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Rain falls from the sky and violently hits the roof. There is a bright flash of lightning, followed immediately by the crashing of thunder. Michael Afton sobs quietly to himself as he hugs his knees, shaking vehemently with each clap of thunder that passes over the house.
Breathing becomes so much harder then, and Michael wishes wildly for Henry. His Uncle Henry would make it better, just as he always makes everything better. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to recall the things he had to endure under his father’s care. But it is nearly impossible, he realizes, to forget.
~~~
Michael had seated himself in the corner of his bedroom. Thunder surrounded the house, it seemed, as it rumbled repeatedly all around him. He was careful not to make a sound, as he did not want his father to become angry with him. However, thunder scared him, it had always scared him, and he was so damn scared. And his father was always angry with him anyway, so really, what was the use in trying to keep quiet? He whimpered involuntarily with every thunderbolt that shook the house, his volume growing gradually with that of the thunder’s.
Perhaps he would not be so afraid of the thunder if his father were kinder. If his father did not hate him so, then perhaps he would be able to overcome his fear. But of course, as usual, the universe was not in favor of Michael Afton’s contentment nor his satisfaction.
So, there he sat, trembling like the pathetic coward his father always told him he was. He just wanted it to end. Why did it have to be so loud? Michael did not like loud noises. Anxiety always crept up and seeped into him when it became loud. Father was loud. And when Father was loud, Michael was well on his way to punishment. He was always on his way to punishment, it seemed. It was a never-ending cycle.
And, as if he had manifested it, Michael’s father swung the door open, clearly upset with something Michael had done. Michael could hardly react before another clap of thunder resonated throughout the room. A sound of distress escaped from his throat before he could catch it. His father scoffed, stepping toward him.
“Michael, what the hell are you doing? This is pathetic, even for you. You are cowering on the ground like a child. What is wrong with you?”
Michael could not answer him. The words were not forming on his tongue anymore. All he was capable of doing was crying.
Then, his father grew louder. His father became louder, so he became even more frightened than he already was. He just wanted his father to stop. He wanted it all to stop. Why did his father hate him so much? What did he do wrong? Oh, and the thunder was so damn loud. Too loud. It was all too loud, all the time.
“Answer me, damnit!” his father shouted, shaking him by the shoulders. “You bastard! You’re such a goddamn disgrace. You are fourteen years old, yet you cannot even answer your father when he asks you a simple question? No wonder you have no one except for me. Perhaps this is why Elizabeth went missing: to get away from you, you fucking prat.”
“That’s. . . That’s not true. You don’t mean that, you don’t, you—”
Michael’s father slapped him across the face, a mark already forming on his cheek. “Don’t you tell me what I do and do not mean,” he warned, his eyes darkening. “I do believe that I know much more than you do, you fucking dolt. I’ll ask you one more time: what the hell is the matter with you?”
“I. . . I-I’m sorry, I just— it’s too loud,” he cried, “I can’t— I don’t. . .—”
“What’s too loud?” his father interrupted. “What, the thunder?” He chuckled, then began laughing harder when Michael glanced up at him, eyes full of tears. “Oh, you cannot be serious! You’re afraid of thunder ? Hah! Even Elizabeth wasn’t afraid of thunderstorms! What are you, three years old?”
“I. . .” Michael trailed off, the words dying on his tongue. Instead, he shook his head wordlessly and stared at the floor below, his cheeks reddening in shame and embarrassment. He expected his father to grow tired of taunting him eventually, to walk out of the room to leave him alone once more, but he never did. Instead, he remained where he was standing, an unreadable expression upon his face.
“You know what,” he muttered, “you ought to come with me. Right now. Don’t make me tell you again. Get up.”
Michael swallowed hard, scrambled to his feet. A horrible feeling formed deep inside of him, but he could not put his finger on it. It was not like he had a choice in the matter in any way; he would have had to follow his father no matter what. His knees threatening to buckle at any given moment, he was in tow of his father all the way until they reached the back door. The look in his father’s eyes provided all of the information he needed to understand the situation.
While his father gazed at the outside world before them, Michael slowly began to back away. His breathing grew rapid as he realized just what his father’s intentions for the rest of Michael’s night were.
“Get over here, boy,” he warned, his voice lower than usual. “Stand with your father for a moment, won’t you?”
“I— I don’t want to stand by the window, I. . . Can’t we stand somewhere else? Please? Anywhere else, just not here.” Michael’s voice cracked.
Then his father grabbed him by the arm, tight enough to leave bruises. He did not listen to Michael’s pleas as he swung the door open and shoved him through the threshold.
Michael tripped, falling onto the ground and scraping his knees. He had no time to even attempt to stand back up and run inside, for his father was already standing in front of the door, his arms crossed and a sinister smirk upon his face.
“This should be better for you, no?” Michael’s father teased, staring at the boy below him. “You should be glad that I was willing to oblige to your request. You are no longer standing by the door; you should not be so unsatisfied. After all, it was you who asked for this in the first place, was it not?”
“Father, please, that’s not— it’s not funny, it’s not. . .”
“Oh, Michael,” his father grinned, “but of course, you are right. There is not one bit of this that is humorous, is there? Ah, but perhaps some time out here will teach you a thing or two. Respect for your father, for instance. You always do these things, Michael, and you do them to yourself. I had no intent to do this tonight, but you always make things more difficult for the both of us. Perhaps next time you will be able to keep your mouth shut and obey your father when I ask something of you.”
“Wait, wait, Father, please don’t! I’ll be good, I swear! Just please don’t!”
Michael sobbed as he reached for his father, whose hand was already grasping the door handle. His father sneered and kicked Michael off of him. He offered a wicked smile to his son before shutting the door behind him. The door emitted a quiet click, signifying that it was locked. He gasped quietly, stunned and a little betrayed, even, that his father would do such a thing to him. His father did many horrible things to him, yes, but this was quite possibly the worst yet. Michael had no way of protecting himself outside; there was no awning above the deck. So he scrambled to the corner and sat himself in fetal position while he attempted to ignore the rain that was soaking him, to ignore the wind that was causing him to shiver. He even tried to ignore the thunder that showed no signs of ceasing any time soon, but he could not, despite all of his best attempts.
He was so tired, yet he did not dare fall asleep outside. He knew his father was probably laughing at him from inside the house. Laughing at how pathetic he definitely looked, laughing because he always laughed at Michael’s misery. Michael did not want to be so afraid. He did not know why he was afraid, anyway. He reminded himself so much of Evan. Little Evan, who was always so scared of the world before him. Perhaps Michael’s father had hurt Evan, too, and that’s why he was so fearful of everything. Poor Evan, Michael thought, and wept for his poor brother, who never really had a chance in life from the moment he was born.
Michael closed his eyes and willed the rest of the world to go away, at least for a little while. Perhaps, then, everything could go back to normal. Or, about as normal as things could get for Michael Afton.
~~~
Recalling this experience must have caused Michael to cry even harder, because Henry is softly rapping on the door now.
“Michael?” he calls. “Mike, are you all right? Can I come in?”
“Uncle Henry,” Michael hiccups.
“I’m coming in, okay?” he says, and opens the door before Michael can answer him.
Michael glances up at his uncle through teary eyes, his tears almost as thick and frequent as the rain outside.
“Uncle Henry, I—” he winces and chokes out another sob as the next crack of thunder reverberates throughout the house.
“Oh, dear,” Henry murmurs. He has never seen Michael in such a state of hysteria. Usually, the boy was distant and indifferent to everything around him. “Can I come over there?”
Michael nods.
“Okay.” Henry smiles softly and steps toward the boy, careful not to frighten him. There is more thunder, and Michael covers his ears with his palms as he buries his head in his knees.
“Mike, Mike, what’s wrong, kiddo?”
“It’s— It’s too loud, Uncle Henry! It’s too loud!” Michael pulls at his hair.
“Hey, don’t do that. . .” Henry gently grabs Michael’s wrists and pulls them down to his lap. “There, that’s better. What’s too loud, Mike?”
“The thunder!” he cries. “It’s too loud, I can’t, I. . . !”
“I see,” Henry answers. Silence. Then, “Would you like a hug?”
“I. . . Yeah,” Michael whispers, looks away. “Please.”
Henry nods and embraces Michael, who wraps his arms around his uncle. Michael trembles as he grabs Henry’s sleeves as tightly as he can, desperate to not let go.
“It’s all right, Mike,” Henry assures him. “I won’t let anything happen to you; you’re safe, okay? I’ve got you. You know that, don’t you?”
Michael nods again. He does not dare speak. The wool of Henry’s sweater feels so soft against his hands.
“You must be tired,” Henry yawns, pulling away from the hug. “I’m tired, too. Don’t you want to go to bed?”
“I can’t,” Michael mutters, “not when. . . I can’t.” His cheeks redden.
“Oh,” Henry answers, “I think I understand. Is this about something that, uh, happened before? With William?”
Michael nods once more.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry offers.
Michael shakes his head vehemently. Henry nods in response, and sighs quietly.
“Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it. How about we wait this thing out? Would you like that?”
“Yeah,” Mike answers, equally as quiet as before. “Yeah, please. Just don’t leave me alone. Please.”
“Of course not,” Henry grins. “How about a movie? Any one you want. I’ve got tons.”
Michael smiles shakily. “Sure. Can we watch Back to the Future ?”
“For sure. That’s one of my favorites.” Henry winks. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to get sore sitting like this. I think I’m just getting old, though.”
“Nah,” Michael snickers as he wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “But, yeah, let’s go. You think we can make some popcorn or something, too?”
“Oh, definitely. I like the way you think, Mike. How about we go make it together?”
“Sure, that sounds good.” Michael slowly rises to his feet, and Henry repeats the action. He wraps his arm around Michael’s shoulder and uses his free hand to ruffle Michael’s hair. Michael laughs wholeheartedly and playfully pushes his uncle’s arm away.
And, as the smell of buttered popcorn and the sound of the movie fill the room, Michael Afton does not think about his father, not once. The crashing of the thunder does not bother him, and he is finally, truly content.