Clark stuffed the entire maple bread into his mouth.
"Did you not eat?"
John stared at Clark as if watching a giant python swallowing the neighbor's pet cat.
Clark swallowed the bread and managed to reply, "What?"
"I mean the way you eat, Clark. I watch you eat every day, but somehow it's always so… unique."
Clark thought his eating habits were perfectly normal.
"Mrs. Kelly's cooking is better than Godfather's, so sometimes I eat a bit more."
It had been a week since Star-Lord arrived at the farm. John was slowly getting used to life with Kelly and Star-Lord in the house, though he still didn't like Star-Lord.
Deep down, John felt this guy might threaten his claim to the farm. After all, he'd even taken the same name as their dad.
Still, he couldn't show his displeasure at home—it would only upset his father. Besides, Mrs. Kelly's cooking was much better than Dad's, and kicking her out would be a loss.
This dilemma left John in a sour mood.
"You might want to watch your weight. You're eating more than Star-Lord," John teased.
Even as a baby, Star-Lord had an insatiable appetite, far from an ordinary child's. As a result, he'd grown chubbier by the day.
"If you're not careful, you'll end up as big as Dalh or Star-Lord."
"No worries," Clark replied confidently. "Godfather says my metabolism is like a rabbit's."
"Fine, Mr. Rabbit."
John shifted his gaze toward Mrs. Nancy's shop across the street.
Through the window, the neon sign caught his eye. The words stood out brightly: Fortune Telling – Palm Reading – Tarot Card Divination.
"Mr. Rabbit, how about a fortune-telling session?"
He intended to drag Clark along.
"No, I don't have any money."
Clark seemed interested but admitted his lack of funds.
"That's fine. I do."
John pulled out a ten-dollar bill. "This is my pocket money from mowing lawns. Let's give it a shot."
"Alright. I'd like to know if Mrs. Nancy can really tell fortunes."
Clark eagerly followed John into the fortune-telling shop.
When they opened the door, they were greeted by the soft glow of fluorescent lights in a cozy boutique filled with hand-knitted items—soft blankets, baby hats, and bundles of yarn lined the shelves.
Mrs. Nancy, seated behind a desk, looked surprised to see the two young boys.
"Welcome, kids. How can I help you?" she asked warmly, showing no intention of turning them away despite their age.
"Hello, Mrs. Nancy. I'd like a fortune-telling," John said, trying to sound mature.
"Hmm, forty bucks, and I can offer you some guidance," Mrs. Nancy replied.
"But I only have ten," John bargained. "If your reading is accurate, we might buy one of your hats or something else next time."
Mrs. Nancy chuckled at his pitch. "Deal!"
She took the bill from John and tucked it into her wool sweater.
"What do you want to know?" she asked, gesturing for them to sit.
"I want to know…" John hesitated, stealing a quick glance at Clark. Then, turning serious, he asked, "Will you be honest, Mrs. Nancy?"
"I promise."
"No tricks, no secrets?"
"Of course."
"Alright." John finally decided. "Can you tell me if I'll inherit my dad's farm?"
"What?!"
Mrs. Nancy froze, startled by the question.
This kid was already concerned about inheriting the family farm?
"And your father is…?" she asked cautiously.
"Peter Podrick."
"Oh, him. I know him." Mrs. Nancy's lips curved into a knowing smile. "You want to inherit his farm, right, John?"
"Yes, but something unexpected has happened," John admitted, frustrated. "I suddenly have a younger brother."
"You think he might be a threat to you?" Mrs. Nancy asked, growing more intrigued by the boy's maturity.
"Yes, I think that's possible."
"I don't think that's something you should worry about right now. But, John, I can help you with a palm-reading."
She held out her hand for them to place theirs.
Clark pointed to himself, surprised. "Me too?"
"Of course. I can do both of you. Clark, consider it a bonus."
Clark hesitated but eventually placed his hand on hers.
Mrs. Nancy's hand was warm, but Clark shivered as if touched by electricity.
The room fell silent.
Suddenly!
Mrs. Nancy's grip tightened like a mousetrap. Her eyes widened, the whites quickly filling with red veins, as if she had seen something terrifying.
Her hand grew hotter, and Clark felt as though she was trying to melt his skin.
Then her head began shaking violently, blood dripping from her nose and staining the tablecloth.
Startled, Clark yanked his hand away, and John followed suit, both stumbling backward with wide eyes.
"Mrs. Nancy, are you alright?" Clark asked timidly.
"Who… who are you two?" Mrs. Nancy gasped, wiping the blood from her nose and glaring at them with suspicion.
"What do you mean?"
Pointing at John, she exclaimed, "You carry something deep, black, and withered. It's calling out like a lost child seeking its mother. You're the Hand of Death, a machine of destruction! I can hear belts turning and wheels spinning!"
She frantically shoved the ten dollars back into John's pocket.
"Take it! I don't want your money! Get out of here!"
"Wait!" John tried to speak, but Mrs. Nancy shoved them out the door.
Standing outside, John scratched his head in frustration.
He didn't understand why she had said those things but felt there might be some truth to them.
He often dreamt of eerie laboratories and gruesome experiments. Maybe that's why she called him the Hand of Death.
Sadly, he hadn't gotten an answer about the farm inheritance.
Sighing, he turned to Clark and noticed his pale, distracted face.
"Clark, are you okay?"
"I… I think I saw something terrifying," Clark murmured.
...
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