The Stick man

Shaun sees someone nobody else can

Words 1637

Shaun shivered, despite his warm, winter pyjamas.

He wouldn’t open the curtains tonight; he’d made a promise to his parents.
But the need to know overcame his fear. Just a peek.

He crept out of bed, careful not to make any sound with his bare feet on the wooden floorboards. On reaching the window he lifted a corner of the curtain, just a little, before daring to open his eyes.

He gave a silent scream and ran across the room and threw himself onto his bed, burrowing under the blankets.

‘Shaun! Are you out of bed, again?’ his father’s voice sounded angry.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I saw him again,’ he whispered under the covers.

The little boy heard his father coming up the stairs and the bedroom door open.

‘It’s got to stop.’ Strong hands pulled him out of bed. ‘There’s no one there. Look!’

He’d dragged his seven-year-old son out of bed and opened the curtains wide.

‘Look!’ he repeated. ‘What can you see?’

His father’s hands holding either side of his head, forced the boy to look down to the garden and to the gnarly tree below his window. There was no one there. No tall man as thin as a stick who stared at Shaun’s window every night.

‘He’s gone, but he was there. I promise. I saw him.’

His father gave a defeated sigh. ‘You’re a big boy now, Shaun. Too old for making up stories.’

‘Daddy, it’s true. The thin man stands next to the creepy tree, and he stares at me. He doesn’t even blink. I tried to be brave, and I stared back at him once. But he won, I blinked first.’

‘Just go back to bed. And don’t look out of the window again tonight. Promise?’

His son nodded and climbed back into his cold bed, but he knew the thin man would be there, watching and waiting.


‘How was he?’ Liz asked as her husband returned from dealing with their son for the third time that evening.

‘That kid has way too much imagination.’

‘It’s his age, Love. I was the same when I was a child. Vivid dreams and nightmares every night. He’s still unsettled from the move; it’s only been a few weeks. He’s had to get used to sleeping in a new bedroom.’

Jace sighed. ‘I hope he gets used to the house soon. We’re all losing sleep.’


The following morning after another disturbed night, a bleary-eyed, pale-faced Shaun entered the kitchen and sat at the table.

‘Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling?’ Liz asked.

Shaun just picked up the packet of cereal and poured some into his bowl. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, as if he’d had no sleep at all. His mother passed the jug of milk and watched as he covered the Rice Crispies. He usually listened to the Snap, Crackle and Pop, but he simply picked up his spoon and began to eat.


‘Mrs Morris, Shaun’s teacher called today, she wants to have a chat with us about him.’

‘What’s he been up to now, Liz?’

‘She asked if things were okay at home because he’s been withdrawn at school.’

‘Does she want to see us?’

‘Yes, tomorrow at lunch time if one of us can make it. I can’t get time off from work. Could you get away for an hour, Jace? She made it sound important.’

‘Yeah right,’ he sighed. ‘text her back. Tell her I’ll see her at the school at 12.30. It’d better be important.’


‘Mr Gregory, thank you for coming today. I felt it was important you’re made aware of Shaun’s behaviour of late.’ She shook Jace’s hand.

‘I hope he’s not being disruptive or…’

‘No, far from it. He’s…how can I put it? Detached.’ The teacher saw his look of concern and attempted to reassure him. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing too serious; it’s a very recent behaviour. Shaun is usually so energetic.’

‘He’s not sleeping well at the moment. Bad dreams. He’s probably just tired.’

‘That could be it, but it’s the drawings which concerned me.’

‘Drawings?’ Jace asked.

‘Yes, dozens of them. I’ve saved them.’ Mrs Morris reached for the briefcase under her desk. ‘See? The same drawing of a tree and a stick man. Can you shed any light on what they might mean?’

He swallowed. Of course, he knew what it meant. It was the old oak tree under his son’s window.

‘I’ll talk to him, Mrs Morris. We appreciate your concern and I’ll make sure we get to the bottom of what’s troubling him. Can I keep these?’ He said pointing to the pile of drawings.

‘Of course, and thanks again for coming. I’m sure it’s just a phase.’ She smiled.


Jace showed Liz the drawings later that evening once Shaun had eventually gone to sleep.

‘Oh, God. This is serious.’

‘What is it about that tree, do you think Liz?’

‘I have no idea, but tomorrow I’ll have a chat with the old lady next door about the people who used to live here. Maybe the house is haunted or something.’

As she said the words she realised herself how silly they sounded. Laughing along with her husband, they returned to watching the Friday night football game.


During the night Shaun crept into his parent’s bed. Cold, dirt encrusted feet against Liz’s warm body roused her from a deep sleep.

‘Darling why are you so cold?’ she whispered to avoid waking Jace. ‘Come on, let’s go into the kitchen, I’ll make you a warm drink.’
She turned on the bedside lamp and in its soft glow saw pieces of bark and dirt in the bed. Taking a closer look at her son she saw the dirt under his finger nails, his scratched, bloodied feet.


‘I had a word with the neighbour. Her name’s Sally. Her and her husband have lived next door for fifty something years, ever since they were married,’ Liz paused.

Jace waited, knowing by her hesitation to continue there was something he might not want to hear.

‘She told me a boy went missing from this house, our house, over twenty years ago.’ Her eyes welled with fearful tears as she slowly shook her head.

Her husband moved closer on the sofa and held held her tight. ‘It was so long ago, it’s nothing to do with us.’

‘I don’t like this house anymore. We should move.’ Her tear-stained, worried face implored him to do something.

‘I’ll get the tree cut down, love. When it’s gone Shaun will be better, you’ll see. You’re tired, we all are. Let’s hope Shaun sleeps tonight.’

‘Yes, and in his own bed and not sleep walking in the garden.’


A few hours later, a blood curdling scream from their son’s room had both of his parents scrambling from their bed.

‘Shaun! What is it?’ Liz switched on his light to find her little boy staring at his bedroom walls. Dark green, almost black mould crept like long fingers up the walls. Insistent scratching sounds came from within the walls as if a hundred rats were gnawing their way through the plaster. Liz grabbed her son’s arm and ran from the room, almost colliding with Jace on the stairs.

‘What was it, Liz?’

‘Go and see for yourself!’

Jace slowly opened his son’s bedroom door, his heart throbbing in his ears, unsure of what he would see that had caused his family to react in such a terrified manner. But there was nothing to see out of the ordinary, only the tangled sheets of a little boy having yet another nightmare.

‘I’ve had enough of this stupidity,’ he yelled down the stairs. ‘There’s nothing to see!’


Jace, Liz and Shaun stood hand in hand and watched the arborists at work, all eyes on the man hanging precariously in the upper branches holding a chainsaw.
Slowly, but surely, the old tree disappeared into the mulcher, until the only sign a tree had ever stood on that spot was a stump. Dark red sap oozed out and soaked into the dirt.

‘It’s bleeding,’ Shaun whispered.’ Did it hurt, Mummy?’

‘It’s just the sap, love. No, it didn’t hurt the tree.’

‘Where will the man live?’

‘There was no man in the tree, you watched it being cut down. There was no hiding place, no man and now no tree.’ It’s all gone, Shaun.’ Jace said firmly.


The following morning there was no sign of the boy. His bed was empty, except for twisted and tangled sheets, suggesting another night of unsettling dreams. Fragments of bark and dirt scattered throughout the bed and across the floor.

Sometime during the night, a dusting of snow had fallen, not much, but enough to lightly cover the path and lawn.

Jace, the first to spot it, called out, ‘Call the police, Liz!’

She joined him at the door, her hand went to her mouth to stifle the scream threatening to erupt in her throat.

Tiny footprints tracked from the back door across the white grass, directly to where the tree had previously stood for so many years. And there they stopped. No return trail, just an empty patch of dirt, soaked with sap and snow.

Jace followed the trail to where it ended. He dropped to his knees and began to dig with frantic fingers under where the massive roots went into the ground. A piece of paper, nestled in there, as if someone had left a note to be found.

Unfolding it, Jace saw it was a child’s drawing, Shaune’s drawing. It showed the house, the garden, the tree, and a boy, stick thin, standing inside the tree. Not beside the tree, but inside. A message, scrawled in his son’s shaky hand writing was written beneath the picture. It read:

‘I live here now.’

Written for The Horror Writing Contest
Prompt: Someone is Watching Me.