For the boy it had been a great Sunday afternoon, the first time he had ridden his bicycle without stabilizers. He could still feel the exitement as he thought back to the moment he realised his dad was no longer holding the back of his seat but better still was the look of pride in his dad’s face. Once he was off there was no stopping him and he spent hours riding around the park until he was exhausted. That was why he had put up no fight when told it was bed time. Now lying under the covers he looked up at the picture on the ceiling of an elephant spraying water over its back from the trunk, he wished he could go on a safari.
He rolled over to reach for his teddy bear but found nothing there. Confusion took him for a moment before he remembered putting it on the shelf. He felt a little guilty but now his stabilizers were off he was grown up and should not have a teddy bear in bed any more.
Watching the boy flick the switch on the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom; this did not take long as his night vision was very strong. He looked across the now dark room at the mound in the bed: anger did not come close to how he was feeling. He wanted to cause pain and suffering and could feel the urge building as the rage intensified, he had tried very hard to repress the urges he felt each day.
Waiting now was difficult but his past experience had taught him patience and if he was going to have his fun he would have to wait. The room was quiet; not even the ticking of a clock disturbed the peace. The only sound was the sound of the boy breathing, although it was not yet the slow steady breath of deep sleep.
The day had seen the boy riding solo for the first time and the boy had talked of nothing else since. He had already been in the bedroom and listened to the talk of the day, at one point the boy had come unexpectedly to the room and only some fast reflexes had kept him from being discovered. Thinking about the shock now only added to the anticipation of what was going happen later, he was not fully sure of how this was going to play out but feeling a fresh surge of rage that he barely managed to suppress, he knew it was going to be messy.
Daydreaming those pleasant thoughts made him miss the change in breathing but now he was focussed, the little snores coming from the small bed told him all he needed to know. Soon he would make his move and the fun could begin… but patience was still required as the parents were awake and downstairs watching T.V. He wanted to take his time with this one and make him pay in pain.
Time drifted on and in moments there seemed to be no hope of them ever going to bed. There had been a false alarm earlier when the dad had got up to put the kettle on. Listening to the kettle ping in the kitchen had been a real nightmare as he knew that there was probably going to be another hour of waiting. Passing the time by counting the boy’s breaths he waited and waited until finally there was movement downstairs and the T.V. was turned off.
The parents took their cups to the kitchen, rinsed them out and then came upstairs. This was it, finally the waiting was over and the rage was to be unleashed in a violence this house would never see again. He heard the mum go into the bedroom and the toilet flush in the bathroom as the father finished his business.
Footsteps on the landing and a soft light bathing the boy on the bed as the father opens the door to check on his precious boy. Holding his breath he waits for the door to close so he can make his move but he hears the father chuckle and sees him step into the room.
The father starts towards him and he holds himself dead still, he feels the father’s hands as they pick him up and carry him to the bed. He is tucked under the boy’s arm in his usual place, the footsteps retreat and the door closes and night once more enfolds the room…