would not adjust to the night, still not sure if the voice was his imagination or a dream; he spoke to his toy bear, an old and tatty thing, before falling back to a shallow sleep.
“Do you hear that bear?”
…
“It sounded like a lady. Did you hear the lady bear?”
…
His breath was white smoke that disappeared into the dark. He shivered despite thick wool blankets and his ever present bear. The Third time the boy heard the voice it was spoken as if an inch from his ear. It came all of a sudden and disappeared again as if never there. He woke instantly and now knowing the voice to be real, could not muster the courage to call for his mother. Instead he lay scared and alone in the dark, too terrified to move, too paralysed by fear to return to sleep.
“She’s back,” he whispered to the bear.
And the voice returned night after night, always at the same time, when the evening was at its blackest. Always with the same question; Are you there? It asked, Are you there? It sounded so close as in the very room, yet there was a distant echo quality as if hearing it from under water.
The new time boy heard the voice, knowing that no harm came to him previously, the boy replied. He had been sat in bed with his back against his head board. He held his bear on his lap for comfort and as a shield. His bed was a treasure island on a sea of darkness.
“Hello?” he asked timidly, “I am here”.
Are you there? It asked, Are you there?
This confused the boy and feeling bolder he replied once more.
“I am here, I am here”, and from the dark the boy listened.
The voiced didn’t return and eventually the boy fell asleep where he sat.
The next the boy went to bed early, eager to hear from the voice once more. He didn’t see the sun go down, for the windows of the house had been blacked out. There was a bad man who sent planes and bombs to destroy them. Father had gone to be a solider to fight the bad man. He remembered his father dressed in a green uniform hugging him and wiping the tears from the boy’s cheeks. He remembered his father telling him, he was the man of the house now and he had to look after his mother. His mother was weeping and she squeezed father harder than the boy had ever seen. Father pulled her from him; he smiled and told them he loved them both so very much, before finally marching off with the parade of other solider fathers. That same day the boy and his much loved mother went through the house applying black paint to the windows.
“We will be safe now.” she said and kissed him on his forehead. The boy couldn’t remember what his father’s face looked like anymore.
Are you there? It asked, Are you there?
“Yes I am here,” the boy replied trying to peer through the darkness. He waited and waited and finally the voice spoke again.
Please if you are there, it asked, knock once for yes, twice for no.
Puzzled the boy took a tiny hand and hit the wood of the head board.
KNOCK
The voice spoke again; there was an excitement to it the boy recognised. It was how he had felt on his fifth birthday or waking up on Christmas morning.
If that was you answering? knock again.
KNOCK,
How old are you? The voice wanted to know.
The boy learning the game quickly became braver, eager.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK AND KNOCK.
A knock for each year of his birth.
Does my voice seem near to you?
The Boy thought for a moment. The first time the voice has called him, it had been far away, echoing and muffled. Now each time the voice had returned and the more the boy had acknowledge its presence, the voice had grown closer. He could now even hear the breath that belonged to voice. He could almost feel it.
Are you in a room?
KNOCK.
Does it sound like I am in the room with you?
KNOCK.
The voice didn’t return and the next evening he was fretful and his thoughts wandered to dark places. The voice had yet to return and he was becoming disheartened that it may never return at all. The darkness
“Do you hear that bear?”
…
“It sounded like a lady. Did you hear the lady bear?”
…
His breath was white smoke that disappeared into the dark. He shivered despite thick wool blankets and his ever present bear. The Third time the boy heard the voice it was spoken as if an inch from his ear. It came all of a sudden and disappeared again as if never there. He woke instantly and now knowing the voice to be real, could not muster the courage to call for his mother. Instead he lay scared and alone in the dark, too terrified to move, too paralysed by fear to return to sleep.
“She’s back,” he whispered to the bear.
And the voice returned night after night, always at the same time, when the evening was at its blackest. Always with the same question; Are you there? It asked, Are you there? It sounded so close as in the very room, yet there was a distant echo quality as if hearing it from under water.
The new time boy heard the voice, knowing that no harm came to him previously, the boy replied. He had been sat in bed with his back against his head board. He held his bear on his lap for comfort and as a shield. His bed was a treasure island on a sea of darkness.
“Hello?” he asked timidly, “I am here”.
Are you there? It asked, Are you there?
This confused the boy and feeling bolder he replied once more.
“I am here, I am here”, and from the dark the boy listened.
The voiced didn’t return and eventually the boy fell asleep where he sat.
The next the boy went to bed early, eager to hear from the voice once more. He didn’t see the sun go down, for the windows of the house had been blacked out. There was a bad man who sent planes and bombs to destroy them. Father had gone to be a solider to fight the bad man. He remembered his father dressed in a green uniform hugging him and wiping the tears from the boy’s cheeks. He remembered his father telling him, he was the man of the house now and he had to look after his mother. His mother was weeping and she squeezed father harder than the boy had ever seen. Father pulled her from him; he smiled and told them he loved them both so very much, before finally marching off with the parade of other solider fathers. That same day the boy and his much loved mother went through the house applying black paint to the windows.
“We will be safe now.” she said and kissed him on his forehead. The boy couldn’t remember what his father’s face looked like anymore.
Are you there? It asked, Are you there?
“Yes I am here,” the boy replied trying to peer through the darkness. He waited and waited and finally the voice spoke again.
Please if you are there, it asked, knock once for yes, twice for no.
Puzzled the boy took a tiny hand and hit the wood of the head board.
KNOCK
The voice spoke again; there was an excitement to it the boy recognised. It was how he had felt on his fifth birthday or waking up on Christmas morning.
If that was you answering? knock again.
KNOCK,
How old are you? The voice wanted to know.
The boy learning the game quickly became braver, eager.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK AND KNOCK.
A knock for each year of his birth.
Does my voice seem near to you?
The Boy thought for a moment. The first time the voice has called him, it had been far away, echoing and muffled. Now each time the voice had returned and the more the boy had acknowledge its presence, the voice had grown closer. He could now even hear the breath that belonged to voice. He could almost feel it.
Are you in a room?
KNOCK.
Does it sound like I am in the room with you?
KNOCK.
The voice didn’t return and the next evening he was fretful and his thoughts wandered to dark places. The voice had yet to return and he was becoming disheartened that it may never return at all. The darkness
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