The Boy And His Staff

Philip wasn't an orphan but he might as well have been. His mother was a cruel woman with little love, and his father took off when he was still just a babe in the cradle, hardly a few minutes old.

"He took one look at your face and ran for the hills," his mother told him one afternoon after she'd been boozing, “Can you blame the man? Look at it! He was expecting a prince, instead he got you. Now you know, so never ask me about him again, or else!” Or else, he’d get another brutal spanking, sleep outside again, and maybe even be starved for days, her favorite punishment.

Even though his father left, his identity haunted Philips thoughts. He could have been anyone but Philip liked to imagine that he was someone very interesting, like a wrestling champion, or a pirate with a giant beard, one eye, and a hook for a hand, or maybe he was just a no-show dad that missed out on the first ten years of his sons life. And instead of a giant beard and a hook he probably looked a little like Philip, sporting his long dark curls and hazel brown eyes.

Unlike his father, his mother was always around. She was an extreme couch potato who never went  beyond ten feet of the front door. Letting Philip do the shopping and run errands around town, while she stayed home and tended to her babies all day long. Seven overweight pigs that made Philip's life completely miserable. Named after the days of the week, they were her most prized possessions and she spoiled them endlessly. She allowed them indoors where they peed and pooped all day long, which unfortunately for Philip meant, all work and no play. When she wasn't taking warm bubble baths with the brutes she enjoyed dressing them up as people. On their birthdays she threw huge parties for them with lots of cake, gifts and even invited guests. All her motherly love and care was spent on these animals. The only times she had time for her own son was when she was telling him to do something or scolding him for things he didn't even do.

It was after years of living like this that one day a thought came upon him following another day of hard work.

"Why don't I run away?" He wasn't sure running away would fix his problems, all he knew for sure was that he couldn't go on living like this. Philip stayed on that thought as he lay on his worn-out mattress, staring out of his window at the endless sea of stars sprinkling the night sky.

The thought of going homeless gave him an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, but would it be worse than what he had now? What would he lose? The piece of hard mattress he slept on night after night? It might as well have been a piece of plank. The single meal of dried porridge he was forced to eat every day while the pigs ate like kings, or his mother's never-ending name-calling? This was no home. It was hell on earth.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star..." Philip sobbed, still marveling at the stars. Was it just him or did they appear brighter and extra beautiful tonight? It's as if they were right there, hanging just outside his window like fruits on a tree that he could pluck. For a split second he wanted to try, but was too tired to even lift a finger. He’d worked so hard today. He'd always thought of stars as lamps lighting up a heavenly kingdom. “I wonder what it would be like to live up there?” he thought to himself. A smile landed on his face as images of chocolate rivers and candy streets flashed across his eyes. That would just be terrific.

Suddenly, he stopped smiling, remembering right then how truly miserable his life was. Although he tried to stay strong a stream of tears erupted from his eyes and streaked across his cheeks. It would be awkward for a big boy like himself to be caught in this state but he was alone and besides, his tears felt nice and warm, and a nice warm touch from somewhere, anywhere is what he wanted.

He would have continued crying while thinking about all his problems but his tired brain was starting to shut down. It's been a long day. He needed to sleep and that’s what he decided to do. He rubbed his heavy tired eyes and yawned as he turned onto his side.

"Ouch!" he muttered at that moment. Something sharp and pointy had poked him on his left leg. He grabbed his leg and rubbed it until the pain was gone. He made no further fuss about the whole thing, concluding that it was simply a stray wire, which had come out of the mattress. He shifted away from there and closing his eyes went back to sleep.

A minute hadn't passed when he yelled "Ouuuu!" again. It was back! Only this time he felt it on his back, and it sort of felt like teeth. Philip leaped out of bed, touching the spot where he felt the pain. He realized that it was covered by something warm and sticky.

BLOOD!

He tasted the substance with the tip of his tongue. The sharp metallic tang was unmistakable.

Something did try to make a meal out of him. There was only one way to find out.

He went down on all fours next to his mattress and fumbled around the floor for the torch he left there. The crowded little attic he slept in didn't have a light source and he got around it by way of his torch at night. But what had happened to it? He could have sworn he left it right beside his mattress, but annoyingly he just kept landing his hands on an empty floor. He had to find the torch before his attacker returned for seconds.

"Oh, where is it?" Philip mumbled, growing ever more restless. Maybe it was over here, no! Over there? Not a chance, just more hard cold floor. He searched all around the mattress, even on top of it, and at this point was just going around in circles. He suddenly paused as he tried to think. Did he look under the mattress?

He lifted the flimsy thing easily and immediately noticed the chrome metal exterior of the torch glimmering in the bit of moonlight that found its way through the dirty window. 

Philip grabbed the device and switched it on straight away, then began flashing its pale-yellow light everywhere while his sharp eyes kept a lookout for the culprit.

"Show yourself mousy, mousy, mousy?" That's what he'd concluded had bit him. The amount of junk littering the attic discouraged the boy. The only way he was going to find his mouse was by turning the room upside down. Just the thought exhausted him and he was already so tired. In any case, it was way past his bedtime now. He couldn't waste another moment of sleep because tomorrow was going to be another day of hard labor. So, after examining his mattress and the floor next to it one last time, he crept back into bed.

He woke up the next day with the sun shining directly into his eyes. It was so bright he could barely keep his eyes open. It was sunup already? And he was still in bed! What a disaster? He shot up like an arrow in his bed and looked out of the window next to him. The sun was burning brightly high up above the horizon. It looked like it could have been anywhere from midday to late afternoon. How did this happen? He knows what would happen to him for oversleeping.

His neighbors were up and about and there was a lot of noise in the street outside, but total silence coming from inside the house itself. Where was his mother? Where was her shrill voice, ordering him to come down and make breakfast for her pigs? He would have expected a cold bucket of water in his face by now. Why couldn't he hear the pigs squealing downstairs or hear their little hoofs running through the house?

"So strange!" He mused, scratching a point on his back. It was quite itchy. He noted that it was the same place he got bit by his invisible mouse the previous night.

He got out of bed, and placed his ear against the attic door. He was met with complete silence. It was almost as if no one was home. He decided at this point that it was safe to go down, so he flipped open the door and was greeted below by an empty corridor. No pigs chasing each other around and knocking things over, no sign of his mother rushing towards the attic with a bucket of cold water. As he sat there wondering what to do next, he found himself scratching the same spot on his back again.

The skin in that area felt uneven and bumpy, almost like a rash was forming over it. He turned his head and tried to see just what was going on with his back but realized that he’d need the help of a mirror. Ignoring the itch for a moment he released the ladder and made his way down.

His mother's bedroom was down to his left, but he decided to go the other way towards the kitchen. Perhaps she was still fast asleep, which meant he could still quickly throw something together for her babies. A bad feeling formed in his gut as he snuck up to the kitchen door. What if she was waiting in there with a belt? He peered passed the kitchen door and finding an empty room immediately sighed with relieve. He fired up the hearth immediately, and filled a large pot with water before placing it into the hearth. As soon as the water started boiling, he poured in a batch of oatmeal, mixed everything together then closed the pot.

He then snatched a broom and began sweeping invisible dirt off the floor to appear busy just in case his mom walked in at that moment. But there was still no sign of her or the pigs. It was beginning to look like he could actually pull this off. He paused for a bit to scratch his back for the umpteenth time before resuming, but paused again shortly afterwards and sniffed the air. His pot was burning. He rushed towards the pot, lifted the lid and stirred the thickening oatmeal. It was ready, using a cloth he retrieved the pot from the hearth.

He was going to dish it out for the pigs but was too busy at the moment trying to get rid of the itch on his back, which only seemed to get worse the more he tried. With his untrimmed nails he dug deep into his skin and scratched as hard as he could. He was on the verge of losing it.

He had to see what was going on back there. He had to get to a mirror right away. The only mirror in the house however was in his mother's bedroom. How was he going to make sure he wasn't caught? He couldn’t be bothered by such fine details right now.

He exited the kitchen and started towards his mother's bedroom. If she caught him sneaking around in there, he’d be toast, but that didn’t matter to him now. All he could think about was getting to that mirror. His heart beat faster and louder the closer he got to her door. He was surely going to sleep outside tonight and on an empty stomach what’s more. As he found himself in front of her door, Philip realized that he didn’t have a plan. He couldn’t focus enough to think of one. All he could think about was scratching his back and ridding himself of his annoying itch.

He brought his hand from around his back and grabbed the door handle. The moment he did that he was overcome by a strange feeling. It made the hairs on his neck stand up straight and covered his arms in goosebumps. It made his entire body crawl, and sent chills down his spine. The closest thing he could compare it to was being covered by a thousand creepy-crawlies. He freed the door handle and just like that the feeling was gone.

“Mother!” He called out, barely loud enough for him to hear himself.

He raised his fist to the door and was about to knock but didn’t. He thought it would be better to just sneak in. Philip grabbed the handle one more time but with less enthusiasm than before, and as sure as the nose on his face the feeling was back. It caught him like a hurricane and nearly knocked him out. Philip swayed back and forth like a drunk sailor. He would have been on the ground already if he’d not been holding onto the handle for dear life.

“What… is… going… ooon?” He said, barely able to form a word. Maybe he was drunk. Why else would the room be spinning like it was? He broke into laughter abruptly finding the whole thing comical for some reason.

“This is maaad.” He mumbled with a broad smile on his face. Without warning he fell forward, tugging down on the door handle as he did.

The door swung open with the weight of his body pushing it forward. Philip found himself with his face on the floor. Instead of getting back up he lay there and laughed until his tummy started to hurt. When he was finally out of breath and could laugh no more, he clumsily lifted himself off the ground. What he saw next took his breath away. His mother was levitating high above her bed along with her seven pigs, like some queen of the ghosts. Her arms and legs dangled lifelessly beside her. She didn’t appear to be sleeping because she was staring straight ahead with terror-stricken eyes as if she’d seen something horrible. Her jaw was hanging wide open like a massive yawn but she didn’t make a sound or move, none of them did. They all remained perfectly still as if time was frozen around them.

Philip wasn't amused anymore. He was now overwhelmed with dread. This is probably how everyone who suffered a terrible fate felt moments before they met their doom. At once he knew he had to leave. If there was ever a wrong time and place, this probably was it. Philip swung around and started fleeing but just before he could make it out of the door, he bumped his head into something firm and solid. The knock sent him hurtling. He landed with a loud thud on the other side of the room. His head was spinning and he was becoming very sleepy.  The last thing he saw before everything went dark was the face of the devil, frowning at him.