I was 15 and alone on a Saturday night, my parents had gone out for the evening. My older brother (23) stopped by and I got it in my head to load my father's shot gun, point it out the back door and fire it into the backyard. I did this twice, reloading once. I took the two spent shotgun s s up the street and dumped them in the sewer drain.
Monday afternoon I'm laying in my bed watching television when the old man flashed by my room and on into his room. My old man never moved fast. He was moving fast. He flashed back out with the shot gun from where I'd returned it next to his dresser. He sniffed the gun barrel.
Long story short the next door neighbor had seen me and ratted me out.
The old man whistled the loops and beat me until I managed to make the front door, but, he chased me in broad daylight up the street past the neighbor's who I'd known all my life and delivered the Cleveland Plain Dealer to each morning. I finally couldn't lose him, so I did the run around the car trick and he talked me into going back to the house on the promise he'd beat me no more. He lied. He'd still be beating on me if my other brother (17) hadn't pulled him off. I had to go to the people's house in the back, confess, pull those pellets out of the wood, putty the holes over, sand it smooth and paint the entire house. I missed the windows by about a foot.
A few days later I did my paper route collections and I was forbidden to lie upon inquiry and there was plenty of inquiry. "That was your father?" "What did you do, child?"......"Oh."

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can't lie, I'm sort of fascinated by the whole thing.

Could have been Ted Bundy.
