Boy

A short story about a young boy and an helpful woman and some interesting things that happen once they meet.

On other side of the street sat a young boy with golden hair. He would sit out there for about an hour every day or so. I've always watched him from my window, wondering what he was doing out there. He was out there even when it was cold.

But he wasn't playing like the other children do, he just sat and colored in a book or bounced a ball until he finally looked up and walked back inside.

One day, in the cold rain, I walked out and asked him why he sat so long and often. I told him he should go inside unless he wanted to get a cold.

But the boy didn’t answer, he just shook his head and pointed to his house.

I was surprised and confused but I walked a few feet. As I got closer to the house, I could make out muffled sound.

I could hear the yells and shouts of a man and woman at each other.

At this, I shook my head. How could they do this to such a young boy? I told the boy that anytime this happened, that he didn't need to sit outside for so long in such weather. That anytime this happened, he could come over to my house for a few hours.

I thought I was being helpful, and I thought I was being kind. The boy seemed to appreciate it. He smiled and nodded his head, and we walked over to my house.

My house wasn't too big or luxurious. I lived alone and I worked late. So it wasn't the cleanest place, but the boy didn't seem to mind it.

The first few times that the boy came over, I would have to go up to him sitting on the street and ask if he wanted to go inside. And then, once in, I would have to ask him to leave after a while.

This changed rapidly. One time, I came home and the boy was there, sitting on my couch, playing with his toys. I didn't know how he got into the house, but I didn't ask him. He just said, "Mom and Dad were fighting a lot again." So I left him alone.

I began to get worried. Time passed and the boy started staying longer and longer. Until that first night where he fell asleep on the couch and didn't move until morning. The boy was at my house all the time now and I didn't even know his last name. Every time I would come home from work, the boy would be there. And when I left, he was there too. I started to have to buy food for him because he hardly came home.

I mean, he wasn't much of a hassle. He kept quiet at night and slept on the couch. But he seemed to be about six years old and didn't go to school. He looked like he knew how to read though, as he breezed through the channels on my TV.

After about a week of the boy staying at my house full-time, I decided to put my foot down and figure this out. Obviously his parents would be a little concerned about the boy's whereabouts.

So, while the boy's eyes was fixated to the TV, I put on my boots and coat and walked out into the rainy evening. I went over to the boy's house. Or at least his parent's house.

The house looked dark in the rain but there was a car parked in the driveway so someone must  been there. I took a deep breath and visualized how I would go about this. These people were probably going to be hard to deal with, especially if they have been wondering where their son was.

I knocked once. What if they had more than one child they were neglecting? Or was the boy an only child? Even so, wouldn't they be just more worried about the boy?

I knocked again. Maybe they were sleeping? Or in the bath? But I was just too curious and I didn't know if I would get the courage again for this.

I jiggled the door knob and realized that it was unlocked. Should I just go in? Would that be invading their privacy?

Then I thought back to the poor boy sitting alone at my house and forgot to care. I opened the door and stepped inside.

And, oh god, it stank. The smell was so ripe and attacked my nose. No wonder the boy sat outside for so long.

I put my the top of my jacket over my mouth and nose to block out the smell. It didn't help too much, I was still inhaling the disgusting scent.

I took a step into the house, both of my hands covering my nose. I didn't want to breath it was so bad. I had to call the cops after this for this much neglect to a house. The furniture was molding and the house was a mess. Objects laid around the floor and what looked like mud in the dark covered the walls.

My breath hitched when I saw someone lying on the ground.

"Hello?" I called, "Are you okay?"

The person didn't answer and I ran to their side. I touched their shoulder but nothing happened.

What could it be? Drug overdose? Alcohol poisoning? I took out my phone, dialing 911.

"Hello?" I said into the call, "There's, there's a woman here. She's not responding. The house smells awful. Um, I'm at 503 South Pitman...Yes...yes..."

"Gaahh!" Someone calls from the other room in a painful, screeching voice.

"There's someone else here!" I stuttered out. That must be the husband. Was he okay too?

The woman on the phone was trying to console me to remain calm but I couldn't. What was happening here?

The man was coming out of the room, I could hear the thumping of his steps and the dragging of one foot.

I scrambled to my own feet and backed up, the phone dropping as the operator was attempting to keep me on the telephone. But I was rushing to get a hold on my balance.

Once the man got close enough, I could see that he was scary; he was scared. Adrenaline still pumped through my veins. I didn't know what to do, shouldn't I run?

The man fell clumsily to his knees, I could see blood coming from his mouth and the top of his forehead. He looked tired and starved and completely torn apart. Tears filled his eyes and spit bubbled from his bleeding mouth.

He sobbed uglily as he looked down at what was supposed to be his wife, lying on the floor. My heart stopped. She was dead, wasn't she?

My hand went to my mouth in utter shock. I couldn't smell the stench any longer. My body was so filled with fear, it didn’t care about a little smell.

The man looked up at me, as if he just remembered I was there. His blood-shot eyes widened and he said, “T-he the boy!”

I was brought back to the reason I was there in the first place. I reassured him, “It’s okay, I have your son. He’s safe with me.”

The man let out a strangled groan, like he was gurgling and choking on his own spit,  “It’s not my son,”

I gasped as the door opened, and a small head of golden hair poked through the door. He looked so innocent.

But still, I screamed when he came towards me.

Author's Note

There is grammar problems and probably and error here and there but still, enjoy!