Monster In The Closet [FICTOID]

The monster in the closet bore a caliber .44.  Long and black, although meant for adult use, it could fit in the hands of a child.

A small child.

It fit my grandmother’s hands the day she shot my great-grandfather.

We never enjoyed much contact with the rest of her family, an occasional mention in passing, a birth or death notice to keep grandma informed, that sort of thing.

They blamed her, even while pretending it was an accidental shooting, but it was no accident.

You don’t accidentally stand over someone and keep pulling the trigger until you start clicking on spent shells, not when you’re so close powder burns get tattooed on their face.

What were the sins of my great-grandfather?  

Good question.  Excellent question, only there’s nobody left to tell.  Grandma’s only surviving sibling, Joy, now sits in a nursing home, waiting the inevitable end to her Alzheimer’s.

The rest -- like grandma, like her father -- phffft!  Gone, and their sins and secrets with the,.

Since she was only five at the time, the cops didn’t prosecute grandma.  I tend to believe they didn’t want to torture her further.

Afterwards, when they released her to her mother, the family decided to pretend the lack of charges meant it was considered an “accident” and said as much.

Grandma got shunted off to various aunts and uncles and cousins like the character in “The Man Without A Country” who never had a solid foundation under him again -- at least not until grandma met grandpa.

The crazy thing is this:  You’d think her family would want to get rid of it, destroy it, but no, they didn’t,

It claimed one more victim, my great-uncle Ray, who shot himself in drunken despair one night.

The cops gave the gun back again that time, but this time my mother -- visiting home for the funeral -- intercepted it and took it with her.

My father tells me an early childhood memory where grandpa did something to tick off grandma -- not something minor like not tidying up, but something serious, something that might have affect all of them -- and grandma dragged out her hand cannon and yeled “I did it before and by God I’ll do it again if I have to!” and grandpa transformed at that moment as if he had his own come to Jesus moment and was just the sweetest pussycat after that.

When Grandma died we found her revolver in the closet underneath a ton of junk,

I just had time to get down to the funeral home and put it in her coffin.  I don’t think she’ll need it where she’s going, but it may be a comfort.

© Buzz Dixon