It is of course the classic cliché, but my wife and I still decided to move after what happened. We had horrible nightmares from the incident and were just glad that we seemed to survive as a family, but still. We wanted to get out of the house which made us both remember what happend each and every day. Maybe it was the universe giving us something good or just pure dumb luck, but we found a house that was essentially our dream house. I know that every homeowner says that about their house, but it truly was an amazing deal - it had enough bedrooms to give both of our two boys their own room and for my wife and me each one office. It had a garden, which meant that we could finally fulfill my wife’s dream of harvesting our own vegetables and fruits, and it was only five minutes away from her parents. Since she wanted to be closer to them anyway, it seemed perfect. Sure, we had to renovate it first, there was an ant problem and my god, at night the house was louder than my wife’s snoring, but we still settled on it quickly.
It took some time to acclimate to everything - the move on top of our seven-year-old Andrew being our oldest now and us having to give away all of our daughter’s belongings. It might seem harsh (and earned a lot of hurtful comments from some people, especially my parents. We’re not talking anymore), but none of us could stand to handle any of her things without almost breaking down. The loss of our daughter might have been the worst thing to happen to us, but then it became so much worse. My therapist encouraged me to type it all out and post it here, so maybe this helps. I cannot bring myself to start with the death of my daughter, so you’ll have to settle with the aftermath. Bear with me, I know this text will be a mess.
I think all started with Tim, our other son, losing his tooth. He was incredibly excited, proudly displaying it to us, and then his teachers in day care. In the evening, after I had put him in bed, he made a shushing motion and lifted his pillow to show me his tooth laying under it. I chuckled and ruffled his hair.
“Well, if you’ve been a good kid today, then I am quite sure that the tooth fairy will exchange it for a gift”, I told him.
He nodded along. “What do you think she’ll leave with me? Maybe some Mashmallo’s?”
“I don’t know if the tooth fairy would give you sweets. Remember, those make your teeth sick.”
The next morning, the tooth fairy had left Tim a new small stuffed animal. He was over the moon and carried it with him the entire day, until my wife, Mary, was worried that we would have to put it in the laundry on the first evening of him having it. But it seemed to calm him a lot, so we didn’t say anything.
“Dad?” I turned around to see Andrew standing behind me. Tim stood behind him, awkwardly clinging to the sleeve of Andrew’s pyjamas. Both looked up with the excitement only two brothers under ten can bring up.
“Do you think the tooth fairy also accepts other things?”, Tim asked. “Maybe I can trade some of my toys for better ones?”
Andrew scrunched up his face. “I told him that the tooth fairy wouldn’t, because it’s the TOOTH fairy. But maybe there are other kinds of fairies?”
I did my best to make an exaggerated thinking face. “Hmm, I think the tooth fairy only shows up for your teeth. And I don’t really know of any other fairy that would trade the things from under your pillow. Sorry, Tim.”
He looked so disappointed, I almost felt with him. “Well. Your teeth are just your mouth-bones, right?”, Andrew asked slowly. “You should definitely stop sleeping with one arm under your pillow, then.” Tim looked horrified and looked like he was about to cry. I quickly intervened and reassured him that the tooth fairy wouldn’t try to take his arm away. Both boys seemed unsatisfied with the answer, but did go to bed without a fuss then.
The next morning, Tim was quite sulky at breakfast and reluctantly told us that he had placed a matchbox car under his pillow, and besides jabbing him in the cheek, nothing had happened. Andrew almost laughed out loud and told him that he should make an experiment out of it, to see what the tooth fairy would deem an acceptable trade and what not. That seemed to cheer Tim up. It was heartwarming to see our boys bonding again. They had been so cold to each other following the incident and we had been worried sick over what and how much exactly Andrew had seen that day, but he seemed to slowly recover from losing his sister. Our therapist also said that behavioural changes were to be expected, and especially if Andrew had seen anything, that would absolutely explain his coldness, which Tim then of course reciprocated. But now both were eating their cereal and discussing which toys or things to put under their pillows. It seemed like everything was on a very good track. In fact, the entire day seemed to be very nice. Mary and I had a lunch date when we saw each other in the cafeteria at the same time (we worked in the same building but different firms), and when we had gotten the boys from day care and school, we settled on a picnic in the park. Tim especially seemed to respond very well to visits to this park, probably because he missed the playground. Andrew also liked going there, even though often times older teenagers from school he knew (and hated) would hang around there. When we came home, Andrew asked Tim if he wanted to help him with his homework. Seeing both working on the kitchen table, Andrew doing his math homework and Tim doodling on some paper, it almost reminded me of the time before the incident. It was bittersweet.
“I want to try for another baby.”
Mary had asked her parents to take the boys for one evening, and I was looking forward to spending one uninterrupted evening with my wife. But what she said almost made me fall out of my shoes.
“Are you sure? We don’t know if one of the boys won’t be acting up again, and you’re still recovering from losing her. We both are”, I said gingerly.
Mary shook her head.
“It has been almost a year. We got a second chance here, with our two boys, a fresh start. I would love to expand our family. Just imagine how much life a baby would bring to the house.”
I cocked my head. “Is this about your pregnant coworker?”
Mary looked almost insulted. “That’s not… okay, maybe it is what started the thought, but I really do think I’m ready. Have you seen the boys interacting with each other? It’s better than ever…” She left the rest unsaid but I perfectly understood. Our boys had not gotten along well after the incident, and Mary was right. The new house had been a great fresh start and it came with great changes. But we had settled here, and now was as good as any other time to think about a baby.
I nodded slowly. “The house is a bit big for only four people.”
Andrew must have seen my wife googling some baby related things, because he was very moody when I checked in on him during his homework-time.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You know that I can’t read your mind and just tell why you’re upset.”
He looked angry and confused. “Why do you want another baby? The last time did not work out very well”, he said, showing me clearly that he was still not completely happy with his brother.
I had to swallow a lump and remind myself that he was allowed to be upset. “It’s okay to feel like this. But your mom and I would still like to have a bigger family, and I’m sure that you will be best friends with another baby in no time.” He nodded slowly and I could swear I could watch actual wheels turn in his head. Then, like nothing happened, he just asked for cookies. Kids are weird, man.
I woke up because Andrew was screaming bloody murder. I rushed into his room to see him clutching his arm, his pyjamas tinted in a shade of red they should NOT display, and crying his eyes out. I was close to a panic attack at this point, but after cleaning his arm in the bathroom and assessing the damage, I could see that they were nasty scratches for sure, but nothing I couldn’t treat at home. Mary, still drowsy from taking a sleeping pill this evening, tended to Tim whilst I bandaged Andrew’s arm. He insisted that he had been wakened by the tooth fairy who wanted to steal his arm, but he could pull away, hence the scratches. He described her with a hideous face and lumpy hair, and was adamant that she had come out of his closet. Coincidentally, in which his halloween costume, consisting on a mask depicting a monster, and a cheap wig, waited for its great debut on old hallows eve. Of course we made sure to check the entire house for any fairies and let Andrew sleep in our bed that night. But it was still deeply unsettling for this to happen now. We brought it up with our therapist, and asked her what could be the cause of Andrew doing that to himself. She reassured us that while it was concerning and we should monitor sharp objects in his vicinity even more, it was most probably a cry for more attention and that we should focus on bonding with him more in the next few weeks.
So we asked Mary’s parents for their help and organised the next Saturday to revolve entirely around Andrew. His brother stayed with his grandparents and we took Andrew to his favourite museum, the park and let him choose a new toy at the mall. He seemed to enjoy it, but he clung to my hand almost the entire time. Even after countless reassuring promises that he still was our little boy and of course he was equally as important as his brother and any potential future siblings, he still refused to admit that he scratched himself. We could only make him promise to yell for help should this ever happen again. He seemed a bit more at ease after this, and we went to pick up Tim from my in-laws. Our dinner was peaceful, with both boys eating their vegetables and no food being thrown.
I really thought we were doing okay. What a fool I was.
The next morning, Andrew’s bandages were stripped away and the wounds opened again. He hadn’t called for help or screamed when it happened, which only made us more sure that he was doing this for attention. Even our therapist couldn’t tell us what was wrong and just strongly advised us to put gloves on his hands, in case he did it subconciously, and let him sleep in our room. But that did not help at all. The next week, every day Andrew woke up with bloody arms, each day looking more devastated. It took a toll on us all, of course. Mary was constantly torn between nightmares and insomnia, to the point where I had to promise to hold watch so that she could take some sleeping pills and sleep for a few hours.
The next weekend we had another day just with Andrew, letting Tim stay with his grandparents again. We could not thank Mary’s parents enough. Andrew’s mood seemed to brighten a little, and he enjoyed himself when we visited a petting zoo and he could see his favourite animal, mountain goats. He was chattering the entire way home, giving us bits of information about the animal, with the occasional plea to build a mountain in the garden, such that some goats might move in there. It was almost as if we had our boy back. He even played with Tim in the evening, both of them racing through the entire house, until Tim almost tripped over the rug in the living room and we called them both to the dinner table.
The next morning was the first in almost two weeks where I did not wake up to the sight of Andrew clutching his arm. Instead, he was sleeping soundly in his bed, not reacting at all when I quietly called out for him. I almost wept in joy when I realised he had finally slept through the night. Even Mary was still sleeping, so I decided to make some breakfast. It had been a long time since we had some breakfast in bed. Tim was quietly playing in his room, and he did not want to help me prepare the food, so I went to freshen up in the bathroom, before heading into the kitchen.
When I came back to wake up Mary and Andrew, I was in for a nasty surprise. Neither of them were waking up. My heart almost stopped when I realised that the sleeping Andrew had his blanket draped over him in a way that concealed a huge puddle of blood pooling near his stomach. And that he was missing a good part of the skin on his hand. My heart sank so far down into my stomach upon that sight. I immediately called an ambulance, even more worried when I realised that Mary was also unconscious. What had happened here? Both were breathing, although I only now noticed that Andrew’s breathing was way too shallow. I tried to put a bandage on Andrew’s hand, but it was soaked in seconds. How long had he been bleeding? Only when I heard the sirens in the distance, did I remember Tim. Oh god, what if he saw any of this? I raced to his room, but I could not find him anywhere. Everything was a mess. When the paramedics and police arrived, they instantly transported my wife and son to the hospital, but the police urged me to stay behind, because they had a few questions for me.
It quickly became clear that they were not treating me as a suspect, and also not concerned for the safety of Tim. Instead, they asked me if we had been to the park with him in the last few weeks. What an odd question that had been at that time. My entire family was in shambles, my wife and son in the hospital and my other son missing, and they were worried about the park?
I almost lashed out at them, but they managed to rob me of all my energy quickly with some new information.
“Sir, your son was seen in the park talking to his old acquaintances. Is it possible that he regained his memory?”
I almost fainted at that thought.
Now, you see, Tim had always been… special. When he was little, his mood had changed very quickly, as it was with most children. But when he got older, his mood swings got worse, and alternated between him being a relatively normal little boy, and him doing the most vicious things. When he was a toddler, he would always throw anything in his immediate vicinity at Mary and me, until we had to secure most cabinets and dressers such that he did not have access to them. On his ninth birthday he had threatened Mary with the knife with which she wanted to cut his birthday cake, because he changed his mind last minute and didn’t want chocolate cake anymore. When he was twelve, his school informed us that he had been caught smoking with some older boys just outside the school premises. We put him in therapy and it seemed to improve his behaviour somewhat. His therapist said that there was no diagnosis for his behaviour, but that that could change once he reached eighteen and then he could also be medicated. Oh how we were looking forward to that.
When he was fourteen, he ran away. It felt incredibly wrong, but Mary and I almost cried happy tears when the police told us they couldn’t locate him. After half a year, Mary fell pregnant, and although we had not planned for that at all, we decided to keep the baby. Our baby boy Andrew was born a happy and healthy boy. Sure, he also cried a lot and was not the easiest baby, but compared to Tim, he was the best behaved and sweetest little angel. Andrew never knew his violent older brother, and we were hoping it would stay like this until he was old enough to grasp the concept of mental health and its problems. But then, when Andrew was five, Mary got pregnant again. This time with a baby girl. We were happy. This time it was planned, we were overjoyed. But then, six months pregnant Mary got a phone call from the police, telling us that Tim was back. And he was back with a serious drug problem.
Of course we sent him to the best rehab facility we could find, but that just made him angry. After seven weeks, he escaped and paid us a visit at home. We argued, and I attempted to get him in my car to bring him back to the facility. But even though he was weak from rehab, he lunged forward and managed to push Mary. If only we hadn’t been standing right next to the open front door. If only I had had a better grasp on his arms. If only Mary had been standing further in the hallway. My poor Mary tumbled town the three steps and suddenly there was so much blood everywhere. In the panic and mess, Tim escaped. Mary got transported to the hospital, but that night, I almost lost her. We lost our baby, but the doctors could revive Mary, thank God. This time is still hazy for me, I do not remember everything correctly. But one week after Mary had been sent home from the hospital, we were called to the psych ward. Tim had been admitted there after he had been treated for an overdose. Somehow, it had erased his memory almost completely. Mentally, our son was five years old again. The doctors and psychiatrists assured us that this was uncommon, but most probably permanent. Now, the sight of him triggered so many emotions, most of them bad, but after half a year we were asked to take him home, because he seemed stable and couldn’t stay at the psych ward full time. We said yes. He would be in day care during working hours, where he would receive therapy and educational lessons, would be regularly assessed and we could admit him to the ward again if we noticed anything too unusual. But we didn’t. The doctors predicted that Tim would mentally stay five for the rest of his life, and with the right medication his mood swings would be gone. This was an amazing second chance for us with him.
After we had lived with Tim again for a year, we moved to the new house. You know the rest. I want to implore everyone to be very cautious. The psychiatrists theorized that Tim must have regained his memory when he visited the park where he used to meet with his friends. He must have pretended to still be five years old, to get revenge on us. Oh, he must have been so angry, filled with hate and spite for us. After multiple tests, doctors confirmed that Tim had mixed sleeping pills into our dinner to render us incapable of reacting to his vile doings for so long. He could hurt Andrew easlily, using his halloween costume to fool Andrew and to make us believe our sweet little boy would hurt himself. When he had accidentally put too much in our food and realised that he had made a mistake, he fled, the police said.
I am beyond devastated. Mary and Andrew haven’t woken up so far, and I feel like I’m going insane without them. Every day I read to them, and I talk to them, but I just want to see my wife’s smile again, or hear Andrew giggle.
But what pushed me over the edge was the news the police brought me today.
Tim had tried to do it again. With another family two states over.
The local police forces have dubbed him The Bone Fairy after everything they knew about our case.
Please, everyone, be safe out there.
Narration by u/OnHillStreet