Anoka: A Collection of Indigenous Horror by Shane Hawk

Author:Shane Hawk [Hawk, Shane]
Language: eng
Format: epub

“What do ya wanna drink?” I asked while face deep in the fridge.

“Apple juice,” Tate said with marked enthusiasm.

“Apple ju—what?” I semi-closed the fridge door to question his choice. Was it happening again? Tate despised apple juice.

Our eyes met. He held a determined expression and gave a languid tilt to his head. There were those eyes again. Two burning discs of charcoal, this time twisting beneath creased brows. My neck hair stiffened as a chill swam up my spine.

“I said what I said, Daddy.”

His articulate emphasis made me swallow a gulp of air. Down went reality and up came fantasy. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.

“Say, Meli, what would you like to drink, honey?” I called out, eyes still staring into the Tate-thing’s scorched black discs. An awkward silence stilted the air. As I repeated myself, her voice rang out.

“Already got my wine. Come on, you two. Let’s go.” There was a clear tone of irritation on her tongue.

My body resembled a marble statue as I gazed into the hypnotic green swirls floating around the Tate-thing’s face.

“What’s taking you so long?” Meli asked.

His eyes shifting interrupted the mesmeric reverie. Those beautiful brown halos I cherished since the day he was born returned to his face.

“Let’s eat, Dad,” Tate said as he pulled my hand, leading me away from the fridge and toward the dining room table.

At the table, forks and knives sawed through meat, scraping against the plates. We always put a good helping of greens on Tate’s plate to entice him to like vegetables. It was always a battle to get him to enjoy anything with nutrition. Tonight, he was eating the steamed broccoli without a complaint or shoving it to the side far away from the venison.

“I’m impressed, baby. Normally, you hate broccoli!” Meli said with a smirk. She leaned in to tousle his hair and added, “My boy is growing up, he’s changing.”

Tate turned toward her and smiled while chewing. As Meli looked down at her plate for her next bite, Tate swung his head toward me. His innocent smile stretched out into a wide grin. The ends of his mouth almost reached the smoldering black circles, exposing his crooked baby teeth. A millipede poked out of his mouth, tiny legs churning about.

I slammed my palm on the table with so much force, my water bottle fell over.

“Goddammit! I’m sick of your shit!” Unchewed venison flung from my lips. “Who are you? What have you done with my son?” My heart was thumping, blood rushed through my arms and neck. The Tate-thing’s eyes went back to normal, no millipede in sight. His face twisted into a shallow cry, then a wail.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dak? Come here, honey.” Meli reached out for the Tate-thing and it joined in her arms for a motherly embrace. She was hugging and consoling that… thing. Disgusting.

I opened and closed my mouth without a word. My fingers repeatedly curled into fists. With trembling hands, I rubbed the back of my neck as if trying to get a stain out of it.

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