There’s someone in my bed!

I heard my five-year-old son scream the most bloodcurdling of screams for the fifth time that week. He was finding it difficult to fall asleep. As a single parent, I was trying out this new procedure that was suggested by our family psychiatrist. “You need to stop sleeping with him Raj, Shubham has completed four last month. It's high time that he starts sleeping on his own.”

I looked at the coffee table in Jitendra’s office. He sat across the table with a personalized “Best Daddy in the World” mug himself, while I sipped from China. Jitu and I graduated the same year and while he opted for Psychology, I took film and drama. We both graduated with honors from St. Xavier's Arts and had been friends since then.

He turned out to be one of the city’s most renowned Parent Counselors and I, well I was still a struggling television actor. The marriage with my first ever co-star Sheetal Dubey was a sight in itself. But as fate would have it, we drifted apart as she climbed the success ladder and entered the world of Bollywood and I remained to stage and television productions that barely covered the cost of parenting.

Even during the time of Shubhham’s birth, there was the talk of abortion. A mother never got fresh roles in television, least the cinemas. We had to go on sabbatical brewing up a story about her aunt being diagnosed with cancer and that she was the only one in the family to look after the poor old thing. Since our contract has just expired, we didn’t stay on for season two and proceeded with the pregnancy.

After Shubham was born, she just dunked him in my hands and left. There was no explanation whatsoever. She had grabbed a role during her pregnancy and way after Shubham turned three did I realize that she was having an affair with the producer all the time she was married to me. Fortunately, Shubham was ours and once she handed me my responsibility she took off. He had promised her a role in a small budget film and said that if she’d be his keep for a few years, he’d help her climb the ladder. And climbed the ladder she did. By the time Shubham was five, she was a renowned actress with international offers under her belt even.

Now returning to my issue, my son who was unable to sleep alone even at the age of five. There is this concept of breastfeeding, also known as nursing. It's very important that an infant is fed right after birth and this process needs to continue for at least two years at intervals. It helps the child to grow both physically and emotionally as well. The child develops stronger, more confident and with more ammunition to take over the force of the world. This is simply because right from birth, the child is given that warmth and love to have him develop properly.

These were Jitu’s explanations on why Subham was having troubles sleeping alone. He was compensating the lack of love that he didn’t receive from his mother when he should and was now acting out through nightmare calling and late night tantrums. He obviously wanted more love and attention than he was given and due to this, his active imagination had now concocted a story where he felt that he was being watched when left alone.

I ran into Shubham’s room to comfort him. “You up buddy? Another nightmare I assume?”

He was all tears and wailing. “No, dada.” He said “There is someone under my bed. I told that to you yesterday even. When you dropped me off at school.”

I calmly sat down on his bed and with the sleeves of my sweatshirt wiped his eyes dry. “You are such a brave boy. Boy’s don't cry. Look at the mess you’ve made. You've even wet your pants.”

I picked him up and suddenly realized that he was way heavier than I’d last remember. My child was surely growing and fast was his pace. We went over to the bathroom and I washed him up. We changed clothes and beddings and after a long chat and a cup of hot chocolate, I tucked my little soldier into bed once again. I checked the time on my iPhone. It showed eleven-fifty-eight.

“Shubi, its almost twelve bud. You need to sleep. We have school in the morning don't we?” My brave little attention seeker sniffed in the last of his tear residue and asked, “can I sleep with you today dada?”

I looked back at him and so wanted to pick him up, carry him off to my room and snuggle with him. But Jitu’s warnings came ringing back in the back of my head. “Don’t get bullied by a five-year-old Raj, you need to help him man up to his insecurities. If not now, when?”

I bent down and kissed his cheek. “May on the weekend pumpkin. I want you to be brave and strong. You aren't a sissy little girl are you?” Yes, I know, I pulled the sexist card. Kids always fall for that. He nodded his head. Point one for dad! “Good,” I said as got up to leave the room.

“But dada,” he said still with a quiver in his little voice. “What about the boy under my bed?”

I looked at him and smiled. “Oh honey, there is no one under your bed.” I sat down again and laid him down. “Do you want me to check?”

He pulled my hand instantly, “No! Don't do that. Don’t look down there, I am so scared dada.” I grabbed my iPhone and turned on the torch. I bent down on one knee and lifted the covers. I swung the beam across the floor. “See that Shubi, no ones there. Nothing.”

But as I was consoling my son, my eye caught something shining in the midst of all the darkness down there. I moved in closer now, my body completely on the floor and me on my belly. I turned on the flashlight once more and swayed it across the bottom of the bed. What I saw next made my blood run cold. I never felt that stab of fear ever in my life. My face turned white and pale. My breath caught in my throat and no sound came out. I was staring straight into the eyes of my five-year-old son Shubham, all curled up like a cat under his bed.

He saw me and gestured for me not to speak by moving his index finger to his lips. This was something he’d do regularly when he knew that he was in trouble or that he got caught doing something wrong, and that he didn't want me to yell at him then and there. I was mortified.

I moved in under the bed and whispered, “Shubi... have you been under the bed this whole time ?” He nodded back. “For how long?” He pulled his hand up again and pulled up four fingers. “Four days?” I said alarmed. My son was cooped up under his bed for four long days. Who was with me then all this time? Then ever so slowly he spoke back, “I told you there’s someone in my bed!”

Just then a felt pointed protrusions pierce the back of my leg and pull me out from under the bed. This thing or whatever it was who was impersonating my son was now sitting on top of my chest. The same image of my son. Not a strand of hair different from his. He bent over and spoke, now in the raspiest and haunting of voices I’d ever heard. It sounded more like a dying man choking out the last ounces of breath he had left. Trying to gurgle out sentences with great difficulty.

“Oh, you found the little bugger huh? He... He... He... I’d thought you never will.” His smile grew from ear to ear. It was like his jaw was snapping open. There was no face left the way his smile grew. Ugly misshapen teeth glistened in the glow of the light from my torch. I noticed saliva dripping from his now opened and extended mouth. His eyes widened. He placed his hands on my chest. Unnerving and unsettling nails jutted out from his tiny little fingers. He growled as he dug his fingers into me. “So now what do we do?”

Submitted September 21, 2018 at 07:22PM by justjonathan24 https://ift.tt/2MSFihV