Same story, Abby finds her father

I’m late, I’m late, I’m late
Abby peered out the door into the hallway. The silence of the house rang in her ears like church bells.
Where are you?
With cat-like stealth she crossed the hallway into the kitchen. Once there she tiptoed across the cold linoleum floor towards the doorway that gave entrance to the living room. She quickly peeked around the corner then pulled back.
Where ARE you?
Tiptoeing back to the counter she slid open the top of the bread box. It’s gaily decorated exterior severely contrasting with the white washed cupboards and worn counter tops. There was a small hole in the back where a mouse had long ago given himself access to the often moldy bread. Casting a furtive glance over her should she carefully opened a loaf of bread, cringing at the crinkling noise that seemed to echo throughout the house. The rich nutty smell made Abby’s stomach rumble. She slipped one slice out and laid it on the counter. A noise from somewhere in the house made her heart jump. She stood with her hand poised over the slice of bread, her mind racing with excuses, and waited. After several tense moments nothing happened. Slowly she picked up the bread, closed the bag and slid the lid shut. She cast a backward glance towards the hallway door, then tiptoed toward the living room. Before stepping onto the dirty carpet, she peeked around the corner into the living room. The smell of stale beer and sweat assaulted her nostrils. Beer cans lay scattered around her father’s leather recliner and that horrible little leather satchel he always carried was laying on the end table. Abby could never quite place the smell. It reminded her of black licorice, only sweeter. But she thought it smelled like cinnamon too, and a little like gardenias and cow poop.
She quickly crossed the living room, peeked down the hallway and slipped out the back door.
The warm moist air enveloped her as she stepped off the porch. Although it was only 7 o’clock in the morning the humidity was high and the temperature was on the rise. It would probably reach 90 today and with the humidity the heat index would be around 100. Abby jumped lightly off the porch into the rich soil of the plant bed next to the steps. Then she walked across the lawn, careful to avoid the gravel walkway. As she neared the shelter where she kept her bike, a large dark object trapped in the roots of the massive oak that towered over their property caught her eye.
What is that?
She turned and made her way towards the tree, deeply inhaling the rich smell of decomposing leaves and insect droppings.
Oh mom, I miss you so much.
A drop of moisture, like a great tear, fell from the branches soaring above and landed on her cheek. As she wiped it away her view of the ground was temporarily obscured and she tripped over a low growing root. Pain shot through her hands and  knees as she hit the hard ground. Choking back her tears she looked up toward the tree and almost screamed. Her father’s upside down face stared back at her from atop the great mass of twisted roots. His body was draped across the snakelike structure, his head pointing towards the ground, arms dangling. His vacant stare left no doubt that he was dead. Trembling, Abby stood up, all fear gone.
Is he really dead?
Her heart is racing, but she must know. The all important slice of bread is left where it fell on the damp earth. When she takes a blind step forward she smashes it flat, leaving a dirty footprint in the soft bread. As she draws closer, the roots rise in great arcs around her, gradually growing taller and taller. She has to pick her way carefully, eventually crawling on top of the dew slick roots. After several minutes of frantic scrambling, she finally finds herself crouching next to the still form of the man she has come to hate. The pleasant fragrance of honeysuckle floats on the air, lending a fantastical feel to this already surreal scene. She stares at his still chest hardly believing it no longer contains life.
He really is dead.
She hugs herself tightly as a shiver passes through her. With her head tilted she studies the scene with a detached curiosity.
“How did you get up here?” she asks the corpse quietly.
“How did you die and why like this?” She had always imagined that he would die sitting in his leather recliner, his heart slowing until it finally stopped beating, or pass out in a puddle of his own vomit, sucking the vile liquid up into his lungs strangling on his own putrid excess. She never imagined he would come all the way out to the oak tree, and climb up into the roots. A sense of black fear began to creep into Abby’s heart. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and an unnaturally cool breeze soughed through the branches of the towering oak. Shivering again, she took a deep breath and began to rise. A shaft of sunlight filtering through the branches falls onto the dead man’s dangling hand and reflected off something between his stiff fingers. She squints her eyes and tries to make out what it is, but his hand is too far away. Carefully crawling around his feet she makes her way up his other side. She crouches next to him and leans out over the edge of the massive mountain of roots, trying to get a clear view of his hand. Her breath is coming in short gasps and the wet wood is digging into her knees. The strange wind is picking up, tossing the branches above her back and forth. She leans out, teetering on the edge of the root, and grasps his shirt sleeve. It looks to be a thick necklace of some kind, but-- The damp fabric slips through her fingers and she begins to fall forward. Instinctively her hand reaches out and she braces herself against her father’s cold, hard form. The shock shakes his body and the object in his hand begins to slip through his fingers with a soft tinkling sound. Behind her something moves beneath the roots. It first bumps against the wood, then bumps the bottom of her shoe. She jerks her leg up away from the thing and loses her balance completely. A scream born of pent up fear rips itself from her throat as Abby plunges over the edge into the roots below.