Like Father, Like Son

I missed last week’s Friday Fictioneers. Yet again life, work and ironing got in the way. But the ironing is done, the lesson plans are complete and I have an empty house for a few hours so I can once again succumb to my weekly vice. Alas, it is only one of many but that’s a story for another day…….

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Maddison Wood

Photo Copyright : Madison Woods

“Spawned by the devil” my grandmother used to say. Yet, as a child there were no horns, no eyes burning red at the sight of a full moon. I’d spent most of my childhood searching for the signs. Half afraid of what I’d find, yet strangely, almost desolate, when there was nothing.

Even now, a man full grown, those words still haunt my dreams.  Although the signs are no longer hidden, no longer buried beneath youth and innocence. I raise my glass, relishing the warm taste of blood across my lips. I offer up a toast “To you, Father” as my grandmother spins in her grave.

17 thoughts on “Like Father, Like Son

  1. Dear Helen, Once again, you’ve shown your brilliance to us. You write a heck of a good story! I’m sure glad I get to read your stories and especially the weird ones. You are a genius! Thanks so much for the entertainment! Nan 🙂

  2. Looks like Grandma was right. I like your subtlety. I guess it was just a matter of time, and there was nothing the son could do but to be just like his father. Wonderful piece of writing, Helen.

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