Page 4 of The Forbidden Summer
I shiver like I have to pee. The shed gives me the creeps. Infested with spiders, webs, and god knows what else. I’ve never been fond of it, even as a kid. Every time we had to go out there, it felt like something was lurking in the shadows, just waiting to crawl onto me. I’d love nothing more than to bust the rusty doors wide open and hit it with a power washer, spraying every rodent and arachnid to kingdom come.
Père gives me a knowing grin, the corners of his lips tugging into a smile. “You haven’t outgrown that yet?”
“Don’t laugh, old man. Spiders are nasty.”
He sets down his mug on the counter and sits next to me, looming with a playful growl. “The only thing that’s gonna bite you is me.” Père nibbles my neck like he’s taking a bite of me. My dick likes that a lot.
“Get off me,” I laugh, shooing him away before I embarrass myself again. “I’ll join you right after I shower. But if you want to get started first, don’t let me stop you.”
“A shower? But we’re going fishing. We’re just gonna sweat, smell fishy, and maybe swim.”
Does he not know what morning showers are code for? Jeez! “Stop bitching, old man. Just go. The spiders are waiting for you.”
Van
I catch up with Père outside the shed, the air thick with the smell of earth and old wood. Dust billows from the open door as he pushes it wider, but inside, it’s darker than I’d like. Too dark to easily spot spiders, mice, or worse.
The shed is ancient, its weathered boards creaking in protest with every gust of wind. There are too many places for things to hide in there—creepy corners, hidden shelves, and piles of forgotten tools that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.
“You coming or not?” Père calls from inside, his voice breaking through my momentaryparalysis.
“I’m coming,” I mutter, though every instinct screams at me to turn around.
Père’s already inside, rummaging through the clutter. “Try not to step on anything,” he warns with a grin, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I step cautiously over a pile of old rakes, trying to ignore the sound of something scuttling across the floor in the corner. I can’t help but glance down, half-expecting a rat or something worse to appear. “You sure this place isn’t haunted?” I ask, trying to mask the tension in my voice with humor.
Père chuckles from the other side of the shed. “Only if you’re scared of old wood and dust. Just grab the poles from that shelf there.”
The shelf is so cluttered that I can’t see where the poles start and the rest of the junk ends. I reach out, my knuckles brushing against something soft—something that moves—and yank my hand back with a startled gasp.
“Everything okay over there?” Père asks, not even looking up.
“Yeah.” I try to steady my breath. “Just... wasn’t expecting that.”
Reaching again, this time with more caution, my fingers brush the poles, and I pull them free, giving a small sigh of relief. “Got ’em,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“Good. Now let’s get out of here before you start seeing things,” Père jokes, stepping out into the light, clearly unbothered by the shadows and the old shed’s creepy vibes.
“Hey, Cap. What’s in that old trunk?” I ask, eyeing the weathered chest tucked in the far corner of the shed. It’s beenthere for as long as I can remember, covered in dust and cobwebs, like some forgotten relic from the past.
“That old thing?” He glances back at the trunk, then at me, a small twist tugging at his lips. “Not much worth digging into. Been sitting there longer than I’ve been alive, probably.”
“Doesn’t look like something that should just be left sitting here,” I press, curiosity getting the best of me. There’s something about it that feels significant. Like it holds some kind of secret. Maybe priceless antiques?
Père gives a short chuckle and wipes his hands on his jeans. “If you’re looking for treasure, you’re better off going out on the lake. Besides, I don’t even have a key for it.”
With one last lingering glance at the trunk, I swallow my curiosity and close the door behind me with relief. “Alright, Cap, let’s get this fishing trip started.”
“That’s the spirit, son. Let’s go see if the fish are biting.”
The sun is now high enough to chase away the lingering morning chill. As we make our way toward the dock, the mystery of that damn trunk still gnaws at me, haunting the back of my mind like an itch I can’t quite scratch. I could bust the lock with my axe. Hell, the trunk looks old enough that it might crumble to dust if I even sit on it.
The more I think about it, the more I want to know what’s in there.
Père tosses me a fishing rod as we reach the edge of the dock. “You ready to catch something worth bragging about?”
I grip the rod, trying to push the thought of the trunk aside. “Yeah.” I force a smile and focus on the water. “Let’s catch some fish.”
