Billy is s a manny, one of a growing number of male nannies working in London, today. His first charge is as unconventional as his career choice, but Billy embraces it. Sadly, one silly mistake, leads to a sorry situation.
Silly Billy is a fan ficti...
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I allowed Elliot take me by the hand and guide me toward the narrow doorway through which I heard him talk to the unseen presence who he says was his mother.
He opened the door and tugged me toward the darkness. I pulled back when I realized I'd have to stoop even further. "Don't be frightened of the clostro-thingy, the tall room's right through here, you'll be able to stand straight up," he said, with a child like reassurance that didn't reassure me.
My chest tightened and my heart rate increased when I saw that this was less a hallway and more a tunnel; the walls of which were merely compacted soil. Yet I knew I heard someone or thing retreat down this very same trail; so I took a deep breath, crouched down and entered the darkness determined to find out who was actually in the so called tall room.
I let go of Elliot's hand and dropped to the floor, "It's easier for me if I crawl, Elliot,' I said, edging forward like a tearful toddler.
The stench of the Milton's corpses still hung heavy in my nostrils. But it was their deathly odor that temporarily quashed my claustrophobia, compelling me through the tight space.
Elliot walked with a frustratingly slow gait and my head constantly flinched backwards to avoid being smacked by his heels. "I don't like the tall room; looking up frightens me. I worry something might fall from above and cover my face. My collar doesn't protect me from falling things, I hate having the phigero-thingy," he whimpered.
A fast paced patter rushing from behind alerted me and I halted. The physical brush of a physical presence brushed over my lower legs, "Elliot, what's that?"
His reply was nonchalant, "Rats. They're big, but don't bite. Most of them are my friends, because I feed them breakfast cereal," he replied, cheerfully.
The skin on my elbows began to tear, and I cursed myself for not putting my pullover back on; but I crawled relentlessly onwards in search of: answers, fresh air and freedom. "Are we nearly there, Elliot?" I asked, aware I sounded like the child. He chirped his reply, "I thinks so, I can smell mother's perfume."
Weary and with a momentary lack in my concentration, his heal smacked my nose and I felt it: crack, erupt and bust. But the pain eased a little when I heard Elliot exclaim, "We're here!"
At least my broken nose obliterated the stench of death, "Things always happen for a reason," my mother used to say. I looked forward to the day when I would gain a positive outcome from this unfortunate experience.
We entered a room that was no more than 5 meters by 5 meters square. Yet its height allowed me stand upright with a few inches to spare. Needles to say, it did nothing to alleviate my claustrophobia.
Elliot crouched down and pushed his head and collar between his knees, "I'm protecting my face, mother. Nothing will cover it in the tall room," he said, with a fearful quiver in his voice. I found it achingly tragic how he still spoke to his dead mother and decided to gently break her suicide to him by engaging him in rationale conversation.
