A Father's Legacy
By James Weging
Jude walked off the train. It had been a day full of nerves. At work, he was asked a simple question, “How much money did you lose?” And yet his answer seemed an enigma to his bosses, “Too Little.” Would they catch on to his scheme? Not, a chance Jude was clever and too quick for them. As he turned the corner onto his block, he was taken back by skulls everywhere. His mental state had caused him to forget that today was Halloween and soon the block would be full of revolting looking children and their decrepit parents leading them around the block. If there was one thing John hated more than rich executives, it was children on Halloween.
As the night sky turned from gold to orange to black, Jude had entered his house. His house had all the finest contemporary fixtures: art deco lamps, leather coaches, black marble. The one fixture that stood out of this setting was the old 19th century grandfather clock left to him by his father. Jude’s father had been the most outstanding citizen of Marble Creek. During the day he loaned the people money out of his Savings and Loans and during the night he was a part time firefighter. Everyone loved Jude’s father, and the grandfather clock stood as a hellish remembrance of how the two differed.
Jude sat down, took off his coat, and took an apple out of the refrigerator and started eating. There was no way he was going to give out candy tonight. Not only did he despise children, but his recent illegal escapades had made him less prone to answer the door. However, no matter how unwelcoming and even revolting to Halloween parents and kids Jude’s door seemed, he heard the bell ring.
Jude reluctantly went to the door and swung it open, hoping to give a bloodcurdling scold to some ghoulish or ghastly child. However there was nothing there. Jude sat back down ready to start drinking his nightly potion of rum and coke when the bell rang again. Jude went reluctantly again, this time ready to almost physically harm the parents for coming to his door. However as the door slammed open again there was no one. The closest children were three clown hobos five houses down.
Jude sat down again. It was finally starting to wear on him. He was convinced that it was a prankster and he swore to himself the next child to ring the bell would be choked. Just as enough time passed to where Jude was feeling at ease again, the shrieking doorbell rang again. He walked to the door with a confident air. He had just stolen a million dollars. He had out tricked one of the richest companies in America. He could handle a prankster. He could handle anything. As he opened the door, a grotesque voice came from behind him.
“You can’t steal death.”