My Haunted Tale page 3

My father was now ranting and raving at an almost high pitch scream when my mother came into the room threatening to call the police. He turned to her and shouted, “ Thou shall not suffer a witch to live!”, and fell upon her grabbing her by the hair.

Kicking and punching my father, she was slowly dragged towards the fireplace where the protruding flames licked and teased the air. My mother turned to me in a frantic while I stood their stunned.

Her pleads shook me into action. I bent down and lifted the steamer chest heaving it with all the force I could muster at my father’s legs. The chest flew past him by inches and went straight into the fire. With a loud clanking thud onto the grate, the chest sent sparks flying about the air. Just as suddenly, the fire went out and a great hush filled the room.

My father collapsed and sank to his knees. His arms fell flat against the floor and an uncontrollable sobbing took hold of him. My mother picked herself off the floor and ran to the telephone. I stood there in a state of shock watching my father mutter to himself with a glassy distant look in his eye.

That was many years ago. My father was committed to a mental institute where he has never recovered from his stupor. No medical doctor has been able to explain his condition or cure him.

My mother gave the steamer chest to me when I graduated college. I keep many of my research papers in it. She was able to go forward with her life and encouraged my studies. She still lives in the same old house with her many cats. Coincidently, all her cats are black. They are usually in the den draped over the fireplace that is never lit. End.