LOCALadk Magazine

That autumn night he found his home Unfit for living folk. No wood was stacked upon the porch; The chimney didn't smoke. Unhinged, he swung his rusty axe And let himself inside. His wife had left the door unlocked; The knob he might've tried." I pat my sleeve in secrecy To check the spork's inside. "I'm not," I boast, "a bit afraid Although you've really tried." "It's little things that make a man Deranged and truly mad— A spoon set out that wasn't washed, A glass of milk gone bad. His wife had left a bowl of soup Beside the dirty spoon. He sipped the soup before he flung The bowl across the room. 'The soup is cold!' he shouted out And shook them from their beds. He heard his child yell, 'Daddy's home!' And lopped off both their heads. She'd left the bowls of soup for him Those nine months, maybe ten. At last his wife had got her wish— He had come home again." "Beheadings, Gramps? I have to sleep. You know I'm only ten. It's hard to think I'll ask to hear A bedtime tale again." "You asked to hear a scary tale And so I've told you one. Before you try your best to sleep, This story isn't done. The only clue they found was what A maniac might leave— The handle of his trusty axe Engraved with Rusty Cleave. But still he stalks these woods in search Of necks like yours, not mine. It's certain Rusty wants to lop A neck that's soft as pine. Well, pleasant dreams and possibly I'll see you in the morn. Remember, tuck your head inside Your sleeping bag," I warn. "The tent is where you'll find me, Gramps, If I'm alive come morn. You better hope when we get home I don't tell Mom," I warn. At first I think she's tricking me— I hear a couple thwacks. But No! Not That! Within a pine Is wedged a rusty axe! I know it's Gramps just fooling me With all those silly thwacks. Just wait till I tell Mom he faked The noises of an axe. I scramble for the butane stove And tear a pouch of soup. Diced meat's a must for lumberjacks; I add a freeze-dried scoop. The soup is boiling in a jiff; A quick but hearty pot. I spin around and to the woods Announce, "The soup is hot!" No snap of twigs or answer comes To set my mind at ease. I plead, "Come forth and help yourself! It's reason to unfreeze!" I wrap a scarf around my neck, Unnerved to serve no one. Indeed! I quake and tend the soup Until the bloody sun. "You really think the axe and soup Is scaring anyone? I didn't wake, not even once, Until the morning sun." "I haven't slept a wink all night; This isn't what I'd planned. But Rusty's in the woods right now Behind that hemlock and—" "I won't be falling for it, Gramps; This act I know you planned. You should've got some sleep," I say. "We're hiking Ampersand." t

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