Arts Round-Up

An Unfortunate Memoir

It was a starless October night when my friend Shandi, our brothers, and I were playing Hide ’N’ Go Seek at their new house. Their father came up to us and asked if we wanted a real game of it, at Hawkins Park.
He drove us there at half-past ten. We parked next to a giant boulder. A single street light luminated the area, casting a ghostly shadow on the dark blue truck. The unpaved pathway was hidden in the dark void, consuming any hint of light. Shandi shone her flashlight toward the trees. We clung together, frightened of the path into the void. Slowly we start down the path, ready to face whatever might be silently lurking ahead.
A house door creaks open slowly, almost soundless as it slams. Floor boards cry against the pressure of booted feet as someone saunters towards the porch screen door. The old screen door is pried open, hinges crying from the grinding pressure, and is trust aside in his haste to clear the old porch.
Their father looks to his son.
“Brandon”
“Um…. Ya dad…” Brandon’s lips quiver as words barely audible escape
“Go lock the truck” John barks.
“Uh…Um… dad I don’t want to” Brandon argues, quaking with fear.
“I’ll do it Uncle John” Jake pips up as he bounds for the door.
We stand shivering on the pathway waiting, listening. A metal gate creaks ever slightly.
Shivers quiver up my spine.
“BANG!” the gate is slammed shut with a forceful hand.
An older man appears in the light near the truck. His hair is gray and thinning. His glasses are bulky and think. He is clad in a bathrobe clinging loosely to is aged form. He walks without balance, tripping over nothing yet everything. Reeking of day old mead and cheap whiskey. He clumsily approaches Jake. In is arms is what appears to be a bundle, the streetlight causes a small metallic glint.
Shandi gasps.
“Shotgun.” is all that she says, yet it is breathless.
“Stay here” thunders John as he races toward Jake.
As the young kids we are we don’t listen. We quickly pursue John.
John quickly plants himself in front of Jake, in the shotguns path, attempting to divert the unwanted attentions. The man’s thumb cocks the shot gun as it wavers between us all…

Sam Nyberg