The Child

         When Samuel James moved out of town, I could finally start to relax. I only went over there to babysit, and what I saw was terrifying. He had the tendency to follow me around, sit very still, watching my every movement, and on occasion I had enough. It’s true that he had few to no friends, which made him very lonely, like the time he sat at the window watching the other kids play and have fun. But afterward he would be following and watching me. He kept doing it to only me, and everybody else thought he was a normal boy. I had an opinion of him, I’m certain, that he was too creepy for everyone’s safety. Or maybe nobody noticed. Maybe it was hidden from everyone but me.
         Anyway, it’s hard to miss the stares I got, but in spite of that, I want to tell a disturbing Samuel James story.
         In March, we were going out to eat for my birthday in a city park called Pete’s Palace, which got its name from the fact that the owner was a prince and wanted to make a place that was casual for his soldiers to relax after the battle at Lou Kai. But for me, it was still too formal. Arcades were lined around the perimeter, where we didn’t feel we belonged, with their dings, and laughter, and shouts of victory. It was a gamer's domain. Some new faces, some old ones. As usual, though, Samuel wanted to go into the arcade, and this time, he was allowed to go since there was a discount on the price. The first game had a short, confusing objective with no details. For a full hour he entertained us by killing a group of zombies, teaching some of us how to play, then afterward, he started getting hungry so we headed to the line in front of the restaurant. At least it was over with. We had a few laughs, spent some time, told some jokes, remembered memories, stayed too late. It turned out to be a good time, memorable and enjoyable, but Samuel’s main focus seemed to be messing with my head.
         As I sat looking, Samuel James began to stare. He kept staring, smiling to himself. Finally his mother asked him what he was looking at, and Samuel looked at her like she spoke a different language and said that he was thinking about games. Really good games, he said. Games that don’t really exist. He didn’t like boring or lacking games -- he actually enjoyed the older games -- but there was something about this one new game that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He glanced over at me and said, “Yep. Count me in. I might like this game.”
         But a few minutes later, when his mother called his name, Samuel walked off, and walked out of the door.
         I was down quickly. I stumbled and fell before he even looked at me. Everyone started to gather around me and ask questions. When he walked up, there was this gleam in his eyes, almost demonic, as if he had been possessed by an evil spirit. He wouldn’t stop looking at me. For the rest of the week I was in the hospital by myself, he would come in during the middle of the night, just staring at me as if I wasn’t there. He seemed very happy. Now and then I would see him climb the wall, muttering to himself. Nobody else would see him, but they called me crazy, there was no hope. Something must have altered the cells in my mind. Early one morning he snuck into my room. He switched on the bright light, woke me up, and told me that he was a monster. A killer, he said -- like a voice in my mind. I couldn’t speak, but he kept talking, so I finally screamed and ran out into the halls and asked for security. There was some confusion, no doubt, but by the time security arrived, Samuel James was out of town.