| Yet again, Timothy was at that curve in the road, which lead to the scarecrow. Still, however much he feared it, he always paused to gaze upon it. Steps slowing as he approached... the chill of fear rising within. The fixed image of his father teasing him yet again lingered in his mind, well aware of his fear and his shame.
Yes, it seemed crazy to fear what amounted to a pillow of hay. Though, what of the strong horrifying sense of evil that ever reeked from them? And why was the rest of the world oblivious to it? Or was he just being a silly kid? Despite himself he gazed swiftly at it, feeling the coldness of its sightless button eyes on him. He ran. He hung his head as he approached the gateway, hearing his father and hoping to avoid his gaze. Knowing the ever-present mocking look would be there. "Heeello, boy." He blared out, knowing the discomfort he brought his son with just his presence. Doing all he could to elevate it. "Howdy, sir." He replied, wanting to be anywhere but there. His father’s unpredictable rage was upon him before he could react, as his head was pulled up harshly by his hair. His finger pointing wildly in Timothy’s face, increasing his fear with the extreme closeness it came to his face. "Son, now heeven't I told you, ya look me in the eyes when I speak to ya! Understand!" Mustering up all his strength, "Yes, Pa. I'm sorry." "Gewd son, now change out of yer good clothes and get on them chores." "Okay Pa, I'm right on it." He began to run towards the house. Pausing as his father called to him yet again. "Oh son,......" He halted looking at his father more relaxed now. "Yes, Pa?" "Howwws that scarecrow yonder down the road today?" Little hisses of laughter escaping his lips. Timothy’s face flushing with shame, the dull ache in his chest of feeling things would never change. "Timothy, son!" He looked back at his father. "Yes, Pa?" "yer a gewd boy." He said with a semblance of sincerity in his eyes. "Thanks Pa, thanks." He continued towards the house still frazzled from the emotional roller coaster more so than the rage. Trying to sneak into the house and his room without being seeing he entered. But as always the high pitched screech of the screen door gave him away. "Timothy, is that you my lil man?" It was his mother, how he hoped she hadn’t been drinking. He hated how she got when she did. "Yes, ma its me. Gonna change my clothes for chores." He continued to his room as he spoke. "Ohhhhh no ya don't, not without a lil hug fer yer ol' maw first." Cringing he heard the slur of drunkenness in her voice and entering the kitchen he saw her glassy stare. She went to him. “Timmy I am so proud of you. You done so well in yer lessons. I just want you to know how proud I am.” Grabbing him, pressing his face to her full breasts. “Kiss me my boy." Holding him out to her then kissing him full on the lips. He pushed her away. " I need to go do my chores ma, or dad will get angry at me." Running to his room. "Bye!" Timothy barely remembered when his ma used to be happy. But he remembered all the same. His memories soothed him when things seemed there worst. Her hazel eyes. His eyes too. How they used to shimmer with happiness. Her laughter filling the house. Like the most grandiose music to him. Now all he saw was resentment, hurt, bitterness, and the glossy void of drunkenness in them. All the communication he got from her was next to nothing or the forced hugs and putrid kisses of intoxication. Almost done with his chores now he hurried. For every third weekend his pa's band played down at the Community hall. Anything from the latest hits to blues. He loved the blues the best. The guitar riffs... Awesome! Made him feel proud to have such a talented pa. Flinging the piles of manure. Had to have it all piled up. For Mr. Hendricks would be over tomorrow. Living in town he had requested some for his garden. “The stench is worth it for the yield.” He used to say. Yet Timothy knew he was being humble for he always had, prize winning veggies at the fair. |
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| HellCrow By Lisa Ulibarri |