Signs of Danger

[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police".

*****

I dropped my fork when I understood his words.

My father paused, making eye contact with me.

My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.

I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on his part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.

My father had never been very religious.

After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.

"You want me to go now?" I asked him.

"What's that, dear?" said my mom.

"Well, Dad just-"

My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.

"N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal.

I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.

Was someone listening to us?

No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?

I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.

That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.

"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!"

I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:

"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."

"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"

"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"

Detective Harris grew serious.

I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.

Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"

"Y-yeah."

Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"

"Not really. You know how he is. "

Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."

"Cult of Silent Pleas?"

"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."

"You can't possibly think that he's..."

"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."

"This is nuts!"

"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."

"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"

"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."

I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.

"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"

"Of course!"

"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."

I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:

"I spoke to Harris."

Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "What did he say?" he signed. "Does he believe me now?"

"Yeah, he said he's on it."

Dad looked thrilled by that.

"Is it true?" I signed. "Are you cursed?"

Dad hesitated, then signed:

"Yes."

I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.

"Dad," I signed, "What is that cult?"

Dad grew pale. "You're not supposed to know."

"What? Why?"

"Too dangerous."

"And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!"

"No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!"

We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.

Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"

He burst into flames right before my eyes.

I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.