father wasn’t letting them out of his bedroom anymore and declared that both mother and child needed to learn an important lesson.
Monster.
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
“I know, baby.” Tears streamed down her battered face. “If he knocks me down to the floor again, you get the knife and slam it into his back as hard as you can.”
Asher held his teddy bear tighter.
“He’ll have the door open. You’ll be able to run to the kitchen and get a sharp knife like the ones that mommy cuts the steak with.”
Asher bobbed his head.
“You’re the man of the house now.” More tears came. “He’s a monster. We have to kill the monster, Asher.”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Don’t think about it. The monster needs the knife to go to heaven. He’ll be nicer there.”
Asher searched her face, not really understanding what she was saying, just hoping that he could really save his mommy.
And that was what he’d done.
That night, his father hovered over his mother, choking her as she flailed her arms out and hit the floor over and over to get free of his grip.
Eight year old Asher rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the knife, raced to his daddy, and slammed the sharp point into his father’s back. Blood pooled along the hole. His father screamed and fell to the side, trying to grasp for the thing in his back, but he couldn’t.
His mother ran into the kitchen, stumbling every few steps. She came back with a butcher knife.
And Asher didn’t have to do anymore.
He just wrapped his arms around his teddy bear, stepped back into the shadows, and watched as his mother hacked away at his father and blood spray covered him, the walls, his teddy bear.
His poor,
poor
teddy bear.
He’d saved his mommy at eight.
He’d sent the monster to heaven.
But the monsters never stopped coming. His mother married and married again. Each time, she found fault with the guy and needed Asher to save her. Each marriage, the man was richer and richer. By the fourth husband, he didn’t care if the guy was a monster or not, he’d been too hungry to kill him the whole time they lived together anyway.
It seemed that Asher had discovered a certain taste for death and the color red.
“Mr. Bishop.” Grace headed down the stairs right as he was climbing them toward his bedroom.
“Grace, how are you doing this evening?”
“Fine, Mr. Bishop.” For some reason, her face appeared strained or tense. “I just had a few questions, sir.”
He stopped on the stairs and tucked the book under his arm. “Go ahead.”
“You want us to prepare the house for a guest? And I’m to add a place setting and provide grander meals? I’m sorry. I’m just relaying the instructions that I received from the house manager this morning.”
“Yes. I had a meeting with house management. We will have a guest for a while.”
“We will?” Grace formed her lips into a straight line.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
Grace tucked a braid behind her ear. “And. . .will this be a real guest or a. . .”
“As opposed to a make-believe guest?” He raised his eyebrows and wondered if Grace had started to doing hard drugs. From time to time, he’d caught a whiff of a smoky aroma from her shirt, but wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or the scent of marijuana.
She cleared her throat. “I’m wondering if the guest will be. . .alive or. . .what I’m trying to say is. . .Will the guest be more like your mother?”
“A woman?”
Grace opened her mouth, but said nothing.
“I’m not sure what kind of question that is,” Asher said. “But, I’m going to be patient with you and answer. Yes, the guest will be a woman, a lovely one at that, which means that if anything is out of place, I’ll probably roar. Let’s make sure everything is perfect.”
“Okay.” Grace still seemed unsettled. “And are we going to say anything about your mother?”
What is wrong with her? What kind of questions are these?
Asher crossed his arms over his chest. “Is
Monster.
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
“I know, baby.” Tears streamed down her battered face. “If he knocks me down to the floor again, you get the knife and slam it into his back as hard as you can.”
Asher held his teddy bear tighter.
“He’ll have the door open. You’ll be able to run to the kitchen and get a sharp knife like the ones that mommy cuts the steak with.”
Asher bobbed his head.
“You’re the man of the house now.” More tears came. “He’s a monster. We have to kill the monster, Asher.”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Don’t think about it. The monster needs the knife to go to heaven. He’ll be nicer there.”
Asher searched her face, not really understanding what she was saying, just hoping that he could really save his mommy.
And that was what he’d done.
That night, his father hovered over his mother, choking her as she flailed her arms out and hit the floor over and over to get free of his grip.
Eight year old Asher rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the knife, raced to his daddy, and slammed the sharp point into his father’s back. Blood pooled along the hole. His father screamed and fell to the side, trying to grasp for the thing in his back, but he couldn’t.
His mother ran into the kitchen, stumbling every few steps. She came back with a butcher knife.
And Asher didn’t have to do anymore.
He just wrapped his arms around his teddy bear, stepped back into the shadows, and watched as his mother hacked away at his father and blood spray covered him, the walls, his teddy bear.
His poor,
poor
teddy bear.
He’d saved his mommy at eight.
He’d sent the monster to heaven.
But the monsters never stopped coming. His mother married and married again. Each time, she found fault with the guy and needed Asher to save her. Each marriage, the man was richer and richer. By the fourth husband, he didn’t care if the guy was a monster or not, he’d been too hungry to kill him the whole time they lived together anyway.
It seemed that Asher had discovered a certain taste for death and the color red.
“Mr. Bishop.” Grace headed down the stairs right as he was climbing them toward his bedroom.
“Grace, how are you doing this evening?”
“Fine, Mr. Bishop.” For some reason, her face appeared strained or tense. “I just had a few questions, sir.”
He stopped on the stairs and tucked the book under his arm. “Go ahead.”
“You want us to prepare the house for a guest? And I’m to add a place setting and provide grander meals? I’m sorry. I’m just relaying the instructions that I received from the house manager this morning.”
“Yes. I had a meeting with house management. We will have a guest for a while.”
“We will?” Grace formed her lips into a straight line.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
Grace tucked a braid behind her ear. “And. . .will this be a real guest or a. . .”
“As opposed to a make-believe guest?” He raised his eyebrows and wondered if Grace had started to doing hard drugs. From time to time, he’d caught a whiff of a smoky aroma from her shirt, but wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or the scent of marijuana.
She cleared her throat. “I’m wondering if the guest will be. . .alive or. . .what I’m trying to say is. . .Will the guest be more like your mother?”
“A woman?”
Grace opened her mouth, but said nothing.
“I’m not sure what kind of question that is,” Asher said. “But, I’m going to be patient with you and answer. Yes, the guest will be a woman, a lovely one at that, which means that if anything is out of place, I’ll probably roar. Let’s make sure everything is perfect.”
“Okay.” Grace still seemed unsettled. “And are we going to say anything about your mother?”
What is wrong with her? What kind of questions are these?
Asher crossed his arms over his chest. “Is
Similar Books
