Retard by Daniel I Russell

hymns and even the boys that were mean to him.
    His mother’s footsteps started on the stairs.
    Wesley whispered the next line of the prayer they had drummed into them at school.
    “But deliver us from evil.”
     
    ***
     
    The tomato soup was from a can and creamy, not the usual packet mix that always tasted thin and watery. His mother managed to spoon it into his mouth without spilling a drop. She’d propped him up on a few pillows to reduce the risk of chocking.
    “Aunt Sally stopped by today,” she said, her voice quiet and flat. “Dropped you off a present, you lucky boy. Wasn’t that nice of her?”
    Wesley nodded and opened his mouth ready for the next spoonful.
    “I’ve placed it under the tree with the other presents.” She scraped up the remaining soup and neatly delivered it into his mouth. “You’ll have to make sure you have a good sleep tonight, and tomorrow morning, we wake up early, go downstairs and open our presents. I believe Santa might be calling at our house tonight after all.”
    Wesley croaked. “Tonight?”
    A brief smile skittered across her features. “Yes, silly. Tonight is Christmas Eve.”
    He licked his split lips. Could Christmas really have arrived so soon?
    “He… He’s really coming here?”
    “Yes,” said his mother, dropping the spoon into the now empty bowl with a clatter. “I guess he is.”
    Wesley’s face still hurt to talk but he persevered, having grown accustomed to the pain, unlike the lack of company.
    “You said I’d been…” He coughed, dry and weedy. “Been naughty.”
    His mother sighed. “You have been naughty. What you did to that girl at school, for example. You won’t be doing that again, will you?” She quickly slipped a hand inside his pyjama pants. Without underwear to form another puny barrier, her fingers immediately found his flaccid nub of flesh and gave it a threatening squeeze.
    He yelped, his balls tightening. “No!”
    “I thought so,” said his mother, withdrawing, “and this is why Santa will be visiting tonight. You’re finally starting to learn . You stay in your room at night. You keep quiet when I tell you to. There’s no more carry on, and definitely no more potions.”
    Wesley’s blood rushed at the word.
    She hasn’t found the kitchen potion yet.
    His mother reached towards his face. Wesley flinched.
    “Easy,” she said and stroked his head through his hair.
    He caught a glimpse of her, the monster that lived just below the surface, the one with the narrow eyes and tight mouth. Like the episode where Dragonclaw had possessed one of the dwarf tribe. The only way to find him was to find the red glow in the eyes. It was there, all you had to do was look.
    Snitch!
    He shied away from the sound of his mother’s lighter.
    Cigarette already between her lips, she held it into the tall flame and sucked deep. The tip glowed golden red.
    “Going to be a good Christmas this year,” she said, staring at the wall, and exhaling a sour cloud. “We’ve been through too much to end the year on a shitty note. That right, Wes?” She placed a hand on his thigh, the hot point of the cigarette hovering over his leg.
    He nodded, his gaze locked on that smouldering, torturous cinder.
    “Yeah,” she continued, oblivious to his unease. “No one’s going to spoil it. I have it all planned out.”
    She smiled at him, his actual mother, not the thing that wore her skin and hurt him each night. He found himself smiling back through the enlarged, hard bulges that made up his face.
    She looked young again, almost like Aunt Sally, with her hair freshly washed and brushed, a clean t shirt and shell-suit pants. She’d even turned the heating back on, and while far from having a tropical climate, Wesley found he didn’t need to shiver under his duvet.
    “Mum?”
    She blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Yes, Wesley?”
    “I need to go to the toilet.”
    “Okay, sweetie,” she said, taking another drag from her cigarette and standing.