Writing On My Father's Hand, The

The Writing On My Father's Hand

An Original Story By Chris Richards

It all started, I guess, a little over a month a go.
That was when the Lucas family movedin across the street from
us.
We live out in the suburbs, out of the city and a lot of my friends
have moved away recently so you can imagine how pleased I was to see
that a boy my age was moving in so close. I smiled when I first saw Tim
climbing out of his parents 4X4, looking over to where I stood by the
window, giving me a big smile and a wave. At once I knew we would be
friends and the next day we introduced ourselves to one another.
It was Saturday and without school to occupy our minds I decided to
show Tim around the neighbourhood. We got on so well, it was just
amazing, after spending just one day together it was almost as though
we were life long friends. I showed him my treehouse and pointed out
the local people he would soon come to know so well. We played baseball
in the park, took a swim in our pool. The pain of losing the friends
I'd grown up with vanished in an instant and he seemed to feel just as
relaxed in my company.
I guess it helped that we had so much in common. We are both only
children to thirty-something parents, share a love of comics and Star
Wars and can repeat word for word almost every episode of South
Park.
For three weeks life was bliss.
But things changed the day I saw the writing on my father's
hand.
Having never noticed it before I questioned him about it. We were
eating dinner and I was sat across from him, shovelling creamy mashed
potato into my mouth. I looked down and there it was, a short line of
symbols in what appeared to be black ink, printed on the skin between
thumb and index finger on the back of his hand.
"What's that ?" I asked.
"What's what ?" My father replied.
"That writing on the back of your hand."
He stopped chewing and placed down his fork, sliding his hand under
the table. My mother too, stopped eating and looked across at me.
"It's.....nothing." He said, swallowing his food. "I had to take a
message at work, ran out of paper, you know ?"
I wasn't convinced, but said nothing more, eating the rest of my meal
in silence. I saw my parents share a glance out of the corner of my eye
and that in itself unnerved me.
The next day on the bus to school I mentioned it to Tim. He shrugged
it off, asking me why I wanted to make a big deal out of it. He said
that his father always did that kind of thing and so for the rest of
the day I put it to the back of my mind, starting to think that maybe I
was overreacting over something so silly.
But I knew something was wrong when I saw that not only were those
same symbols on my father's hand that night, but that they'd been
joined by another line, directly underneath. He did his best to conceal
it from me, but I went out of my way to watch him as he sat on the
sofa, flicking through the cable channels and every now and then I got
to see his hand as he reached over to pick his beer up from the
table.
I found that I couldn't do my homework, too many crazy ideas spinning
around my mind....
I don't know why I felt so suspicious, it was as though natural alarm
bells were ringing in my head.

It was strange but I'd never actually seen my parents talking to
Tim's. I was surprised then, when one Sunday afternoon Tim and I came
back from the park to learn that there was going to be a barbeque, that
Tim and his parents had been invited.
I'd seen very little of Tim's mother and father until that day. I'd
only been over to their house on two previous occasions since they'd
arrived and neither time had they been visible.
Everybody seemed to get along well together, Tim and I were eft to our
own devices and as the sun began to set we scurried up into the
treehouse to watch as the sky slowly darkened.
As I got ready for bed my mother knocked at my door and asked if she
could come in. She was drunk and slightly staggeering into my room she
sat on my bed.
"You're father and I have to go away for a few days next week." She
paused as though awaiting a response, but I gave none. "How'd you feel
about staying over at Tim's whilst we're gone ?"
The idea excited me, but I didn't show it on my face.
"I guess."
"Tim's parents, they're lovely people aren't they ?" Again a pause met
by silence. "Well, they've volunteered to look after you, which should
be nice, seeing as you and Tim get along so well together."
"When do you go ?" I asked.
"Thursday for...." She tried to stop her self from belching, but
failed. "....three nights."
"Right." I said and turned my back on her as I started to get
undressed. For a moment it seemed that she was watching me and as I
twisted my head around to look she got up and left me alone.
I didn't sleep well that night. I kept thinking about the writing on
my father's hand. Both lines of symbols were still there, but he had
long since given up trying to hide his hand away from me. Probably
because I thought better of mentioning it again. I also couldn't get
over how my parents were so eager to let the Lucas family look after
me, especially as they hardly knew the people.
Since meeting Tim, I seem to have become distanced from my parents. We
never go out anywhere together, never discuss things like work or
school, never swim or play baseball together. We've always been close.
I'm your typical twlve year old. I have my friends, but I still need my
parents to confide in and of late we seem to be like strangers.

Tim's parents made me feel very welcome. For the first time I found
out that they were Steven and Kate and from the moment I stepped into
their house it was like I was a member of their family. All the fears
that I had about coming over soon evaporated. Kate gave me the guided
tour, showing me that the guest bedroom, my bedroom, was directly
across from Tim's.
We spent the rest of the day playing as we usually did, running
around, somehow managing to keep ourselves out of trouble and before we
knew it darkness was upon us.
Steven had disappeared not long after I arrived, but appeared at the
table just as the food was being served up. He smiled at me and nodded.
I smiled back, almost choking on my food as I saw the same symbols
written on his hand that had decorated my own father's.
"Everything alright ?" He asked me and all I could do was nod at
first.
"Sorry." I whispered. "It went down the wrong hole."
A lie, but one which seemed to convince them.
After dinner Tim and I sat and watched The Simpson's, laughing at
almost everything Bart and Homer said. I was putting a brave face on
it, deep down inside my stomach was churning with fear.
With the late evening news came bedtime and we were both quickly
ushered into our rooms. I'd forgotten to bring anything to read, but
Tim offered me some of his X-Men comics and I took them
gratefully.

That was almost forty minutes ago.

The one thing I did remember to bring was this minature dictaphone and
after what I've just seen I'm glad that I did...... I know it seems a
strange thing to carry around, but I have plans to be a writer some day
and my Dad says I should make a note of any ideas that I have right
away and so for my last birthday I got a dictaphone.

I'd been in bed perhaps fifteen minutes when I heard Tim start
coughing.
I thought nothing of it until the sound stopped and I heard the front
door close downstairs. I got out of bed and went over to the window,
slightly pulling the curtain aside to see who was there.
I saw my father crossing the road, stuffing something into his pocket
as he stepped back into our house.
That's when I decided to get all of this onto tape. I'm going to open
my door in a moment and go and see what's happened. It may be foolish,
I know but what else am I going to do ? I can't just sit here
wondering.....

************

Oh God ! I'm hiding in the closet !
Something's wrong ! Something's very, very wrong !
I opened my door to go and see what was happening, but I could see
that Tim's bedroom door was open and his parents were standing by the
bed.
I never even heard them come upstairs.....
I peered in through the crack and Steven and Kate turned to look over
at where I was standing. I don't know if they....they...saw me, but I
saw them and it was horrible....horrible!!
They've got no eyes. It's like they've got small headlamps instead,
green light beaming out from the sockets.
I don't know what I'm going to do !
I don't know what I'm going to.................

THE END

Copyright: Chris Richards 2000

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