Billy and Bosco

Every night, my Dad was in charge of putting me to bed. He would help me brush my teeth and then would tuck me into my nice, warm bed. Then he would tell me a story. Every night, it was the same story. ‘The Story of Bosco and Billy’. I had lots of books in my room, as my Mother would read to me throughout the day, but Dad would never read any of those books, he would always tell me the same story. I always assumed that either, the story had come from a book, but my Father had told it so many times that he didn’t need to read from the book anymore, or that it was a story he was told as a child.

I always enjoyed ‘The Story of Bosco and Billy’, I always found that it would help me go to sleep. Usually, I would be almost asleep by the end of the story. I slowly learnt all of the words to the story and would sometimes recite it along with my Dad. For some reason, probably because I heard it every night for years, the story stuck with me and even to this day, I still remember all of the words to the story.

The story, in its entirety, is as follows:

Billy the Bear was an ordinary bear, with an ordinary life

But he had a small friend named Bosco, who got him into strife

Most of the time Bosco would behave, but sometimes he acted out

Billy tried to keep him in line, but sometimes he would break out

Like, one-time Bosco was hungry and decided he would steal food

Billy tried to stop him and explained to Bosco that stealing is rude

But Bosco didn’t listen, he stole the food anyway

And took it to his secret spot and hid it away

Bosco took the food to the large oak tree that was in the woods

There he stuffed the food inside and that’s where he hid his goods

Billy never found the stolen food, its still hidden there to this day

Bosco wishes that it is never found, he hopes, and he prays

Billy is kind and Bosco is a little bit silly

And that is the story of Bosco and Billy

Now, the story seems innocent enough, and I always thought it was a cute little story about two bears, but after recent events, I now know it is a lot more sinister than it first appears.

My Dad passed away a few years ago, and it took a toll on all of us, my Mum especially. She began a little bit reclusive after my Father passed and so I didn’t see her as often, because she shut herself off from others. I spent a long time trying to create a relationship with my Mother again, and slowly, over the course of a couple of years, I did manage to reconnect with her. Things weren’t as they once were, but she did invite me over once a week for a cup of coffee. During these hour-long visits, we would sit in the kitchen and talk about times gone by. About my childhood, about my time at school and about all of the good times we had together. The one subject that didn’t come up, however, was my Father. I think the pain was still too raw for my Mum to talk about him.

On one of my weekly visits, though, I thought that I would try and mention my Father, as I felt that it might do Mum some good to talk about him. I decided to mention the story that he would tell me every night.

"Do you remember that story Dad used to tell me before bed, ‘The Story of Billy and Bosco?", I hesitantly asked, not knowing how Mum would react to the mention of her late husband.

Mum looked up from her cup of coffee that she was drinking. She looked confused. Maybe because it was the first time he had been mentioned for a number of years, or maybe because she didn’t know what I was talking about.

“No, I don’t remember that story” she replied, “You had a lot of books, so I can’t remember all of them”.

I was a bit surprised by this. Dad told it to me every night, so I would have thought that she would remember it. I then went on to explain that it wasn’t a book, it was a story that would recite, without reading it off of a page, because he knew it so well.

“I thought that your Father would read you a different book each night” she said, sounding confused, “That’s what he always told me anyway”.

I thought that this was especially strange because he never read me one of my books, and I would have thought that my own Mother would have known this.

“What was this story about?” she asked me.

“It was about two bears, one named Billy and one named Bosco”.

I was about to continue explain the story when my Mum suddenly interrupted me.

“Did you just say the bear was named Bosco?”, she asked me, sounding quite serious.

“Yeah, that’s right. His name was Bosco”, I replied.

“That’s strange”, Mum said. She had a look on her face, that looked like she was trying to remember something.

“Your Father used to tell me about a friend that he used to have named Bosco”, Mum continued, “He used to say that Bosco would get him in a lot of trouble when he was younger. I never met this Bosco, which your Dad said was a good thing. He also said that he only met up with Bosco only once or twice after we met, and then you Father told me that he was longer going to see Bosco. He said that he finally got rid of him. I was always curious as to who he was, I have never seen any photos of him, or any evidence that he existed now that I think about it. So, it is strange that he told you a story that contained a character with the name Bosco”.

Mum stopped talking for a second and I didn’t know how to respond. She then looked at me and asked, “Do you remember this story? Can you tell it to me?”.

I recited the entire story to her. She listened to the whole tale without changing her expression. She took it all in and then she asked, “An oak tree? Are you sure that Bosco hid the food in an old oak tree in the woods?”.

“Yeah, it was definitely an old oak tree. Why’s that?” I asked her, sensing that something wasn’t quite right.

“It’s just that, on mine and your Fathers first date, he took me to an old oak tree that was inside the Shelton Woods, only a ten-minute drive from here” she responded, “He told me then, that it was lucky for me that Bosco hadn’t decided to interrupt their date”.

She then stopped talking and stared at the wall behind where I was sitting.

“I think it is time for you to go now, I’m sorry”, she told me, a hint of sadness in her voice.

I thought that maybe it was for the best that I did leave. I got up and gave her a small hug, which she didn’t even seem to notice, then I collected my things and headed out the front door. I got into my car and begun to drive home. On the way home, however, the thought of the old oak tree and Bosco, began to fill my head. I couldn’t escape these thoughts, I didn’t know what it all meant, if it meant anything at all. I don’t know what compelled me, but I had to visit the Shelton Woods and find this oak tree. I turned my car around and headed in the direction of the woods.

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing at the edge of the woods. I took a step forward and entered them. I didn’t know exactly where this oak tree was, but I was determined to find it. I explored the woods for around ten minutes before I saw it. Standing in front of me was a huge oak tree, its branches extending high up into the sky. I walked over to the base of the tree; a sense of fear started to overcome me. Something didn’t feel right. It felt like something terrible had happened here. I looked down at the ground, at the base of the tree and I saw that the dirt there looked slightly different than the rest of the dirt in the woods. I don’t know why I did this, but I bent down and begun to dig in this dirt.

The police say that if I hadn’t started digging, then they probably never would have found them. There were four bodies in total. All young women around the age of twenty-four. All of them had been dead for over thirty years. It was undeniable, they were all murdered and buried under this tree. The DNA testing was also clear. My father was responsible for the killings. Somehow, he managed to keep all of this hidden for many years. He never told anyone. The only clues that he gave were through my bedtime story, which I think was his way of confessing. The only thing I am not sure of now is, who is Bosco? Maybe my Father and Bosco are the same person, or maybe he really did have a friend with that name. I don’t think we will ever know. I don’t think I want to know.