Jacob

“Come on, Jacob,” mom called from downstairs. I was gathering toys to go to my Uncle Rob’s for the first time. I had never met my Uncle Rob before, I hadn’t even heard of him.  

“Coming,” I called back from my bedroom. Mom was having Uncle Rob watch me while she ran errands. I zipped up my Avengers backpack and ran down the stairs. My mom was waiting in the front doorway holding my green jacket and light-up sneakers. She helped me get my coat on, and then tousled my bright red locks.

I was excited about getting to spend time with my new Uncle Rob. I wondered what games we were going to play, what shows we were going to watch, what snacks we were going to eat. We pulled up in front of a small one-storey house with its light blue paint all but chipped away. My excitement dissipated when we walked in the front door and a repugnant smell overtook me. Plastic bags of pop cans were haphazardly thrown on top of one another in the porch and stacks of damp newspapers lined the tiny hallway.

“Rob,” my mom called from the porch. “We’re here.” She turned her attention to me. “Your uncle is in that room,” she pointed to the second last room on the right. Then she left me there, standing in the porch with my backpack at my feet. Against my better judgment, I took off my shoes and made my way down the hall. I came to a room with a large man in a white tank top and plaid boxer shorts sitting in a recliner, taking swigs from a can of beer.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Rob.” He took his chair out of recline mode and scooted to the end of the seat. “Just push those magazines out of the way and have a seat over there,” he said, pointing to the far side of the burgandy loveseat perpendicular to his recliner. I set my backpack on the cleanest looking part of the floor and sat down. I wasn’t sure what we were watching, but I knew mom wouldn’t be happy if she knew how many curse words were in it.

“You want some stew, pal?” Uncle Rob asked while getting out of his recliner. He was balding, but had scraggly bits of grey hear near his ears. I shook my head “No,” but he came back with a bowl of stew for me anyway. “Eat up,” he said, as he handed it to me. I had one spoonful and stifled a gag. Pushing beer cans out of the way, I laid my bowl on the coffee table.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t argue. Uncle Rob smiled.

“No problem, buddy,” he said. “I’ll just grab you a can of soda.” My mom never let me have soda, so I wasn’t going to turn him down. Uncle Rob came back with an opened can of orange soda with a thin, white straw sticking out the top. I felt the sugar running through my veins as soon as I took my first sip. It was magical. The more I drank, the weirder I felt. No wonder mom didn’t let me drink soda.

The phone rang and Uncle Rob went to the kitchen to get it. Being a nosy kid, I snuck into the hallway and listened from just outside the room.

“Yes, he’s drinking the soda,” Uncle Rob said into the phone. “Look, I’ll call you when he’s passed out.” A lump formed in my throat. I tiptoed down the hallway, heart racing, and slowly opened the door at the end. I closed it as quietly as I could and felt around the walls for a light switch. As I searched, my hands found a rail. I realized I was at the top of a staircase. I sat on the first step and shimmied down each stair until I reached the cold, concrete bottom. I stretched my arms up and flailed around until I felt a string. I gave it a pull and the entire basement was illuminated. A stack of wooden crates filled one corner and a white sheet covering a pile of what looked like sticks filled another.

The basement door opened and Uncle Rob’s voice came bellowing down the stairs.

“Kid?” he called. “Are you down here?” He began ambling down the stairs, so I hurried behind the stack of crates, trying to quiet my breathing. He lost his footing and stepped into the pile of sticks, dragging the sheet with him as he came away. Except they weren’t sticks at all. They were bones.

I started to feel woozy and must have blacked out because all I remember is waking up to my Uncle Rob dragging me by the legs into an unfamiliar room. It was damp and cold, and the walls were made of bluish grey cement. A bright light shone in my eyes, completely blinding me. I heard Uncle Rob having a conversation behind me.

“I’ve only got one pot of stew left, Nancy,” Uncle Rob said. He was talking to my mother. “Don’t you want the $10,000?”

“But do you have to do it while he’s alive?” she asked.

“Yes, Nance,” he replied. “That’s when the meat is the freshest.”