There had always been something uncomfortable about Sunday afternoons. Jash had never liked them; even as a boy living with his grandmother, he would crawl under the bottom bunk bed which he shared with his older brother as soon as they came home from 8 o’ clock morning mass and hide with flashlight and Wolf-Man action figure clutched close. It was like all the demons of his young, frightened mind would gather and discuss his demise within his hearing.
This Sunday was no different, except for the facts that he no longer lived with his family, he hadn’t visited a church since his marriage 15 years earlier, and his bed was now a mattress on the wood floor of his bedroom, therefore presented no hiding place. Of course, he still had the Wolf-Man figuring which his eccentric mother had given him before she had died.
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