A Night Tale

The first time was in fourth grade. As unbelievable as it sounds I don’t remember the title of the book, but it was just some library book with a bunch of scary stories. I had tingles down my spine while reading it, and made sure to be properly tucked in before turning off the light. I didn’t have any problems falling asleep, but then I had the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. It was like I was living the story, hunted by the monster in it. Just when he had caught up and bit into the flesh of my chest I woke up screaming.

My mother rushed in not a minute later, in her bathrobe, eyes wildly darting around looking for an intruder. I was soaked in sweat, still riled up and a bit confused by the nightmare. After she had calmed me down, turned on my desk lamp, left me warm milk and told me to be quiet or I’ll wake up dad, she left. It wasn’t until then I realized my chest pain wasn’t imagined and wasn’t going away. Using the front camera of my iPad I could see an image of the beast, just as I saw it attacking me in the dream, etched in my chest skin, like an old tattoo.

I kept it a secret from mum. What would I tell her? The more time passed, the harder it would be to explain too. The news took a bit of a detour. It was impossible to hide from the other boys at school, of course. I played it cool, not mentioning it to anyone, but they saw it in the locker room and the showers. Both Pete and Chris asked, of course, but I said I couldn’t talk about it. It was Jonah’s mother who talked to my mother about it. Jonah wanted a tattoo, and used me as proof that he wasn’t too young. I was grounded for three weeks for a long list of reasons. Not asking permission, keeping it a secret, not telling who did it or how I paid for it. Then I got two more weeks for still not answering any questions. It’s easy to keep something secret when you don’t know the answer. If anything, telling the truth by now would probably be worse.

It was “The Blizzard” by Edgar Stiles that caused the second one. I relived the avalanche chapter and woke up just before my arm would snap from the falling ice, only to feel a pain in my chest again. I didn’t scream this time, so I got plenty of time alone to examine the new scenery etched next to the beast on my chest. I told mum and dad what had happened. As expected I got grounded for another few weeks for repeat offense and lying and all the rest of it.

Eventually they did come around. As improbable as it was, it was the only explanation they had. By the fourth figure dad insisted on a front and back photo before bed, so when the fifth one did appear there was no denying what had happened. There wasn’t any logic to when they appeared or from what stories. Dad actually forbade me from reading at all after that one, but figure number six was from an old story I’ve read many years earlier, so there wasn’t any point in that either.

There was some push back from the other parents as well, for me setting a bad example and probably doing drugs. Pete wasn’t allowed to meet me anymore. My parents however defended my right to express myself on my body. If only that was the case.

The writing prompt in grade six English essay was on the theme of heroes. Being lazy I retold the beast chase that brought me my first image years ago. Only in my version I managed to slay the beast. A solid B- performance, it turned out, but that wasn’t the important part. The important part was I dreamt the story a few nights after I had written it. It wasn’t a nightmare this time, but it felt just as real when I woke up, drenched in sweat. The familiar pain I’ve felt so many times now permeating my whole body. I was more than a little scared as I fumbled with the light switch.

Instead of being covered in new tattoos, as I had feared, it was what was beneath the old ones that shocked me. I looked exactly as I had envisioned myself as the heroic beast slayer. Muscular yet lithe, older but still young. I bet this will upset a lot of parents too.