The Obsession Read Free

as she sucked her sore finger, it was still a door in the ground in the woods by an old burned-out cabin.
    And her father had gone down there.
    Her bike! Maybe he’d hidden her bike down there and was right now putting it together. Willing to risk another splinter, she put her ear to the old wood, squeezing her eyes tight to help her hear.
    She thought she heard him moving around. And he was making a kind of grunting noise. She imagined him assembling her bike—all shiny and new and red—his big hands picking the right tool while he whistled through his teeth the way he did when he worked on something.
    He was down there doing something special just for her. She wouldn’t complain (in her head) about chores for a whole month.
    How long did it take to put a bike together? She should hurry back home so he didn’t know she’d followed him. But she really, really,
really
wanted to see it. Just a peek.
    She eased back from the door, crept over to the burned-out cabin, and hunkered down behind the old chimney. It wouldn’t take him long—he was good with tools. He could have his own repair shop if he wanted, and only worked for the cable company out of Morgantown to provide security for his family.
    He said so all the time.
    She glanced up at the snap of lightning—the first pitchfork of it—and the thunder that followed was more boom than mumble. She should’vegone home, that was the truth, but she couldn’t go back now. He could come out anytime, and he’d catch her for sure.
    There’d be no shiny red bike for her birthday if he caught her now.
    If the storm broke, she’d just get wet, that’s all. It would cool her off.
    She told herself he’d just be five more minutes, and when the minutes passed, he’d just be five more. And then she had to pee. She tried to hold it, ignore it, squeeze it back, but in the end, she gave up and crept her way farther back, back into the trees.
    She rolled her eyes, pulled down her shorts, and crouched, keeping her feet wide to avoid the stream. Then she shook and shook until she was as dry as she was going to get. Just as she started to pull her shorts back up, the door creaked open.
    She froze, shorts around her knees, bare butt inches off the ground, her lips pressed tight to hold back her breath.
    She saw him in the next flash of lightning, and he looked wild to her—his close-cropped hair almost white in the storm light, his eyes so dark, and his teeth showing in a fierce grin.
    Seeing him, half expecting him to throw back his head and howl like a wolf, she felt her heart thudding with the first true fear she’d ever known.
    When he rubbed himself, down there, she felt her cheeks go hot as fire. Then he closed the door, the quick slam of it echoing. He shot the bolt home—a hard, scraping sound that made her shiver. Her legs trembled from holding the awkward position while he tossed layers of old leaves over the door.
    He stood a moment more—and oh, the lightning sizzled now—and played the beam of his light over the door. The backwash of it threw his face into relief so she saw only the hard edges, and the light, close-cropped hair made it look like a skull, eyes dark, soulless hollows.
    He looked around, and for one terrible moment she feared he looked right at her. This man, she knew into her bones, would hurt her, would use hands and fists on her like the father who worked to provide security for his family never had.
    With a helpless whimper in her throat, she thought:
Please, Daddy. Please.
    But he turned away, and with long, sure strides, went back the way he’d come.
    She didn’t move a trembling muscle until she heard nothing but the night song, and the first stirring of the wind. The storm was rolling in, but her father was gone.
    She hiked up her shorts and straightened, rubbing the pins and needles out of her legs.
    No moon now, and all sense of adventure had dropped into a terrible dread.
    But her eyes had adjusted enough for her to pick her way back to