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2005
One Saturday afternoon, Tom’s reading an issue of Fangoria from Dad’s beloved collection of old horror magazines, while Mum and Dad relax together on the sofa, Mum’s feet in Dad’s lap. “Is frozen pizza alright for our tea today?” she asks.
Tom and Dad agree, and Dad says, “I rented a film yesterday. Want to watch it while we eat?”
Mum peers at him over the top of her half-moon reading glasses. “What is it?”
Tom wiggles in anticipation. His dad always brings home the very best films. “Oh, it’s nothing too dire. It’s got a few different stories, so if you’re bored with one, it’s not long until the next.” His eyes gleam, and he pronounces the title with relish. “It’s called Creepshow.”
“Hmph. I doubt boredom would be my problem, somehow.” Mum returns to her crossword puzzle, and Dad runs a fond hand over her feet in their fuzzy socks. “Go watch it in the bedroom, and I’ll shout when the pizza’s ready. My pair of horror hounds.”
Tom gives a houndish bark, and his dad joins in. They bark and howl back and forth until Mum drums her feet on Dad’s thighs. “Ow,” he says, laughing. “Careful with me! I’m an old man. I might break, you know.”
“You’re still tough enough to tease,” she says, and Dad leans over and kisses her.
2010
Tom awakens one Saturday morning to find his dad perched on the edge of his bed. “Hey, get up. They’re showing a real classic at the cinema today.”
Tom sits up right away, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What is it?”
Dad’s eyebrows dance. “The Thing. You’ll love it. Snow and isolation, men on their own. None of them know what’s going on, and nobody's coming to help them. And! And also!”
“And also what?” When Dad gets this excited, Tom knows the film will be amazing.
“There’s an absolutely extraordinary hat. You truly will not believe this hat.”
Tom tosses aside the covers and stands, anticipation fizzing under his skin. He stretches his arms over his head. “A hat? That doesn’t sound scary.”
“You’re right, the hat's not scary. But that’s all I’m saying about it.” He mimes zipping his lips. “Go get ready. We’ll see if your mum will join us for breakfast out. She won’t want to see the film.”
But Mum declines. “No, I’m just going to take it easy today.”
Dad tips his head onto his steepled-together hands. “Honk-shoo, honk-shoo. That’s what you’ll be doing.”
She sniffs in feigned offence, but she’s smiling. “Oh, get out of here.” She naps a lot. Tom’s parents are in their late fifties, and just as his brothers have always reminded him, they’re too old to have a teenage son. His brothers live together in a flat down the road, and he doesn’t mind that they don’t often come round.
Breakfast is a couple of scones. Tom’s still hungry, so at the cinema, he gets a small popcorn too.
“This is John Carpenter, right?”
“Yeah. From the eighties. I’m so curious how it’s held up. I remember it being gory. Are you sure you want to watch it on a full stomach?”
Tom leans forward to meet Dad’s eyes and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, making loud noises of enjoyment. “Horror hound and popcorn hound too,” Dad tells him, laughing. By the time the movie starts, Tom’s popcorn is finished. And Dad was right about everything: the film is extremely gross, and the hat really is extraordinary. Tom loves every moment.
Dad has always insisted they sit through the credits. These people did a lot of work. It’s the least we can do. Tom watches all the names scroll by, imagining Dad’s pride if Tom were listed among them. They might even get Mum to watch, in that case, and he could tell her exactly when to cover her eyes.
2015
Tom continues living with his parents while he goes to uni. His brothers mock his choice, but he can carry the shopping in, keep the gutters clean, weed the flowerbeds. He doesn’t plan to live here forever, but it suits them all, for now.
Dad’s procrastinating about the knee surgery he needs. Tom mentions a wheelchair, and the word elicits an icy glare worthy of a movie monster, so he says nothing at all when Dad starts using a cane sometimes.
On Saturday, they go to the cafe as they always do when there’s a good film on. “In the Mouth of Madness. What’s it about? I can’t tell much from the title.”
“You should read a book sometime, buddy. But for now, you’ll have to wait and see. I’m not spoiling it for you. Your mother wouldn’t like this one, I’ll tell you that for free.”
After breakfast, they wait at the crossing. Tom holds out his arm to Dad, who elbows it away. Tom shrugs and starts across the street. He doesn't even see the car that runs the red light and hits his dad. He hears tires squeal, a thud, his father’s cry as he falls, and then, a sick, wet smack.
He runs to his father, sprawled out on his side right in the street, legs at awful angles. There’s blood pooling under his head, but Tom knows head wounds bleed a lot; that’s not necessarily as bad as it looks. It’s not. It’s not. Dad will be fine. It’s just a spill, people fall, these things happen. Tom notices the impact knocked his cane far away, but he doesn’t move to fetch it.
He drops to his knees next to Dad, and Dad stares at him. There’s no recognition in his eyes; the man who has always looked back at him is gone. Tom’s heart free-falls to his toes and his hands disconnect from his body, but he smooths a touch down his dad’s back. Dad stirs as though he’s going to sit up; his hands shake violently. That’s shock, isn’t it? Shock can kill you, and moving can make serious injuries much worse.
“Keep still, Dad. The ambulance will be right here,” Tom tells him, his voice shaking too.
Dad moves his head in a weak nod. It’s a pure relief when his eyes flutter closed, hiding the blank stranger he’s become. Under Tom’s fingers, Dad's pulse is fast and strong. Or maybe that’s Tom’s own heart racing. But Dad’s chest rises and falls, so he’s not dead.
When the ambulance arrives, Dad’s awake, but still dazed. Tom wants to grab him off the stretcher and hold him tight, transfer warmth and strength to those frail bones. Instead, he fists his hands tight, nails digging into his palms.
The paramedic turns to Tom. “Do you have a ride to the hospital?”
“Yes. I’m going home to tell my mother what’s happened. She’ll drive us. Will he be all right?”
“We’ll take good care of him,” the woman assures him, not answering the question.
In the private hospital room, Dad’s on drugs, but he knows Tom and Mum; he’s not lost like he was in the minutes after the accident. “It’s better than it looks,” he mumbles, and Tom can’t tell if that’s meant to be a joke, or if it’s just a lie. No bones are broken, which is something; he’s sitting up in bed, hands folded in front of him. But his pupils are two different sizes, his knuckles are white, and the lines between his eyebrows are too deep. The steady beeps of the machines scrape along Tom’s nerves, slowly fraying them to nothing.
“Your brothers don’t want to come.” Mum’s falsely bright tone doesn’t disguise her pain. “They say…They say they’ll lose a lot of money if they cut their holiday short.” They’re camping in Wales or something; Tom hopes the mosquitoes eat them alive. “Can you record a short video for them? Just to let them know Dad’s okay.”
Everyone in this room knows Dad’s not okay, and Tom can’t guess why they’re concealing the truth from his brothers. But he gets out his phone and counts down with his fingers silently like a film director, just to make his dad smile. Three, two, one, and he points at his dad on zero.
Dad rallies for a few moments. “Hi, boys. I’ll be just fine. We’ll see you next weekend, yeah?” Dad’s mismatched eyes drift vaguely away from the phone, and inside, Tom’s unravelling. He fumbles the phone but manages to end the recording.
Soon, Dad falls asleep. Tom’s mother sends him to grab food from the hallway vending machine, because they don’t want to leave Dad alone long enough to go to the canteen for real food.
Tom and his mother sit in the uncomfortable chairs in Dad’s hospital room, waiting, neither of them sleeping. When the machines’ alarms sound, they’re both at his side immediately. Dad takes a breath, lets it out, takes a breath, lets it out, and he doesn’t breathe in again.
Before the medical staff rush in, Tom and his mother are alone with a dead body. There was someone inside that body, a man who woke Tom up early on Saturdays to share his favourite films, who teased him and loved him, who didn’t want his help crossing the street. There was someone there, and now there isn’t, and there never will be again.