Hollowmire

Lessons

"Want to go look for Bigfoot?" Brock asked, peeking his head out from the edge of the couch.

"He's not real," Liam softly muttered.

"Want to go dig up buried treasure?" Davey asked, reaching out and tapping his brother's shoulder. Liam flinched and forcefully slapped his hand away. The boy frowned and recoiled back.

"There's no treasure around here," Liam said.

"Want to go fight monsters?" Brock said. Liam didn't bother responding. He wanted to tell his brother that the only monsters here were the ones in the same house as him. They weren't the ghouls and vampires that he always insisted were creeping around in the woods and hiding under his bed. Liam simply stared up at the grimy ceiling above him. The ceiling's underside was speckled with dark, moist mildew spots. His brothers curiously watched as Liam zoned out.

"Why are you so boring lately?" Brock yelled, reaching his hand out to tickle Liam, "You haven't played with us in days!" Seeing it coming out of the corner of his eye, Liam suddenly flung himself up from the couch and forcefully shoved Brock to the floor.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" he yelled. Davey and Brock stared wide-eyed, their faces frozen in stunned disbelief. Liam's throat tightened, and his body shook slightly. A long moment passed as he stared down at his shocked brothers. Tears filled Brock's eyes as he quickly stood up and bolted from the room. Davey uncomfortably glared at Liam as he turned around and slowly walked away.

Once they were gone, Liam's body crumbled back onto the couch. The cushions were warm and slightly wet from hours of lying there without moving or shifting whatsoever. Though the television was turned on, he didn't focus on it whatsoever. He simply closed his eyes and wished for sleep. He prayed to God that he would sleep forever and never wake up.

An hour later, Marty and the boys' mother was walking up the home's porch steps. The woman had a plump bag of groceries in her hand and a warm smile on her face. Marty rubbed her back.

"Thanks so much, Marty," she said, hugging the man, "I don't know what's wrong with him or what I'm doing wrong... He's just been a little bit of a nightmare this past week, I can't even get him off the couch-"

"Hey," the man interjected, "There's never anything that some one-on-one guy time can't help. After a little dinner, we'll watch the game. If he's good I might let him ride the hog a bit."

She endearingly smiled at the man, saying, "You're the best." The woman cautiously gazed into the home through the front window and saw that Liam was still slumped over on the couch, static and motionless. His eyes almost looked dead as they blankly stared forward into space–not even bothering to light a cigarette.

"Hey," the man said, "It's my job to do these kinds of things. Boys his age need a man in their lives."

Marty then turned around and opened the creaky door before stepping into the home. Brock ran back into the room, and his eyes lit up when he saw the man. "Come here little man!" Marty yelled, holding out his arms. The small boy hopped into the man's arms, and he giggled as the man gave him a large hug.

"You run along now," he said, letting the boy go, "I've got to take care of some things."

"Okay!" Brock said, looking back toward some dead rodents in a cupboard, "I want to show you my new pets, though!"

"Later," Marty said, patting him on the back. He ran off into the hallway as the man looked over at Liam, who was half asleep at this point. The boy's skin had taken an oily sheen, and his hair was matted and damp. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, and a stale, sour odor resonated from his body after days of not showering. The pallor of his face was interrupted by streaks of grime, and his eyes, bloodshot and glassy, blinked sluggishly. Marty slightly recoiled upon seeing the boy, and his mother squeamishly smiled before carrying the groceries to the kitchen.