The Grandfather

Antonio's tennis shoes scuffed across the dirty concrete floor of his grandfather's trucking company as he made his way to the back office. Men and women milled about as they worked on vehicles or readied the next delivery. The beep of a large truck backing up clashed with the sound of engines in the two-story garage. Antonio kept his head down. His dark curls fell into his eyes as he avoided the gazes of those around him. Still, some nodded respectfully.

The door to the offices sat unassuming in a back corner of the open space. He hesitated. Before he reached for the handle, Antonio pulled at the navy polo with the company logo that sat loosely over his skinny frame and dusted off his dark jeans before tugging them down so that the hem sat just above his shoes. His recent growth spurt meant his pants were all too short again, but at least he had caught up to the other boys in his class.

Unsatisfied with the result, but having no other option, the boy raised a trembling hand and turned the handle. As he stepped into the air-conditioned and fluorescent-lit room, his pants rode up again. Gray carpet and beige modular desks sat to one side, filled by people on the phone. Their quiet chatter mingled with the oldies playing from the dusty radio sitting in the room's corner—its antenna taped to the wall above it. This space always smelled like whatever food an employee had heated last in the dingy microwave that sat at the kitchenette. He scrunched his nose at the stench of onion. To the right was his grandfather's secretary. She was an older woman with shoulder-length graying hair and reading glasses held around her neck by a beaded chain. Her style was as old as the office appliances.

She looked up from whatever paperwork sat in front of her, and her eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Antonio! Aren't you looking smart today!"

Antonio nodded in greeting and attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace. Just like her style and the office herself, her view of him was stuck in the past. She always treated him like the five-year-old that would stop in with his mother, and today wouldn't be different.

Unfazed, the woman stood and rounded her desk to collect him. She put a hand on his shoulder and led him forward. "Right this way! He'll be happy to see you."

They walked past the cubicles to the back of the room. There were two doors on this wall. One was bare, and the other held a placard with his grandfather's name on it—painted gold over black plastic. The secretary knocked gently on the bare door and then opened it.

"Antonio here to see you, sir," she said cheerily before gently pushing him inside and closing the door behind him. The click of the door signalled a change in atmosphere and sent Antonio's stomach turning. His face heated, and he tugged at the hem of his shirt as an assortment of large men in dark suits sitting around a wood conference table all swiveled in their chairs to look at him. Antonio breathed in smoke and cologne and had to clear his throat.

The largest man stood against the back wall behind the end of the table, his grandfather's head of security. Paul was like a third hand to Antonio's grandfather—wherever his grandfather went, there he was. The man nodded in recognition. His grandfather sat at the head of the table, wearing a black shirt and black suit jacket. His large nose and wrinkled face turned to Antonio, expressionless, as he sat hunched forward in the padded leather chair. The dark circles under his eyes and wrinkled jacket were an unusual sight. The boy braced himself for his grandfather's ornery mood.

"Welcome, boy. Take a seat."

There were two seats open—one at the closest end of the table and the other just around the corner next to it. Antonio took the seat at the long side of the table, instinctively avoiding the attention he'd recieve if he sat directly across from his grandfather. A couple of men snickered at his choice, and Antonio knew he had chosen incorrectly. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from grimacing and turned his attention back to his grandfather. The old man was looking at him in unconcealed bewilderment.

"Now, then," his grandfather's rasping voice turned from Antonio to the other men at the table, and his expression shifted back to neutral. "Continue."

The boy didn't fill out the chair like the rest of the men and had to lean forward to see. He rested his hands on his thighs where he could fidget his fingers unseen.

"As I was saying," one man spoke up, a couple of chairs away from the head of the table. He was tall and thinner than most of the others, with slicked back blond hair. He glanced at Antonio and then back at his grandfather. "Some of the men in blue are... asking for better compensation." Antonio watched him fidget with a pen as he picked his words.

"They willing to do the work?" his grandfather asked with a tilt of his head.

"I believe so, sir."

The old man nodded and waved one of his knobby-knuckled hands that sat on the table in front of him. "Make sure they're aware of what's required, and then make sure they comply. We provide after they do. This isn't charity."

"Yes, sir."

"Any other orders of business?" His gnarled hand bounced as he tapped a finger against the table repeatedly, absentmindedly. The long scar on his left palm jumped with it.

"We're losing ground in the attorney general's office," a man on the same side as Antonio spoke up, and the boy had to lean forward to see him. "He might need more incentive."

"Politicians," his grandfather sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. It stopped at his chin and scratched for a moment. Then he said, "He's looking for more funds, the weasel. Remind him what happens when he disagrees with us. Where do his kids go to school?"

"Yes, sir. I'll find out, sir."

"Anything else?" His grandfather looked around the table again. When no one answered, he said, "Good. Go do what I pay you to do, and remember that if our operating costs don't fall or you don't stumble onto bags of cash, I'm taking the difference from each of your pockets."

A chorus of 'yes, sirs' followed, and then all the men stood from the table and began chatting with each other. Antonio waited in his chair. He didn't want to be in anyone's way. His grandfather pushed his chair away from the table and then Paul stepped forward to help him stand. As he did so, his grandfather whispered something to him and then patted him on the shoulder before letting go. Slowly, the men started filtering out and the head of security rounded the table and approached Antonio.

"He'd like a word with you. Stay here." His deep baritone was no surprise. He quickly walked away as one of the other men pulled him into a conversation near the door.

Antonio waited for what felt like a long time, twiddling his thumbs and wondering what his grandfather would berate him for this time. The old man was always hard on him, especially after his father passed. He knew his grandfather wanted someone to be mad at. He couldn't even turn his anger toward his rivals. The cancer that took Antonio's father—and his grandfather's only son—didn't leave anyone to blame. And now that he was getting older, Antonio had been told it was time to learn the business.

Tired of waiting, Antonio sighed and looked around the room. There were a couple of men by the door speaking with Paul, but the rest of the room was empty. Even his grandfather was missing. Antonio hadn't seen him leave the room, though. He looked around again. His eyes found nothing but wood paneling. They traced the edges of each panel until he found a far panel at the back of the room was sitting at a slight angle. Antonio's eyebrows rose as he realized it was a hidden door.

He glanced at the wide and tall head of security. Not only was Paul's back to him, but he was also blocking the view of the other men.

Quietly, Antonio stood from his chair and snuck to the open panel. He raised his hand toward it. A cool breeze met his open palm and raised goosebumps along his arm. He noiselessly sucked in a breath, opened the panel, and slipped into the darkness.

He made sure the door was in the same position he found it in and then turned around. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The ground in front of him changed from cement to packed earth and gently sloped downward. Dim fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling of the long hallway in front of him every twenty feet. Some distance far ahead, the hallway turned to the right. The space was completely out of place in the old office—like something out of the Twilight Zone.

Antonio tugged at the hem of his shirt and started walking.

After the first light, the slope of the floor increased exponentially. He stumbled once, then adjusted his steps. The air grew damp and cold as he walked. The goosebumps on his arms traveled up to his neck and scalp as he moved. He passed one light, then another, and another, until he finally reached the corner. He turned and found an abrupt end to the hallway. There was a metal door cracked open. It was thick and riveted together around the edges and down the center. It was no wonder it was rusting with the dampness in the air.

A voice sounded from the next room. Deep and rasping, Antonio recognized it as his grandfather's, but it sounded like the old man had just gone for a run. His breath dragged in and out of his lungs too quickly. The boy stepped toward the crack in the door and listened.

"I did make a deal," his grandfather's voice rattled before he inhaled deeply, "and you'll have my end of the bargain when it's time. I say when it's time."

If there was someone he was talking to, Antonio couldn't hear them. He wondered if his grandfather was on the phone, but the old man made Paul carry his cell around and all but refused to use it. The boy pulled out his own cell and checked the time. He had no service, and his mother was supposed to be picking him up soon.

"No, no, that's not right. I never agreed to that!" His grandfather shouted and Antonio jumped. The old man didn't raise his voice very often—he didn't need to—but when he did, heads rolled. He drew in a ragged breath and Antonio heard scuffling.

Worried, he pulled at the door. It opened with a shivering creak.

Antonio watched his grandfather spin around to face him. The old man's shoulders hunched over and his eyes were wide and wild. The dim light in the room accentuated the wrinkles on his face and he could have sworn his eyes flashed red.

"You shouldn't be here," his grandfather hissed. The room was empty except for his grandfather and a stone pedestal.

"Grandpa, who were you talking to?" Antonio took in his sweaty appearance and froze when he saw the rusty dagger in his hands. He held it in front of him like it was a baby he was strangling.

"You shouldn't be here!" The old man raised his hands as if to cast Antonio away. In doing so, the blade slid across the palm of his left hand. He took a sharp inhale and cradled his hand against his stomach, holding the blade again. "Look what you've done! I told you to leave!" The word 'leave' echoed around the little room they were in, as if the walls were shouting it back.

The blade absorbed the blood spilling from his hand.

The air in the cool room became like ice. Static filled the space, and Antonio's hair stood on end. Instinctual alarm bells were going off in his head and his hand at the hem of his shirt fisted around the material, stretching it too far for it to return to its normal shape. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew it was wrong. "Wh- What's going on? What is that?" the boy asked, taking a step backward.

A small, round gem in the dagger's handle flashed as his grandfather swayed. "No, no!" the old man wheezed. Straining, he pulled his arms straight, holding the dagger out in front of him with the blade pointed downward. His arms shook as his muscles fought some invisible force. "Leave, boy!"

"Grandpa!?" Antonio froze in place, one hand still on the edge of the door. His joints felt stiff and wobbly. Cold sweat formed between his shoulder blades and trailed down his spine.

His grandfather swayed again and then cried out. It was the most pitiful noise the boy had ever heard from the man. As if someone cut the strings holding him up, the old man crumpled to the dirty ground. His arms fell as he did, and the blade was pinned between the ground and his body, where it buried itself in his stomach.

Antonio felt a scream rip from his throat and he rushed forward. He wasn't sure if he was trying to catch the man or not, but he was too late either way. His grandfather rolled painfully onto his side, staring at the corner of the wall and the ceiling. The old man groaned, and his hands slowly pulled the dagger from his gut. Blood gushed and puddled on the floor as the blade clattered onto the ground.

"It's not time," the old man wheezed, staring unseeing into the distance. "I'm not ready. You can't have me..." The intensity in his frail voice caught Antonio's breath.

Antonio shook as he watched air slip from the old man's mouth, and his lungs refused to refill. His blood seeped into the packed earth beneath him. Antonio's ears rang, and he heard his own pulse in his ears. A shine flashed across the dagger in front of him as he fell backward. He stared at the weapon, watching as the rust faded like soap scum under running water. The ringing in his ears grew louder as he realized the ground wasn't the only thing soaking up blood.

The red gem at the center of the handle sparkled again. Antonio gulped for air. He felt like he was falling, falling, fading.

The world snapped back into place. The blood was gone. The dagger was in his hands and he was kneeling in front of his grandfather.

He felt something cold snake around his mind. An entity spoke directly to his being. Give me control and you'll see riches beyond your comprehension... All I need is your soul.

The tentacles that coiled around his consciousness went taut, and Antonio felt like he was choking, even as he drew in breath. It was like the strange voice inside him had tightened a tourniquet around his connection to his own body.

Your grandfather is mine, and his father, and his father. Your father escaped my fate, but I shall have your blood, and your son's, and his son's!

To his horror, the fingers of his left hand flexed without him telling them to. His right hand gripped the dagger and aimed it at the palm of his left hand. Gasping, Antonio fought as the sharp edge of the dagger moved toward his open palm. His hand shook and his knuckles went white from the strain as two forces pulled his fingers in opposite directions.

You can't fight me. I will have what was promised. I will have what is rightfully MINE!

The walls seemed to scream with the entity. The tourniquet around his consciousness tightened, and he felt someone—something—at the corner of his vision. The room quaked at its appearance, and the dagger jumped the remaining distance. The blade bit into his palm and drank. The surrounding walls closed in and Antonio felt buried alive. Triumphant laughter filled his head. His ears rang louder with each guffaw, and the fingers of his left hand went cold as the blade pushed into his palm. Not a single drop of blood fell from his hand.

"Sir-" Paul's voice called from behind him.

Like the snap of a rubber band, the walls jumped back and the ringing in his ears ended.

Paul let out a sad sigh and then stepped around to stand next to Antonio and his grandfather. "I told him," Paul mumbled under his breath and looked down at the old man's body, "You can't cheat a demon."

Paul leaned down and pried the dagger out of Antonio's stiff hands. The boy blinked up at him like waking from a dream. He set the dagger on the pedestal and then turned to help the boy to his feet. He shoved a handkerchief into his small left hand and said, "I'll take care of your grandfather. You go tell Sue we've got a code nine." He spun the boy around by the shoulders and pushed him gently toward the door.

Antonio dazedly walked back up the hallway and pushed the wood panel open. He crossed the conference room, stepped through the open door, and found the secretary.

The words, "C-code nine," stumbled out of his mouth as he stared at her in wide-eyed shock.

As she sobbed, the boy heard chuckles in the back of his mind.