Chapter Fourteen: Clark’s Bedtime Tale

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“It was Father Norman from the church who told me about the miracle of that land.”
Old Bill’s face contorted with pain. “I know it’s not normal, but I always think about Caesar, lively and kicking right beside me.”
“You said Father Norman?”
Peter furrowed his brow.
Wasn’t he the priest who officiated at Louis’s funeral?
“As a clergyman, doesn’t he know this is a blasphemy against the God of his faith?”
Peter couldn’t help but suspect that this priest might be a fake, or perhaps he lacked faith altogether.
“I don’t know.”
Old Bill shook his head. “Father Norman is usually a devout man. Maybe he just didn’t want to see me tortured by pain.”
“Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.”
Peter stood up, folding the photo away casually.
Seeing Peter prepare to leave, Old Bill exhaled deeply and rose to escort him to the door.
He was genuinely afraid Peter might keep pressing further.
“If I remember anything else, I’ll come back to visit.”
Peter said.
Old Bill nodded helplessly, “Of course.”
...
Patrick Farm.
After dinner, Peter looked at Clark with surprise.
“You want me to read you a story, Clark?”
He hadn’t expected Clark to ask him to read to him. Usually, it was Azoo who asked for bedtime stories.
But as Azoo grew older, such requests had become rare.
“Yes, I want to hear a story, Godfather.”
Clark looked at him eagerly.
Peter had intended to investigate Father Norman that night, but seeing Clark’s hopeful eyes, he relented.
Father Norman wouldn’t run away; the investigation could wait.
Azoo, who was watching TV nearby, sneered upon hearing Clark’s request for a story.
In Clark’s room, Peter held a book.
(Since Clark liked playing on the farm with Azoo, Patrick Farm also had a room for him.)

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—
“She said hysterically, ‘I just thought of it—why didn’t I think of it before? Why didn’t you?’
‘Think of what?’ he asked.
‘There are two wishes,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘We only made one wish.’
‘Isn’t one enough?’ he asked sharply.
‘Not enough,’ she cried with joy, ‘We can make another wish. Quickly, kneel down, wish that our son may be born again.’”
—
Peter was reading to Clark the story “The Monkey’s Paw” by Jacobs.
The tale tells of a retired British soldier who acquires a magical monkey’s paw from a holy man in ancient India, which grants three wishes.
When the story reached the part where the couple’s son returns from the dead and knocks heavily at the door, Clark shrank under the covers in fear.
“Ahem...”
Peter cleared his throat and said, “Maybe I can tell you another story, like The Three Little Pigs or Cinderella, Clark.”
Such dark tales were usually not part of Clark’s bedtime stories.
But for some reason, Clark suddenly wanted to hear this one.
Though Peter also noticed some eerie parallels between “The Monkey’s Paw” and what had happened in Smallville.
“Godfather.”
Clark poked his head out from the blankets.
“Do wishes from the monkey’s paw really come with a price?”
“No, Clark, wishes don’t have a price, but greed does.”
Clark asked puzzled, “Was Old White greedy? But they were so scared—why did they keep wishing?”
Peter put the book down. “Clark, fear is one of the human emotions that is hardest to control. People both run from it inwardly and yet secretly revel in the twisted pleasure it brings.”
“Like the White family, though they hated and feared the evil the monkey’s paw represented, they couldn’t hide the greed for money buried deep inside their hearts.”
Clark nestled closer to Peter, imitating his sigh. “Humans are really complicated!”
“You’re right. Humans are contradictions.”
Peter asked Clark, “Can you tell me why you wanted me to read this story tonight, Clark?”
“I...”
Clark hesitated, then leaned in closer. “Dad, I want to tell you a secret.”
“What secret?”
“I... earlier, at church, Azoo took me to see the boy lying in the coffin.”
A confused and frightened expression crossed his face. “In the evening, I think I saw him again.”
“You mean little Terry.”

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“I don’t know his name, but I did see him. His face was pale, and his eyes were strange.”
Clark described what he had seen.
“Mom took me and Azoo to Aunt Nell’s house, and when we passed by Louis’s house, I saw him just behind the curtain. Lately, my eyes and ears have been able to see and hear things far away.”
“So... I thought of the story Azoo told me, ‘The Monkey’s Paw’. Azoo said it’s a story about the dead coming back to life.”
He regretted it a little.
So this story was really terrifying!
Peter nodded slightly as he listened. “So the scary movie you mentioned before—wasn’t it you telling Azoo, but he sneaked a look himself, right?”
Clark looked at Peter’s serious face and nodded instinctively. “Yes.”
Peter felt a little annoyed.
That kid Azoo was really trouble—three days without discipline, and he’d tear the roof off.
Looks like it was time for a serious talk.
Shaking his head to push away the thought, he said to Clark, “You might have been mistaken, Clark. The dead cannot come back because death is sacred and irreversible.”
“I understand.”
Clark immediately made the connection. “Like Old White’s family—their son was dead, and dead means dead. He can’t come back, or terrible things will happen, right?”
“Yes, reversing death brings punishment, just like what happened to the White family.”
Peter ruffled Clark’s black hair. “Go to bed early. Tomorrow, we’re going horseback riding at the ranch.”
At the mention of riding horses, Clark perked up immediately. “Thank you, Dad!”
*Creak!*
Peter gently closed the door and walked down the hallway to his room.
Has little Terry already come back to life?
Such a swift turn of events caught him off guard.
...
Early the next morning, Peter was frying eggs.
Aside from such simple dishes, his cooking was otherwise disastrous.
He was just considering hiring a cook when the phone suddenly rang.
“Peter, there’s been an accident!”