I don’t know how to think or how to perceive anything anymore. Nothing is as it should be. There’s something wrong with my child. (knocking)
Dad, what are you doing? I’m coming. My son and I have always been close. My wife and his mother passed away when he was young. I never made an effort to pursue a new relationship because I believed this was better. My son is now 8 years old and plays as if there’s no tomorrow. He used to run out to the backyard towards the forest. It was his favorite place to be. When I look out, I see him standing at the edge of the forest, whispering something. Tommy, it’s time for dinner. My son is still standing there. Tommy, it’s time for dinner. Come now. Then he turns around and runs toward me. He runs past me straight into the house, kicks off his shoes, and sits at the dinner table.
So, what did you do today?
Nothing special.
Who were you talking to?
No one.
Are you sure?
Yes, I am.
If you say so.
He gets his sandwiches, which he always eats before bedtime. I then take him to his bedroom after he’s prepared himself. When I tuck him in, he looks at me.
Goodnight, my treasure.
Goodnight, Dad.
Is there something you’re thinking about?
Mmm, maybe.
What would it be?
Dad, where is Mom?
Mom… she’s in heaven.
How do you know that?
Because she was a good person who has gone to a better place.
Okay. Is that all?
Yes.
I then leave and leave the door half-open as he prefers. I walk to the living room where I see a picture of all of us. My dear wife. Why did Cancer take you? I feel the sorrow that washes over me but continue with my tasks before the next day. I go to bed. The next day, I prepare breakfast for the boy.
Tommy, it’s breakfast.
He rushes in, gobbles up his breakfast, and runs out. He seems to be in a hurry. When it’s time for lunch, I look outside but can’t see him. So, I grab my phone and call him. It rings but there’s no answer. I turn on the GPS to see where he is. He’s in the forest. I head toward where the phone should be. As I approach, I see him staring at a tree.
Tommy, what are you doing?
Tommy turns to me, and something feels off. He looks at me from bottom to top. He smiles at me, then walks past me.
Tommy, I’m talking to you.
Yes, I hear you.
The voice is not the same. It’s as if it’s a different voice. Tommy looks at me with wide eyes.
Yes, Dad, I hear you.
It’s more like it, but still not quite. Tommy turns around and walks toward our home. I follow and now bring Tommy inside, who clumps in with his shoes on.
Tommy, you don’t wear shoes inside.
Tommy looks at me bewildered. I point to his shoes. He looks down at them and then back up at me. Take off your shoes.
Why?
Because you don’t wear shoes indoors.
Why not?
Tommy, I don’t want to have this discussion with you right now.
Okay.
Tommy sits down on the floor and tries to take off his shoes, but it seems like he doesn’t know how. Eventually, he rips them off. He stands up and looks around. I warm up his food, and when it’s hot, I go to Tommy, who’s standing in front of the mirror, tugging at his skin. It’s as if he’s inspecting himself. He makes faces and then looks at me, turning around.
It’s time for lunch.
Okay.
He goes in and sits down after a while. He looks at the food, which is macaroni and meatballs with ketchup, his favorite meal. But he just stares at it and pokes at it with his fingers. He looks amused as he likely feels the heat coming from the food and the stickiness of the ketchup.
Aren’t you hungry?
Hungry.
Then you should eat.
Eat…
Yes, or the food will get cold.
Cold.
Yes, cold.
He looks at me with a gaze that terrifies me. It’s like there’s something there, but not quite. He gets up and walks away from the table without eating or taking off his shoes. I follow and see him walk up towards the forest, looking around until he sits on the ground, almost like a cat, and makes a lunge that shocks me. He has caught a bird and bites its head off, letting the blood drip down from his mouth. I’m about to vomit. Then he sits down and looks at me.
What’s wrong, Dad?
You shouldn’t…
I shouldn’t what?
We should go to…
We’re not going anywhere, Dad. (a demonic voice.)
I lose my footing and fall backward. Suddenly, he stands over me with a strange smile on his face. His skin is torn apart, and this thin, tall creature with black skin and long fingers resembling claws is in front of me. It’s more like a skeletal figure with a stench that almost makes me vomit. Its gray eyes look lifeless, while one of its claws presses against my forehead. I hear my son screaming from the tree without his skin as this creature feeds on him.
You will obey, or your son will never return.
I know that no matter what I do, my son is already dead. But the choice is to try to resist. It’s difficult when I’m like a puppet without any will.
So, Dad, it’s time to go to the tree because you need to see your son and become a new person.