9Tales Told in the Dark 27 by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

Author:9 Tales Told in the Dark [Dark, 9 Tales Told in the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bride of Chaos
Published: 2020-03-08T23:00:00+00:00

THE END.

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POINT THE FINGER by Daniel J. Kirk

Ralphie’s finger hurt. Must’ve woken up that way. He tried to stop the pain by biting his lip. Old advice that like all things old, didn’t apply to him. He thought of stubbing his toe on the kitchen door, but he remembered he didn’t care much for stubbed toes either. He once stubbed his toe so bad, his toenail turned black and then, slowly, painfully fell off just enough to the point where it had to be ripped off with a pair of pliers just to make wearing socks and shoes and option. There was blood.

Back then, Ralphie had hated blood, but right then and there in that kitchen he’d prefer it to the weird poking and prodding right on his finger tip. He skirted behind his mother—preparing his school lunch and her salad. If she kept her eyes off him just long enough, he thought, he could grab one of the steak knives and try cutting whatever the heck it was right from his finger.

And there would be blood. But Ralphie didn’t mind blood so much, it tasted nice. Not like a soda or chips, but better than snot or boogers. It’s why he couldn’t truly fault the nature of vampires other than their slicked back hair and capes with large collars.

“Ralphie…what…are you…doing?” His mother asked.

She had top notch hearing, one day, Ralphie would too, but he couldn’t hear as good as his mother. His mother could hear him even though he was an expert of making no sound. Around his father he could get away with anything, but not his mother. Expert hearing.

“Nothing.”

“Did you put your bowl and spoon in the sink?”

“Not finished.”

“Then get back to that table and finish your cereal, hon, we’ve got to go in five minutes or you’ll miss the bus.”

“I don’t like my cereal.”

“Eat it.”

“I need a new spoon.” Ralphie wasn’t that quick witted, there had been a delay, a slight standoff. In that time, his mind realized she’d let him into the silverware drawer if he needed a new spoon. Then when she turned her back, he’d sneak the steak knife and get to whittling at the thing in his finger.

“No. No way. Get back to that table. You are not making more of a mess for me to clean up. Are you ready to start cleaning dishes, mister?”

Ralphie snarled, then returned to the breakfast table and put on a dramatic reenactment of someone eating this cereal with a serious chip on their shoulder. Of course, where he gripped the spoon was exactly where the pain in his finger sat. He splattered milk on the tablecloth and his jean shorts.

His mother hadn’t been watching, so he mopped it up real quick with his shirt. He smiled to himself, she’d never know. Then he pressed his finger against the table, then dug at it with his spoon. Whatever was beneath his fingerprint moved. He could almost push it from side to side, but it was stuck or something, or according to Ralphie’s six year old mind, it pushed back.

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