The Disappeared Read Free Page B

a kind man.
    25%
discount on Green Thumb Thursdays.
    Gardening is
big in Bishop. It is a pretty town and people love their gardens.
    Minki watched
Mr Wessels twitch horribly. A violent spasm twisted his face into a terrifying
ghoulish mask.
    Mr Wessels
always made Minki think of that movie Goodbye Mr Chips . He looked just
like the teacher in the old movie: tall and thin and with the same moustache
and funny glasses. Minki knew that a long long time ago Mr Wessels had been a teacher. Her daddy told her. She had always liked Mr Wessels and Mr
Wessels really really loved Bishop.
    Say no to
invasive species.
    Mr Wessels had
donated all the mophead trees that lined Bishop’s pretty main street. He was an
active member of the town council. He always gave Minki a Pop Fizzwhenever
her daddy went to Bloom Town.
    Minki watched
as blood filled the eyes of Mr Wessels. It ran in two red rivers down his face.
His ears filled with blood. It poured down his neck and mixed with his black hair
making sticky clots of gore. He was babbling senselessly like an excited baby.
Through blood-red eyes, he looked fixedly at Minki. Another fitful lunge propelled
him forward and closed the distance between them.
    Minki really
liked Mr Wessels. She was going to miss him.
    Mr Wessels
fell forward onto his knees right in front of Minki. His insane babbling had
risen in pitch and intensity. It sounded like he was singing. He opened his
mouth. A violent torrent of blood mixed with something yellow poured from his
mouth.
    Minki
screamed.
    And screamed.
    She woke up for
the second time that morning the dying echoes of a scream reverberating in her
ears. And she was standing. Her fright had propelled her right out of her bed
and she was now standing beside it. One hand was clasped over her mouth. Trying
to stifle a scream that was already seconds old. The other was held out in
front of her as if she were playing an invisible piano. This hand was shaking
uncontrollably. But it wasn’t just her hand. Minki was shaking all over. And she
was feverishly hot. Drenched in sweat. Her hair clung to her head; wet clumps
stuck to her face. Her pink nightie was plastered onto her skin. Spasms racked
her young ten-year-old body as she tried to absorb the terrifying dream; tried
to understand the nightmarish experience from which she had just awoken. She
didn’t know what it meant; didn’t dare to guess. As with any dream the more she
tried to probe its veiled ghostly images the more it slipped from her mind; the
less concrete it became. It started to fade. Only the last brutal image
remained. She saw the ugly contorted face of Mr Wessels
    She started
crying. Sobbing uncontrollably.
    It was just a
dream. And she was a bad bad girl. Dreaming ugly bad things. She was a bad girl
with a heart blackened by sin.
    What if ...
    What if daddy
found out?
    What if Jesus
punished her?
    A dark stab of
fear suddenly pierced her heart. In a fit of terror, she fell down on her knees
at the bed and began to pray with burning fever.
    oh please dear
god oh please oh please dear holy father dear lord god in heaven please jesus
please I beg you dear god please our father which art in heaven hallowed by
your name please god please forgive me for my sinful heart oh dear jesus please
forgive me my horrible thoughts dear lord father please forgive me and help my
daddy make me clean I didn’t mean it dear jesus oh dear god
    She remained
for several more minutes on her knees. Praying in silent desperation. Finally
she stood up. An uncertain calm had replaced the hysteria of a moment before.
Minki prayed often. It always helped. Especially after a bad dream
    ( two bad
dreams! )
    like this. It
calmed her somewhat and made her feel better at the same time. Her daddy had
taught her that.
    Pray. For sin.
For redemption.
    Pray. For
fear. Her daddy had taught her that.
    Yet ...
    She just
couldn’t shake the sense of dread; the unutterable fear and anxiety that
pervaded her tiny soul. It seemed to cling