The Stew's Real Good, Isn't it?

Heavy rain rattled against the windows and loud thunder shook the house from within. A cottage out of the many in this small town in the middle of the forest. This house belonged to the Rockwells. Jack Rockwell set the table while his wife stirred the stew. It was dinner time and their two boys weren’t home from playing yet. The mother wasn’t pleased. She had prepared their favorite beef stew.

There were three knocks on the door, which meant it was the kids. Living in a community in the middle of the forest where three murders had been committed not so long ago demanded them to practice safety measures like having a fixed number of knocks for the people they knew.

“You guys are late. Mum is not happy,” said Jack.

“Sorry Pa, our cycles kept getting stuck in the swamp,” said the elder son.

“You should’ve left for home as soon as it started raining,” said Jack, frowning.

They entered the house, dripping water all over the wooden floor, which infuriated their mother even more. She yelled at them for a good minute before letting them go change clothes.

They emerged from their rooms a little later, now all dried up and changed.

The family sat around the table, eating in silence. Nowadays, that was how most meals were eaten.

“Stew’s real yum, isn’t it boys?” said Jack.

The boys nodded in agreement.

“It took mum three hours to make it, don’t just nod, tell her how much you love it,” he said.

“It’s lovely,” said the elder one.

“Yes Ma, it's yummy! It gets tastier every time you make it” said the younger one.

Their mother smiled affectionately.

“Oh boys, sorry I shouted at you okay. Now eat up”

They ate like animals, the two of them. Nothing made their father happier than when the family ate dinner together.

Halfway through dinner, there were two knocks on the front door.

“Two knocks, it’s Uncle Ferrier!” said the younger son excitedly, who had made a fun game out of this safety initiative taken up by

the family.

The parents exchanged quick glances. The father got up and went to the door. He peeped through the hole to ensure it was his brother, Ferrier Rockwell. It was.

His brother lived in the same town, but his house was on the opposite side. Ever since the murders, he visited rarely. Not because he didn’t want to but because Jack wasn’t very welcoming of him when he did.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked after opening the door.

“That’s a pleasant way of greeting someone who just walked a mile in the pouring rain” his brother retorted.

“Why the hell did you come here in such weather?”

“I had to discuss something with you, something urgent”

“We are having dinner right now”

“You mean you are?”

“No, we are”

“And that’s exactly what I’m here to talk to you about”

Jack scowled but didn’t respond. He let his brother in and led him to the kitchen where he gave him a towel to wipe himself up.

He then poured two drinks and gave one to Ferrier.

“The neighbors have been complaining again Jack”

“Complaining about what?”

“Loud noises in the middle of the night”

“Me and Jessie fight, like many other couples around here. I don’t see what is there to complain about”

“It’s only your voice they hear”

Jack looked puzzled.

“We quietly go on about our lives, other than a few occasional fights. I really don’t get why these people have a problem with that”

Ferrier signed in frustration. He didn’t feel like having another one of these conversations, but he knew that if he didn’t then no one else would. He had to be there for his brother.

He decided to be upfront about it, so he said,

“There is no “we” Jack, there is only you”

“Are you suggesting that I loudly talk to myself in the middle of the night, do you have any idea how bizarre you sound right now”

“It’s not just that…”

“Then what?” Jack asked.

“Last week you went to the school team coach to talk about giving more playing time to your son”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that”

“Jack, why are you doing this. Why are you letting denial take control over you?”

“Stop”

“Then tell me where your kids are”

“They’re eating”

“Tell me where your kids really are, and where your wife is?

“THEY’RE EATING,” Jack said, his voice shaking.

“TELL ME WHERE YOUR FAMILY REALLY IS JACK?”

Jack smashed his glass against the kitchen wall. A few pieces of shattered glass caused cuts on his arms, but this pain was nothing to him.

“Enough! Get the hell out of our house!”

Ferrier was unfazed, almost as if he was expecting this reaction.

“Yes, I will get out of your house”

“OUR HOUSE!” Jack barked.

Ferrier didn’t want to push it. He knew another one of these conversations was inevitable, so he decided to leave. He walked back out into the storm, and behind him, his brother slammed the door.

Jack was shaking with rage, but also a little fear.

He cleaned all the shattered glass from the kitchen floor. He didn’t want his family to cut and injure themselves.

He then walked back to the dining room and took his seat. He looked around the room to spot a picture that was perched upon the fireplace. In it was a family of four. There was Jack, his wife who was leaning on him, and their sons on either side. They hadn’t taken a picture since then; they hadn’t gotten a chance to.

A tear fell from one of his eyes, which he wiped away quickly. He then looked around the table, cleared his throat, and said,

“The stew’s real good, isn’t it? Eat away boys, eat away”

There was a small opening in the curtains. Ferrier watched Jack through the window, unsure whether his brother had gone insane or just decided to lead a life of constant denial.