Stigma

Choice

So how old were you exactly, when the serial killer hid in your house?

I was ten. Seems pretty young. And I don't think he was hiding in there, not the whole time. Hey, how about you hear the whole story?

Hunter came in from school at four, and ditched his bag by the front door, slouching into the kitchen. The moment he entered, his jaw dropped. His parents were kissing quite enthusiastically over the sink.

"Aw, man... that is disgusting. Mum, Dad, could you at least wait until I get upstairs?"

His mother just laughed and came to kiss him, her lips on his forehead. Hunter winced again.

"Alright," she said. "Man up little guy. How was school today?"

"Why do parents always ask that?"

"Because we want to keep in touch with our son," his father said, with the hint of a smile. "Who seems to vanish into his room for seven hours a night. Why not move out now?"

"Simon, honey... Hunter is studying. He isn't wasting his time on games like other kids, are you dear?"

"Nope," Hunter said. He opened the fridge and began to rummage through. There was nothing there he wanted. He closed it again. His mum was smiling at him, her head tilted a little to one side, her eyes soft.

"Hunter, you can go upstairs and do whatever you want. I'll bring you up a sandwich and some milk. How about that?"

"Mmm," his father said. "And that'll give us time to get back to business."

He whirled his mother like a dancer and began to kiss her again. Hunter got the distinct feeling his Dad was teasing him.

"Alright, alright," he said. "I'm going."

He dragged his bag up the stairs, and slumped down on his bed, staring for a while at the ceiling.

His mum was wrong. His parents had no idea. He was playing games, of course he was, that was all he did. After all, what was life but a game? Winning and losing?

Hunter sat down at his laptop and logged into a chess website. He played the whole afternoon, completely forgetting about the food his mum had said she was going to give him.

And Hunter is your real name.

No. I chose it as an alias after the incident. You'll soon see why it's quite befitting. Now are you my new therapist, or aren't you?

Sorry. Go on.

By the time he logged off, looked up from the game, shadows had drawn into the room, and it was almost dark outside. Hunter went to draw the curtains, and stared out across the city, lights like stars beneath the overcast sky. The trees had shed their autumn leaves, and were bare and crooked outside his window. It began to rain then, small droplets that lashed themselves across the glass.

He turned back to his room, and was just about to click on a light when he heard the thump from downstairs. Something heavy dropping.

Hunter froze in the partial gloom, the first stirrings of unease in his stomach. There was nothing that heavy in the house. Except his parents. He padded over to the door, and crept out of his room, stopping at the top of the stairs. Something was very wrong. No one had turned the lights on downstairs. If anything, they had been turned off. Except for the light from the kitchen, that spilt in a wedge through a crack in the door.

His heart was beating now, a low drum against his ribs. What if they were being burgled? He had to check if his parents were OK. Even though it felt like someone intended for him to investigate, as if the light from the kitchen was a will-o-the-wisp, a lantern to draw him into the spider's web.