B: Bad

Bad Teacher

There it is again. A sound. Somebody talking. Moving.
I lay in my bed, still. Don't breathe. I pull the duvet tight over my
head moulding it around my body, into a ball. There's nothing
uncovered, no way to be got at.
There it is again. The sound.
I peep out from under the duvet. Who's there? The moonlight filters
through the window, just enough to see the dark shapes that adorn my
room. There's somebody in my room! Quick, close the hole. Can't see
now. Darkness. It can't get me here, in my shell. Be still.
There it is again. The sound. Somebody talking. A whisper.
My body tightens. Clenched muscles. Be still. No, wait a minute, that
was my dressing gown. There's nobody in my room. I straighten my legs,
and then my arms. I let go of my grasp on the duvet. My head burrows
out from it's hole. Nothing. My room, it's my room, just as it should
be.
There it is again. The sound. Somebody talking. A whisper. No, no a
murmur. Where though? Not in my room, but in the house.
I carefully pull back the covers of my duvet, a rush of cold air
invades my fortress. Not so fast, be careful, make no sound. I sit up,
my toes feel for the carpet. There it is, same as always. I wait, cold
and silent.
There it is again. Who is it? A robber? A murderer? My Australian
aunt? Somebody moving. Footsteps.
I wait, afraid but not stricken. I wait for the right moment to move.
I stand. Body full length, arms out, as big as possible. I'm here. I'm
ready. One foot forward. Stop. Pause. Breath. The other foot.
Footsteps? No. A banging. No. A creaking. What is it? I don't know. I
can see the outline of the door. It's only a few metres away but it'll
take me forever to get to. But I have to get to it. Hide behind it.
Keep it shut.
There it is again. The sound.
A stream of moonlight forces a path through a crack between the
curtains. A piercing white line, cutting through the darkness.
Keep to the dark. Another step. Yes, I'm there.
There it is again. The sound. I hold my breath. Crying. Somebody's
crying. Who? Tom!
Quick. Open the door. Reach for the landing light. On. Can't see. The
light bursts into my eyes, into my head, into my brain. Pause. Adjust.
That's better.
The crying, it's coming from his room. Please, not again, not another
nightmare. Please stop crying, Tom, please.
I get close up to the door and press my body against it. It's cold at
first but my body adjusts. I listen.
"Don't. Stop it. It's not fair."
He's talking again. Groaning, murmuring, why? I peel myself away from
the door. I grip the handle. Pull it down, slowly, no sound, don't
disturb him.
I push forward and look for the shape of his body under his duvet. The
bedclothes are strewn. His pyjamas twisted around his body, pulled
tight. He has been moving, but he's still now. I move inside and shut
the door. It's hot in here. A box room. Stifling and sweaty. I watch
him dream.
"Mum... No... It wasn't me..."
His eyes flicker. The only movement of a deathly still body.
Please Tom, it's only a dream. It's not real. I'm here. I'm
real.
I lay my hand on his forehead. He sweats, but his skin is ice cold.
More crying. I move my head close to his. I kiss his cheek and then
whisper that I'm here. That it's all right.
He mumbles something. His eyes shut tight. Then wide open. He sits
bolt upright, looking right through me.
"It wasn't me... I'm not bad... He says I'm bad."
"It's okay Tom. It's a dream. I'm here. Ben's here. You're
safe."
"He's going to get me. He hates me."
I move closer. He doesn't respond. Not conscious, unaware of my
presence. he cries, beads of sweat and tears running down his face. I
sit on his bed and hold him. I squeeze him tight. His small body
falling limp into mine.
"It's okay. I've got you. It's a dream."
More crying
"It's all right. You're not bad. It's all right."
I hold tighter. Stop, please stop. How long have I held him. Ten
minutes? No, only two. It seems like forever.
There it is again. No, no it's stopped. He's stopped.
I look for his eyes. They are shut. Asleep, unaware of what has just
happened. I carefully lay him back down. Straighten his pyjamas and
wrap his duvet around him. A padded package. Safe and unharmed.