Someone Turn The Light On

Before the door opened you could tell what sort of mood my father was in by the way he turned the key in the worn Yale lock and then hit the door with his shoulder. My mother and I greeted him with a smile, covered in coal dust we looked like extras from an Al Jolson movie. Just under a quarter of ton of coal lay at the foot of our stairs in a neat black heap. My father came through the door obviously perturbed and when he saw the coal covering the hallway he went truly fucking mad, he never said anything to any of us, he simply stared for what seemed ages at the pile of coal before turning and marching back the way he had come, slamming the front door as he left the house. His anger had bubbled to the surface and he was now hearing the voices that he had heard so many times before and had tried so desperately to ignore. He walked up the road in a daze his mind telling him to commit madness, pure unadulterated madness.