Billy

Billy walked downstairs. He thought he heard someone come in. It might have been his dad, but he wasn't sure. Usually his dad didn't come back from the fields until a little later in the day. Billy was sick, so that's why he was home that day, instead of in school. He walked through the living room and then into the kitchen. He stopped and stared. There was a man sitting at his kitchen table. His face belonged to Billy's dad, but really he resembled someone like Marilyn Manson a lot more. "Who are you?" Billy asked. The man still had his head turned down towards the table, when his eyes glared up towards Billy. It gave him a sort of psychotic-type look that scared Billy. "I'm your dad, Billy," he said with a wicked grin. It *was* his voice. But he didn't even *look* like his dad. Billy's dad was a farmer, born and raised as one. He wouldn't dress up like this, not even as a joke. "What *happened* to you?" The man got up. "I've become better." "Better? Dad, you look like a freak. We need to call the police." Billy grabbed for the phone. "Who did this to you?" Then the man knocked the phone out of his hands. "I don't want any fucking cops in my house." Billy was stunned. He had never heard his dad talk that way before. "Hey, who's using foul language in here?" Billy heard his mom say, from behind him. Then she entered the kitchen and screamed when she saw the freakish man claiming to be Billy's dad.