Page 52 of Missing Moon

Oops. One thing that is much different than when I was a teenager: I didn’t have an Anthony sleeping on my bedroom floor. Easy enough fix. I grab clothes and head across the hallway to the unused room where Emerson spent the night. Nothing in there but Dad’s cardboard boxes. Good enough for a quick change in privacy.

In all the years I lived here, it never really occurred to me to wonder what, exactly my father was storing in here. He’s got boxes and boxes of stuff. Once I finish getting dressed, curiosity gets the better of me and I open a few to peek inside. None are sealed with anything more than the cardboard flaps being woven together. No tape or anything.

Much to my non-surprise, I find several boxes of kitsch. Little figurines, touristy mugs, snow globes, that sort of thing. Guessing whenever Dad went on the road to a new town, eitherwith his minor league baseball team or his sales job, he’d pick up some small memento. None of it is valuable, or even remotely expensive.

Another box has some old spare baseball uniforms. Several contain three-ring binders with thick ‘books’. Looks like reference material for the machine parts he used to sell. I’m about to give up and declare all of it little more than sentimental junk he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of when I open the last box in the room and find books.

Not more binders, actual books.

The first spine I look at bears the title ‘The Netherworld Atlas.’

Huh. That’s kinda weird. Dad’s not much of a reader. I mean that in the sense of him not being the sort of person who reads for entertainment. After removing that book from the box, I flip it over and wonder what sort of blurb it’s going to have. Except… the back cover is blank. The book feels a bit strange, too. Bound in actual leather… might even be handmade.

I gingerly open it and skim a few pages. Looks like whoever wrote it was attempting to create a reference book for various phenomena that supposedly exists in a realm beyond life. There seem to be chapters on different types of spirits as well as ‘natural formations’ that occur there. No idea what I’m looking at… a ransom picture of a ‘plant’ looks like a cluster of big mushy black spheres with multiple vines sticking up from the middle and draped over like tentacles. Tubes sticking out from between the spheres appear to be emitting vapor of some kind. It’s a super creepy illustration.

The author refers to this thing as a ‘soul font’. Apparently, it’s neither plant nor creature but more akin to a geological formation that gives off raw spirit energy. Whoa. Okay. Damn. Whoever wrote this was either on the ‘good stuff’ or they saw ‘some things’.

And what the heck is Dad doing with a book like this?

I put the book back where I found it and notice the rest of the books in there all have occult or spiritualist themes. What on Earth? The sound of someone approaching down the hallway makes me look up in time not to be startled when Mary Lou pokes her head in.

“Hey, Sam. We’re ready to go.”

“Yeah.” I fold the cardboard flaps closed over the books, baffled by their presence.

Dad never read for fun, which means he would have been reading these books for a specific purpose. They might have been Mom’s, though. If she was, in fact, a witch, it makes sense why she might have them. But why are they here with Dad’s stuff? So weird.

I walk after my sister and toss the pajamas back into my room, then follow her outside where everyone else is already climbing into Rick’s Excursion and into the Momvan.

It almost feels like the rug of understanding has been pulled out from under me. For so long, I’d thought of Dad as this pothead former baseball player turned salesman who’d been permanently stuck in a 1960s mindset. More and more, it sounds like my mother might have been practicing… or at least aware of magic. How much of that did Dad know? Did she keep it secret from him, or were the two of them part of the supernatural world without telling us kids?

I can’t help but think about how Dad kept asking when Mom was going to be there despite her sitting right next to him. Is he aware that her soul is missing? With those ghost books… could my father have spent the past thirty years trying to find a way to ‘fix’ Mom?

My head is still spinning when we arrive at the hospital.

Chapter Twenty-one

Going Hunting

Dad is awake and aware when we walk into his room.

He doesn’t look good. Too thin. Too pale. Veins are visible under the skin of his face and arms. The room smells likesickness. It’s sad to think, but in some ways I’m almost glad we’ve been more or less estranged for the past few decades. If I’d been super close to my father, seeing him like this would have ruined me. It’s still hitting me pretty hard, though not so much that I can’t function. It’s a blurry line between grief and guilt.

Anthony seems preoccupied with the distant corner of the room by the window. Said corner gives me a weird feeling, but not a bad one. For a moment, I almost catch myself hoping it’s Mom’s spirit finally showing up. Alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case. My son keeps staring at the corner like the way cats end up staring at nothing for so long you start to wonder if they’re really seeing spirits. The expression on his face reminds me of a kid asking their teacher for five more minutes to finish up a test.

I’m mildly tempted to ask Dad about the occult books and how much he knows. Talk about a weird conversation. Probably not the best thing to bring up with everyone in the roomand only Mary Lou, Dusk, and my kids being aware of supernatural things. Also, Dad doesn’t seem particularly sharp at the moment. His conversation with my brothers is rambly at best.

Argh. I might not have been the closest to my Dad, but I still hate seeing him like this, so frail and helpless.

As if sensing my mood, Anthony gives me a nod to follow him and slips out into the hall. I follow, as does Tammy. Paxton catches me with an ‘I’ll just stay here’ face and a cheesy smile.

My son leads the way down the hall a short distance before ducking into another room that turns out to be empty. He eases the door closed.

“What are we doing in here?” asks Tammy, whispering.

“No one will see us disappear.” He smiles at me.

I reach out to take their hands. “Okay. Where are we going?”