Family Home

A Story by Maniac Mike

A prelude of things to come from the son of one of literature's most famous figures.

Family Home

The twentieth century was just beginning and I was a young man returning to town my parents grew up in. I hadn’t set foot in the state of Missouri since I was ten. There was Uncle Sid, still there. Life on the banks of the Mississippi River agreed with him.

“Hi Uncle Sid, how’s it like being mayor of Hanibal?” I asked. As boys, Dad rarely got along with his half brother.

“Sam, you’re here,” he said.

We spent the afternoon talking about all the trouble my father and his friend caused as kids. Skipping school, sneaking out at night, conning the other kids, running away from home, faking his death, and just making life miserable for their aunt. I don’t believe Uncle Sid could be mayor had Dad still been living here. Growing up with Clemmons, my younger brother, we used to play pirates like Dad would with his friends.

Uncle Sid had to excuse himself and get back to work while in the middle of telling the story of all the whippings Dad would take. I took a walk onto the old graveyard where Dad and that friend of his witnessed that awful murder. I noticed a young lady walking my way.

“Excuse me, are you Tom’s son?” she asked.

“I sure am,” I said.

As I took in that crisp Missouri air, she told me a tale about the time when my parents and her mom were classmates and Dad tattled on the murderer to save the wrongfully accused from hanging. Man, Dad sure saw plenty of adventure.

“I’m Sam,” I say.

“I know. My name’s Megan, I’m Amy’s daughter.”

Amy? Right. Dad spoke about Amy, but Mom never really liked to discuss her.

“What are you thinking, Sam?”

“About my dad and his friends playing pirates and Robin Hood as kids.”

Although my childhood best friend didn’t have the reputation that Dad’s did, we still had fun doing similar activities that Dad and his pal did, like fishing, swimming, and traded things with other boys. Maybe Dad’s old friend might still have that reputation. Been a while since I’ve seen ‘ol Hucky.

“My parents are having a picnic. Won't you join us?" Megan asked.

I did join them. Glad I did. I met Megan's mom, Amy. They talked about how the town was once called St. Petersburg. It was Mayor Twain back in the day who suggested the change. He figured with all the crime that occurred when my parents grew up here, especially with that Joe creep who tried to kill my daddy. I suppose after all the crazy things, the town figured it was time for a fresh start. Amy and her husband, Ben were nice people. They joked about how Amy was my Dad's first love. After the picnic, Megan showed me around town.

"What are you thinking about now?" asked Megan.

"I'm thinking if I'm gonna live here, I have really big shoes to fill on account of my father."

"True Sam, but, look at your uncle. He's the mayor now."

"You're right, Megan. Still, to go on a bigger adventure than even my father and 'ol Huck have been on would be a huge achievement for me."

We continued walking among the woods. I was afraid there would be no new adventures to be explored in my family’s town. I really got to know Megan as we walked along the woods, like the time my father fooled her father into painting the fence. I practically tripped over a pile

of trash while making a turn. I kicked it and we saw there was a patch of dirt, as if the trash was a marker. I dug it up. A bottle. A rolled up piece of paper. A map. The treasure that not even my dad could find. Perhaps it doesn’t exist, but I now had an adventure.