Dia de el Whistler
By
San Ashitaka
“Can’t believe it’s been seven months,” Carl, Richie’s dad said as he placed another sugar skull on his mother’s grave.
“Feels like only yesterday she was chasing me out of the kitchen,” Soledad, Richie’s mom, lamented. “I don’t know how her tamales were better than mine. I taught her how to make them.”
“I miss abuelita Debbie too,” Richie agreed. It was the first Dia de Muertos he’d spent outside of California or Mexico, and though he missed the food and carnival-like atmosphere, he did not miss his cousins calling him bolillo when an adult wasn’t around, or his aunt’s nickname for him: “mi gringito.” It wasn’t his fault he took more after his father than his mother. Another thing he wouldn’t miss: sunburns.
“I know,” Carl placed his arm around his son’s shoulder.
“You know, I never thought about it but where’s grandpa’s grave? Why isn’t abuelita Debbie next to him?”
“She didn’t want to be near him,” Carl answered.
“Why?”
“She had her reasons,” Carl muttered.
“Cariño, he deserves more than that,” Soledad appealed to her husband.
“He was... He was a bad person,” Richie’s dad mumbled.
“Mijo, this is a difficult subject for you papa. Let’s just clean up and go home, okay?”
“Okay, but… can I just see his grave? Is he even here?”
Carl nodded. “If you really want to see that man’s grave, it’s that way” he waived to an older portion of the cemetery. “Fifteen minutes.”
It took Richie ten minutes to find the grave. Unlike his abuelita Debby’s elaborate marble tombstone, Carl senior’s grave was marked with a small, nondescript concrete slab. It read:
Carl Schilmme Senior
1948-1989
“Hi. Um. Grandpa. Can I call you grandpa? Or would you have preferred the German word for grandpa? Sorry, I don’t know it. I do know that you probably wouldn’t want me to call you abuelo. Pretty much the only thing I’ve ever heard about you is that you wouldn’t have approved of my mom. Ironically, she’s why I’m here, actually. It’s Dia de Muertos. Well, not really. That’s on Wednesday, but because of school we came today instead. We’re supposed to like. Have a picnic and clean the family graves. It’s a whole thing. We usually fly out to see mom’s side of the family, but mom wanted to stay and have Dia de Muertos with abuelita Debby. They were really close. Dad didn’t give me enough time to like, clean your grave, but I can at least say hi.”
A car in the parking lot honked. Must be dad, Richie thought.
“You ever have one of these?” he asked, motioning to his last calavera. “Mom can’t make them as good as the ones in Mexico. You can have it.” Richie placed the sugar skull on his grandfather’s grave. “Dad says you were a bad person, but wish I could have met you. Gotta go. See you next year, maybe,” he said, then turned and started back to the parking lot.
A faint whistling stopped him in his tracks. Glancing back at his grandfather’s grave, he saw a tall man with spiteful eyes grinning maliciously at him. Richie took an involuntary step backward, and lost his balance. By the time he scrambled to his feet, the man was gone. A cold wind blew through the graveyard. The remaining leaves on the surrounding trees rustled malevolently, and he heard the whistling again as he ran back to his parents.
“Dude, get your head in the game! We’re barely winning!” Ethan, Richie’s best friend, howled from Discord.
“It’s not me! Damn internet is laggy again!” Richie whined.
“Fucking Spectrum!” Ethan cursed. “So why’d you skip church anyway? Amanda missed you.”
“She did?!?! What’d she say?”
“Nothing, I made that up. Where were you?”
“Asshole. We went to the cemetery for Dia de Muertos.”
“Isn’t that Mexican Halloween or something?”
“Sort of,” Richie sighed. He hated explaining anything related to his Mexican heritage. Mostly because he didn’t know a whole lot about it, which embarrassed him.
The wind howled outside, and a chill ran up Richie’s spine as he heard the whistle from the graveyard. The eerie tune came from the window. He turned and spotted the same man from his grandfather’s grave staring at him from outside.
“What the fuck?” Richie whimpered. His room was on the second story.
“I know, right!” Ethan screeched. “There’s no way that sniper could have made that shot!”
Richie screamed as the grinning man pressed his face against the window and proceeded to float through it.
“Richie? What’s the matter?” Ethan asked but the headset fell off Richie’s head as he fell off his chair.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Carl asked as he burst into the room. The specter disappeared as soon as Richie’s dad turned the light on. “What is it, Richie?”
“Did you see it?” Richie asked as he scrambled to his feet and ran into his father’s arms.
“See what?”
“Nothing,” Richie muttered. “I… I thought I saw someone outside the window.”
“Hmm… It’s that damn tree,” Carl declared as he let Richie go. “I’ll get the landscaper to prune it next… next…”
“Dad are you okay?” Richie asked. Carl had started to choke on something.
“I’m… I’m fine...” Carl wheezed, then broke into a coughing fit.
“Here, drink this!” Richie handed him his mostly empty Mountain Dew bottle. Carl sad down on Richie’s bed, and took a swig.
I don’t know how you can drink this swill,” he muttered after he recovered. “Don’t stay up too late. School night,” he croaked as he left the room.
“I won’t,” Richie answered. He shut his Xbox off and closed the blinds, but he could still hear the wind outside.
“Dude, what happened the other night? One minute we’re kicking ass, next minute you’re screaming like a little girl. We got curb stomped, by the way,” Ethan declared as he sat next to Richie on the school bus.
“Nothing. I just. I thought I saw something outside the window. What are you doing riding the bus with us peons?”
“Dad decided to go to the office today. No car, but dude, NO ONE screams that loud when they ‘think’ they see something. What was it?”
“Just. A shadow, I think. The tree branches made a shadow that looked like a dude just kinda floating out there.”
“Well thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’ve been messaging you like crazy.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I sorta broke my phone when I fell off the chair.”
“A shadow spooked you so hard you fell off your chair?”
Richie shrugged.
“What’s the meme? All right, keep your secrets.” Ethan said as he whipped out his phone started scrolling.“ Oh shit! He’s back!” he exclaimed after a few minutes and shoved the screen in Richie’s face.
“Who’s back?”
“The Ohio Whistler! Look!”
The headline read: “Ohio Whistler Returns! Strangled Victim Found Missing Thumb!”
“It’s probably a copycat. People are sick.”
“Eh, you’re probably right. So, are you gonna tell me about this shadow or not, cause I think you’re holding out on me. Spill it.”
“All right fine. It wasn’t a shadow.” Richie looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and lowered his voice. “It was like. This old guy. Gave me the creeps. And then he like. Came into my room. Through the window!”
“Oh shit! Sounds like something followed you from the cemetery!”
Richie gulped. “Well. Thing is… I actually had seen the guy earlier, at the cemetery.”
“Dude. We gotta sage your room!”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. It was probably just my imagination. Too many horror movies lately.”
“Tis the season,” Ethan grinned.
“Here’s my stop. Fornite in a bit?”
“Does bigfoot smell like shit?”
Richie entered his house through the kitchen, where Soledad busied herself by emptying the dishwasher.
“Oye mijo, I need you to take your clothes out of the dryer,” she greeted him.
“Nice to see you too,” he joked as he set his backpack on the kitchen table and went to the basement. Abuelita Debby used to do his laundry, but mom insisted he do it. Something about girls preferring a man who could take care of himself. He dropped a couple of socks in the space between the washer and the dryer and had to get a broom to fish them out. In addition to the socks, he pulled out a bloody hand towel. A very bloody towel. He picked up his basket and went upstairs.
“Mom, what is this? Did you cut yourself?” He handed her the bloody rag.
“No, yo no.” She took the towel and inspected it carefully. “Your dad was down there poking around earlier. He must have hurt himself. It would explain a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, he just… He hasn’t been himself lately. Get those clothes upstairs. I’ll be back in a bit to make dinner,” she said as she reached up and kissed his forehead.
She said nothing to Carl as she passed by him in the living room.
Carl sat on the couch inspecting some knickknacks. A dirty, but ornate wooden box lay on the coffee table.
“Whatchoo got there?” Richie asked.
“What?” Carl jumped, startled. “Nothing, don’t worry about it, Richard” he said as he quickly stuffed the objects into the box and closed it. The lid had a label that read: “Carl Schlimme, Senior.”
“Hey, that’s grandpa’s box!” Richie yelped excitedly. He set his laundry basket down and sat next to his dad.
“Yeah, I found it in the basement.”
“Let me see!” Richie exclaimed.
“No!” Carl shouted as he snatched the box, stunning Richie. His father had never raised his voice to him. “Why don’t you go see your friend, what’s his name… Ethan?” He said as he hurried upstairs. “It’s Halloween. Watch a horror movie or two with him!”
In his haste, Carl had knocked the coffee table out of place. Richie sighed as he got up to set it back. He’d never hear the end of it if his mother saw that it was crooked. Something caught his eye as he fixed the table. His father must not have noticed dropping it on the floor. Richie picked up the small, white object examined it for a second, then ran upstairs to call Ethan on Discord.
“It’s a bone.”
“A bone?!?!”
“Yeah, a little bone. About half the size of my thumb.”
“Dude. Give me a sec. Okay. Okay, I’m sending you a couple of pics. Does it look like one of them?”
Richie opened his email and inspected the pictures. “Yeah! Yeah, it looks just like the second one!”
“That’s part of a thumb! YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS THE OHIO WHISTLER!!!”
“No way man, that’s ridiculous,” Richie spat, but a part of him couldn’t deny that if true, it would explain a lot.
“Remember when I joked that something followed you from the cemetery?”
“Come one man, don’t start with the woo woo.”
“Hear me out. You saw a tall guy, at the cemetery, near your grandfather’s grave, I’m guessing. You saw the same tall man FLOAT THROUGH YOUR CLOSED WINDOW, and then your dad had a coughing fit when he checked on you, and he’s been acting funny ever since. I mean, he called you RICHARD. Only substitute teachers call you Richard! Let me guess something you didn’t tell me. You heard this both times,” Ethan whistled. Richie froze. It was the same tune he’d heard each time he saw the tall, grinning man.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Bullshit,” Richie said. “How could they possibly know what his whistle sounded like?”
“His second victim. She was a tough lady, dude. She survived his attack and distinctly remembered him whistling that exact tune both just before he ambushed her and when he left her for dead. I’m telling you, your serial killer grandfather is possessing your dad!”
“That’s… that’s impossible,” Richie countered, but he couldn’t help thinking about the bloody hand towel he’d found in the basement.
“Tell me EXACTLY what you did at his grave. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I dunno man, I just kinda said hi and told him I wish I could have met him. Oh, and I left a calavera for him.”
“A cawhat?”
“A calavera. A sugar skull candy. My mom made a batch. They weren’t great.”
“Bro… Seriously? This time of the year the veil between worlds is thin! You can’t just go around asking spirits to meet them! You invited him back to the world of the living!”
“Ethan. Do you hear yourself? That’s nonsense!”
“Maybe. I hope it is. But what if I’m right?”
“Okay,” Richie sighed. “Let’s say for the sake of the argument, you’re right, not that I believe any of this mind you, just hypothetically. How do I fix it?”
“Okay, so first of all, ouch. How do WE fix it, man. You’re not alone. Second, full disclosure. Ghosts and spirits aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a cryptids and aliens guy. But you but you know who IS a ghost expert?”
“No. No, don’t say it, not her again,” Richie whined.
“That’s right! Raziel! Come over. I’ll borrow my dad’s car and we’ll go to The Conjurer’s Study! Raziel will know what to do!”
“The Conjurer’s Study gives me the creeps. You just wanna look down Raziel’s shirt again. You know her real name is Jennifer, right?”
“Look, we need to like, cleanse or exorcise your dad, and she’s our best bet. And if she happens to have to grab something from a bottom shelf again, that’s just a bonus. Also, using someone’s dead name? C’mon man, not cool. I’m disappointed in you, Ricardo Antonio Schlimme-Gimenez.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Richie laughed. “Not cool. I’m on my way.” He closed his laptop and headed downstairs. He was almost out the front door when something caught his eye in the living room. The coffee table was off again. Groaning, went to put it back in its place, but then he noticed a foot on the floor lying next to the couch.
It belonged to his mother. She lay there, partially hidden between the coffee table and the sofa, her face contorted with fear, clouded eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A small pool of blood formed beneath her left hand, which was missing the thumb.
The same eerie whistle from the graveyard emanated from the kitchen. Richie turned. Carl stood there, surprise to see his son had discovered his handywork. He carried a shower curtain in one hand and a bucket with various cleaning supplies in the other.
“I thought I told you to go to your friend’s house and play,” Carl snarled.
Speechless, Richie backed away, and tripped over his mother’s corpse.
“What’s the matter, Richard?” Carl asked as he advanced. “Weren’t you just telling me the other day how you wish we could have met?”
San Ashitaka is a naturalized American citizen originally from Mexico. He spends some of his time writing mostly horror, some fantasy, and occasionally, science fiction, but mostly he procrastinates. He currently resides in Florida with his wife and two dogs. Every once in a while he posts stories to his Substack: Seven Siblings Stories.
By
San Ashitaka
“Can’t believe it’s been seven months,” Carl, Richie’s dad said as he placed another sugar skull on his mother’s grave.
“Feels like only yesterday she was chasing me out of the kitchen,” Soledad, Richie’s mom, lamented. “I don’t know how her tamales were better than mine. I taught her how to make them.”
“I miss abuelita Debbie too,” Richie agreed. It was the first Dia de Muertos he’d spent outside of California or Mexico, and though he missed the food and carnival-like atmosphere, he did not miss his cousins calling him bolillo when an adult wasn’t around, or his aunt’s nickname for him: “mi gringito.” It wasn’t his fault he took more after his father than his mother. Another thing he wouldn’t miss: sunburns.
“I know,” Carl placed his arm around his son’s shoulder.
“You know, I never thought about it but where’s grandpa’s grave? Why isn’t abuelita Debbie next to him?”
“She didn’t want to be near him,” Carl answered.
“Why?”
“She had her reasons,” Carl muttered.
“Cariño, he deserves more than that,” Soledad appealed to her husband.
“He was... He was a bad person,” Richie’s dad mumbled.
“Mijo, this is a difficult subject for you papa. Let’s just clean up and go home, okay?”
“Okay, but… can I just see his grave? Is he even here?”
Carl nodded. “If you really want to see that man’s grave, it’s that way” he waived to an older portion of the cemetery. “Fifteen minutes.”
It took Richie ten minutes to find the grave. Unlike his abuelita Debby’s elaborate marble tombstone, Carl senior’s grave was marked with a small, nondescript concrete slab. It read:
Carl Schilmme Senior
1948-1989
“Hi. Um. Grandpa. Can I call you grandpa? Or would you have preferred the German word for grandpa? Sorry, I don’t know it. I do know that you probably wouldn’t want me to call you abuelo. Pretty much the only thing I’ve ever heard about you is that you wouldn’t have approved of my mom. Ironically, she’s why I’m here, actually. It’s Dia de Muertos. Well, not really. That’s on Wednesday, but because of school we came today instead. We’re supposed to like. Have a picnic and clean the family graves. It’s a whole thing. We usually fly out to see mom’s side of the family, but mom wanted to stay and have Dia de Muertos with abuelita Debby. They were really close. Dad didn’t give me enough time to like, clean your grave, but I can at least say hi.”
A car in the parking lot honked. Must be dad, Richie thought.
“You ever have one of these?” he asked, motioning to his last calavera. “Mom can’t make them as good as the ones in Mexico. You can have it.” Richie placed the sugar skull on his grandfather’s grave. “Dad says you were a bad person, but wish I could have met you. Gotta go. See you next year, maybe,” he said, then turned and started back to the parking lot.
A faint whistling stopped him in his tracks. Glancing back at his grandfather’s grave, he saw a tall man with spiteful eyes grinning maliciously at him. Richie took an involuntary step backward, and lost his balance. By the time he scrambled to his feet, the man was gone. A cold wind blew through the graveyard. The remaining leaves on the surrounding trees rustled malevolently, and he heard the whistling again as he ran back to his parents.
“Dude, get your head in the game! We’re barely winning!” Ethan, Richie’s best friend, howled from Discord.
“It’s not me! Damn internet is laggy again!” Richie whined.
“Fucking Spectrum!” Ethan cursed. “So why’d you skip church anyway? Amanda missed you.”
“She did?!?! What’d she say?”
“Nothing, I made that up. Where were you?”
“Asshole. We went to the cemetery for Dia de Muertos.”
“Isn’t that Mexican Halloween or something?”
“Sort of,” Richie sighed. He hated explaining anything related to his Mexican heritage. Mostly because he didn’t know a whole lot about it, which embarrassed him.
The wind howled outside, and a chill ran up Richie’s spine as he heard the whistle from the graveyard. The eerie tune came from the window. He turned and spotted the same man from his grandfather’s grave staring at him from outside.
“What the fuck?” Richie whimpered. His room was on the second story.
“I know, right!” Ethan screeched. “There’s no way that sniper could have made that shot!”
Richie screamed as the grinning man pressed his face against the window and proceeded to float through it.
“Richie? What’s the matter?” Ethan asked but the headset fell off Richie’s head as he fell off his chair.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Carl asked as he burst into the room. The specter disappeared as soon as Richie’s dad turned the light on. “What is it, Richie?”
“Did you see it?” Richie asked as he scrambled to his feet and ran into his father’s arms.
“See what?”
“Nothing,” Richie muttered. “I… I thought I saw someone outside the window.”
“Hmm… It’s that damn tree,” Carl declared as he let Richie go. “I’ll get the landscaper to prune it next… next…”
“Dad are you okay?” Richie asked. Carl had started to choke on something.
“I’m… I’m fine...” Carl wheezed, then broke into a coughing fit.
“Here, drink this!” Richie handed him his mostly empty Mountain Dew bottle. Carl sad down on Richie’s bed, and took a swig.
I don’t know how you can drink this swill,” he muttered after he recovered. “Don’t stay up too late. School night,” he croaked as he left the room.
“I won’t,” Richie answered. He shut his Xbox off and closed the blinds, but he could still hear the wind outside.
“Dude, what happened the other night? One minute we’re kicking ass, next minute you’re screaming like a little girl. We got curb stomped, by the way,” Ethan declared as he sat next to Richie on the school bus.
“Nothing. I just. I thought I saw something outside the window. What are you doing riding the bus with us peons?”
“Dad decided to go to the office today. No car, but dude, NO ONE screams that loud when they ‘think’ they see something. What was it?”
“Just. A shadow, I think. The tree branches made a shadow that looked like a dude just kinda floating out there.”
“Well thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’ve been messaging you like crazy.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I sorta broke my phone when I fell off the chair.”
“A shadow spooked you so hard you fell off your chair?”
Richie shrugged.
“What’s the meme? All right, keep your secrets.” Ethan said as he whipped out his phone started scrolling.“ Oh shit! He’s back!” he exclaimed after a few minutes and shoved the screen in Richie’s face.
“Who’s back?”
“The Ohio Whistler! Look!”
The headline read: “Ohio Whistler Returns! Strangled Victim Found Missing Thumb!”
“It’s probably a copycat. People are sick.”
“Eh, you’re probably right. So, are you gonna tell me about this shadow or not, cause I think you’re holding out on me. Spill it.”
“All right fine. It wasn’t a shadow.” Richie looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and lowered his voice. “It was like. This old guy. Gave me the creeps. And then he like. Came into my room. Through the window!”
“Oh shit! Sounds like something followed you from the cemetery!”
Richie gulped. “Well. Thing is… I actually had seen the guy earlier, at the cemetery.”
“Dude. We gotta sage your room!”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. It was probably just my imagination. Too many horror movies lately.”
“Tis the season,” Ethan grinned.
“Here’s my stop. Fornite in a bit?”
“Does bigfoot smell like shit?”
Richie entered his house through the kitchen, where Soledad busied herself by emptying the dishwasher.
“Oye mijo, I need you to take your clothes out of the dryer,” she greeted him.
“Nice to see you too,” he joked as he set his backpack on the kitchen table and went to the basement. Abuelita Debby used to do his laundry, but mom insisted he do it. Something about girls preferring a man who could take care of himself. He dropped a couple of socks in the space between the washer and the dryer and had to get a broom to fish them out. In addition to the socks, he pulled out a bloody hand towel. A very bloody towel. He picked up his basket and went upstairs.
“Mom, what is this? Did you cut yourself?” He handed her the bloody rag.
“No, yo no.” She took the towel and inspected it carefully. “Your dad was down there poking around earlier. He must have hurt himself. It would explain a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, he just… He hasn’t been himself lately. Get those clothes upstairs. I’ll be back in a bit to make dinner,” she said as she reached up and kissed his forehead.
She said nothing to Carl as she passed by him in the living room.
Carl sat on the couch inspecting some knickknacks. A dirty, but ornate wooden box lay on the coffee table.
“Whatchoo got there?” Richie asked.
“What?” Carl jumped, startled. “Nothing, don’t worry about it, Richard” he said as he quickly stuffed the objects into the box and closed it. The lid had a label that read: “Carl Schlimme, Senior.”
“Hey, that’s grandpa’s box!” Richie yelped excitedly. He set his laundry basket down and sat next to his dad.
“Yeah, I found it in the basement.”
“Let me see!” Richie exclaimed.
“No!” Carl shouted as he snatched the box, stunning Richie. His father had never raised his voice to him. “Why don’t you go see your friend, what’s his name… Ethan?” He said as he hurried upstairs. “It’s Halloween. Watch a horror movie or two with him!”
In his haste, Carl had knocked the coffee table out of place. Richie sighed as he got up to set it back. He’d never hear the end of it if his mother saw that it was crooked. Something caught his eye as he fixed the table. His father must not have noticed dropping it on the floor. Richie picked up the small, white object examined it for a second, then ran upstairs to call Ethan on Discord.
“It’s a bone.”
“A bone?!?!”
“Yeah, a little bone. About half the size of my thumb.”
“Dude. Give me a sec. Okay. Okay, I’m sending you a couple of pics. Does it look like one of them?”
Richie opened his email and inspected the pictures. “Yeah! Yeah, it looks just like the second one!”
“That’s part of a thumb! YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS THE OHIO WHISTLER!!!”
“No way man, that’s ridiculous,” Richie spat, but a part of him couldn’t deny that if true, it would explain a lot.
“Remember when I joked that something followed you from the cemetery?”
“Come one man, don’t start with the woo woo.”
“Hear me out. You saw a tall guy, at the cemetery, near your grandfather’s grave, I’m guessing. You saw the same tall man FLOAT THROUGH YOUR CLOSED WINDOW, and then your dad had a coughing fit when he checked on you, and he’s been acting funny ever since. I mean, he called you RICHARD. Only substitute teachers call you Richard! Let me guess something you didn’t tell me. You heard this both times,” Ethan whistled. Richie froze. It was the same tune he’d heard each time he saw the tall, grinning man.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Bullshit,” Richie said. “How could they possibly know what his whistle sounded like?”
“His second victim. She was a tough lady, dude. She survived his attack and distinctly remembered him whistling that exact tune both just before he ambushed her and when he left her for dead. I’m telling you, your serial killer grandfather is possessing your dad!”
“That’s… that’s impossible,” Richie countered, but he couldn’t help thinking about the bloody hand towel he’d found in the basement.
“Tell me EXACTLY what you did at his grave. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I dunno man, I just kinda said hi and told him I wish I could have met him. Oh, and I left a calavera for him.”
“A cawhat?”
“A calavera. A sugar skull candy. My mom made a batch. They weren’t great.”
“Bro… Seriously? This time of the year the veil between worlds is thin! You can’t just go around asking spirits to meet them! You invited him back to the world of the living!”
“Ethan. Do you hear yourself? That’s nonsense!”
“Maybe. I hope it is. But what if I’m right?”
“Okay,” Richie sighed. “Let’s say for the sake of the argument, you’re right, not that I believe any of this mind you, just hypothetically. How do I fix it?”
“Okay, so first of all, ouch. How do WE fix it, man. You’re not alone. Second, full disclosure. Ghosts and spirits aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a cryptids and aliens guy. But you but you know who IS a ghost expert?”
“No. No, don’t say it, not her again,” Richie whined.
“That’s right! Raziel! Come over. I’ll borrow my dad’s car and we’ll go to The Conjurer’s Study! Raziel will know what to do!”
“The Conjurer’s Study gives me the creeps. You just wanna look down Raziel’s shirt again. You know her real name is Jennifer, right?”
“Look, we need to like, cleanse or exorcise your dad, and she’s our best bet. And if she happens to have to grab something from a bottom shelf again, that’s just a bonus. Also, using someone’s dead name? C’mon man, not cool. I’m disappointed in you, Ricardo Antonio Schlimme-Gimenez.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Richie laughed. “Not cool. I’m on my way.” He closed his laptop and headed downstairs. He was almost out the front door when something caught his eye in the living room. The coffee table was off again. Groaning, went to put it back in its place, but then he noticed a foot on the floor lying next to the couch.
It belonged to his mother. She lay there, partially hidden between the coffee table and the sofa, her face contorted with fear, clouded eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A small pool of blood formed beneath her left hand, which was missing the thumb.
The same eerie whistle from the graveyard emanated from the kitchen. Richie turned. Carl stood there, surprise to see his son had discovered his handywork. He carried a shower curtain in one hand and a bucket with various cleaning supplies in the other.
“I thought I told you to go to your friend’s house and play,” Carl snarled.
Speechless, Richie backed away, and tripped over his mother’s corpse.
“What’s the matter, Richard?” Carl asked as he advanced. “Weren’t you just telling me the other day how you wish we could have met?”
San Ashitaka is a naturalized American citizen originally from Mexico. He spends some of his time writing mostly horror, some fantasy, and occasionally, science fiction, but mostly he procrastinates. He currently resides in Florida with his wife and two dogs. Every once in a while he posts stories to his Substack: Seven Siblings Stories.
