Fifty-three

MOTHER

The lights went out.  This scared the boy, and he ran to hide under the large mahogany dining room table. A laced table cloth with many tiny holes draped the sides. 

He saw a flickering dim light and his mother’s feet slowly shuffling toward the table. She was wearing a long dress. Old. One he’d never seen. 

“Beau, where are you? You can’t hide from me. I will find you.” 

She laughed.

The boy cried but kept very still, every muscle firmly tensed, afraid to wipe away his tears.

Then the cloth flew upward. 

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