The Cursed Man (25 page)

 

 

More than three hours had passed since young Alister ran away from home. The darkness of night had placed a blanket over the day. The tree he sat beneath was hard and the ground lumpy. His hip throbbed, but nowhere near as bad as his hands did. The bleeding had stopped, but a constant sting he wanted to scratch was within the patch of mangled flesh. It was difficult to look at, and when he did, it hurt worse.

“I'm hungry,” he said in response to the growl of his stomach. He shivered at the chill that crept through his clothes, and every sound around spooked him.

“I have to go back home.”

Maybe, he hoped, his mother had gone to bed and his father had drunk himself to sleep. He would be able to sneak into the house and wash his hands beneath the faucet that had a slow drip. He would crawl into bed and try his luck tomorrow. Maybe things would be better with his mom and dad if he didn't screw up all the time.

But no matter what he believed, he would always be a victim of his parents' evil, and that would only breed his malice—malice he would struggle to contain as he tried to have a family of his own.