school-age, but he was proven wrong when Alma appeared at the cabin again, this time as a woman in her mid-twenties.
“Michael,” said Ben Harper as he stared at the man on the bed beside him. Ben was in a wheelchair, and was leaning over the bed in an attempt to grasp the man that had been the cause of all his feelings of hatred, betrayal, and sorrow. “Michael.”
“That’s good, buddy,” said Michael Harper before he yawned. He’d moved to the far side of the bed, out of his son’s grasp. Ben continued to try and reach out to him, his fingers uselessly scratching at the bed sheet. “I’m happy you’re starting to be able to talk again, but it’s getting late. You should try and get some sleep.”
“Michael Har…” Ben choked on the name.
“You need a pillow or something?” asked Michael. “Or do you want me to lay you down on the sofa? Would that be more comfortable?” Michael started to sit up, but then settled back down and said, “Nah, I bet you’re sick of lying down. I bet it feels good to be sitting up like that, watching some TV instead of staring at the ceiling all day and night.”
“Michael Harper,” said Ben, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“You’ve got to quit doing that, kid,” said Michael as he relaxed. “You’re going to drive me nuts.”
Several minutes passed, and Ben continued to try to reach out to his father while repeating the man’s name. Michael grew increasingly upset and kept pleading with his son to stop, each time becoming more frustrated than the last.
After this continued for nearly fifteen minutes, Michael finally lost his patience. He bounded from the other side of the bed, visibly agitated as he glared over at his son. “Now I warned you, buddy. I warned you over and over. Didn’t I? How the fuck am I supposed to get any sleep with you grabbing at me and talking all night?”
He picked his belt up off the floor where he’d thrown it earlier.
Ben Harper held his breath. The child that still resided behind The Skeleton Man’s consciousness was suddenly dominant over the other souls within the human shell that sat in the wheelchair. The boy recalled the beatings his father used to inflict with a similar belt, and all those memories came rushing back. The time he’d been whipped for breaking the vacuum while cleaning his room; the time he’d been beaten for crying too loud; the time he’d been spanked for seemingly no reason except that his father had accused him of giving him a ‘snide’ look at dinner.
“You did this to yourself,” said Michael as Ben watched, frozen by both terror as well as the mortal prison he was stuck within.
Michael Harper took a pocket knife out of his jeans. Ben watched as his father approached with the belt and the knife, frightened of what was about to occur, but helpless to defend himself. He tried to move his body to block his father, but his arm just flopped off the side of the bed and down into his lap when he moved.
“Michael Harper,” said Ben as he stared glassy-eyed at his father.
Michael reached out with the belt and strapped it over Ben’s mouth, and then looped it behind his head. Ben gnawed at the belt, and saliva dripped over his lip and down his chin as he tried to say his father’s name. Michael tightened the belt, and then used the knife to cut a mark in it where the buckle would latch. He pulled the belt away, leaving his son to gasp and lick at his raw lips.
Michael dug the tip of the knife into the leather belt, spinning it until a hole emerged. Next, he set the knife and the belt on the bed before taking off his sweat-stained t-shirt.
“Michael Harper,” said Ben, his voice maligned by the pain in his lips that the belt had caused.
“Keep it up,” said Michael with a snicker as he shook his head.
Ben’s father stuffed his sweaty, unwashed shirt into his son’s mouth. He pushed hard, as if eager to cause pain, and then he wrapped the belt around his boy’s head, forcing the buckle
“Michael,” said Ben Harper as he stared at the man on the bed beside him. Ben was in a wheelchair, and was leaning over the bed in an attempt to grasp the man that had been the cause of all his feelings of hatred, betrayal, and sorrow. “Michael.”
“That’s good, buddy,” said Michael Harper before he yawned. He’d moved to the far side of the bed, out of his son’s grasp. Ben continued to try and reach out to him, his fingers uselessly scratching at the bed sheet. “I’m happy you’re starting to be able to talk again, but it’s getting late. You should try and get some sleep.”
“Michael Har…” Ben choked on the name.
“You need a pillow or something?” asked Michael. “Or do you want me to lay you down on the sofa? Would that be more comfortable?” Michael started to sit up, but then settled back down and said, “Nah, I bet you’re sick of lying down. I bet it feels good to be sitting up like that, watching some TV instead of staring at the ceiling all day and night.”
“Michael Harper,” said Ben, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“You’ve got to quit doing that, kid,” said Michael as he relaxed. “You’re going to drive me nuts.”
Several minutes passed, and Ben continued to try to reach out to his father while repeating the man’s name. Michael grew increasingly upset and kept pleading with his son to stop, each time becoming more frustrated than the last.
After this continued for nearly fifteen minutes, Michael finally lost his patience. He bounded from the other side of the bed, visibly agitated as he glared over at his son. “Now I warned you, buddy. I warned you over and over. Didn’t I? How the fuck am I supposed to get any sleep with you grabbing at me and talking all night?”
He picked his belt up off the floor where he’d thrown it earlier.
Ben Harper held his breath. The child that still resided behind The Skeleton Man’s consciousness was suddenly dominant over the other souls within the human shell that sat in the wheelchair. The boy recalled the beatings his father used to inflict with a similar belt, and all those memories came rushing back. The time he’d been whipped for breaking the vacuum while cleaning his room; the time he’d been beaten for crying too loud; the time he’d been spanked for seemingly no reason except that his father had accused him of giving him a ‘snide’ look at dinner.
“You did this to yourself,” said Michael as Ben watched, frozen by both terror as well as the mortal prison he was stuck within.
Michael Harper took a pocket knife out of his jeans. Ben watched as his father approached with the belt and the knife, frightened of what was about to occur, but helpless to defend himself. He tried to move his body to block his father, but his arm just flopped off the side of the bed and down into his lap when he moved.
“Michael Harper,” said Ben as he stared glassy-eyed at his father.
Michael reached out with the belt and strapped it over Ben’s mouth, and then looped it behind his head. Ben gnawed at the belt, and saliva dripped over his lip and down his chin as he tried to say his father’s name. Michael tightened the belt, and then used the knife to cut a mark in it where the buckle would latch. He pulled the belt away, leaving his son to gasp and lick at his raw lips.
Michael dug the tip of the knife into the leather belt, spinning it until a hole emerged. Next, he set the knife and the belt on the bed before taking off his sweat-stained t-shirt.
“Michael Harper,” said Ben, his voice maligned by the pain in his lips that the belt had caused.
“Keep it up,” said Michael with a snicker as he shook his head.
Ben’s father stuffed his sweaty, unwashed shirt into his son’s mouth. He pushed hard, as if eager to cause pain, and then he wrapped the belt around his boy’s head, forcing the buckle
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