I hope you all enjoy this story as it is told every so often. It's an original, fictional story mixing a coming of age tale with the holidays, the supernatural, and topical issues...if you missed the first chapter, you can start by reading Chapter One.
Underneath the Tree - A supernatural tale of Christmas
"Underneath the Tree" Chapter Two: The Gambler
Interlude: A CNN announcer tells us that US troops arrive in Iran and have cornered overthrown the regime.
End Interlude.
For what seemed like the entire bus ride, I couldn't get the vision out of my head.
It was as if Stanley Kubrick met Oliver Stone and then they collaborated with Spike Lee and said "hey, let's mess with this kid's head…". The cinematography was excellent, guys.
Part of me felt guilty for blowing off the last week of classes, like I was spoiling the money my parents spent on sending me to school.
The guilt lasted all of ten seconds as I thought of how my Dad earned his living.
My Dad wasn't a criminal, but that didn't mean it wasn't dirty, and it certainly did mean it wasn't hard earned.
My Dad, Charlie McLeary, was a professional gambler.
Not that he was a totally replusive father or anything, but he was always too busy "working" to make it to any of my little league games, graduations, blah, blah, blah (pardon the stereotypical whining).
I had always wanted someone like Ben Walton for a father, but instead I had ended up with Jimmy the Greek.
My Dad really should have treated Bobby better.
He's the bright one, the one with the potential to do something with his life.
Charlie McLeary was never the most open man, but he was pretty lenient and knew how to look the other way.
So it was easy to forgive the paternal inadequacies.
He had one rule, and you had better follow it:
"Do NOT open the closet door".
The closet was the one up in the hallway, between the kids' bathroom and the parents' room.
My siblings and I learned to not even glance at the closet when walking by it.
We all had our theories about what was in it -- most of the ideas revolved around dead bodies, with the most extreme thought being my sister Jessica's:
Our real parents, pre-body-snatched, lay in there, as do the pods from which the current Mom and Dad sprang.
Obviously, the most forbidden things always seem to be the one we want the most - and the mysterious closet was no exception.
One day after school, when I was feeling extremely brave, and not a soul was home, I decided to venture where no man had gone before.
I did three turn-arounds, convincing myself it wouldn't be worth it.
If he found out - jeez, if he found out, there would be punishment beyond all repair.
Finally, I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly.
I imagined a fearsome monster, mouth open, teeth dripping with saliva, just waiting there for me.
As I opened the door, I saw basically an empty closet, but hanging from the railing, where coats SHOULD be, were two fuzzy dice.
Yes, two fuzzy dice.
I shut the door quickly, shook my head, and then never thought about it or told anyone about it again.
What were the odds on him being around when I arrived home?
Underneath the Tree - A supernatural tale of Christmas
"Underneath the Tree" Chapter Two: The Gambler
Interlude: A CNN announcer tells us that US troops arrive in Iran and have cornered overthrown the regime.
End Interlude.
For what seemed like the entire bus ride, I couldn't get the vision out of my head.
It was as if Stanley Kubrick met Oliver Stone and then they collaborated with Spike Lee and said "hey, let's mess with this kid's head…". The cinematography was excellent, guys.
Part of me felt guilty for blowing off the last week of classes, like I was spoiling the money my parents spent on sending me to school.
The guilt lasted all of ten seconds as I thought of how my Dad earned his living.
My Dad wasn't a criminal, but that didn't mean it wasn't dirty, and it certainly did mean it wasn't hard earned.
My Dad, Charlie McLeary, was a professional gambler.
Not that he was a totally replusive father or anything, but he was always too busy "working" to make it to any of my little league games, graduations, blah, blah, blah (pardon the stereotypical whining).
I had always wanted someone like Ben Walton for a father, but instead I had ended up with Jimmy the Greek.
My Dad really should have treated Bobby better.
He's the bright one, the one with the potential to do something with his life.
Charlie McLeary was never the most open man, but he was pretty lenient and knew how to look the other way.
So it was easy to forgive the paternal inadequacies.
He had one rule, and you had better follow it:
"Do NOT open the closet door".
The closet was the one up in the hallway, between the kids' bathroom and the parents' room.
My siblings and I learned to not even glance at the closet when walking by it.
We all had our theories about what was in it -- most of the ideas revolved around dead bodies, with the most extreme thought being my sister Jessica's:
Our real parents, pre-body-snatched, lay in there, as do the pods from which the current Mom and Dad sprang.
Obviously, the most forbidden things always seem to be the one we want the most - and the mysterious closet was no exception.
One day after school, when I was feeling extremely brave, and not a soul was home, I decided to venture where no man had gone before.
I did three turn-arounds, convincing myself it wouldn't be worth it.
If he found out - jeez, if he found out, there would be punishment beyond all repair.
Finally, I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly.
I imagined a fearsome monster, mouth open, teeth dripping with saliva, just waiting there for me.
As I opened the door, I saw basically an empty closet, but hanging from the railing, where coats SHOULD be, were two fuzzy dice.
Yes, two fuzzy dice.
I shut the door quickly, shook my head, and then never thought about it or told anyone about it again.
What were the odds on him being around when I arrived home?
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