The Boy Witch

Chapter 30

That empty, vacant look, that mechanical step, that expressionless face, Miles had seen it so many times. Most of the time, his mother’s hold on his dad had been a mild one, where he looked and behaved mostly normally. But when Mallory particularly needed to control him, she emptied him of all life and turned him into an emotionless machine. Seeing his dad like that always broke Miles’ heart.

Miles’ first memory, from when he was a little kid, was of sitting on his father’s lap on the couch, while his father was enraptured, sitting there, lifeless. Miles tried to shake him, calling for his daddy. When he was little, Miles was a bit of a cry baby, and while his father remained unresponsive, tears flowed, and he wailed. His mother yelled for him to shut up.

But when his dad was not mesmerized, Miles remembered him being a loving, kind father. Timothy loved to spend time with his son. The young witch had so many memories of playing with his father, with the few toys he had. The man would sometimes sneak him toys that his mother did not want him to have. Plush toys were Miles’ favorite and Timothy knew it.

Over the years, Miles also spent a lot of time cooking and cleaning with his dad because Timothy would do all the housework, hypnotized by his wife who could not be bothered to contribute, often lying on the couch, watching TV. That work was just an occasion for Miles to make more memories with his father.

Miles was glad for his father. His mother had always been abusive, mocking her son, yelling at him, neglecting him, but Miles was happy at home, thanks to Timothy. School had always been difficult, with kids teasing him for his disheveled mother, his feminine appearance and his short stature. But when he came home, he was always happy to see his father.

One of his most precious memories was his tenth birthday. Mallory never allowed Timothy to buy his son birthday presents, but that year he had managed to convince her to get him one. Miles had been so excited to receive the big box topped with a bow. When the box wiggled a little bit, he was shocked and almost dropped it. But he was even more excited to open it and discover the fluffy grey kitten it contained. Miles grabbed the small pet from the box and hugged it, and cried and cried. Timothy was so delighted to see his son so happy, while Mallory was impassive, even angry with her son’s joy.

Miles’ parents rarely had fights because of Mallory’s control over her husband. Whenever they disagreed, whenever their voices escalated, she just enthralled Timothy and made him quiet, and went about whatever she was doing that he disliked. Especially being mean to Miles.

But as time went by, Mallory’s hold over him started to wane. Their fights were longer, more violent. Miles remembered hiding in his room while they fought, sticking his head under his pillow, hugging Mortimer close. He could hear them yell and Mallory hitting and throwing things at Timothy. He never hit his wife back, but he was not scared to raise his voice.

***

One day, when Miles was twelve, they had a particularly nasty fight. Mallory had made fun of Miles, which he was used to enduring, but her comment just made Timothy mad. He started criticizing her, calling her out for her behavior, that comment and her other abuse. Mallory would not hear any of it.

When he heard the fight starting, Miles retreated to his bedroom, with Mortimer following along. He crawled under his blankets and hugged his pillow, tears welling up, as they yelled. Mallory and Timothy would not stop screaming. With every fight, Miles was scared it would be the fight where one of them would get seriously hurt.

Miles heard the fight shifting to their bedroom. Timothy was threatening to leave and packing his bag. Miles’ eyes opened wide and his heart raced. He was scared he would be left behind. Staring into nothing, holding on to his precious cat, he waited. They only screamed at each other more, and the screams were getting closer. Miles panicked.