bowl full of chili in front of him.

"It was alright. I delivered a statue of a raccoon in a top hat with a cane and bow tie; that was interesting. I shingled a couple rooftops. The factory manager said he would raise my pay if I worked an extra shift three nights a week, so on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I will be coming home at 7," he lists.

It makes me sad that my father has to work three jobs a day, but without him doing that, we wouldn't get by.

"A statue of a raccoon. That's weird!" I make conversation. My dad forces a chuckle, too exhausted to be genuine.

"How was school? Learn much?"

"Uh, yeah. I got an A on my AP Lang test."

"That's great, son." My dad's smile is a little more real. "How was work?"

"Work was fine. I'm slowly but surely increasing my college fund," I reply.

We make awkward small talk, the day weighting down on our shoulders. Dad finishes up the bills while I rinse out the bowls and glasses and then half-heartedly scrub the pot.

I leave the kitchen and amble into our only bathroom and take a shower.

After yanking on some flannel pajamas, I head up the stairs to my room, each step creaking louder than the one before it.

I attempt to do homework, but I am so tired that my eyes are crossing while I try to find the answer to this pre-calculus problem.

I hear shuffling on the front porch. I peer through my window shades, but I can't see much since it is so dark. From the dim porch light, I can see a deep slide mark in the thin layer of snow leading to the porch.

I hurry down the stairs.

"Pa, there's something on the porch!" I alert him.

"What is it?" He asks, wide-eyed. "Must be 'em bears," he answers himself.

Our house is 15 miles away from the town where I go to high school and Dad and I work. We live in a small two-story cabin, way out in dense woods, where bears and coyotes reign. We don't usually get visitors, especially late at night, so it has to be an animal of some sort.

My dad grabs his shotgun off the wall and heads to the front of the cabin.

I follow him as he looks out the front window.

"Can't see a darn thing," he grumbles as he turns on a flashlight. You can't even see your hand a foot in front of your face when your outside at night, at this time of year.

"Pa, don't kill it, whatever it is!" I plead.

"I'm not gonna kill it, just gonna give it a good scare!" He snaps. "Now hold the flashlight and shine it on the door."

I shine the beam on the doorway and brace myself for whatever is going to come next.

-Lord, please let this go well.- I pray in my head.

My dad whips the door open and quickly swings his gun up, preparing to shoot and scare off whatever beast is there.

What I see shocks me.

"Pa, don't shoot!" I shout.

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Second picture IS NOT MINE. Copyrights are reserved.