I closed my eyes and I heard the door being slammed shut. I cried out, trying to wish my son a good day but the closing of the door cut me off mid-sentence. I opened my eyes and looked at the woman in the mirror. It was the same woman that I had always known. Brown hair cut short and pulled into a bun; and eyes, the colour of coffee that were glazed with tears. Feeling a tear drop down my face, I reached up - wiped it off. Don’t cry, he’ll be home before you know it. I spoke to myself, but deep down I knew that tonight wouldn’t be the same. I was going to call the doctor, and the doctor would help my son.
Staring back into the mirror, I looked again at my face. This time I noticed wrinkles on my forehead and neck. Signs of age or signs of weakness? I thought to myself. Don’t think like that, continue to move forward. Standing up, I spun my head around the room and stared into the picture frame to my left. It showed a picture of me with my son, both smiling stupidly up at the camera. Another tear fell down my face. Again I wiped it away instictivly, not wanting to feel weak.
I stood up and walked over the door, carefully opening it so as not to make any noise, and I tip-toed over to my son’s room. I needed to think about Callum with a clear mind, and maybe the old room would remind me of him, help me to think straight, or suggest a reason for his bad sleeping patterns.
The door creaked open noisily and I remembered not that long ago, trying not to wake Callum to check whether he was asleep. I remembered that he always would open his eyes and stare at me like a cat, his eyes almost luminous in the dark. He always was a light sleeper and maybe that was part of the problem.
I stepped fully into the room and looked around in the darkness. I fumbled with the light switch and light flooded into the room. Nothing appeared different or out of the ordinary. The same clothes and shoes lay haphazardly on the floor, the same poster stuck randomly on the wall, the same duvet sprawled on the bed - covering only half of it.
Carefully, I put my left foot in front of my right, making sure not to trip over any of the loose articles of clothing that cluttered the carpet. Once again, I checked the floor for any signs of a hazard. I realised how stupid I had been and that I wasn’t going to trip over anything. After this thought I began to walk around the room at a normal pace, checking for any signs of difference.
Almost as soon as I began to walk normally, I tripped up on a loose shoe. I felt my right leg twist and my body's balance being changed. Instinctively, I attempted to steady myself with the wall but found that where that wall should have been – as it was covered up by the poster – there wasn’t any support. My arm slid off the wall, and attempting to use the poster for support, my body spun around and I fell on the floor, the poster covering my face.
I lay on the floor for a minute, allowing my legs to gain strength again. Pulling the poster off my face, I noticed a hole (that looked about the size of a fist) in the wall. The hole still contained loose bits of plaster and also, strangely enough, slightly burned ash. I stood up and moved toward the gap, hoping for a better examination. This time when I looked, I noted a burn mark that surrounded the whole indent, as well as some strange yellow powder that appeared to be glowing. “Simon! SIMON!” I cried out. The quick sound of feet running up the stairs announced Simon's arrival. The door burst open and Simon rushed into the room.
“Whats wrong? What is it?!” He replied. I noticed the anxiety in his voice.
“I found this in Callum’s wall.”
“What is it?” Simon stepped forward, intentionally hoping to find a logical source of the gap.
“Who did this, Simon?” I paused, thinking. “Or what did this..?” I felt my voice trail off at the end of the sentence.
“I don’t know. You don’t think that… that… Callum did this?” Simon’s voice seemed weak and unsure.
“What other explanation do you have?”
“Maybe it was a… erm... I have no idea.”
“Wait there.” I motioned to the wall and Simon understood that I wanted the poster to be pulled down from that wall. It didn’t take long, as most of the posters were connected, meaning that most could be pulled off in one smooth motion. I found that my worst fears had been confirmed. The wall was covered with similar holes, some about the size of a golf ball, others a similar size to that one that I had found earlier. “Do you think that he has been punching the wall?”
“Why would he do that? He’s not that kind of kid. Also how do you explain the scorch marks and the ash?” It was obvious to me that there was no other possible explanation than the one that I had suggested.
“I don’t know, but either way, I think that we should call the police.”
“And tell them what? We found scorch marks in a wall in our house and we believe that our son has been punching a wall? They will think you're mental!”
“Well we can’t just do nothing! I’m really worried for his safety!”
“I agree that we have to do something, but maybe we should talk to him first?” With this, he sat down on the bed. I followed him, crossing my legs like a child waiting patiently for the lesson to begin.
“And what will he say? 'Stop invading my privacy! It’s nothing! It doesn’t MATTER!' ” I spat out each individual word.
“You might be right, but if we don’t it could turn into something bigger than it should. Maybe it’s something daft. Maybe he put them there to put something in.” At this I shook my head.
“No, this is the last straw! Something is wrong with him, and I'd like to find out what it's all about.” With this in mind, I stood up and reached the door, thrusting it open. I was angry that my husband and I couldn't see eye to eye.
I walked out onto the landing, not bothering to open the curtains of the window. I’ll do it later, this is more important, I thought. I strode across the landing, my legs stepping rhythmically like a soldier, keeping in time the march. Spinning around, I faced the stairs and began to walk down them, feeling the cold wood against my feet. I took the last few steps at a run and found myself in my lounge. Walking into the room, I immediately stepped over to the phone which lay on a small cupboard with a drawer at the top. Impatiently, I grabbed the drawer and thrust is outwards. Then I began to search, feeling the paper against my fingertips. I found it. My hand clenched around the book and I pulled it out.
I then began to flick through the pages, searching for the details of our doctor. Finding it, I pulled the page out and reached for the phone. My fingers quickly typed out the numbers and I pressed the microphone next to my mouth, and the speaker close to my ear.
“Hello Cherry Hill Doctors surgery, how can I help?” The calm voice irritated me as she seemed inexperienced.
“Hello. My name is Catharine Phillips and I need to speak to Dr Gerard. It’s about my son, Callum Phillips.” I spoke swiftly, hoping that she would contact him immediately.
“I’m putting you through now.” The woman spoke and I heard a mechanical click as the line connected. I stood there and waited for the doctors verdict, and hoped that everything was going to be okay…
