My father Could Always Find Me: Short Story

My father could always, always find me. I would look at the clock and wait for the Coo Coo bird to pop out, signaling 5:45 when I knew he would be close. Over the months, he had become used to my hiding inside my mom's long black dress jacket in the closet. The first time I hid there, he screamed and fell against the wall, making my mom say, "One of these days you are going to give him cardiac arrest." From that moment on, I moved around daily, from under his desk, to behind the bathroom door, to inside the kitchen cleaning cabinet, each time hoping to recreate that moment.

The last spot I found was under the train set table in the basement. I lay watching a spider slowly build circles of invisible floss, while my fingers worked red paint chipping above my head. I heard the front door open, felt the weight of his shoes, then feet along the floor and watched the ceiling to anticipate his every step. I imagined the basement door opening, his socks pressing on each step with tiny creaks as he moved closer and closer, till I could hear him breath just above my head. Then the moment I would grab his foot from the dark shadow and here him cry out.

All went quiet and I shivered in the dark, feeling the hard cement against the back of my head. Not knowing the time, I started counting to sixty over and over. Then I heard the door and one creak on the step before my mom's voice sounded with, "Dad's too tired tonight. Come wash your hands for dinner."

"No thanks," is whispered, "I will wait." The noises grew fainter and then I heard the voices of strangers on the television. I flipped to my stomach, pillowed my arm under my head and closed my eyes.