Black Frost Read Free Page A

use.
     
    So, now in my middle years, these reactions
are pretty much hardwired into me. My wife, Sarah, never really
understood it. Conceptually, she got the point but couldn’t really
grasp the mindset that I had grown up with. I tried to explain it
to her, the fact that I never knew if my father would come home, or
if some drug lord would come after me or my mother in revenge. She
would nod, but I don’t think she fully got it. I guess you would
just have to live it.
     
    I finished the rough work on the blade, then
left it to cool slowly. The morning’s work set aside, I headed into
the house, entering the kitchen door. The farmhouse is really a
collection of add-ons, centered on the original two-story
footprint. The additions are all one story. There are two bedrooms
and a bathroom upstairs in the original structure, a living room
and kitchen below. The other, newer parts consist of a dining room,
family room, sewing room (which became an office after my
grandmother’s death) and a second full bathroom (that’s the one I
use).
     
    I found dad in the office, working his way
through three untidy file cabinets that we hadn’t tackled yet.
    The little room had a small work table with
one drawer and a measuring straight edge painted on top, the filing
cabinets, a small fireproof safe hidden under a fake cabinet and a
tiny end table that we used as a printer stand. My laptop sat open
on the table which was as close to a desk as the house had. The
sight of it reminded me of the pictures on my cell phone and I
immediately sent them to my email address.
    Dad had pulled the single chair over to the
cabinets; the garbage can nearby already over flowing with
throwaways. After waiting a minute or so for the photos to make
their way through the digital network, I opened my email service
and brought the pictures up on screen.
    “Dad, have you ever seen bite wounds like
these?” I asked.
    He spun around fast, then relaxed when he saw
I was referring to just photos on the computer. I’m pretty sure my
tone would have been different if the bite marks had been on
me.
    He frowned as he studied the photos. “Where
did you get these?”
    “Dead possum I found up top the mountain this
morning. Actually, Charm found it.” I answered, reaching down to
pat the wide, wedge-shaped head next to me. She was tucked in the
corner where she could stay close without getting stepped on. Charm
loves my dad, he and I being the only two males she is comfortable
around.
    “Hmm, I’ve never seen anything like them
around here, but they remind me of a Discovery Channel show I saw
about the Amazon. Piranha make bites like that.”
    Now that he said it, the similarities were
obvious. Crescent shaped, cookie cutter bites. I Googled piranha
and found pictures that seemed to match.
    “What the hell would do that around here?” I
asked, baffled. “Unless somebody’s been stocking the brook with
South American fish.”
    He was still frowning, but after a long pause
he stood and went to his black soft-sided briefcase near the
door.
    “Before your grandfather died, he started to
act…..well, strange. You probably didn’t have a chance to notice,
with all you went through,” he said gently. “But nonetheless, I
thought he was becoming senile.”
    He stood up, a leather-bound book in his
hand. I recognized it as my Grandpa’s journal.
    “I took this the day we found him…I didn’t
want you to remember him as crazy or anything, but maybe you should
read it. Maybe you should keep an open mind and see what you think.
And Ian…” his light blue eyes drove home his serious intent, “I
want you to keep your eyes and ears open!”
    I snorted, “Dad, I always do…as if I had a
choice.”
    His mouth twitched in what might have been a
smirk, but then straight-lined into serious mode again.
    “I mean, keep an eye and ear out for stuff
like those bite marks, wiseass.”
    “Why Dad? What do you think made them?” I
asked.
    “I have no idea, but keep