The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

voice just then. My dad was scary. Literally—a monster. He
freaked me out, and it made me feel guilty to be so scared of
him. But there it was.
He ran a blunt, ochre finger over the tip of the knife.
His taloned nails gleamed. “Have you given any thought to
what we discussed earlier?” he said.
I was sweating now. I could feel a line of perspiration
ooze its way out beneath my wavy, light-blonde hair and
trickle down my cheekbone.
“Uh. I thought…” I had hoped he wouldn’t bring up
the topic again so soon. That morning during breakfast he
had suggested I try out for the school mumpball team. He
had been a Varsity mumpball player himself back in the early
days of the sport, had led his team to the regional championship.
The trophies, depicting small bronze mumps, battered
and defiled and defeated, were proudly showcased on our
basement walls. But I just didn’t feel like I would be much of
a mumpball player. I didn’t have the constitution for it. The
thought of destroying those vile helpless creatures gave me
the shivers.
“…Well, yeah. I’ve been thinking about it. I guess it
might not be the worst idea.”
My dad took his eyes off me and sighed, looking
down at the glimmering knives on the kitchen counter. I
wondered how many mumps those knives had dispatched.
Dozens? Hundreds? A moment later he had his squarish,
horned head in the refrigerator, rummaging around. He
opened a bottle of beer with his teeth, took a lurching glug.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” he said firmly.
“Okay.” Seizing the opportunity, I ducked back into
the hallway and made for the safety of my room. For some
reason, once I made it inside, I closed the bedroom door as
softly and quietly as I could, leveraging the knob as I pushed
in the lock so as not to make a sound.
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