riverrun Vol. 47

with a skeleton frame was facing away from the sonless father. He stood in an
odd contorted way due to his limbs being barely held together by remnants of ligaments,
and patches of flesh were missing from his arms and legs. The boy wore
jean shorts and a white and yellow striped polo, and it struck the father that this
is exactly what Andrew was wearing the day he died. The father sunk into himself;
the boy remained facing away from his father.
“An-Andrew,” the father stepped forward nervously. The boy did not respond.
“Andrew,” another step forward, “I love you, bud, and I miss you so much. I don’t
remember anything, but, God, I have to believe–no–you have to believe that I didn’t
do it, Andrew. I would never hurt you!”
“I know, pa,” the boy’s voice was distorted as if he was attempting speech without
vocal chords, “it was that bitch.” Shocked by his child’s words, the father was taken
aback.
“Who, Andrew, who did this?” the father gulped nervously.
“That bitch! That bitch! That bitch!” the child replied with guttural, inhuman
speech. The father mustered up the courage to approach his boy and take a knee
closely behind him.
“Andrew, whoever did this, they’re goin’ tuh pay. But you gotta help me out here,
you gotta tell me who did this,” the father was interrupted by the loud morning
song of a rooster who had suddenly appeared behind him. This startled the father,
and upon returning his attention to his son, the boy had vanished. What
was left was the father and the singing rooster.
The rooster strode back to the front of the barn and awaited the father to follow.
Getting the hint, and no longer afraid, he followed the rooster. The ground in
front of the barn began to vibrate, and a square hole suddenly collapsed in on itself.
The father, who had been standing where the soil fell in, tripped backwards
to avoid going into the hole. The father looked up and saw that the rooster was
growing quickly in height. The bird's body contorted, its feathers fell out, and its
face stretched like rubber until it was familiar to the father. Andrew coughed and
feathers flew out of his open mouth. “That bitch,” Andrew pointed into the hole.
The father turned over onto his stomach and peeked into the hole where his son
was pointing. In it was a skeleton, decomposed and unrecognizable. The body
wore a brilliant dress with purple floral patterns. His wife’s favorite dress.
Sweating heavily, the father awoke with a fright. His fear further grew when he
looked around and realized he was lying in front of the barn, the darkness of
night shrouding the structure. He was certain he had fallen asleep in his bed,
next to his wife… his wife. Was that his wife? Or was his wife six feet under the
ground on which he stood. He hurriedly grabbed a shovel from the inside of the
barn. Adrenaline coursed through his system as he began to dig in the spot where
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