Special Issue #13 ISSN 1547-5957

excruciatingly slow. Billy cried as he outstretched his hand and begged Gregory to
pull him out.
After another several minutes, Billy was still sticking out of the sand from the
chest up and his pitiful cries were beginning to distress Gregory, so he picked up
the shovel and whacked Billy over the head. The metal crushed against Billy’s head,
stunning him into silence.
Gregory wound up the shovel for a second hit but Robert grabbed the wood
handle and stopped him.
“He must be alive.” Robert took the shovel from Gregory and set it aside.
Robert was happy. He tussled Gregory’s hair and invited him inside for cake.
But Gregory was so nervous about the screaming. It echoed everywhere and it was
really loud. Robert took Gregory’s hand and explained that the pines soak up the
screams. “That’s their job.”
“Come, let’s have some cake and ice cream. I’d like to introduce you to my
parents. They are excited to meet you.”
Robert led Gregory up the stone walkway toward the big Victorian house.
“One day this will all be yours.”
Inside, Robert escorted his apprentice into the library and showed him the
shelves full of notebooks. Each one contained essays and lessons on how to kidnap
and murder without leaving a trail; others listed locations, areas, towns, and cities
for searching out flesh. They were training manuals and guides for feeding the
Tormented.
I look around the library now, at the shelves full of notebooks. I glance out the
window again. The boy is still there on the pine branch, transfixed. Just as I was
that first day.
I sign my name at the bottom of the last page of my notebook, “Gregory
Baiston.” I close the cover and slide it onto the bookshelf right next to Robert’s
notebook. I must go outside now. I will walk out the side door off the pantry and I
will sneak up behind the boy to make sure that he doesn’t run away.
I pause for one last moment before I leave. Time, I think to myself, the thief.
I take one second to consider it all. From the dining room at the other end of the
house I hear the faint sound of waltz music. My parents are dancing. They dance
every day.
It is time now to help that little boy down from the branch.
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22 The Literary Hatchet