Free Reads

Leo P. Rachan was a small fella. At just under five feet tall, his appearance was deceiving. He packed a punch like a horse’s kick and carried the temper of a volcano waiting to erupt. His strength came from years of work in his youth, when he laboured as a cobbler; hammering soles, carrying hides, and stretching leather. It had been the family business in Dublin, but after his father died, the company collapsed.

Milton lifted the rug near the fireplace, and the dirt had even gotten there. He brushed away some loose ash with his shoe. The fireplace was larger than he’d first thought, blackened bricks crumbling at the edges. As he leaned closer, something skittered across the hearth. A rat shot out from behind the fireplace, squeaking as it disappeared under the sofa. Milton let out a noise that no grown man should ever make. “AHHH! NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!” He jumped backwards, tripping over the rug and windmilling his arms before crashing into the dark-stained wall.