A Splash of Crimson: Strange and Scary Stories by Jackson Arthur

Author:Jackson Arthur [Arthur, Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

A Father’s Duty

“What the hell am I doing here?” I ask out loud, even though there is no one else in the car with me. The vehicle is off, and the inside is dark, the only light being a slight glow of red from the tip of my cigarette. I ignite the tip by taking a long drag. As I release a column of smoke, a cloud of gray that swirls and builds within the enclosed space around me, I take in my surroundings.

I am near enough to Cleveland that I can still see the electric glow emitting from the tall buildings, but I sit just beyond its reach, in the shadows, among the obscured and rundown parts at the edges of the city, abandoned apartment buildings and warehouses that are now only populated by rats and drug addicts.

“What the hell am I doing here?” I say again, a consistent nervousness running up and down my spine.

I check my gps for the thousandth time, making sure that I was in the right spot, knowing damned well that I was.

A deserted three-story building fills my windshield. The tall brick building is cracked and little more than a shell of what it might have been; a corpse of the past standing tall and dead against the night sky. But it is not the sight of the hollow, abandoned windows that fill me with a sense of dread and unease.

It is that one single burning bulb on the first floor.

That one speck of light among the gloom.

“What the hell am I doing here?” I say one last time.

Reaching across to the vacant passenger seat, I pick up a wallet-sized photo laying there. I place the picture close to my face so that I can make out the features of the young girl through the darkness.

Josephine.

Eight years old.

My angel.

The picture is little over a year old, back when her blonde hair still had bounce and her chubby cheeks were still rosy red. When the picture had been taken, I remember trying desperately to coax that little girl into a wide smile, a glowing grin, but instead I only got an uneven smirk for my troubles. I remember being just a little bit irritated. Yet, looking at that same photo now, the full, bent lips and cocky young smirk beamed brighter than any glow that I could have asked for.

I tuck the picture away into my coat pocket.

Stretching my arm back over to the passenger seat, I grab the shiny, chrome .22 pistol. After I slip the weapon into the same coat pocket, I extinguish my nearly deceased cigarette and then climb from my car. The chill of the night hits my face like a back-handed slap, but I pull up my collar and keep moving.

As I walk, I think about my daughter.

From a chair in the corner, I watched Josephine as she slept. Her petite figure appeared even more tiny and fragile laying on the large hospital bed. Her eyes danced and fluttered behind their lids.

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