By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2025
4–5 minutes
The Howard family always seemed so functional to their neighbors in Bessieville. Their home glowed warmly in the evenings. The paint was always fresh, the hedges trimmed. To the outside world, the Howard’s — Frank, Lois, and their three boys — were the picture of American perfection.
Frank Howard worked as a supervisor at the local airplane plant. Lois split her time between home and the grocery store checkout. Their sons, Mark, Tim, and John, were the type of kids people admired. Others often said, “Now there’s a good family.”
So when Lois stumbled across the box in John’s room, she felt her stomach drop. Inside were pamphlets, flyers, and web printouts — literature no parent ever expects to find.
Frank walked in just as she was holding one, her hand trembling.
“Ann,” he said, “what’s going on?”
“I—I hope this is for a school paper,” she stammered. “I don’t know why he’d have this stuff. There’s so much of it!”
Frank thumbed through the stack. “Holy hell. Does he even know what this thing does to people? We raised him better than this.”
Moments later, Mark dropped by to visit. Seeing his parents in his brother’s room, he asked, “What’s up? You two look like you just found a body.”
Ann handed him a pamphlet. Mark’s eyes widened.
“Where’s he get this? Do you think he’s…?”
Both parents answered in unison: “No! God no!”
Before they speculate further, Frank’s phone buzzed. It was their middle son, Tim.
“Hey Pop, I’ve been calling the house — Ma not answering again? Everything okay?”
Frank hesitated. “We just have… a situation. Did you ever notice your brother getting into anything strange lately?”
Tim laughed. “What’d he do, join a cult?”
Ann shouted from across the room: “Yes! That’s exactly what it looks like!”
Within the hour, Tim was racing home. A few fraternity brothers were in tow. He called them his “Frat-Team.”
When they arrived, Frank showed them the contents of the box. One of the frat boys, a computer science major, said, “Let’s check his laptop.” Within minutes, they uncovered a disturbing digital trail. When they turned the screen toward Frank, he muttered, “I need a drink.”
By now, the grandparents had arrived. The house was full. They decided to wait for John’s return, convinced they “save” him from whatever this was.
At 8:30 sharp, the back door creaked open.
“Hey,” John said, stepping inside. “What’s with all the cars? Mom selling Tupperware again?”
“Sit in the yellow chair,” Frank said. His voice left no room for argument. “And don’t say a word.”
John sat, confused.
“Son,” Lois began, “are you… flirting around with extremists?”
John blinked. “What? Ma, I don’t think so.”
Frank held up one of the pamphlets. “Then what’s this?”
Suddenly, John’s tone hardened. His face twisted with anger.
“You people are blind! You sit here preaching love and tolerance while the country rots from the inside out. You call it compassion — I call it weakness!”
The room fell silent.
Grandpa Howard stood, slapped his knee, and gasped.
“My God — he’s a conservative!”
Grandma wailed, “Frank! Ann! You’ve got yourselves a Republican!”
Mark leaned back in his wheelchair, groaning. “It’s worse. He’s been indoctrinated. He’s deep into it — the algorithms, the podcasts, the memes…”
Ann sobbed. “How did this happen? We raised him right. We had PBS, not Fox!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “We can fix this. There’s a camp that reverses it. Teaches kids empathy again.”
The frat boys nodded. “Or we can bring him to a few Pride Parades,” one said. “Exposure therapy.”
That’s when John exploded. He cursed his family. He hurled coasters across the room. He shouted about “real patriots” and “fighting the deep state.”
No one noticed the faint red light blinking on one frat boy’s phone. They’d been recording the whole scene.
Moments later, two uniformed officers stepped inside — Toby and Rex. Toby, a family friend, looked bewildered.
“Good Lord, what’s going on here? Is he possessed?”
Rex shook his head solemnly. “No. I’ve seen it before. Same thing happened to my parents. They started watching those ‘news’ streams online. By Thanksgiving, they were threatening to burn our pronoun mugs.”
Ann gasped. “Oh sweet Jesus.”
Frank turned toward his son, voice trembling between rage and heartbreak.
“John, listen to me. We can still get you back. But we have to act now. Before it’s too late.”
John sneered. “Too late for what? To stop me from voting?”
And with that, he stormed out the door, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Grandpa finally muttered, “Well, guess the boy’s all grown up now.”
The family sat frozen — the hum of the refrigerator filling the void where laughter used to live.
In the background the local television news reported bloody attacks on black students leaving a GED Class that evening. The suspects identified as young white males. Who used Molotov cocktails yelling white power and God chooses a white America as they escaped on bicycles.
Outside, the streetlight flickered over the Howards’ perfect little home. It was still warm and still well-kept. Now, forever, it is just a little bit haunted.
© Benjamin H. Groff II — Truth Endures / benandsteve.com
