April 17, 2015

“We said no one made pancakes as well as father. We said father was the best at getting the ice cubes from out their trays. We said the sky was purple when it was meant to be blue and the basement stairs were now rope ladders and there was something walking back and forth in the attic. No matter how we pleaded with father, he would not respond. We went through the kitchen cabinets, pulling drawers out and looking behind. We crawled around beneath the dining room table.”


“Mother said she heard father whispering in her ear. She said the house had a room picked especially for them. We could knock on the door but there was no guarantee that we would be allowed in. Mother said the hammer was ours now. She said we should fill the basement with grease, then concrete. She said we should break the walls down, then cleave open the lake until the water spilled out, leaving the well form empty. Mother said we should prepare dinner together once a year at least. The older we became, the more spread apart we would be.”


“We went to the room beneath the stairs, pushed the table out of the way, and forced the door open. We used the tools mother told us to collect. We used a screwdriver and crowbar. We pried the door from its frame and when it snapped open, we gathered in the entrance to stare. The room was empty. It was a small room, a broom closet size, with barely enough space for a single person to step inside and turn around. There were no lights in the room. We stepped inside and touched the four walls. We knocked on the tightly packed shelves for any signs of hollowness.”

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