There were caterpillars in Timothy’s stomach. Well, that’s what his nerves felt like, at least. He’d heard the expression about butterflies. Yet, that imagery was too fantastical to describe what was going on inside of him. Butterflies are usually beautiful creatures. It was easy to imagine them floating around with ornate crystal wings and doing whatever tiny insects liked to do in their free time. Caterpillars were different. They crawl around, hiding, and searching for the best place to twirl a cocoon. It was in their nature to wait, and that’s what Timothy was doing right now.
He was acting on instructions from Mr. Graham. ‘Go wait in the meeting room if you know what’s best for you,’ he had said. So, that’s where the boy went.
A long stretch of a hallway was reaching out before him, although there was only one door to be had. It was tall and grey, and completely uninteresting. While being the only thing to see in a maze of wooden walls, it was still very easy to miss. The handle was sticky as he turned it, and even after he let go, his hand still felt stuck to it.
Timothy and the caterpillars in his stomach surveyed the room. It was clean, which came as a surprise. When compared to the rest of the building, this place was the Taj Mahal. Like most rooms, it consisted of four walls, a ceiling, and a door. A long square table took its place in the center. Three chairs sat around it- two on the far side, one closest to the door. A lovely, red-patterned rug sprawled out along the floor, and not a bit of dirt or dust was to be seen.
This was curious. Normally, he was the one in charge of keeping things clean and tidy, but he hadn’t been through this place in a while. Now that he was thinking about it, he had never been here. The meeting room, as the name implies, was the room where potential parents met up with a child to see if they were the proper fit. He’d seen a few of the other kids come here once or twice, but he hadn’t received the opportunity himself. This made sense. No one had ever asked to see him, so why would he ever be in this room?
But now, he was here for the first time. It felt wrong, like he had snuck in. Maybe there had been a mix-up?
His attention darted to a window on the back wall as a bright streak of light flashed through its wooden bars. The storm was starting again, and already rain was fogging up the glass. Like a moth to a flame, he brought himself closer. There weren’t many trees outside, except for the single dead one on the lawn, so it was difficult to tell how hard the wind was blowing. A plastic bottle bounded down the broken road, swerving in and out of the pair of faded yellow lines. The weather must be taking a terrible turn.
“Oh dear,” Timothy said out-loud to himself. “I hope they didn’t have to drive through that.”
As he turned back around, he noticed that things had become dirtier. This was curious because rooms typically don’t do that on their own. A swift look down at his feet revealed the culprit of the terrible crime. In his rush to get back inside, he’d forgotten to wipe the mud off his shoes, and now he was tracking it everywhere. His face went bright red as he desperately searched around for something to mop up with.
The caterpillars became enraged and started to protest by swarming around. What a terrible first impression he would be making. It’s not every day that you meet your parents for the first time, and he was already making a terrible blunder of it.
Luck blessed him when he remembered that he had shoved a wad of paper-towels into his pocket. He brought the life-saving material out and did his best to remedy his mess. It was by no means a perfect job, but at least it was less noticeable. “I’ll have to come back and make sure I get the rest,” he promised himself.
There was an unfortunate moment of realization when he saw that there were no trash cans around. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to think about the slimy sensation against his leg when he returned the muddy piece of trash to his pocket. The expression ‘out of sight, out of mind’ had been a clear lie.
Behind him, the door clicked and swung open, and his heart leapt into his throat. “H-h-h-hi!” he stammered out like a failing fax machine. “I’m…”
Mr. Graham gave him an odd look. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I thought that—”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “They’re coming in a minute. Make yourself presentable.”
Timothy’s eyes widened. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Don’t I look sure?” Mr. Graham asked sarcastically, but after suffering a mini-stroke two years ago and never going to see a doctor, his facial-expressions weren’t conveying what he thought they were.
“Yes, you do,” Timothy said, more out of politeness than belief.
Mr. Graham grunted, and he walked away. “I’ll go get them. Be ready and don’t go saying anything you might regret.”
“Yes, sir.”
Timothy took a deep breath, though this didn’t stop his body from shaking. His parents were coming to see him. None of it felt real. There were so many questions running through his head, it was like his thoughts were having a race. What were they like? Are they nice? Did he look like them at all? Once, one of the other kids had told him how parents can resemble their child. This was astounding news to the boy, who then spent hours looking at his own face and trying to picture it on someone else. Now, he wouldn’t have to do that anymore.
Carefully, he lifted the lone chair next to the door, ensuring that its legs wouldn’t rough up the nice rug. Taking his place, the caterpillars were marching again, and he tried to calm them down by tapping his fingers on his knee. His efforts went appreciated, but still in vain. Something in his back clicked as he straightened his shoulders. A good posture was something that he strived for. Although, unbeknownst to him, the way he was sitting made it look like he had a pole up his spine. He would have tapped his feet on the ground if he wasn’t worried that he’d sling mud off his shoes.
The floorboards creaked behind him.
They were coming!
Closer now, so very close.
It took all his will not to stand up and run to them.
They were right behind him.
Lightning struck as Timothy spun around in his chair. For a single, brief instant, the room filled with light. The only thing that was there were two sets of eyes staring back at him. They glowed a ghastly white color, like little orbs trapped within round glass jars. Then, as the light dimmed, he saw them for the very first time.
Before him stood a man and a woman, both holding each other by the hand. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that they were a couple, as no one only partially familiar with each other would ever hold someone else so tightly. The man was tall, lean, and wearing a set of clothes that looked very comfortable. His strong square chin pointed to the ground, and his round, thin-shaven head aimed for the ceiling. The woman, whose luscious blond hair reached down to her shoulders, wore a puffy dress with black and white squares running along it.
Timothy stood up, his breath catching in his lungs. “I-I—” he stammered. It was like he forgot how his body was supposed to work and needed a quick refresher. “H-h-hello—” his arm stretched out as though acting on its own.
“You’re Timothy?” the woman asked, her voice as smooth as butter. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The man shook his hand. His grip was firm. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Timothy gulped out. “You’re here.”
“Why yes, we are,” the woman said with an amused smile. “So are you.”
“Ah, yes, I am here too. That’s good. I wouldn’t want to not be here.” Internally, Timothy smacked himself.
“Quite the storm brewing.” The man nodded towards the window.
“Now Howard, I don’t think this is the time for small talk,” the woman said as she nudged her husband with her elbow.
“Sorry dear, but you know I’ve never been one for these types of conversations,” the person apparently named Howard replied.
“That’s alright,” Timothy added quickly. “The weather is very bad, isn’t it? Did you have to drive through it?”
“Oh, you really are our son, aren’t you?” the woman remarked with a click of her tongue. “You’ve got your father’s instinct for talking about the most trivial things.”
His father. The words didn’t sound right, and they rang in his ears. “I, um…”
“Shall we take our seats, Bernadette?” Howard asked, gesturing to the arrangements. “Or we could stand here and chat, if you want our legs to grow tired.”
Bernadette rolled her eyes and led him forward. “Must you add the sarcasm?”
The two sat down, still holding onto each other with a casual, but firm grasp. The window at their backs seemed to cast them in a strange, ethereal glow. They were radiant, though this did have the side-effect of creating a bit of a dark shadow around their faces.
Timothy, not wanting to be the only one still on his feet, joined them at the table. He kept looking down at his feet, then up at them. Eye-contact was a hard thing to master, and he didn’t want to overdo it, though it was hard to keep himself from staring.
“So,” Bernadette began. “You must have plenty of questions for us. Before that, though, we have some for you.”
“Oh?” Timothy raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you last,” she continued.
“A lifetime, in fact,” Howard chimed in.
His wife gave him a look and sighed. “How long has it been?”
“I don’t know the exact number, but I’m currently sixteen,” Timothy said, but then his eyes went wide. “No! Seventeen. Sorry, I’m a bit forgetful of those types of things. Numbers blur together in my head.”
“Yet another thing you have in common with your father.”
“Hey, don’t paint me in a bad light off the bat!” the man protested, giving his son a cheeky grin. “Let me ruin my reputation in my own spare time.”
“That won’t take long.”
Timothy chuckled, caught himself, and stopped abruptly. Was it wrong to laugh? Is that something he should have done? He looked at his parents to see if his gesture had offended them, but they appeared unmoved. “You have questions for me?” he asked, trying to keep his composure.
“Yes, naturally we wonder what you’ve been up to all these years,” Howard said, gesturing his free hand idly.
“I’ve kept myself busy.”
“How so?” Bernadette asked with a slight tilt of her head.
The boy had to think about it for a moment, before coming back with, “chores. Mostly chores.”
“Oh,” the couple spoke at the same time.
“What type of… chores?” Howard tried to ask casually.
“Well, it depends on the day. Sometimes Mr. Graham wants me on kitchen duty— that’s where I serve the food to the other kids. I do the dishes a bunch, and oh! I repair things!”
Bernadette’s slight head-tilt grew less slight. “Repairs?”
“Yes, all sorts of things!” Timothy replied enthusiastically. “Ovens, stairs, shelves, you name it!”
“Strange thing to have you do.” Howard’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you aren’t pulling my leg?”
Timothy was alarmed. “Of course not! I would never try to pull your leg! What if you had a bad joint?”
Stolen novel; please report.
The couple stared at him, then let out a giggle. “Ha. Very amusing,” Bernadette mused.
“Thank you?”
“I see he has my sense of humor, too.” Howard nudged his wife.
“May god help him, then.” She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Besides from your chores, what else have you accomplished? What’s school like?”
Timothy frowned. “Well, our teacher has been out sick for a while, so school has been very slow.”
“Teacher?” Howard’s brows narrowed. “As in, ‘one?’”
“Oh yes, Mr. Graham has a nice man come in a teach every day,” the boy explained. “Teaches every subject himself! Math, history, science, blackjack, and all the other essentials.” Here he frowned. “But he hasn’t been back, so I guess we’re quite behind.”
“How long has he been sick?” Bernadette asked.
“Like I said before, I’m not very good with numbers, so I’d guess about… six months?”
The couple exchanged very concerned looks with one another. “That’s… a lot.”
“Are you sure that’s correct?” Howard doubted. “Not another good-old leg pull?”
Timothy shook his head and said, “I could be wrong.”
“Yes, let’s hope that’s it.” Bernadette frowned. “Well then, have you made any friends here?”
The question made Timothy smile, and his head perked up. “Yes, I have! You know, I’ve never met anybody like them before. They’re strange, but oh so kind and…”
“Is something wrong?” Howard leaned forward to say.
“No, nothing.” He looked away, lost in thought. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was saying. No, I’m afraid I haven’t made any friends here. I’m not the sort of person that the other kids want to hang out with. I’ve tried, but I couldn’t really crack it.” Timothy turned towards the door, like he had seen something. “That’s funny.”
“What is?” the couple asked together.
“For a moment there I was happy,” he spoke. “That’s strange, isn’t it? Why did I feel that?”
Outside, the storm was getting stronger. The rain began to pound against the glass window, like it was fighting to break in. Something created a faint whistle as the wind blew through it. They were in the thick of it now.
“Can I ask you guys some questions now?” Timothy asked, the caterpillars in his stomach writhing.
“Of course,” said Bernadette. “It’s the least we can do.”
The boy straightened up, trying his best to maintain his uncomfortable, proper posture. “I don’t want to pry, or anything, but I can’t help but wonder. Why have you come back? Are you here to—” his mouth moved, but it took effort to actually get the sounds out. “Are you here to take me back?”
The couple’s faces were still concealed in the dark, but he could make out a sympathetic smile spread across them both. “Maybe, though we don’t know for sure,” Howard answered.
“We need to see if it would be… a proper fit,” Bernadette finished.
“I see.” Timothy’s gaze was anywhere but his parents. It was hard to look at them, so he discovered a sudden interest in the floor. “Why today?”
“We’ve reached a point in our lives where we are finally comfortable,” his father said. “So, we thought that now would be a good time to look back and reflect on our past decisions.”
“And correct them, if they need to be,” his mother finished.
“Past decisions?” Timothy echoed. “Like leaving me?”
Bernadette looked away and softly said, “yes, like that.”
Timothy didn’t remember the night that he was left alone. This was natural, as babies tend to forget things when they grow older. But, he knew the story well. “Did you mean to leave me there? On the bench in the park?” he asked, trying not to sound forward. “I’ve always wondered if you simply forgot to bring me with you and couldn’t find me again.”
Now it was Howard that turned his face. “We didn’t forget you, Tim.”
“I see,” he said, biting his lip. “Then I guess I have to ask… why?”
Again, the shadows shifted, and he heard his mother say, “many reasons went into that decision, and a multitude of different factors. It wasn’t an easy call.”
“But—” Timothy caught himself. Now wasn’t the time to be rash. “There’s one thing that’s been bothering me about that day. I understand why you may not have wanted to keep me. But why leave me there, all alone? If no one had heard me crying, then I might not have been found. They say it was cold that night. I might have frozen.”
“We know it must be hard to understand, and sometimes, we don’t get it either,” Bernadette spoke. “We had our reasons.”
“What were they?” Timothy asked, more loudly than he would have liked. “Can you not tell me?”
“We can,” they said. “But you already know why.”
“I do?” he asked.
The room went silent.
“You’ve always known.”
Timothy looked out the window. The rain was so thick that it was impossible to see the road anymore. Lightning struck in the distance- a sickly purple color full of sparks. He turned back to his parents. They seemed closer now, like the table had shrunk. His eyes traced the outlines of their faces carefully and the caterpillars in his stomach came to an unnerving stop. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see any of himself in his parents’ features.
A sigh escaped his lips, and he smiled softly. “I do.”
The couple leaned back. “What’s the point in asking us if you already know the answer?”
“It was silly of me, but I wanted to be wrong.” Timothy’s excellent posture sunk. “But you’re right. I know why you never came back, and why you left me there to die. It’s because of who I am. Why would you ever want me? What have I ever done to deserve your love? It’s perfectly natural that you didn’t need me. I can’t offer anything important. I’m sure that I must have been quite the burden.”
“Yes, yes you were.” Bernadette clucked her tongue. “Leaving you there wasn’t planned. We could have left you anywhere. It just so happened that bench was the place we realized how utterly pointless it was to have you.”
Howard spoke, his voice distant, “we’ve come to see if you’ve changed for the better. Evidently not.”
“I’m sorry.” Timothy cast his eyes down at his muddy shoes.
The couple leaned forward together. “As you should be. Don’t you see that you’re a waste of space? You’re lucky to have a roof over your head. The owner of this place must be very kind to let you stay here.”
Timothy’s heart quivered. “I try to be good- I really do. Every day, I do my best to be useful, but I’m just not. I suppose that’s why Mr. Graham put me in that room.”
“Why do you say that?” they asked.
The boy looked up at them and smiled. “Because you put the things you don’t want any more in the attic.”
The couple laughed, or perhaps it was the wind. “Dear, why have we even bothered to come here?”
“Yes, I do believe it has been a waste of our valuable time,” both Howard and Bernadette replied.
“No, wait, don’t go!” Timothy cried. “I know that I don’t deserve anything from you, but please, take me with you! I-I’m not useful or important, but I’m…” he stammered, looking for anything about himself that was good. “I’m nice.”
“Nice?” the word echoed.
“I’m polite,” he explained, reaching out his hand like he had practiced a million times before.
“A band-aid over a gushing wound.”
“I’m not sure why anyone puts up with him,” the voice of his mother remarked kindly.
“How did he ever make it this far?” his father wondered. “The world wasn’t made for people like him.”
Timothy retracted his hand, keeping his smile on tight. “My friends helped me!”
The silhouettes in front of the window titled their heads to opposite sides, almost creating the shape of a heart. “Friends? What friends?”
“I don’t know!” the boy cried, clutching his head. “I can’t remember them at all, but they’re there! They were so kind to me. I didn’t even do anything for them, but yet they never left me behind. There were so many opportunities for them to run from me! So many that I can’t remember, but they didn’t! Why would they do that? I don’t understand…” The wind was so loud. It was hard to concentrate. “Why does it make me happy when I think about them? Why do my friends make me feel so good? That can’t be right? Something must be going wrong! I must be taking advantage of their kindness, because no one would ever give it to someone like me.”
“Ever the burden.”
Timothy nodded.
“Making your friends risk their lives for you? How could you be so selfish?”
“I never asked them to.”
“Yet, they did.”
“I want to see them again.”
“You shouldn’t,” the couple said firmly. “You should stay here, where you can keep yourself out of trouble.”
“It would be safer that way,” Howard added.
Even though they were on the bottom floor, the sound of rain pounding on the roof was loud enough to hear. Timothy knew that the hole in his wall must be letting a flood inside, and he hoped that his bed wasn’t getting soaked. “I…” he stuttered, struggling to find the words he was searching for. “You’re right.”
The heads of the couple bobbed back upright. “Good.”
“I’ll only make a mess out there. It’s better for everyone if I stayed away.”
“A wise decision,” the voice whispered.
“But can I ask one more question?” Timothy said, looking up.
Bernadette gave him a warm grin. “Of course.”
“What’s my name?”
“Sorry?” Howard mumbled.
“Timothy isn’t my real one,” he explained. “That’s just the one the authorities started to call me when they found me. It stuck. But my first name isn’t important. I want to know what my last name is.”
The couple was silent.
“I’ve never had a last name. All my life it’s been Timothy… Nothing else.” He watched at them closely. “So, tell me before you go, who was I supposed to be?”
The rain stopped pouring and stood still in the air.
The wind stopped blowing, and the whistling whimpered out.
Howard looked at Bernadette, and Bernadette looked at Howard. Then they both looked at their son. “We don’t know.”
“That’s alright, how could you?” Timothy said kindly. “You’re not actually real.”
For a moment, the couple was there, and in the next, they were gone. Howard’s comfortable clothes, and Bernadette’s pretty dress, had sunken into the dark. The shadows had consumed them. All that was left were two pairs of glowing white eyes and a silhouette of where the parents should have been. They eyed him carefully from across the table.
“How long have you known?” they asked.
Timothy gave them a polite smile. “Since the second Mr. Graham told me you were here.” He gazed out the window, admiring the peculiar sight. “My parents never came to visit me. All this… it’s my daydream. This is just another version of the conversation I’ve been pretending to have all my life.” He turned to them again, and his expression was apologetic. “Did I think about it so much that you thought it was a part of my memory?”
They didn’t respond.
“Sorry, that was presumptuous of me, but I’m afraid I have no idea who or what you are.” He reached out his hand. “Hello, my name is Timothy. What’s yours?”
It thought for a moment. “We have no names.”
“Oh dear, that must be difficult.” The boy thought about the logistics of that for a moment. “What do you call yourself, then?”
“If this is your daydream,” it began, the voice a mix of sounds. “Then we are your daydreamers.”
Timothy’s eyes widened. “So… is this all you, then? Everything that I’m seeing, you’ve made it for me?” He looked around. “You’re very good at it.”
The shadow expanded, stretching out to fill the room. “You should not know.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “I didn’t mean to break things for you, but that’s the trouble with me. I can’t help but be a problem.”
The table and chairs in front of him were swallowed whole, as if eaten by something unseen. “How?” it asked, demandingly.
The caterpillars in his stomach were still now. Had they finally found a place to wrap their cocoons? “I’m very used to living in a lie.” He tilted his head. “If I may ask, what is this all for? What do you want with me?”
“We want what they wanted.” The shadows moved forward.
“They?” the boy repeated. “Do you mean the people outside of here? My friends?”
Something in the air told him that he was wrong, and a low growl rumbled through the room. Around his chair, the shadows began to writhe. Folds of nothing bent around themselves, splashing up and around the corners. The window was gone, swallowed with the rest of the room. He was now sitting in complete darkness. Well, except for the four glowing eyes that remained still in their places.
“Stay with us,” they whispered. “Here, where it’s safe.”
“Would you give me good dreams?” Timothy asked.
“If that is what allows you to sleep,” a voice from above called down.
He looked up, only to find that the roof had gone too. “Can my friends come?”
Again, the shadows moved closer. “If you wish them too.”
“I do,” he said, but then he bit his tongue. “Would they be real?”
Silence for a moment, then, “if you wish them to be.”
“I would love them to be!” he cried, his eyes lighting up. “Isn’t it funny? I can’t even remember who they are, or what they look like, and I still want to be around them? They must be amazing people.” The light faded as he lowered his gaze. “Which is why I can’t stay.”
Something in the void sunk, and the glowing eyes seemed to narrow. “Why?”
“Because my friends deserve to have the lives that they want, and not to be wrapped up in my silly old daydreams.” As he spoke, each word brought him lower and lower, as though they were weighing him down. “I worry that whatever is happening outside of here isn’t something they want.” His words went shallow as he accepted what he was about to say. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can dream with you anymore.”
The chair beneath him was gone, and now he was like a weightless feather drifting down to some place darker… some place colder. He felt his body freezing stiff, like the skin on his bones was turning to ice. The eyes followed him down and multiplied. The four turned to eight, and the eight turned to sixteen. Soon, they surrounded him on all sides.
“What now?” Timothy asked. “What happens now?”
“The dream will end,” a chorus of voices replied.
“Oh,” he whispered. “How?”
“We will end you.”
The void swooped in, crushing Timothy in a wave of darkness. He struggled to fight back, but the force was too strong. Screaming out, he found that his lungs had no air inside them. There was nothing here to breathe with. There was nothing here at all. A pressure filled his body. It was so strong he could feel his bones scraping together and his eyes bursting from his skull. There was the most pain- in the eyes. They burned like a sun, but it wasn’t that kind of heat. It was the type of scalding pain that came from something being far too cold.
He felt himself sinking deeper. The eyes watched him from above as he fell. His body pulsed with dread, then with pain. That pain went numb as he felt the frost finally consume him. All sensation had vanished. His sight, the beating of his frightened heart, and even the slick feeling from the paper towel in his pocket had gone.
He started to drift away.
Zzzzzzzchrt…
A hum belted out, muffled by the enveloping cold.
Zzzzzzzchrt-t-t-t…
There it was again, but it couldn’t be? Nothing was left here.
Zzzzzzzchrt-t-t-Timothy!
Timothy’s entire body lurched backward and went flying. The darkness went after him, reaching out like strings to pull him back. But he was already gone. He was moving away from this place, towards something distant and unknown. Brilliant lights started to flash as he began to breathe again.
Red, aquamarine, purple, red, aquamarine, purple.
The pattern was strange but hauntingly familiar.
Then, all the lights congealed into one and spread out into shapes. Those shapes formed structures, then those structures became tangible. Suddenly, he found himself standing in his room. He stumbled as his feet touched the floor of the damp attic, as though it was the first time he had ever walked. Everything was back to normal, like the day hadn’t even started yet.
The boy felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to find a fanged, bristly mouth gnarling at him.
With a yelp he stumbled back, shielding his face. To his surprise, so did the other person. Through the cracks in his fingers, he watched as whatever it was started to shift and pulse, before changing into a form less horrifying. In its new appearance, the figure stood up straight, something clicking in its back.
“Who are you?” Timothy asked, but then he realized he shouldn’t have bothered.
After all, it was his own face staring back at him.
“Hello, my name is Lavender, or at least that’s what you call me,” it spoke with a smile as a friendly hand reached out. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”
…
In an empty corridor, onboard a silent ship, was a boy very far from his attic. A wall stood in front of him, completely barren and uninteresting- although the lopsided smile across his lips may lead one to wonder if that really was the case. The space above his cheek started to wiggle as blood bubbled up from under his eyelids and ran out. Red teardrops plinked down and splashed across his shoes. This concerning health development went unnoticed as he stood there, undisturbed from his wall-watching. The blood rushed like a leaky faucet, and it soon stained his eyes with red.
A soft thud echoed down the halls as his body hit the floor.
To someone far away, he would have appeared dead. But, if they looked closer, they would see the rhythmic tide of his lungs as he breathed, and a pair of glowing purple eyes lighting up the darkness.