Based off of the short story: We Don't Talk About Sarah
Warning: kidnapping, child-abuse
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We Don't Talk About Uncle Francis
Chapter 1: What Are You Doing?
Alfred: 11 ~~ Matthew: 11 ~~ Arthur: 11
Point of View: Alfred
It was late. Mattie and I had already gone to bed but I had yet to fall asleep. I was tossing and turning under the covers but was just not tired. I closed my eyes and tried to count sheep. Sometime around my sixtieth sheep I heard a crash. It was faint, as if I had imagined it. Maybe it was a ghost?
I could feel myself pale at the thought. My feet hit the floor and I took off running to find my uncle, so I could protect him from those nasty spirits of course. I roamed about the upstairs but was puzzled when I found his room empty as well as all of the others. I crept down to the first floor about to go into the kitchen when a heard a shout. I let myself be lead to the basement door; easily turning the knob and pushing open the door when I had got there.
"Uncle Francis?" I called down into the dark abyss.
Everything stilled as if caught in the act of stealing the last cookie from the jar. "Yes, Alfred?" I heard the reply.
And my bad habit just had to rear its ugly head. "What are you doing down there? Why aren't you in bed? I can't sleep. Uncle Francis, where's Arthur?"
There was a quiet hiss and some shuffling about. Uncle Francis appeared through the dark. "He's right here, Alfred."
I peered down to find haunting green eyes staring at me; cloudy, as if lost deeply in thought. I sighed, maybe I could get some sleep now knowing that my new friend was safe. I had wondered where he had been at dinner, but uncle told me not to worry.
"What were you doing in the basement, uncle? Is Arthur ok?"
"You never stop asking questions do you? Alfred, it's late and you need to be in bed."
I was thoughtful for a moment before blurting out, "Can Arthur sleep in my room tonight?"
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Chapter 4: Why Can't I Sleep
It hadn't occurred to me to question when I had gotten into the basement nor how the blood running down my face and into my eyes had come from not even did I wonder where my shirt had gone. But that's not entirely true. It hadn't occurred to me because it couldn't; I was far too wrapped up in the events going on around me. Francis was looming over me, at least ten times taller than I remembered.
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