The Dark

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“I didn’t say anything.”

“Out with it I tell you.”

“I don’t know I said anything.”

“F-U-C-K is what you said, isn’t it? That profane and ugly word. Now do you think you can bluff your way out of it?”

“I didn’t mean, it just came out.”

“The filth that’s in your head came out, you mean. And I’m going to teach you a lesson for once. You’d think there’d be some respect for your dead mother left in the house. And trying to sing dumb — as if butter wouldn’t melt. But I’ll teach you.”

He took the heavy leather strap he used for sharpening his razor from its nail on the side of the press.

“Come on with me. Upstairs. I’ll teach you a lesson for once. I’ll teach you a lesson for once,” he said with horrible measured passion through his teeth, the blood mounted to his face. “I’ll teach you a lesson this house won’t forget in a hurry.”

“I didn’t mean it, Daddy. I didn’t mean it, it just slipped out.”

“Up the stairs. March. I’m telling you. Up the stairs.”

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