Dark Nights

• Sam Clapper, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2015

Everyone’s parents want their own blood to be a success when they grow up. But my ma and pa are different. Instead of dressing up in heavy but protective armour and defending our humble village from fierce dragons and horrific beast. Like everyone else’s pa’s, my pa prefers to lock himself in his dark nightmare like room where no sun light can reach. When night becomes reality, he ventures out and roams the night time picking glowing mushrooms. I worry for him as the frosty, cold, dark night could consume him, as that’s when all evil enters the world, at least that’s what my teachers says.
The thunder roars every night and I’m always awaken. I find myself Peeking through the window to hopefully see my pa but I’m always left disappointed, because my breath fogs up the window. I stumble up and light my candles. “Mmmm I love the smell of burning wax,” I mutter to myself. I enter my pa’s room, looking for some water to drink. I look for the key to the shed, as that’s where all the water is kept. But instead, I find a shocking discovery. I don’t like to talk about it now a days but what choice do I have? I look inside my pa’s furnace to find a human hand that’s been mauled on by the look of a pack of wild wolves. With all the shock, I knock over a candle, burning down the whole house like wild fire. As smoke bellows through the room, it’s hard to breathe, it’s hard to see, my body heats up with tears rushing from my eyes. Next thing I know, a plank of wood from the roof, falls right on my left leg, crushing the knee cap, my life flashing right in front me. I blacked out.
I remember awaking in the doctor’s horrific medieval shed, my knee drowning in myrrh, covered in smelly vinegar. I stumble to the door, stubbing my toe on the edge of the bed. I open the door and the sunlight blinds me. I’m approached by a man on a horse, he tells me how my father saw the flames in the distance, ran to the house, kicked open the door and saved my life. I asked where he is. The man put me down easy, telling me how my father passed away from smoke inhalation. I demanded to see the body, the man restrained to show me. The world was flooding with my own tears. He asked how the fire started, after depressing days of sorrow. I tell him what happened, about the hand, about the candle, and finally about my grief. The man seems stunned about the hand and researches the topic for some time. I tell him about how my pa sneaks out in the cold night. Apparently, my pa owed some cult full of witches a lot of gold and the hand was cut clean off from their leader and placed there to sabotage the house, causing it to burn down. You know I always hated the smell of burning wax.