Dead Seth by Tim O'Rourke

known under aliases. She painted a picture of our father frantically searching for us, so he could silence us and prevent us from giving up his dark secrets.
    According to our mother, he was furious with us and if he ever discovered our secret location, he would murder us in our beds. She would often tell me if she hadn’t have taken us away when she had, she believed my father would have murdered us one by one.
    I had nightmares for weeks after hearing that. I dreamt my father was climbing the wall beneath my bedroom window, his claws scratching against the brickwork, his bright yellow eyes watching me through the glass. Silently, he would climb through the open window, coming towards me on all fours, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Then, with his fur bristling with excitement and drool swinging from his jaws, he would lunge at me. I would wake, sitting bolt upright, gasping and clawing at my chest.
    During this time, I became evermore terrified of seeing my father and was finally becoming grateful to my mother for rescuing me from the caves and him. So I was first to accept the notion of changing our names. As Mother sat among us, she explained it would only take our father to come onto the estate where we lived and ask the other children that hung around, if they knew of a Lorre, Kara, Jack, or Rik. Apart from my name, none of them were commonly used by humans. The other children might then unwittingly lead him to us. So we all agreed, for our own safety, we would change our names at home and in front of our neighbours.
    Mother decided that Lorre should be known as Teresa, Kara would be called Mary, Rik would be known as Nikolaou, and I was to be known as Paul – named after Father Paul, who it seemed had done so much to help us. At first it seemed odd, but as one day melted into the next, we just became accustomed to being known by our birth names at school and our aliases at home.
    Rik had the hardest time trying to comprehend what was taking place, so he gave up his name and adopted Nik permanently.
    During this time, there was one other change of name that we all had to get accustomed to. By spring, we were no longer calling the Blackcoat, Father Paul, but in the sanctuary of our home he would let us call him ‘Dad.’
    Father Paul had become a constant visitor to our new home, visiting us at every opportunity he had. He would often bring with him sacks of food and odd bits and pieces for the house.
    Everything we had was due to Father Paul in one way or another. I believe that as much as he had become a surrogate father to us, we had become a surrogate family to him. He had his own slippers at our house which he would slip into while visiting. He would often change out of his flowing black robes like any father coming home and changing out of his work clothes. Father Paul would often eat an evening meal with us, and after we would all gather around him as he read. My favourite book was ‘ The Wind in the Willows. ’
    I loved the water colour illustrations, and wanted to be able to draw and paint those characters he read about in the book. Then one night, he arrived at home with a small set of water colour paints, some paper, and paint brushes.
    “Who are these for?” I gasped as he handed them to me.
    “For you,” he smiled down at me, his bright grey eyes staring out of his pale face.
    “Why?” I breathed, looking down at them.
    The last present I had been given was the racing car.
    “I thought that perhaps you could paint some pictures of Toad, Ratty, Mole, and Badger for me,” he said, taking a seat at the table.
    “Really?” I asked, excitement bubbling away inside of me.
    “Will you help me?” I asked, sitting up at the table next to him. I had done plenty of drawings before, sitting in his house on a Saturday afternoon while he and my mother were someplace else praying, but I had never used water colour paints before. I didn’t want to disappoint him. More importantly, I didn’t want to make