3 Ghosts of Our Fathers

by Michael Richan

What happens when he passes on? Steven thought, then immediately felt guilty for considering the idea. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Drop the subject.

  They arrived in Seattle around midnight.

  “Let’s turn in,” Steven said, “I want to be on the road to Olympia by 6 tomorrow.”

  “Sleep with that object close,” Daniel said. “Don’t leave it on your nightstand where our visitor might be able to take it from you.”

  “I think I have a solution,” Steven said. He went to the bathroom and removed some ankle tape, then he bound the rectangle Daniel had given him around his arm. The elastic of the tape kept it firmly in place. He showed Daniel his arm.

  “Perfect,” Daniel said. “And you have the protection I gave you?”

  “Yes,” Steven said, “I’ll down it just before I get into bed.”

  “All right. Wake me up if he shows up.”

  “Will do. Goodnight.”

  Steven tried to sleep, but he was still a little wired from the drive and the protection surging through his body didn’t make it any easier. He wished he had Roy’s book so he could read more until he felt sleepy. It didn’t feel right to remove the book from Roy’s house without his permission.

  He slipped into bed and turned off the light. He felt around his neck. He could still feel the pain from his encounter with the glass man the night before. He hoped Daniel’s object would help if the man appeared tonight. Anticipation of the meeting was another thing keeping him awake. He tried several sleep techniques he’d learned over the years but none of them were working.

  He turned over in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Faint moonlight coming in through his bedroom window lit the wall to his right. The shadow of the glass man was upon it; he turned to his left and the figure was at his bedside. Steven instinctively raised his arm, bandaged with the object inside, to his neck.

  The glass man stood as a statue, like before. Steven slipped into the flow.

  “It’s almost time,” the man said.

  Steven was surprised to hear the voice. The glass must be thinning, he thought. Time for what?

  “Time to pay you back,” the man said.

  I haven’t done anything to you, Steven thought.

  “I paid with eighty years,” the man said. “You’re going to pay with your life.”

  The glass moved, but this time Steven could observe the movement. The glass man moved his hand inches from Steven’s face, then stopped. The man’s brow furrowed, frustrated. “What?” he said, confused.

  Steven didn’t respond. The man didn’t seem to clue in that Steven had taken defensive steps.

  The man growled. The glass moved again, this time to a different pose. Same result, the man’s hand stopped inches from Steven.

  The man moved around the bed to Steven’s other side. He observed Steven’s head following his movement, and realized his ability to surprise Steven was gone. He let out another frustrated growl. Then the vertical panes appeared, and within a few seconds he had left the room.

  It worked, Steven thought, exiting the flow. If he follows the same pattern he won’t be back again tonight.

  He considered waking Daniel but then decided against it. The visit was over; he could tell him about it in the morning. Time now to sleep. Six a.m. was only a few hours away.

  Steven instead tossed and turned, adrenaline now mixing with the protection. It was going to be a tough night.

  -

  On the drive to Olympia, Steven related the incident to Daniel.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Daniel asked.

  “He had come and gone within thirty seconds,” Steven said. “And the good news is, your protection worked. He tried several times to come at me and was stopped. He was clearly frustrated by that. He eventually gave up and blipped out.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that,” Daniel said.

  “He did say ‘I paid with eighty years, and you’re going to pay with your life.’ I wasn’t sure what to make of that.”

  “Well,” Daniel offered, “the eighty years must mean the time binding. If the binding was to make him pay for something, like a punishment, I wonder what he did.”

  “That’ll be agenda item number one with Garth,” Steven said.

  Traffic was still light so early in the morning, and they soon found themselves navigating to the Tall Pines facility in Olympia, a few minutes after 7 a.m.

  They walked into the lobby. It was large, open, and beautifully furnished. There were several couches in different areas of the room, and several seniors were moving through to a larger room in the back where breakfast was being served.

  Wow, this is much nicer than I imagined, Steven thought.

  He noticed a woman sitting behind a beautifully carved desk. She was younger and had a name badge. Steven assumed she was the receptionist. As he approached the desk, her desktop sign read “Concierge.”

  “Excuse me,” Steven said to her, smiling. “We’re here to meet with one of the residents. Are you the person we should talk to?”

  “Yes, I can help you,” she said, smiling back. “Who were you meeting?”

  “Garth Wilmon,” Steven answered.

  “That’s Mr. Wilmon over there,” she nodded, referring to a man sitting in a winged back leather chair on the other side of the room. “He’s expecting you.”

  “Thank you,” Steven said, turning to walk to towards the man in the chair.

  As they approached, Garth Wilmon stood. “You must be Steven,” he said.

  “I am,” Steven said, “Steven Hall. And this is Daniel…” Steven realized he’d never learned Daniel’s last name.

  “Simmons,” Daniel offered, sticking his hand out towards Garth, who held it and gave it a shake. “Daniel Simmons.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” Garth said. “Would either of you like breakfast?”

  Steven and Daniel turned to each other. They had left the house so quickly they had only brought coffee. Steven’s stomach was beginning to growl.

  “Are you going to have breakfast?” Steven asked Garth.

  “Well,” Garth replied, “I am, and I’ve made arrangements for it to be served to us over there.” He pointed to a small alcove. An elderly couple passed behind Steven and Daniel on their way to the dining room and Garth gave them a wave.

  “Sure,” Steven said. “That would be nice.”

  This was not what I was expecting from an assisted care facility, Steven thought.

  They all walked over to the alcove. It was lined with bookcases and had a fireplace with a small fire rolling inside. There was another leather chair and a small sofa. Garth took the chair. On the small coffee table between them was a large art book from the Carnegie museum in Pittsburgh. As soon as they sat, a waiter appeared and poured coffee for each of them and took their breakfast order.

  “They’ll make you pretty much anything,” Garth said. “No menu. All the normal stuff.”

  They each gave the waiter an order and he departed. Although Steven could see people passing by on their way to breakfast, the alcove was relatively private.

  “Your message was intriguing and not very informative,” Garth said.

  “Sorry about that,” Steven said. “I needed to get your attention, because I need your help.”

  “And how can I help you?” Garth asked, pouring cream into his coffee.

  Months ago Steven might have danced around the subject. Now he felt the direct approach was the best. “Over the past few days,” Steven said, “I’ve been harassed by your father, Frank.”

  “Stepfather,” Garth said, taking a sip of coffee. “And that’s quite impossible, since he’s been dead for forty years.”

  “It’s not his physical self threatening me,” said Steven. “It’s his soul.”

  Garth sat his cup down and looked at Steven defensively. “Is this a shakedown? Despite all this,” he said, waving his hand, “I don’t have money. It’s all locked away in my children’s hands, so you’re wasting your time.”


  “No, nothing like that,” Steven said. “I’m only after information. Your stepfather has threatened to kill me. I’m trying to figure out why.”

  “You’re speaking about him in the present tense,” Garth said. “You realize you sound like a lunatic?”

  “I’m betting you know I’m not,” Steven said.

  Garth eyed Steven again, giving him the once over.

  “Frank’s soul has been caged for the past eighty years,” Daniel said. “Even though he passed away forty years ago, his soul is still very much alive. The problem is the cage is now deteriorating, and he’ll be on the loose within a few days. And he appears to be pissed off.”

  The color drained from Garth’s face. He looked from left to right and back again, seeming to be searching for a way out of something. “I didn’t think there was a time limit,” he muttered.

  “What?” Steven asked. “Did you say a time limit?”

  Garth looked up. “Yes, I didn’t think there was a time limit.”

  “On Frank?” Steven asked.

  “Yes, on Frank,” Garth said.

  “So you know what I’m talking about?” Steven said.

  Garth sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I think I do.”

  The waiter appeared with their food. Garth paused while the plates were passed around and more coffee was poured. Once the waiter left, Garth took a bite of a bagel. He chewed it slowly and deliberately, as though he was using the time to pull up memories of Frank.

  “It’s a rather long story, Mr. Hall,” Garth said.

  “Please, call me Steven,” he replied.

  “All right, Steven then. It’s a long story, and it happened a long time ago. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m rather old now, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. But I’ll go back if you want me to.”

  “It’s more of a case of needing you to,” Steven said. “I believe when the cage is gone, he will try to kill me. He’s already tried and failed.”

  “All right then,” Garth said. “I believe you. My stepfather was an evil man. Let me tell you what happened back in 1933.”

  Chapter Five

  Sean had been hungry all day from the moment he’d woken up. He’d eaten a couple of spring onions while working in the fields with his stepfather, but they were still young and bitter and not very satisfying. Still, it felt good to have something in his mouth to chew. Since his mother died, that feeling had become increasingly rare.

  The years with his mother now seemed like a distant dream, a paradise. Then, he and Garth played at home all day while she worked around the house. They had a large house and a large lawn, and he and Garth would be sent outside by their mother when she couldn’t stand them in the house anymore. In the yard they would drag an old red wagon around and try to play badminton with an old set of rackets that were missing most of the strings.

  Sometimes they would venture into the old stand-alone garage in the far corner of the backyard, but only to grab a rake or ball or the badminton set. They were both afraid of the garage. The open door entrance allowed the afternoon light to shine into part of it, and they limited themselves to the areas where the light fell. They had ventured deeper into the garage once, towards the back of it where the heavy doors had once swung open to allow a car to drive inside. There were dirty windows in those doors, and they didn’t let in much light. The doors hadn’t been opened in a long time, and the garage was now full of cast-off junk from the house, their mother and stepfather preferring to park the family truck on the street. The one time they tried exploring back there they had both become frightened. It was now an unspoken agreement to limit their garage boundaries to the area immediately inside the door with the light.

  There were other areas in the house that were frightening, too. They slept together in a basement bedroom, and the basement itself was dark and unsettling. Every night when forced to bed, they’d descend the wooden steps from the kitchen, and make a quick sharp turn into their bedroom at the base of the stairs, shutting the door quickly behind them. The rest of the basement was largely unexplored, a collection of unfinished sections. In a far corner was a large pile of coal, used to feed a furnace. They never played downstairs outside of their bedroom.

  Inside the bedroom things were less scary, but being a basement bedroom with a tiny window near the ceiling it didn’t have a lot of light. There was a dim overhead fixture which helped some, but not much. Even in the middle of the day with the light turned on it felt dark.

  They shared a double bed pushed into a corner of the room. Laying in the bed at night, Sean and Garth would point out the things in the room that calmed them, like the baseball pennants they’d arranged on the walls and a bobblehead doll that sat on a dresser. They were both afraid of a hole in the ceiling by the open closet, which was tucked into the space under the wooden stairs that led down from the kitchen. The hole was about a foot across. Neither boy knew how the hole got there. They avoided looking at it, especially at night, because whatever might emerge from it was too horrible to consider.

  Their mother would listen to their fears and try to console them. She was who they ran to when anything needed solving. But after their mother died, things changed. Their stepfather Frank became unfriendly to everyone, especially Sean and Garth. With their mother not there to stop him, he would drink and become mean. After a while Frank stopped any pretense of being a loving father and settled into a daily pattern of work followed by a few hours of liquor-induced stupor. Sean and Garth had learned to make themselves scarce during the hours between, when he was at his meanest.

  Several months ago Frank had begun taking Sean and his brother into the onion fields to work every day. The boys were expected to help irrigate and weed the rows. It was tough work for young children. Sean had learned early on that playing with Garth while they worked was not a good idea. The sun beat down on them relentlessly, and having a drink of water every now and again was essential to staying conscious. When Frank found them playing instead of working, he’d punish them by eliminating their breaks, which meant they couldn’t stop for water. It only took once or twice having to go thirsty for hours while on his knees pulling weeds for Sean to know it was better to leave Garth alone and stick to the chores.

  This evening Frank had been swearing and yelling ever since he raised the bottle to his lips. He and Garth had decided to play outside so Frank wouldn’t notice them. They instinctually played quietly, knowing that drawing attention from Frank while he was drunk was a bad idea. Neither he nor Garth had any food throughout the day, and Sean was hoping he could sneak inside the kitchen and grab something while Frank wasn’t paying attention, so he and Garth could eat.

  He tried to convince Garth to wait in the backyard for him to return with something, but Garth said he was starving and would go with him to help carry out more food. Sean didn’t think having his five-year-old brother in tow would help make his task any easier, but Garth was insistent.

  They crept up the cement steps that led to the kitchen door. They both knew how to get the kitchen door open without a sound. Sean could hear Frank swearing and cussing elsewhere in the house; it sounded like he was lying in his bedroom, which was a comfortable distance from the kitchen.

  Sean lead the way, with Garth quietly tip-toeing behind him. Sean knew the best food would be in the icebox. He was after the bread, and Frank always kept it there. After carefully avoiding the floorboards that he knew would creak, he tried to open the icebox latch slowly so it wouldn’t make its normal clicking sound.

  Once he had the door open, inside they both saw a heel of bread, about two inches thick. Sean turned to look at Garth, who smiled back and nodded. This would be their prize if they could successfully sneak it out of the house without Frank hearing them.

  Sean grabbed the chunk of bread and handed it to Garth, then he shut the icebox door, going as slowly as he could to avoid any noise. When he was done, they both turned to tip-toe back to the kitchen door.

  “So you’re goddamn thieves n
ow?” Frank said from the doorway that lead to the living room. “Sneaking in here like common thieves?”

  “We haven’t had anything to eat today,” Sean said, pleading. He could see the bottle in Frank’s hand; it still had a couple of inches of brown colored liquid inside, but enough was gone for Sean to know he was arguing with the devil.

  “Oh, that’s right − you gotta eat, I know that,” Frank said. He sat down in a kitchen chair next to the kitchen table, positioning the chair to face the boys.

  “Let’s see who wants it the most,” Frank said. “Do you want it more than your brother?”

  Sean stared at Frank, unsure of what he was asking. Garth held the bread to his chest a little more tightly. He wanted to take a bite of it, but was afraid to do it in front of Frank.

  “Looks like your brother stole all the dinner,” Frank said to him.

  “He’ll share some with me,” Sean said.

  “No, he won’t,” Frank said. He waved his hand at Garth. “Give me that, boy!”

  Garth knew better than to go against Frank. He walked over to where Frank sat and placed the bread in Frank’s hands. As he turned to walk back to Sean, Frank raised a foot and kicked Garth squarely in the back. Sean saw Garth’s frame bend into an arc as the foot made contact with him, the surprise and hurt spread across his face, and then his body was propelled forward towards Sean. He caught him just before he made contact with the kitchen cupboards. Garth began crying.

  “This bread,” Frank said, “is only enough for one thief. Only one of you can have it. No sharing.”

  Sean felt the pit in his stomach widen.

  “Who wants it?” Frank asked.

  Sean and Garth looked at each other. They both weakly said “I do” at the same time.

  “The winner gets it,” Frank said to them. “Fight him for it.” He took another long throat full of the booze. Both boys stood in the kitchen, still. They weren’t sure they understood him.

  Frank looked at Garth. “Fight him for it! You can’t both have it. Hit him. Give him a good punch. Beat him up, and it’s yours.” Frank pulled a piece of the bread off and ate it. “Sure is good. I’m gonna wind up eating it all if you don’t fight him for it, then you’ll get none.”