The Unwelcomed Child
“He stood so still, with not a strand of his long light brown hair fluttering in the soft breeze. For a moment, I thought he might be an illusion, wishful thinking that had materialized. Then he started toward the house, and I debated rushing inside and closing the door or stepping off the porch and chasing him away. He paused, perhaps seeing the panic in my face.
“You all right?”
“Yes. You just shocked me,” I said.
“I’m a shocking guy.” He stood there smiling. “I thought the rain kept you from ...going into the woods and decided to look for you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Maybe I need an artist. Maybe I just wanted to see you again. Maybe I’m a serial killer. Which one do you think?”
“Serial killer,” I said, and he laughed.
“There, you do have a sense of humor. It’s a little hidden but still there.”
Did I? I wondered. Laughter was an infrequent visitor to my grandparents’ house. Whenever it did occur, I first questioned what I had heard. Had it happened? Was my grandmother actually laughing at something?MoreLess
“You all right?”
“Yes. You just shocked me,” I said.
“I’m a shocking guy.” He stood there smiling. “I thought the rain kept you from ...going into the woods and decided to look for you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Maybe I need an artist. Maybe I just wanted to see you again. Maybe I’m a serial killer. Which one do you think?”
“Serial killer,” I said, and he laughed.
“There, you do have a sense of humor. It’s a little hidden but still there.”
Did I? I wondered. Laughter was an infrequent visitor to my grandparents’ house. Whenever it did occur, I first questioned what I had heard. Had it happened? Was my grandmother actually laughing at something?MoreLess
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