“Hey, Dad? It’s me. Gabriel.”
I tremble, talon tightly grasping the telephone, pacing back and forth in the cramped kitchen.
“It’s been a long time, huh? Since we last talked. I… don’t really know why I’m calling today. I guess I just miss you. I know we had our… a lot of differences in life, but… things seem so different now that you’re gone. I have my own apartment now! And a job, at the local bakery! But… I dunno.
“I know I could be doing better, that you’d be pushing me higher. It’s hard finding courage, it’s hard not to feel so small in this big city… it’s hard letting go. Maybe that’s really why I’m calling. Just to tell myself that I have to move on, accept that you’re dead. Accept that I’m my own griffon now. Still. I never really told you this when you were still alive, and maybe I should’ve, but I love you Dad. I really do.”
There’s nothing I have left to say, so I amble towards the phone’s wall mount. Outside, police sirens wail, and I instinctively take a quick detour to open the dilapidated fridge, just in case, hastily shuffling a few of the contents. As I reach the wall mount, the phone beeps, and there’s the signature sound of a number being dialed. I cautiously put the phone back to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey son. Love you too.”
My blood runs cold. My trembling increases tenfold, and I suddenly forget how to move forward. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, and the deafening silence on the other end of the line. There’s no denying who that trademark gravelly, accented voice belongs to. “Dad? Is that you?”
Only the repeated beeping of a disconnected call greets me.
I don’t think twice before turning on every light switch I find in the single-floor flat, then sprinting to my bedroom at breakneck pace, slamming the door as hard as I can. I cower underneath the bed sheets, praying for sleep to embrace me.
Ghosts can’t be real, right? That wasn’t real, right?
When counting ponies doesn’t work, I switch to prayer. I beg Luna to save me, repeating the same mantra over and over again. I don’t know how, but it works, and I eventually drift to sleep.
As I wake up the next morning, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m alive. I shake my head rapidly, trying to forget about last night, gingerly opening the door to prepare a warm breakfast.
Giovanni—my father—is sitting on the living room sofa.
I scream, and my wings flap wildly in confusion. My throat closes up, and I wheeze. Across the room, the door seems to grow further and further away. I’m trapped.
Dad notices me, casually tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. Propping himself up with a wing, he grunts as he raises himself from the sofa. He smiles warmly. “Hi! Long time no see!” he cheerfully exclaims.
I surrender. “You… you’re still alive?”
He scoffs, scratching his face with a claw. “Of course not, stupid. You saw my lifeless corpse being smothered in dirt at the funeral, no? You and your sorella said your goodbyes already, no?”
“Well… but… you’re here!”
“Of course I’m here, stupid! Someone simply brought me back,” he says with no expression, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I don’t know how to respond, and he raises an eyebrow again at my shocked silence. “Well?” he continues. “Aren’t you going to come here and hug your father?”
Numb, I stumble forwards, and embrace him wordlessly. Instantly, I gag and pull back. There’s a couple flies circling him, and he smells worse than a pile of month-old herring.
He frowns, swatting at the flies, lightly dusting his shoulders. “Oops. I forget about that. Dying does a lot of weird stuff to your system. Hey, boy. Watch this.” He concentrates, and a blinding flash of light surrounds him. When the spots fade from my eyes, he offers a wing, and I sniff. Nothing. “Pretty cool, huh?” he asks. “Turns out being brought back to life does some pretty weird stuff too. I don’t know what kind of magic I got exposed to. Now come and hug me.”
I’m too stunned to do anything but comply. I decide that I’m just not going to question this scenario. It’s not like I want to get involved in all this crazy stuff, anyways. I just want my dad back. Slowly, I withdraw from the hug. “How’d you find me?”
He hardens his gaze, looking dramatically out the window towards the rising sun. “I came to, and I heard a cry for help that tugged at my heartstrings. I followed it, and followed it, and then I found you. And I knew that you were calling for me, my son. I knew that you needed me in your life again. So believe me, things are gonna get better from here.”
That night, when I return home from work, he’s crouched in my kitchen, eyes sifting through the cabinet contents. He tsks disapprovingly as I approach the counter. “Gabriel, my son. You are abandoning your roots. Where is all the food I cooked you when you were a child, hm? All I see is low-quality ingredients, shame, shame.”
I swallow. “I… I don’t really have the money these days to afford anything better, Dad.”
“Nonsense. Money will not be an issue when you make it big. Still, I think we can make something out of this, yes? Come here, Gabriel. I will teach you how to make pasta properly. Again.”
He guides me through the process, telling me when I should take it out of the pot and what toppings to add.
Halfway through, a wave of nausea overcomes me, but I resist the urge to vomit. I pray that I’m not getting sick, grit my beak, and get up, smiling weakly to my father’s approval.
Finally, I finish making the dish. It’s delicious, and my beak waters as I reminisce about a childhood long ago. “Aren’t you going to eat, Dad?” I ask between bites.
He shakes his head. “Death really kills an appetite. This is your meal, Gabriel, your success. You work with me like this, and I bring you even more victories down the road.”
The next night, he’s waiting on the couch as I open the front door. He beckons to me, waving a steady claw at the spot beside him. “Come, sit.”
I sit. “Did you want to talk about something?”
He leans in, staring at me with level eyes. “Gabriel, you need to quit your job.”
I do a double-take. “I’m sorry?”
“We are in Baltimare, Gabriel. This place is filled with opportunity. It is such a shame that you take the job of bakery assistant, Gabriel.” He looks close to tears. “Tell me, my son. Is this what you were planning to do for the rest of your life? Wasting away, reduced to being a bottom-feeder, the lowest class of society?”
Past conversations wash over me, and I push the pain away. “I… but that’s not—”
“I want only the best for you, Gabriel. You don’t have to stick with one job for the rest of your life, like those ponies do with their cutie marks. Miss Rarity has her boutiques. Mister Rich has his business empire. If a pony can do so well, a griffon can have it all.”
I look down, ashamed. “I don’t think I have the qualifications for that, Dad. I… don’t think I have many qualifications for anything at all, really.”
He sneers, feathers bristling. I flinch as he lifts a talon. But it’s gone just as quickly as it came, and he smooths his feathers and smiles. “Nonsense!” He smiles, and puts the talon around my shoulder. “Your father knows best, yes? Listen to me, and I will take you far. I don’t make mistakes. You are in good claws.”
I want to believe him. “I’ll think about it over the weekend, Dad. Then I’ll make my decision on Monday.”
His smile grows wider. “Eccellente. I study your résumé tonight, okay? You go get some sleep. We talk more tomorrow.”
I wake up to the sound of my door slamming open. Dad thunders into the room, and I jolt up.
He throws the shredded remains of the résumé in my face, although I can barely feel it. He shouts, “After all I have done for you, Gabriel, this is how you repay me? This miserable excuse for a qualification? I paid for your future in blood, Gabriel, in blood! You know what I could’ve done? I could’ve retired early, and just put your own future in your own claws, and extended my own life by ten years. But I couldn’t do that, because I love you so much, Gabriel. I worked myself to death because of you, my son! And this is the thanks I get. All my hard work for nothing.”
I start to sniffle, shrinking into my bed. “But… yesterday… I’m sorry! I’m a failure, okay? I know.”
“You were a failure. But I love you, my son,” he continues, voice now dangerously calm. “I love you so much that I’d die again just for you.”
My stomach twists in guilt. “Dad, no. I’ll make it better, okay? I’m sorry!”
His voice begins to rise, growing more and more shrill. “You don’t believe me, ah? I can demonstrate.” I jerk as he screams unexpectedly. Lifting his fist, he plunges it towards the wall, and I react too late to stop it from obliterating the cracked plaster, deepening his scream. I cringe as he pulls his outstretched talon back, blood dripping from the wound. The talon is clearly broken, claws bent at painfully awkward angles.
“Dad, stop! What are you doing?” I scream, leaping out of bed to hold him.
“You see?” he demands. “I’ll bleed for you. And I’ll do it again, and again, and again.” He screams and punches the wall with full force again.
I scream even louder this time. Tears streak my face. “Please, Dad! I get it! Just stop, just stop. I’m sorry.”
He grabs me with unnatural strength. “Come with me,” he says, dragging me toward the kitchen. I struggle helplessly, kicking and flailing, but it’s no use. His blood drips down my body. As he walks, my eyes widen as he begins to metamorphose. His body slowly starts to deteriorate, his eyes become a little more hollow, he becomes a little bonier, and he starts feeling less material. The stench returns, more powerful than before. I try to protest, but clamp my beak shut as he whips his head around, spittle flying, glaring back at me with fury.
Finally, we arrive at the kitchen, and my body is completely paralyzed, sheer panic causing pins and needles to render my wings and chest numb and immobile. He unceremoniously lets go of my limp torso, and I collapse to the ground.
“Enough with the games, Gabriel.” He crouches to face me. “It’s back to the old days now. From this day forward, you listen to me, and me alone.”
Only able to lay still, my eyes struggle to meet his gaze. Even though my beak is so numb that I can barely move it, I hear myself responding. “But we’ve talked about this before, Dad. I… I’m my own griffon now, and—”
He shrieks. “And look where that got you, Gabriel! You’re pathetic. You need me to be in charge to be worth anything. Otherwise, you know what happens? Let me show you.” He takes a knife from the rack, examining it coldly, then plunges it into his own chest. I shudder and squeeze my eyes shut as he coughs up more blood. “You hurt me just like that, my son. You hurt my heart.”
I wail and internally beat my brain to force my body to move, but he kicks me back down. “What are you doing?!” I scream. “Are you going crazy? Please!”
“It HURTS, Gabriel! I put everything into you! Everything! You were going to be my angel child. How did it turn out like this?” He opens my fridge, pulling out the concealed narcotics bag, and my eyes widen. He wails, and his voice rises by an octave, then two. “Poison joke extract, Gabriel! You know what this stuff does to a griffon. It hurts, hurts, HURTS! But I love you so much. So, so much. I can only hurt myself.” He reaches for another knife, and inserts it deep. Then another, and another.
“You’re not my dad.”
The room temperature drops. All the chaos and noise falls silent, save for the sudden howling wind outside. Its voice is so soft that I can barely hear it.
“What did you say.”
I gulp, but there’s no turning back. “I said, you’re not my dad.”
It begins to laugh. Slowly at first, but faster and faster. Its voice suddenly splits into two, then three dissonant chords clashing and moaning. “So what if I’m not? Do you really want to lose your father for the second time, Gabriel? I’m in your head, Gabriel.”
Ah. Things start clicking into place. “That’s right. You’re in my head.”
It looks confused for a second, then furious. “Hmm?”
I shrink. “Dad died years ago,” I whisper.
It spreads its wings wide, slowly marching towards me, a confident sneer painted across its face. “Yet I’m still here, Gabriel. And I’m here to stay.” It points the knife in my direction. “Bow,” it says coldly. “Say you’re sorry. Sorry for doubting that I’m not here.”
Despite myself, I start to feel my knees buckle, and I sink lower and lower to the ground. I feel tears collecting in the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back. “No,” I whisper. “I’ve had enough. I can’t take it. Go away.”
It leaps forward, and I scramble backwards in terror.
It shouts, “So make me disappear! Make me! Close those eyes of yours, Gabriel. Maybe when they open again I’ll be gone, ah?”
I try. Trembling, I close my eyes over and over again, but every time it just gets closer and closer. It smiles, revealing sharp teeth that weren’t there before.
“That’s right, Gabriel,” it says. “I’m here, and you can’t do anything about it, and you’ll regret it if you try. You don’t have power over me. I have power over you. Now BOW! Apologize to your father.”
My knees touch the ground, and I snap, abandoning reason to go on the offensive. I leap and yell, charging. I kill it, or it kills me. Either option is fine. I blink just as I’m about to make contact, and when they open I’m met with nothing but empty air, and I stumble and fall to the ground.
“Behind you.” I snap my head around to the sound, lunging again. Over and over again we repeat this dance, but each time, it avoids my grasp, seemingly disappearing and reappearing elsewhere.
Nausea overwhelms me once more. I collapse, and my vision becomes woozy. Grunting through my gritted beak, I force myself back up. The world swims around me, but I find myself eyeing the rack of kitchen knives beside it. The full rack of kitchen knives.
I look to the knife it holds, twin to one in the rack. Where did it come from?
The pieces click into place. How he showed up out of the blue. How he didn’t have to eat. How it all didn’t seem quite right. The kitchen knives. The poison joke extract.
I turn to face it. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself. “Alright, you win. Hurt me. Like you’ve always done.” I gesture towards the knife.
“No, Gabriel. You’ve always been the one to hurt me. Don’t you feel guilty? So ashamed that—”
“Quit it!” I interrupt, slashing my wing in a wide arc. “You can’t do it, can you? You’re in my head. Come on, try again.”
It snarls, advancing, but nothing happens. It’s like there’s an invisible barrier.
I know who brought Dad back. Me.
“Come on then!” I shout, thumping my chest and spreading my wings. “Do it. Hurt me. You can’t.”
I brought him back. And I can put him away.
I feel my courage starting to build. “That’s right. All the guilt, all the self-doubt, all the misery from the past twenty-five years.” I slam the wall, breath shaky. “That’s how you came to be. You’re in my head. You’re not real.” I pause. “I miss my father, but I don’t miss how he used to make me feel. I’m not afraid of losing that. And I’m not afraid of losing you.”
Its expression turns to fear. “What are you doing? You need me in your life. It hurts, Gabriel. Please.”
I look it dead in the eyes. “I’m my own griffon now. I mean it. My father taught me that. How important walking my own path is, so I can avoid losing myself to creatures like him, and you.”
It starts to thrash, limbs moving faster and faster, face twitching as if possessed. “What are you doing? No, no, no!”
“I’m going to say it once, and you’re going to listen,” I declare. “SET. ME. FREE.”
There’s no response. I stare at the empty kitchen in front of me, and exhale slowly but shakily. The knives are back where they were. The blood is gone. I take a quick glance back into my room, and sigh in relief. The untouched résumé sits gently on the bedside table, and the wall is unmarked.
Cautiously, I open the fridge. I stare inside for a few minutes, thinking. Then I take the doggie bag out, dump it in the trash, and walk outside. The sun is shining. Even though I’m too exhausted to feel anything, I slump to the steps and cry.
Time to start a new life.
Author's Note
Boo!
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