Family Man. Short Story.

Disposal was the worst part, not because of the smell or anything like that, they were well sealed after all, but because it was boring and time consuming. He had to find new ways and places to get rid of it all, driving around for hours at a time before he found a suitable spot and even then he could only ever use that spot once. Too much too often would attract the wrong kind of attention and it had to be small enough so that anyone who stumbled across it wouldn’t particularly notice what it was unless they looked closely. He took pride in his work, and he was proud of himself each time he finished, but all the time he had to spend preparing and then disposing of it all, that was the worst. At least he knew he was doing a good job. He hadn’t been caught or even suspected in over twenty years of doing this. He had a family, a wife and three kids, and none of them suspected a thing. It was quite astonishing really. He hid his tracks well, but he had always kind of thought that something would happen by now. Someone would notice something or stumble in at the wrong time, but there had been nothing. He was a loving and attentive husband and father. He made time for his family because family was important. He father had taught him that, which was slightly ironic given his fathers propensity to drink and beat his own family. Still, he had promised he would do better than his own father did and so far he was succeeding. He had never hit his kids, he had occasionally raised his voice, but he never said cruel things, or things that were needlessly hurtful and his kids were turning out wonderfully so far. Becky was becoming a Doctor, Charles was becoming an accountant and Billy was the manager of a store. They all loved what they were doing and that was the main thing for him, he wanted his kids to be happy no matter what. He was there for them too, no matter what it was. If they told him something in confidence, or if he promised amnesty for actions, he didn’t go back on his word. They knew they could trust him and he in turn could trust them. He and Sally were as in love as they day they married. They went on date nights still and occasional short vacations away. Though he was looking forward to the upcoming family vacation. A week with the kids, then the kids were going off themselves and he and Sally would stay on another week. It was good to have family time together, really bond and reconnect. Everyone was so busy these days. If it wasn’t one thing it was another.

 

That was another downside of the long drives. He felt guilty for missing family time. He had resorted to doing it at night sometimes, so that he could get away but still be in their lives fully. Sally knew about his driving and she didn’t mind. He told her it calmed him down, helped him think and sort through stuff when he couldn’t sleep. It was true in a way, so it wasn’t really lying to her. If he didn’t get this sorted he would worry and he wouldn’t sleep well. The drives did help him think things through as well, that was always helpful. He could replay what ever conversations he had had, punishments he had given. Though there were only so many times you could go over stuff before it became too repetitive. Even music became boring. He had listened to audio books for a short while, but he found it distracted him too much.

 

He pulled off onto a smaller road, this one was barely driven on, grass growing along it, tree branches in the way. He continued on until he came to what appeared to be a driveway, he could continue down the road which seemed to just peter out about eighty feet onwards, or he could go into the driveway. After a seconds hesitation he pulled into it, figuring he could turn around or claim he was lost. The driveway twisted on a little further, he could make out a building behind some trees, it looked dilapidated. He moved passed the trees and saw the house clearly, the roof had collapsed at some point, there was no glass in the windows and the front door was gone. Perfect. He turned the car around and started to drive back towards the road. About halfway back he stopped and, with the engine still running he got out of the car and grabbed one of the packages from the back. He quickly jogged over towards the large wooded area and, after unwrapping the package he threw what was inside as far as he could into the woods. Then he returned to the car and grabbed another. He threw four of the packages into the woods, then he went to the other side and threw in several more. When that was done he got back into the car and drove off. On the old road itself he stopped twice and threw more of the packages until he had nothing left but the wrapping. He balled that up into one small bundle and tied it up with some string. With that done he drove off the road and continued on. He drove back to his little cabin. A home away from home. He didn’t come out here much, though Sally knew about it. Usually once a month, sometimes twice with a brief visit just to check up on the place. He got out of the car and prepared the small fire pit in the back, he tossed in the bundle of wrapping and set it on fire, waiting until it had all burned fully. With that done he went into the cabin and washed his hands off, he had kept them clean while disposing of the packages, but he liked to wash them anyway. He left the cabin and locked up after himself. He never stayed more than two nights, and mostly it was only one. He would tell her he was going fishing, then on the way home he’d buy a couple of fresh fish and they’d eat them for dinner. As he drove back he thought about what he’d do with the fish he bought tonight. Sally was never a fan of cleaning or cooking fish, but she would happily eat it, which just made things all the easier.

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
This entry was posted in Horror, Short Stories and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Family Man. Short Story.

  1. I love the pacing of your story! 🙂

  2. Trent Lewin says:

    Now that is some good stuff… very much enjoyed this.

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