The Reflection

The glooming shadow of a tall willow tree menacingly gleams over the shutters and dark brown mansard roofing of the new family home. Every curve is complimented nicely with each section of the light green siding, covering every corner of the home’s skin, fulfilling the fine Victorian ambiance that was once desired. The swaying of the leaves give Billy a warm and tingly feeling, almost as if he is being embraced by his mother. However, for Ben, he can’t ignore the off putting grimace that seems to radiate from the home - as if someone is watching him from in between the brick foundation, scowling at him even.

The family adventures up the stone steps, that are placed in front of the tall Oak French doors, and walk inside. Ben has never seen a room this big outside the nave of his church. Every sound creates a sound alongside that sound - a continuous echo. Traditional black and white nova tiles greet their feet. The little tippytaps sound like a symphony to Ben’s ears, something he actually enjoys about his new home. He immediately imagines the fun he will have galloping up and down the ascending stairs that seem to endlessly climb up through the house. Almost as if another large tree grew its roots in the center of the yard, and the home was built around it.

“This is our new home, boys.” Papa pauses, glancing over at his wife. “All the new furniture is here. The movers took care of everything, so we can just relax.” His British accent echoes off the main foyer, filling the home with a calming demeanor. Slightly taking off the strange feeling that Ben began to carry on his shoulders before stepping inside.

“And, I even purchased one of those fancy new ovens for you, dear.” He smiles while leaning his fingers towards the kitchen. “I’ll go show the boys to their rooms.” Mother simply nods with a small grin of her lips and begins scoping out the downstairs.

The familiar presence of Papa’s Pour Un Homme De Caron kisses Ben’s nose. However, the first step on the new staircase deems to be less pleasant to his ears than he assumed. He imagined a clean click of the shoe when his foot graced the wood, but it’s met with a full echoless sound that dulls his notion of the tippytaps he heard just slightly before. As he ascends the stairs, he also realizes that the foyer seems much wider than how it appeared down below, creating a much more untrustworthy ambiance then he anticipated.

A long corridor, aligned with an old dark red wallpaper, motions into view as they reach the top. White lilies and little pink daisies fill the corners, while walnut panels circulate the bottom half of the wall introducing a different vibe to the house for Ben. Not unwelcoming, and yet, not comforting to the eye either.

“Billy, this is your room.” Papa motions.

“Yay! A new toy chest!” Billy’s little four year old frame jumps with excitement as he runs in to play with his new array of toys.

A simple bed, armoire, and chair are placed in random spots in the room while his new toy chest seems to be purposely placed in front of the window that sits directly in line with his doorway. His room is painted and draped with designs, materials, and colors seamlessly created for a young boy.

Papa can’t help but point out to himself how the placement of the furniture is laid out perfectly. “The room feels really open like this. It looks nice.” As if he had an opinion on where the movers placed the furniture this morning, when he was driving on the country road with the rest of the family. He simply told them the day before the move to, “make it look nice.”

Billy’s eyes light up as he flees into his new space. Ben however, simply gazes at the dust floating through the line of sunlight gracing his brother’s floor.

“And your room is right next door.” Papa introduces.

After glancing at it once more, Ben becomes immediately reluctant as the long eerie corridor strikes an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. Little to no light goes through the hallway, as there is only one singular window sprinkling in light at the far end of the house. Forested in the shadows, the wallpaper creates an off putting bloody appeal that has seemed to escape from his dreams to the forefront of his young eyes.

He slowly walks into his new bedroom peering slowly at all of the fresh furniture and the light brown wallpaper. It’s much bigger than his old room. Almost to an unsettling aroma. He glances up at the white tin tile ceiling, his bed that is clearly way too wide for him, oak dresser, blue velvet tufted arm chair with a pleated blanket draping over the side, body length cedar rimmed mirror sitting in the corner, and Mr. Cuddles. The stuffed gray bunny rabbit that Ben’s father gave him when he was just a baby, yellow necktie still intact, sits in what almost seems like a familiar spot at the top of his bed on a white pillow. At seven years old, he still keeps Ben company.

Papa can’t help but smile while watching his son look around, but Ben can’t help but think of the oh-so-uncomfortable feeling that seems to have come back to haunt him. He has shared a room with Billy his whole life, and now he has a room all to himself. He’s beginning to lose count of the amount of things that are leaving an unsettling musk on the back of his neck.

A small gleam of happiness spreads across his face however, as he realizes that stargazing has become an easier and grander possibility. The tall window placed next to his bed, gives him the opportunity to see the sky with ease. The country air won’t be able to make the little sparkles cower away from his curious blue eyes.

Ben glances over at the empty doorway with a small grin, grabbing onto Mr. Cuddles. Embracing his trusted sidekick never felt so disquieted.

“Papa! Look!” Billy’s excited little voice echoes from his new room, reminding Ben of the silence of his own.

Another voice echoes quietly from downstairs - Ben’s mother calling from her new obligatory kitchen space. “I’m starting dinner.”

“Alright dear.” Papa's voice calls back down.

Ben glances out at the world behind their new home. Surprised not to find an endless array of apartments and homes squished together but a spacious yard, vast acres of grassland, and what seems to be enough corn for the whole county. Other Victorian homes in the distance, a red barn with years of use behind its chipped red paint, and another large tree in the backyard bearing a black tire swing. Ben’s eyes light up imagining all the playtime and the many nooks and crannies outside he can play in. Long hours in the sun, mixed with fresh air, will surely do his lungs some good.

An unfamiliar clanking of leather shoes starts to vibrate out from under Ben’s feet. The sound echoes off the walls, filling his ears with a reverberating muffle. He always remembers how his father’s shoes soothe him. The calming leather he always wears, bears no sharp clink of the heel but a smooth scuffing as they lightly kiss the floor with each swaying step. He tilts his cheek to the left, expecting his father. However, the empty evening air welcomes him.

“Papa?” Ben asks, and nervously repeats, “Papa?”

“Yes?” He answers, poking his head inside his son’s doorway. The murky air in the room begins to overwhelm Ben. His asthma glooms over his throat, and the once rosy cheeks that he wore on his face, grow cold. Leaking their pink healthy texture as if the color is being stripped from his skin.

“Papa, come see!” The echo of Billy’s voice swishes by the hallway.

Quickly peering at Billy, papa answers, “One moment, son.” He then rotates his view back to his eldest.

Ben grips Mr. Cuddles firmly, fighting the urge to rip out the fur of his trusted companion.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Papa asks with furrowed brows.

Memories of the previous year come flooding back to young Ben’s mind. Will Papa think he’s making it up if he tells him? Will they move again? Will he be called a liar?

Ben looks up at his father with leaning eyes. “Yes papa.”

“Are you sure?”

Ben shakes his head in agreement.

“Alright. Well.” Papa pauses. “Your mother is making dinner. It shouldn’t be long. Make sure you wash your hands before you come down. The bathroom is the last door on the right.” He mentions. However, Ben responds with nothing more than a simple nod of the head and another firm grip on Mr. Cuddles.

Ben’s perturbed expression lingers aimlessly. Papa’s gesture couldn’t be far from blasé as he places his hand on the back of his neck, as a deep breath floods his throat. The familiarity seems to mimic the past - a fear he assumed he left in England.

Ben’s fragile seven year old frame finally exits his room, after what seemed like a momentous break of action for the little man, simply to stop at the dark shallow hallway in front of him. Apprehensive shadows linger slowly below his feet, appearing regretful. Papa expects his son to turn around and run to him in a cowardice scuffle. However, instead, he slowly but surely keeps walking. His trusted sidekick sits under his left arm and his fingertips timidly trace the wallpaper with the other. However, his fingernail biting habit immediately replaces that, as his hand quickly finds its way to his lips in a panic.

Papa can’t seem to grasp this moment between his son and the hallway, almost as if there is a monster glancing at him from within the darkness that only his little eyes can see - a trickery of sorts dawning over Ben’s father. A wisp of doubt for the “fresh start” he wanted, is seemingly seeping through his fingers as he watches his son sprint for the bathroom door slamming it behind him.

“Papa. Come see.” Billy notions once more before his father walks in to greet him. His demeanor is smug and grim - the smile has left his face.

**

The new neighbors can’t help but compliment how gorgeous the new home is. However, it spares nothing short of a dozen ridiculous rumors. How did papa acquire such a home? Is he involved in illegal activities? Does mother have a man on the side whom she’s borrowing money from? Or, are the children of the Anderson’s really theirs? Maybe papa and mother are getting welfare checks? But, truth be told, they are a simple family, working simple jobs, living simple lives.

They just got lucky gaining this large home from within the family. It belonged to Ben’s grandfather, on his mother’s side. It’s full of memories passed down from generation to generation. Papa, however, was not sure if keeping it in the family was such a good idea. Considering the amount of upkeep that needs to be done every year to maintain it, and leaving England of course. But, in the end, it became worth the trouble so they could get out of the city, into cleaner air, and have a, “fresh start.”

Luckily, the family found an understanding couple down the road, with sweet little twin boys, that seem to ignore the ravenous rumors surrounding Ben’s parents. A family that seems to also deal with dysfunctionality and rumors of their own. A light summer meal is being prepared in honor of their new friendship - a very casual summer afternoon to distract both families from the annoying words floating around town.

While their wives are inside the home, sharing the workload of preparing the meal, the men of the households enjoy each other's company over cigars outside on the back patio. They exchange meaningless chatter about their careers, their neighbors, and anything else they can think of to help pass the time.

“I’m going to go grab my toy soldier.” Ben mentions to Billy under his asthmatic breath as he runs through the brush to the backdoor.

“Brunch should be ready soon”, Papa’s words barely float against the back of the patio door as he is greeted with a small chuckle from his conversationalist.

“Okay.” Ben’s voice echoes from within the house, running to the staircase with anticipation. The giggles of the two mothers reverberate from within the kitchen, filling Ben’s heart with that much more excitement for his mile high adventure. A widening smile spreads across his face as his little feet tromp up the staircase. However, his mission quickly turns into something formidable. A small flop echoes at the end of the hall.

“Billy?” Ben questions. However, he quickly recognizes his mistake. “But Bill-'', The disturbing walkway grabs Ben’s voice, forcing the familiar anxiety back into his fingertips. Without recognizing the pain, the beds of his fingernails gouge into his skin, creating ugly red splotches below his belly button as he twists his shirt into wrinkles beyond repair. A hurdle in the rug below his feet has become his new post. As if a battleship were to come around the corner at any moment. However, he remembers what mother once told him through a deep inhale.

“The monsters you see are just in your head sweety. If you say this to yourself, they will go away.” Despite his mothers empty promise, he has repeated this mantra to himself ever since. “It’s in my head, it’s not real.” Almost as if saying it, will manifest the peace he desires more than oxygen. Now, with each quiet stride, he attempts to catch his breath then repeats the hopeful mantra.

He wants to prove to himself that the monsters are nothing more than shadows on the walls created by the sky. A cloud. The sun. A tree blowing in the wind. A mere brush of a limb. That’s it.

“It’s in my head. It’s not real. It’s in my head. It’s not real. It’s in my head. It’s not real. It’s in my head. It’s not real.”

This makes sense to Ben. It’s been a way of keeping him sane. These words tell him, help convince him even, that what he sees is a mirage. Nothing more than something made up in his head to fill in the blanks, a simple manifestation of the darkness, and a figment of his overactive imagination caused by the stress and anxiety surrounding him. An unempathetic adult might say, “He’s so young. What does he have to worry about?” But, from a more parental standpoint, one might say, “For such a young mind, it’s a little too hard for him to handle all on his own.”

Even though it doesn’t concern him, every waking hour of the air he breathes is consumed by his parents berating. Diluted, “It’s alright honey” or, “this is just how daddy and I communicate” is spewed out of his mothers mouth to cure the never ending lack of silence. “Why are you like this?” “Do you think before you talk?” “What’s wrong with you?” The facade that hides itself from the outside world can be easily mistaken for a, “happy family.”

Ben finally reaches the front of his fathers office. Strange in appearance, he can’t seem to understand why his father chose this room as his, “comfortable work space.” A dark mustard yellow wallpaper covers each corner of the room. More white flowers sink into the empty spaces, almost as if the designer of the home was trying to cover up the harrowing feeling of the architecture with something more carefree and stimulating. Instead, it’s tacky and off putting at best.

Ben’s anxiety immediately melts away. One would have to assume that a gust of wind, strong enough to push a book off of a desk, must have swung through the open window and forced it to the carpet. A heavy book, a Webster's dictionary full of 836 pages, stares at Ben from his father’s woven rug next to his dark brown leather wing chair. However, in the dead-silence of the day, nothing was causing even the slightest bit of movement against the curtains.

“How does papa lift this?” Ben heaves, lifting with his scrawny legs.

Not only is the door to the office made out of thick oak, making it tediously difficult to open and close, but the latch bolt always seems to get stuck. Papa always leaves the door cracked, despite whether he’s working or not, ensuring that no one gets locked inside. However, something has chosen to go against his father’s wishes, jarring Ben’s equilibrium and banishing his eyes from the normal reality he craves beyond comprehension. A loud blurted rush of air exits his lungs, shrieking an octave higher then he knew he could scream. Tears grip his throat, rushing his asthma to the forefront of his chest. The doorknob that seems to be refusing to open below the amount of sweat circulating from his palms, jiggles to no avail.

“Mommy!” Ben cries.

Ben?

He stops, again grabbing his shirt below his fingertips.

“Hello?”

A shadow below the door frame creeks in front of him, clouding his perception of time. The familiarity shrouds his senses, however it seems the weighted memory of hearing a person walking up to the door, let alone down the hallway, are of no recollection.

The doorknob’s lock clicks unpredictably as the heavy door somehow creaks open with a sliding motion. “What?” Ben gasps.

However, exactly as he expected, the only thing that stands before him is the dead silence of the empty hallway and the mirror in the center of the wall in front of him. Consumed in dead purple flowers and green garland, his mother can’t seem to ever give up the old mirror that has stayed with her family beyond her years. One would assume the dead plants are holding it together, considering the amount of cracks at the seams and glue in the corners. Ben remembers it quite well. It was his great-grandmother.

Ben?

He slowly peeks his head out into the nameless confusion as an off putting giggle gargles behind his neck. Tinnitus punctures his ears, clouding his flee to the stairs. “Papa!”

**

Flinging open the back door, Ben scrambles onto the ground. Unable to lift himself, he screams incomprehensibly almost as if something unworldly is pushing him down.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter?” Papa scuffles.

Ben tries to explain his horrifying experience, but unbeknownst to him, nothing that comes out of his mouth makes sense.

“Slow down, darling.” Mother attentive, stands up from her seat to join papa in the mud. She grabs her son’s hand as she looks over at her youngest, who is trying to make sense of his brother’s ecstatic muffles.

Red, puffy eyes meet papa’s gaze. “I was by myself, Papa. The door slammed on me.” Ben’s nervous jitters explode into an anxious hop, leaving bloodstained marks in his fathers arm.

Papa peers over at his guests, who couldn’t be more oblivious. He, who now, couldn’t be more embarrassed at the sight his new neighbors are witnessing. Breathing in deeply, he apologizes. “I’m so sorry about this.” He is easily reassured that children are children, and things happen. However, papa knows all too well that this is a familiar sight he’s witnessed behind his family's walls for far too long.

His fatherly tone always makes Ben feel comforted. However, papa’s tone is now full of gall and seems to be lacking patience. “Maybe you just need to rest. Do you want to take a nap?” Papa gestured.

Ben immediately refuses, shaking his head profusely.

“Alright alright.” Papa briefly swallows the spit in the back of his throat. He glances at his son's nice play clothes that are now covered in mud. “Do you want to get cleaned up first?”

Again, Ben refuses. Any action that led to going back into the house was an immediate, “No.”

Concerned, Papa answers, “Sit down and eat your lunch.” Papa leads Ben to his seat. Sitting down, he simply stares at the lunch table. He picks up his apple slices, which slowly start being consumed by the snot running down his face. Papa glances over at his wife, who seems to be tearing up herself. Maybe things aren’t looking up after all.

**

One would easily assume that the Andersons may never see their new neighbors again as they quietly leave after what essentially ruined their Sunday afternoon. The meal was carried over with little conversation - Ben didn’t speak at all to his new friends during the whole course of their meal, and neither did Papa. Mother tried to engage in polite gossip, however it led to nothing more than awkward pauses and half smiles. The new neighbors seemed nice, so maybe they were doing it out of pity. However, small talk and catching up on their lives didn’t seem that important compared to what was obviously happening to Ben.

Mother rose up out of her seat and walked over to her youngest, grabbing his tiny hand. “Come on sweetie. Let’s get you laid down.”

“I’ll be up in a minute.” Papa notions to mama, who seems exhausted just as much.

Papa bends down at eye level with his son, lightly gripping his shoulders. Breathing in his frustration, and attempting patience out through his nose, he briefly closes his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tears well up once again in Ben’s eyes.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?” Papa asked ever so earnestly, finding back his stillness.

“The door papa.”

“Which door son?”

“The office door.” Ben sniffles.

Based on Papa’s expression, one could tell that he was muddled. Something so jarring for his son, and something so confusing for him, must leave a sour taste in his mouth. He always assumes that his son is lying through his teeth. That his, “stories” are make believe and something copied from his aunt who always seemed to make up the same loony excuses. However, papa can’t seem to wrap his mind around how honest his demeanor is. The tears, the shaky nerves, and the unfocused eyes of his little boy. He truly seems to be suffering. He hoped that moving from England would solve this issue, but it has only appeared to have gotten worse.

“Can I sleep with you and mother tonight?” Ben asks nervously.

“Sure.” Papa is scatter brained. Is something wrong with his son's DNA? Is it his family? What could be causing this endless suffering? Or, is it simply his aunt’s influence? So far, nothing good has come out of this move for Ben. Whether Ben’s experiences are real or not, papa feels helpless. He wants to mend his son.

**

Shuffling his hand alongside him, expecting to tickle his son awake, he finds nothing but cold air and sheets scattered with light khaki wrinkles. Swinging his legs to the left, he slides his tired feet into his blue slippers.

Quiet sniffling echoes from the hallway. Ben is found crouching in front of his bedroom window along with his shadow that is overcasting his frail little body. It stretches out into the center of his bedroom floor, highlighting the cold brisk air around his bare feet.

Papa’s frustration quickly overwhelms him as a tickle of regret rages over his judgment. Glancing up at his father, Ben’s little arms tighten around his legs.

No communication can fulfill the void that is now between father and son. They simply stare into each other's eyes with a sense of confusion that can’t be voiced in what is supposed to be a, “safe space” for their, “fresh start.” Papa’s gaze quickly changes and so does his motivation.

**

Papa’s left knee judders as he waits on the living room sofa. A familiar knocking greets the front door. His beloved old friend came as soon as he got the phone call. The very same doctor he called a year ago to evaluate his sister-in-law. Now that the Andersons are just two hours away, Dr. Williams is able to simply drive to them instead of taking a 6 day boat ride overseas.

“Hello, Dr. Williams. Thank you for coming.” Papa grabs Dr. William’s hand, as he opens the front door. Instead of the familiar fair brown, Dr. William’s hair is now a faded light gray. However, it suits his kooky demeanor.

“Of course.” His pause is followed by a hardly funny joke highlighting how, despite being a specialist in his field, he doesn’t feel he is payed enough for the amount of miles he travels in order to complete his job. Papa knows that his friend always giggles at his own sarcasm however, as helping others is something he always loves to do. No matter the distance. “How have you and your family been since the last time I saw you?”

“Well, to be honest with you….” Papa says with a shrug, “Not well. I thought they would have gone away without Sarah’s influence. But, Ben still seems to be showing similar episodes.” He almost forgot how thick of a Chicago accent Dr. Williams has.

“He’s six now?” He asks, pushing up his glasses.

“Seven.” Papa politely corrects him.

“Wow. It’s crazy how time flies, isn’t it?” Dr. Williams replies with a giggle.

Papa simply nods.

“Alright. I’ll have a chat with him and see what we’re dealing with, hm?” He says with a grin.

“Thank you.”

Their conversation comes to a halt as soon as they reach the top of the staircase. “What’s going on here?” Mother asks now standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. “Why is he here?”

Papa hesitates. “I called him.”

“You did what?”

Ben grips his legs tighter into his chest as his ears become filled with his parent’s familiar bickering. Swinging their anger at each other - It reminds him of what happened 2 months ago. It forced him to let go of all the old friends he made at Binfield primary. He misses his old town and his aunt Sarah.

Dr. Williams slowly bends down next to Ben. “Hi there Benjamin. Remember me?” Ben scans Dr. Williams face. “I was your aunt’s doctor, remember? Your father tells me that you’ve been see-” He catches himself out of politeness. “....having a hard time lately? That you haven’t been feeling very well?”

Ben shakes his tired head slowly, wafting his hand to the left.

Dr. Williams turns around to see what he’s pointing at. The body length mirror in the corner of the room.

“The mirror. Okay. What about the mirror?” He pauses, turning back to Ben’s little face.

“That man.” Ben says in a whisper. Just loud enough for Dr. Williams to hear him. Papa clearly is interested in the conversation, but Ben isn’t excited about letting his father in on it. The sound of his mother’s angry voice leaves a familiar unsettling aroma around his head, making him even that much more eager to not share what he’s experiencing.

Dr. Williams quickly takes notice of Ben’s reluctance and quick glances at his parents. He slowly sits criss-cross applesauce on the floor next to Ben and stares at the mirror alongside him, to create a barrier between him and the angry couple in the hallway. “A man. Okay. What does he look like?”

The room no longer echoes with papa and mama’s bickering, but with concerned silence. Both of them are engaged in their son’s therapy session, trying to hear what is being said in the shrouded stillness. However, Dr. Williams tilts his head down more towards Ben, as to direct the conversation only to their ears.

"No.” Through a sniffle, he manages to whisper. “He looks scary.”

“How so?” Dr. Williams tries to dig deeper.

Ben pauses, unsure whether or not he wishes to answer. He lifts his hands off his legs and draws lines along the sides of his cheeks, from the corners of his lips up to his ears. “His mouth is really big.” He manages to say.

Papa becomes frightened watching his son describe the so-called, ‘man in the mirror’. However, he is still convinced that it’s just an illness yet to be diagnosed.

Tears come to Ben’s eyes, causing his eyebrows to burrow in the middle of his face. Papa can tell that his son wants to turn away, but is desperately yearning for help.

Peering at Ben and the mirror interchangeably, Dr. Williams calmly asks another question. “Do you mind telling me what else he looks like?”

“Their eyes are dark.” Ben pauses, glancing at Papa.

"What do you mean?” Papa interjects.

“He doesn’t stare at me with normal eyes.” Ben briefly glances back at the mirror. “His eyes are dark. Like I could stick my fingers inside of them.” Ben then glances back at this father ever-so-quickly as if this scary reflection is staring at him.

Dr. Williams then follows suit. He peers over at his old friend, as if he has visualized the so-called, ‘man’ too. A scary looking man with a big mouth and no eyes to stare at you. But, somehow knows where you are and can follow you around the house. Like a shadow on the wall or your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

Dr. Williams gets up from the floor and walks over to Papa with a concerned gaze. “This seems to be exactly like Sarah’s diagnosis.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.” Ben immediately follows.

“What do we do from here?” Papa peers over at Ben. He places his hand slightly on the back of his son’s shoulders.

“He’s not leaving with you.” Mother angrily announces to Dr. Williams.

“Charlotte.” Papa calls out her name in a demanding tone.

“No disrespect to you Doctor. But expecting my sister of all people, to receive help from your hospital, was a mistake. She has done nothing but gotten worse. Now, I can’t even have a conversation with her let alone see a normal expression on her face.” Her breathe full, she pauses. “We almost lost her last month. I do not want him in that nut house.”

“I, I mean we, call it an institution.” Dr. Williams interjects.

Flabbergasted, she places her hands on her hips and looks at her husband. “The answer is no. I don’t want that to happen to our little boy.”

“He needs help, Charlotte. What are we to do for him?” Papa asks, placing his hands down by his sides, trying not to wail them in concern.

“I don’t know, but it certainly isn’t putting him in there with people who can’t even tell who they are anymore.” Her voice trails away as she turns to go into Billy’s room.

“I knew I should have listened to my father. Ever since you got your promotion, you have been nothing but a control freak making all the decisions for the family on your own.” She looks past Papa at the now slightly risen Billy, who is startled at the conversation that overtook his dreams. “We're going to get dressed okay?”

“For what?” Papa asks from the doorway. His leaning eyes terrified.

“We’re leaving.” Mother answers in a stern voice, glaring back at him. Dr. Williams simply grabs Ben’s hand and motions to Papa that they are going downstairs.

“Where are we going?” Papa can’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that he is doing something wrong.

“Not you. Just me and my children. We are leaving.” She answers, pointing at herself.

“What?” He asks sternly.

Billy yawns under his breath. “What’s going on?”

Mother starts taking off the pajamas of her half asleep son. “We’re going to go see uncle George.” She pauses. “Arms.” Billy slightly raises his tired arms to the sky.

“Charlotte.” Papa notions towards his wife, getting no answer.

She walks over to Billy’s armoire, grabbing the first outfit she sees. Then, walks over to Billy in just as quick of a fashion and begins re-dressing him.

“Charlotte.” Papa begins to raise his voice. His voice echoes off of the hallway’s walls.

She peers over at Billy in a swift motion before leaving the room. “Start gathering up whatever toys you want to take with you.”

Mother leaves the room, walking past her confused husband. He follows after her. Papa feels like he has stepped into one of Billy’s story books but, instead of his story being a happy ending, one would assume he’s visualizing a terrifying realization.

Mother peers over the railing and yells at Dr. Williams. “Stay right there. You are not taking my son.”

“Don’t worry. He’s just waiting for you.” Dr. Williams echoes back.

Her anger carries her around the house as she yells out everything she has kept to herself all of these years. Yelling at herself, asking why she ever decided to stay with this man she calls her, “husband.” She expresses how 9 Years was far too long. How she feels unheard, used, manipulated, and taken advantage of. How he makes her doubt her self-worth and how she feels she has wasted her youth on a man that only only seems to care about himself. She screams that her father once warned her about papa, and how mad she is at herself for not listening to him to begin with. That being, the only thing she is grateful for in this long chokehold of a marriage, is her children. “If it wasn’t for my babies, I would have been gone a long time ago.”

She begins pulling her clothes out of her dresser. “This, however, was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” He pauses as his eyes glaze over. He watches his wife exhume an amount of anger he has never seen before. She whips her suitcase out from under their bed, flinging it out in front of her.

“Moving here.” She pauses, clinging onto her pink blouse. Exasperated, she closes her eyes for a moment and takes in a deep breath. “Taking me away from my parents and my friends was your decision. Taking the boys away from what was familiar and comfortable for them, without even asking them how they felt about it, was your decision. Sending away my sister was your decision and now-” Mother slams her pink blouse down on her bed. “-our son? No. That’s not going to happen.”

“He needs help. We don’t have the-”

“It’s like you haven’t heard one word that has come out of my mouth.” Her anger echoes off of the stairway. The patient and unmoving facade she has put up for all of these years, is falling behind her now angry and hysterical outburst. Something Ben felt was soon to explode.

“Have you even asked him how he feels? Or, sat down with him and listened?” She says pulling her socks from her dresser drawer. “Or have you just assumed?” She asks, slamming the socks down by her side before continuing to pack.

"He told me that he kept seeing a man in the house. I never saw him myself.”

“So, that means, he’s not real for Ben? Just because you can’t see him?” She asks, pulling out her underwear.

Papa glances at the suitcase that is almost filled to the brim.

“It can’t be real. It’s just in his head.”

“Who says?” Mother closes her suitcase, and walks past papa back to Billy’s room.

“Charlotte. Wait. Maybe we can-” Papa’s words have begun to feel distant. Ben can no longer hear his father from the living room.

“Are you ready sweety?” Mother drops her suitcase for a brief moment to grab her son’s hand. “Let’s go.”

One would characterize this couple as barking dogs instead of some other set of quiet mammals - barely giving the other enough space to speak.

Papa quickly gets defensive, raising another question in disbelief, following his wife down the stairs. “Wait. How will you get there? I’m not taking you.”

“We will manage. I’ll stop by a pay phone and call my brother.” Mother mentions.

Papa continues to immaturely berate. “With what money? All the family money is under my name.”

“I’ve saved up my own money.” Mother defends.

“What? Whe- How?” Papa shakes his head.

“I sold a few of the monumentally expensive things you bought me that I didn’t need.” Mother points out.

“It’s still my money then.” Papa crosses his arms.

“But, those things were gifted to me. Where they not?” Mother argues.

“Well, of course. But-” Papa gets interrupted once again.

“Then, the money is technically mine.” Mother finishes.

They continue immaturely berating each other about finances, who is going to pay or not pay for what, and how mother is going to survive without his help. The love they once felt for each other has seemed to morph right before Ben’s eyes. Or, maybe it was something that left them long ago.

“I can change. I’ll- I’ll do something different to help our son.” Papa tries to change mother’s mind, but his words mean nothing.

“Come on.” She motions to Ben who waves good-bye to Dr. Williams. He simply sighs at the situation, giving one final small wave back at the son of his good friend one last time.

“I can change.” Papa yells out, unable to move his legs from the $200,000 rug he decided would be a great centerpiece for their oversized living room. Something else he made a decision about that didn’t include his wife’s opinion.

Swallowing his pride, he grovels. The once gallant personality dissipated into an active display of desperation.

“Good-bye Steve.” She glares at her once beloved husband and pulls the door shut from her old life. An echo strong enough to plummet down anything in its path.

Father peers over at Dr. Williams, who has stayed behind to support his friend. A loud crash voiced itself from within the once, “home” his wife and children just left behind. Grandmother’s mirror is found scattered on the hallway floor. The once cracked mirror, barely managing to stay together, is now in shambles.

Steve.

“What was that?” Papa peered over at Dr. Williams.

“What was what?” He asks in concern.

**

Steve grabs Dr. Hawthorne's robe in disbelief. "That voice."

Steve.

“There it is again. Did you hear it?” He grips it tighter.

“Oh, that’s just me. Don’t worry, okay?” Dr. Hawthorne answers, holding his clipboard. He wiggles his trusty pen in between his fingers.

“It is?” Steve asks in a relieved tone. “Good. It must just be in my head then. It’s not real.”

Steve glances back out the window of the hospital at the other patients roaming the grounds - wheelchairs and walkers gripping the foreground.

“Hi, Dr. H. ” Ben and Billy quietly enter next to their father’s bedside.

“Hi, boys.” He greets Ben and Billy with great sincerity. “Thank you for telling me all that information the other day. It will really helps with your fathers progression.”

“It’s no biggie. Whatever we can do to help.” Billy gestures towards his unfazed father.

“I’m glad you entrust me with it.” Dr. Hawthorne smiles. “Well, I’ll be out in the hall if you two need anything.”

“Thanks doc.” Ben politely shakes the doctor's hand and gently sits down next to his father. “Hi Papa. How are you feeling?”

Steve glances over at his son, scanning his face. “Papa?”

“It’s Ben. Your son.”

“And, I’m Billy. Your youngest.” Billy squats down next to Ben.

“My youngest?” Steve takes a deep breath. “I have children?”

“You sure do.” Billy grabs his fathers cold hands. Ben’s eyes begin to glaze over as he peers at his father’s confused demeanor. “Papa.”

The energy left in the room can’t be explained as anything more than unsettling. An old mirror on the wall in the corner, covered in tape, scans the room. One would say, it came from an old house in the country. Somehow it made it to Steve’s room. It was a gift of sorts. It came wrapped in old wallpaper and was draped in dead purple flowers and green garland. Now gracing the wall, it faces Steve’s bed. The uncomfortable familiarity sweeps over his head. He asks the nurses to move it every night, but somehow it always seems to end up back in the same place. As if someone purposely hangs it back up.

Steve.