Special Issue #13 ISSN 1547-5957

you might fall.” The man changed tone, spoke softly. Gregory turned his eyes
downward and stole a look at the man: He looked the same age as Gregory’s father.
He smiled up at the boy like a school teacher encouraging a child back to the
classroom after recess.
“You are quite an explorer to navigate through those old trees,” the man said
as he took the boy’s hand and helped him down from the last branch. “What’s your
name?”
“Gregory.”
A trusting warmth was felt in the man’s hand.
“Would you like to take a closer look?” the man asked.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t snooping.” Gregory stammered, still nervous.
“It’s quite all right,” the man replied. “I once did exactly the same thing as you.”
The man knelt down on one knee and looked Gregory in the eyes.
”My name is Robert, and it is a great pleasure to meet you. You are an impressive
young man. You found the one branch that offers a view onto our private sanctuary.
You are brave and curious.”
Robert gave the boy a tour of the property: they walked through the Japanese
garden, climbed along several of the old moss-covered brick walls and looked at
the frogs in the small lily-covered pools of the water fountains. They passed a clay
tennis court on the side of the mansion where a vigorous and youthful couple was
in the middle of a heated match. They briefly stopped and enthusiastically waved
up to Robert and the new visitor. Robert smiled and told Gregory that they were
his parents.
Robert intentionally avoided the sandbox, which only further piqued Gregory’s
curiosity. At each stop along the way his attention turned back to the sandbox.
Its black marble siding glistened like an eye; the sand looked like a virgin beach
waiting for its first footprints.
“Would you like to see it?” Robert asked and Gregory nodded his head “yes”
with delight.
The sandbox’s black marble edging was cool and smooth to the touch. I could
invent so many fun games here, Gregory thought. How fun, and no other boys
around to pick on me. He kneeled down for a closer look as he gazed at the sand.
He stretched out his hand to touch it.
Robert violently seized Gregory’s hand and stopped him. “No! Not yet.”
Gregory looked up at Robert, frightened as startled tears formed in the corners of
his eyes. Robert tightened his grip. “Listen to me, boy. And listen well. Your life and
your parents’ lives depend on it. Do you hear me?!”
Gregory’s wrist felt as if it were being broken and he couldn’t breathe; he was
drowning under water. He choked for breaths.
“This sandbox is alive. Each grain of sand is a tormented soul who needs to
feed on life to ease its anguish. Your curiosity brought you here, guided you to the
sandbox. You are to be its new guardian.”
Robert paused. Gregory had closed his eyes but he could hear Robert’s deep,
ferocious breaths. They sounded like horses galloping in his ears.
18 The Literary Hatchet