The Handy Man

The drops in the bucket that was perched under the room's leaky ceiling mingled with a light hue of crimson. Ben had to drain the water each morning for as long as the pommeling rain kept coming and he hoped he would never know the the truth about the water's coloring, even though he had some idea as he now clinged to his bedsheets, struggling to keep the slow-drippings off his mind.

"What's wrong?" his little brother, Pete, asked from the other side of the room.

"Nothing - just go to sleep," Ben told Pete.

"Are you still worried about that thing we saw - that ghost?"

Ben held his gaze over the dripping bucket, recalling the scarred face of the man his grandmother  had hired to "fix "the rooftop, right around the time a salesman went missing and said, "That was no ghost."

~*~

This story is linked with Two Shoes in Texas as part of the weekly Six Sentence Stories. Join me!