The Signal

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window…

That candle was a signal, the place where the graduating class of 2012 was to gather for a party.

Well, not the whole graduating class. Only the best of the class… The select few, the highest achievers, they received their invites.

The invitations themselves were exquisite. I remember how they looked—

Wait, dad, what do you mean you remember?

I mean I saw them.

What? Come on. I thought you were telling a ghost story.

I am. And it’s a real one.

So you actually saw real live ghosts?

Well no, I saw the invitations. They certainly weren’t live. Neither are the ghosts for that matter. And I never actually saw them. How’s your hot cocoa?

But if you didn’t see them how do you know they were real?

Taste your hot cocoa. I’ve heard them. Still do, even now…. I hear them whispering. I’ve even spoken to them. I know they’re angry. Now be quiet and drink and let me tell you how things went down:

The invites looked as elite as the invitees themselves. Charcoal-black paper, lettered in shimmering gold ink, that danced almost like the flames of our little bonfire.

They read: “This invite is for your eyes only! You’ve made the list and are cordially invited to an elite celebration! School is over and the past 4 years deserve a party— the party of a lifetime…. But only for the best of the best! Congratulations! By being the absolute best in class at what you do, you are invited to this secret, exclusive gathering!”

So only people who were really the best at something received invitations?

Yep.

Well what were you best at?

…. Back then I wouldn’t have called myself the best at anything. I was good at many things. But not the best.

Then why did you get an invitation?

Slow down with all these questions kiddo. It’s getting late, and I’ve got to finish this story before I put you to sleep.

Just watch the fire, drink your cocoa, and listen up:

I don’t really want the cocoa. It tastes kinda weird.

It’s not weird. It’s just a different brand than you’re used to. You’re not allowed to waste it. Drink or I won’t tell the rest…..

…. The invitations also included instructions to the cabin from Perth Road, which is where we parked today. Back in 2012 the cabin stood in these very woods, near to where we’re sitting now.

It’s not there anymore? What happened to it.

Maybe you’ll find out if you stop interrupting me.

It was grim and remote and almost forgotten, most of the invitees didn’t know it existed.

But it was the perfect place for a secret party, well hidden from the eyes of any grownups who might interfere with the mischief.

Dad! Mischief! Were you a trouble maker back then?

I suppose that really depends who you ask. I wouldn’t say I made trouble, not really. But in all fairness there are those who’d disagree.

Now the invitees all met over on Perth Road and started walking North. None of them knew who had sent the invites. It was kinda funny actually, listening to them accuse each other. They made quite a game of trying to figure out who among them had been clever enough to come up with such a perfect theme for their celebration.

They were all so proud to be there.

They were excited as they hiked through this very forest.

They told jokes. They laughed.

Because they were together they were not afraid.

Well why would they be? What’s so scary about this forest?

Are you telling me you’re not scared of these dark old woods? Look way from the fire for a moment. See how dark it is between those branches. A primordial wilderness is pressing in around us. Who knows what monsters or predators lurk in those darker shadows, beyond the meager reach of our firelight.

I’m really not scared dad.

But what if you were alone out here?

I guess… I guess I’d be kinda scared. Only a little bit.

Exactly! Take another sip of your cocoa.

Now, alone in the dark they’d have been scared too, of the night and the unknown just like you, but as a group they granted each other a perceived safety in numbers.

Point is, bad things can still happen even when you think you’re safe. Even when you think you’re untouchable.

They were graduates. They were together. They had such talent and skill and promise— star athletes and gifted musicians and top academic achievers. They all felt their futures secured by a sense of destiny tied up to their own virtue. They felt purpose and each one of them took this purpose to heart. They had their futures and eachother for protection, so that night they felt invincible.

Anyway, as they hiked one of them, the valedictorian—

What’s a valedictorian, is that like the person in front?

Yes, in a manner of speaking. But not the way you mean. The valedictorian is the student with the highest overall academic score. The highest ranking graduate.

I was the salutatorian— that means second best.

Dad, not to be rude, but I don't get it. You said you weren't the best at anything. So why were you even there?

You'll never get the answer to that question if you don’t let me finish the story!

Now, of the entire group, the valedictorian was the one who first to catch sight of a flickering light: the candle in the window.

The signal for the party.

He hushed them all and told them to turn off their flashlights.

And then the rest saw it… warm and inviting, glowing between the trees that seemed to dance in the wind.

They drew close like moths to a flame.

And they went in and they partied.

They drank and they smoked and they did other things they weren’t supposed to do.

And they yelled let’s get lit! They were thrilled to inebriate themselves.

So thrilled.

And none of them noticed when the candle tipped, but as the fire spread they certainly noticed the smoke stinging their eyes and billowing into their lungs!

But by that point they were drunk and panicked. They crowded the door. They could not escape.

They pounded at the exits… They screamed and screamed— louder even than the roar of the flames.

And their skin started to crackle and hiss and eventually their screaming stopped.

That night, the smoke that clouded this forest smelled like burnt bacon.

By the time the police and firefighters arrived, the cabin had burned to the ground. All the best of 2012 had burned along with it.

What do you think of that story? Scary?

….

You asleep?

Finally. Good boy.

But, you never got to hear the end of the story!

I suppose that’s okay. In a way, it’s a mercy.

You wouldn’t want to know the answers to all those questions you asked.

But now that you’re asleep: the reason I saw the invites was because I’m the one who sent them.

And the bests couldn’t escape the flames because while they were partying I locked the window shutters and barricaded the door.

I simply hated being second best at so many things.

So I did what I could to become the best.

And listening to them beg and shriek as the smoke poured through the cracks in the door was…

It was like finally hearing the applause they had stolen from me so many times over.

That night I became valedictorian. And the best runner, and the best guitar player of 2012.

And the best at a good many things other things.

And I stayed the best of 2012 for a long time, and was content.

But their ghosts have visited me over the years.

Starting with your birth.

They’d haunt me and whisper terrible omens: that one day you’d be better than me at so many things.

…. That I’d be surpassed by you.

Awful! The very thought made me tremble.

Still, I tried to ignore them.

And when you were a baby it was easy. I could delude myself into thinking I’d always be your better.

Because how could a baby ever be better at anything than a full grown man?

But you grew. And you excelled.

Part of me— the foolish part— actually felt proud! To see how fast you were growing… and how well you were thriving.

But the ghosts reminded me: you would try to take my place.

They told me that you were better than I was at your age.

Well, I refuse to be bested my own son!

The ghosts sang in my ear, they told me what I had to do….

Ah!

I can just barely hear your breathing!

The hemlock in your cocoa will quiet that all the way down to silence— yes!

The ghosts were right-- the poison worked beautifully!

For what it’s worth, you were right too: your cocoa did taste weird. But thanks for drinking it up like a good boy!

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Authors note:

I hope this story about a villainous anti-dad is coherent… I wrote most of it in the hours where I should have been sleeping. It came to me in pieces after a discussion I had with my oldest son while putting him to bed. He was asking if he’d be as strong as me when he grows up.

I told him he’d probably be stronger. And smarter and faster and healthier and better in every way— and that I hoped he would be because dads always want their kids to be better than themselves. And I told him he was already way cooler so he was off to a good start.

It’s kinda funny, how kids look at their parents as heroes or demigods. that’s all relative.

My son is small now, so everything (including me) seems totally huge. But when he grows up he’ll pass me by and see I’m thoroughly average at all the things he currently thinks I’m so incredibly great at.

He has so much potential, I’m certain he’s going to be my better when he’s older.

It’s a quite a feeling, being simultaneously proud and hopeful.

Edit, 8/15/25

I just tweaked this with a few formatting edits and grammar fixes, to submit it to a current vocal+ challenge.

Happy to report my oldest is still way cooler than me, and he's also a better singer, a better sharer, and a better lego builder than I've ever been :)

He's also a better big brother than I ever was, and I'm glad! This kid is totally rad and I'm all the more confident that he will surpass me in many more ways as he grows-- which will make me even prouder than I already am.