Colter shook up the jar and Mathew squealed again, watching the spider dart against the glass. Colter began unscrewing the lid. 

Ryan started, “If we say that, you can’t ever tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Mathew said.  “If we say that, you can’t tell anyone what happened here.”

“Alright,” Colter said.  “First, say it.  Then if I’m satisfied with your enthusiasm, I might let you go without saying hello to my friend.” Colter tilted the jar towards Mathew, who squealed.

Ryan scowled down at Mathew.

“We have to say it together,” Mathew said, rolling one eye upwards.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “What if dad hears about this. You know all those stories he’s always telling us about His tests.”

“This isn’t His test, it’s just Colter.  Say it so I can get up.  I think I’m starting to get a rash from the grass,” Mathew said.

“You boys better begin before I count to five, or Mathew’s going to get to— ”

“Fine.  ‘My head hurts . . . My feet stink . . . And I swear on my own chunks . . . I don’t love Jesus,” Mathew and Ryan said together.

Colter Wayne Hobbes