Like Mum

The icy wind battered relentlessly against the windows of the small farmhouse. On the other side of the frozen glass, a little boy named Lucas trembled under his blanket. Lucas hated winter. Not because of the cold; he’d grown accustomed to that unforgiving chill over the years. Rather, it was the sinister moaning of the winter storms raging outside that turned his heart to ice. He’d endured winters in this farmhouse his entire life – a whole nine years. And yet, he could never overcome the terror that came with the blizzard’s cacophony.

Lucas shuffled deeper under the covers and shakily rolled into the foetal position. Outside, he could hear the wind rush through the trees, creating a deep, ominous moan as the chilled air violently forced its way through the pale, leafless branches. The boy whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, lest he envision monsters to attribute to the terrible sounds outside.

The monsters came anyway.

Even through his tightly sealed eyelids, he could see a dark, vague shape creeping through his bedroom door. The shadowy figure moved extremely slowly, but it was undoubtedly edging towards Lucas’ bed. The pounding of the boy’s heart drowned out the raging winds outside. He suddenly felt like he was boiling from the inside out as his blood coursed violently through his trembling body.

Lucas desperately willed his mind to imagine something pleasant before his terror killed him. He drudged frantically through the recesses of his mind to find the one thing that managed to calm him when his fear grew out of control. Through the pounding in his ears, he found it. Just a whisper, but it was there. His mother’s voice.

“Sounds can’t hurt you.”

“The wind can’t hurt you.”

“The night can’t hurt you.”

He homed in on the words she used to murmur to him when previous winter storms denied him peaceful sleep. He repeated the words in his mind, over, and over again, until eventually, his heartbeat slowed to a comfortable rhythm. With his reduced heartrate, the raging winds outside seemed to die down, and the figure entering his room shrank and adopted a more benevolent form.

“Bear,” he whispered wetly, weak with relief. “Up, boy.” The old black labrador waddled the rest of the distance to his master’s bed, then huffed. He was too stiff and arthritic to climb onto the mattress without help. Lucas hastily climbed out of bed, then awkwardly heaved his dog up onto the mattress.

Settling back into bed, Lucas wrapped his arms around Bear, burying his face in the dog’s coarse fur. Despite the reassurance that Bear provided, Lucas couldn’t help but yearn for his old source of comfort.

His mother.

Lucas’ mother had died unexpectedly just under a year ago. The boy's father refused to explain what had happened to her, insisting that, "an eight-year-old shouldn't know about such things." Despite losing the love of his life, Lucas' father never grieved in front of his son. Instead, the man focused all of his energy into fulfilling his previously neglected parental roles.

He would drive Lucas into town whenever the boy was in need of a new novel, just like his mum used to do every Saturday morning. In the afternoons, he and Lucas would sit on the front patio, watching absently as Bear meandered around the county property's pond. With his mother, Lucas used to spend these afternoon periods sitting in comfortable silence as they watched the old dog snuffle around in the grass.

However, the boy's father always filled this late-day activity with jovial chatter that didn't betray the fact that his wife had recently died. While Lucas appreciated his father's efforts to spend more time with him, the boy was bemused by how enthusiastically the man tried to compensate for the loss of his mother.

It was during one of these afternoon periods that Lucas made the mistake of asking why his dad never cried about his wife's death.

“It was very peaceful,” his father had responded plainly. “She didn’t suffer”.

Lucas had frowned, bemused and hurt by the blunt answer. "Mum would have cried, if it'd been you or me," the boy mumbled. "I bet she loved us more than you do." As soon as the words left his lips, Lucas knew he'd made a terrible mistake. His father's face lost all expression, except for his eyes, which darkened with a deep-seated rage.

Without responding, the man got up quietly and went inside.

That conversation had happened two months ago, but Lucas was still suffering for his thoughtless comment. His father had emotionally cut himself off from his son, their relationship reverting to what it was before Lucas' mother's death.

Now, Lucas' only source of comfort during the winter blizzard was his old dog. The boy's eyes stung with tears at the realisation, and he buried his face in Bear's coarse fur to stifle a sob.

…

Many hours later, the white sun dragged itself up into the dull, grey sky. With it, harsh light seeped through Lucas’ window, and the boy cringed before opening his eyes. Blearily, he sat up in bed and peered outside. Mounds of snow covered the entirety of the expansive country property. In the middle of the glistening whiteness, a large, silvery surface glistened in the morning light.

Lucas stared in wonder. The pond had frozen over. The boy smiled. He remembered the warm summer months, when he and his mother would walk hand-in-hand down to the pond. They would sit under the tree overlooking the water, admiring fluffy clouds reflected by the pond’s surface. Sometimes, Lucas would look back at the farmhouse and see his father silently watching them through the boy's bedroom window. He never joined them, but Lucas didn't mind. He enjoyed the companionable silence he and his mother shared.

His mother would often spend hours staring into the water, mesmerised by the golden sunlight dancing on the liquid's surface. Once, she'd told Lucas that she would stay here, staring at the scintillating water forever if she could. It was their favourite place.

A soft, yet accusatory voice startled him from his thoughts.

“What’s the dog doing on your bed?”

Lucas turned. His father was standing in the door frame with his arms crossed, frown wrinkles creasing his forehead. Lucas swallowed. “I was scared of the storm,” Lucas explained, embarrassment tainting his voice. His dad frowned. The man actually looked...hurt.

"If you're scared, you need to come get me, not the dog, okay?" Lucas's face burned with both shame and frustration. How could his dad comfort him if they were barely talking to each other? Despite his irritation, Lucas bit his tongue and simply nodded.

…

Lucas frowned. Bear wasn’t eating his breakfast. When the boy had placed his bowl down at his paws, the labrador sniffed his meal disinterestedly before wandering out of the kitchen.

Lucas’ dad frowned at Bear’s behaviour, seemingly concerned for the dog's behaviour.

“Maybe he’s just not hungry,” offered Lucas.

“He’s a labrador,” his dad replied. “He’s always hungry.”

…

Throughout the rest of the day, Lucas stayed inside with Bear, trying to get him to eat his food. Bear refused to even take a bite, looking up at Lucas with confused, unfocused eyes whenever the boy held the bowl under his nose.

“The dog’s not well,” the boy’s father said as he watched Lucas’ fruitless attempts to feed the animal.

“Is he sick?” Lucas whispered, eyes widening with worry. His dad smiled thinly.

“No, Lucas,” he answered softly. “He’s old.”

…

That night, his father told Lucas to keep his bedroom door closed.

“I don’t want Bear wandering in,” he explained. “He needs to stay in the living room, in front of the fire.”

Lucas groaned and anxiously glanced out his bedroom window. His dad sighed, breath condensing in the cold air.

“It’s alright. There won’t be a storm tonight.” He hesitated. "If you're scared, get me, not the dog."

Lucas nodded and reluctantly crawled into bed. Satisfied, his father left, shutting the door behind him. Despite his anxieties about sleeping alone, Lucas managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

…

Lucas startled awake. It was still night, and he was completely blind in the pitch-dark room. Strange sounds had woken him. Lucas swallowed, listening intently as he shuffled further under his blanket.

He heard them again.

The sounds of shuffling, writhing, and whimpering were coming from the other side of his bedroom door. The boy froze, heart pumping sporadically in his chest. The eerie noises continued, and Lucas fearfully dragged his blanket over his head.

He chanted his mother’s words in his head, desperately trying to believe them.

“Sounds can’t hurt you.”

“Sounds can’t hurt you.”

“Sounds can’t hurt you.”

Eventually, the moans subsided, and the boy sighed gratefully, weak with relief. “Thank you, Mummy,” he whispered into the dark. “Thank you.”

…

The next morning, Lucas was woken by the soft wrap of knuckles against his wooden door. The boy sat up in bed. “Come in,” he called out softly. His father slowly pushed the door open, his eyes to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas asked in a small voice. His dad inhaled deeply, then raised his head to look at his son. His eyes were weary, but dry.

“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” the man whispered. “Bear died last night.”

Lucas’ vision immediately blurred. He turned away, staring out the window to hide his tears. His father shuffled over to Lucas, sitting down beside him on the mattress. The man wrapped his arms around his weeping son. The embrace was meant to be comforting, but Lucas stiffened at the touch.

Sinister thoughts slithered into his head as he remembered the nightmarish sounds from last night. He imagined the arms around him curled around his dog in a deadly embrace. Squeezing tightly, too tightly, until the terrified animal’s whimpers were silenced, and his writhing subsided.

The boy was completely still now, frozen in his father’s arms. He continued to stare outside. The morning light glittered mockingly across the surface of the frozen pond. His mother’s favourite place. The place she'd said she never wanted to leave.

“It was very peaceful,” his father tried to reassure him. “He didn’t suffer.”

Tears spilled down Lucas’ cheeks, warm against his icy skin. His eyes were still fixated on the pond, frozen over to conceal the contents within. The boy turned in his father’s hold so that he could look into the man’s tired eyes. Lucas swallowed his fear, and let his frail voice pierce the air.

“Like Mum.”