CHAPTER TWENTY

MICHAEL DARWIN FINISHED PREPARING LUNCH for his family and packed it away in the refrigerator. He double-checked to make sure his clothes were laid out and ready for ironing. Rebecca was sleeping late, and he let her. Earlier, he had crept down the hall and put his ear to the closed door to listen to her steady breathing. A comforting sound.

Now he was rubbing his hands nervously, and checking the time. He pulled out his Bible. This week’s discussion was on Job, and the suffering he had to endure for his faith. Michael was always moved by it. He knew, and it saddened him, that even under a tenth of what Job had suffered, he would have surely cracked. He would have cursed God, and died, just like Job’s wife had told Job to do. He prayed for that kind of strength, but he never felt it would be granted to him. He thumbed through the book, and put a mark on the opening page of the account. Then he closed it and sat quietly, looking around as if he’d forgotten something. He searched his mind for anything that still needed doing.

Abruptly, he remembered his son playing in the basement the night before, and he jumped up to see if it needed straightening. He scrambled down the stairs, and switched the light on. The basement looked fairly clean, except for Dallas’s bicycle lying on its side in the far corner. Some empty potato chip bags and a glass were scattered around a small scrap of the plywood he’d used to block up the basement window when it had broken a few months back. The small board, which was normally leaning against the far wall, was lying flat in the center of all their debris. He walked closer to it. It was not a complete mess. Still, he made a note to himself that he would have a chat with Dallas about tidying up after himself.

Mr. Darwin stooped down and picked up the plywood to put it back against the wall. He frowned, noticing the writing. Stepping further into the light, he saw the alphabet drawn neatly across the top, along with a string of numbers. The words YES and NO drawn underneath completed the image in his mind. He gasped and looked around.

“Lord, Jesus,” he whispered under his breath, “he doesn’t know the power of the demons he mocks.” As fear turned to anger, he bounded up the stairs and ran to the front windows—the Ouija board tucked under his arm. He searched the front of the house for his son. Then he crossed through the house and searched the backyard. He wasn’t there either. He stared at the Ouija board his son had made, this time in the bright sunlight. He shook his head and scowled in disgust. He would have to discipline Dallas, there was no doubt. He’d spank him good for this, and explain to him how real the demons were, how Ouija boards were a sure way to attract them. His face burned. He considered for a moment cutting the board up and using it as a paddle for the spanking. The message would certainly be carried. He wanted to wake up his wife, but decided not to. Instead he took the board into Dallas’s room, and threw it on the bed. Better that he sees his shame in broad daylight, he thought to himself. It’s because of his influences that he does this, he thought. Dallas had a poster of a Ferrari hanging on the wall. He reached over and tore it down. Then he flipped through Dallas’s record albums. He took everything but an old storybook album of Peter Rabbit. He pulled every book off the shelf and carried everything out of the room in one bulking, awkward pile spilling over his arms. He laid out his case on the dining room table. Even his wife needed to be made to understand the dangerous path Dallas was taking. Then he sat down at the dining room table and waited for his son to come home.