Black Box
by Sean Ferrier-Watson
Nathan hit his brother in the head with a hammer, the blunt end sticking briefly before giving way with a jerk. His brother managed to turn and look at him before the hammer crashed down again, caving in his left temple just above the eye. He dropped to the floor with a thud.
Nothing to it.
Nathan had been thinking about this for weeks, turning the idea over in his mind like a shiny new coin. His brother always took Dad’s side, especially when it came to doling out punishment. Ned was always willing to pass the blame to his younger brother, often just setting Dad off to cover his tracks.
Nothing like seeing your little brother get beat to shit for some cigarettes.
He rifled through his brother’s pockets and found two Marlboro Lights. He pocketed one and lit the other, taking a slow drag before dropping it on the linoleum and smothering it with the heel of his sneaker. Nathan fingered the old bruise under his left eye, only slightly discolored now, a dull yellow. He remembered the excuses he told his teachers—boxing practice, wrestling practice, bad pitch. They knew, of course. It was just easier to accept the lie, less stress at the end of their day.
He deserved it.
He went for the box under Dad’s bed: the black one with the lock no bigger than his fingernail. Dad joked when drunk he kept the devil inside, but Nathan knew better. He found the key in a tiny matchbox in the toolshed months ago, hiding under an old coffee can under the corner shelf. He would often caress it in bed after Dad had really gone to town on him. He unlocked the box and removed the pistol.
Loaded. Dad will find the devil waiting for him tonight.
Sean Ferrier-Watson has pieces published or forthcoming in Lovecraftiana, Borderlands, Better Than Starbucks, Hawk & Whippoorwill, Hellbound Books, and Illumen. He was recently a finalist in Crystal Lake Publishing’s Shallow Waters Contest. His book The Children’s Ghost Story in America was published by McFarland in 2017. Follow him at www.seanferrierwatson.com.