He-s Out There -

“Dad?” His voice came out smaller than he intended.

“That’s not what happened.” But Sam’s voice was cracking now, the way it cracked when he was twelve and scared and so full of shame he thought his ribs would break. “He was drunk. He was always drunk. He would have—” He-s Out There

He grabbed the flashlight and got out.

It wasn’t his father.

Behind him, the thing in the chair began to hum—an old song, one his father used to whistle while he worked. The one about the long black veil. “Dad