Stories to Tell in the Dark

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First, I need to apologize to you guys. I am so sorry. I'm coming to you in my time of need.

Please help me.

Please read this to the end.

That's it. That's all I ask. I don't know what to do or where to turn. Please just help me. That's all I ask.

My name is Andrea, and I'm a single mother.

I don't tell you this like it's some badge of honor and I'm expecting cookies, milk, and chocolate-covered snowflakes like most of the others in my social circle would. They want your pats on the back and recognition; I just want some of your time.

I see motherhood as a burden. Necessary, yes, but still a burden. My son's name is Jesse. He's eleven. That's fifth grade for the math haters.

Jesse started the fifth grade this year like any other kid would. There was a little bit of trepidation and lots of excitement. He was a happy-go-lucky sort of kid. Full of life and energy.

All that changed after he met Stan on Tuesday.

Stan was a late addition to Jesse's class; a transfer student from another district. Jesse's teacher sat Stan next to Jesse.

When I picked Jesse up after school on Tuesday, he told me that Stan was his new best friend. He wasn't acting like himself though. He was pale and sweaty. I took his temperature, but he wasn't running a fever. I asked about his day and all he would tell me was that Stan was his new best friend.

"Stan's my new best friend," Jesse would say.

"I know. I can't wait to meet him," I'd say back.

"Mom, Stan is great. You should meet him. He's my new best friend. The best in the world."

We must've had this same conversation a thousand times that night. When I tucked Jesse in bed, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes. He put his little hand in front of his face and wiggled his index finger, telling me to come closer.

I bent over him and he put his hands to either side of his mouth. You know, the little kid way of telling a secret? Well I turned my head and he whispered something into my ear that chilled me. At the time, I didn't know why it chilled me, but it did.

He whispered, "You believe me. Right, Mom?"

I sat back up and looked down at him. "Believe you about what, honey?"

"Stan," he said. "Stan's my best friend."

I nodded and took his temperature once more.

Again, he wasn't running a fever.

I went to bed, but couldn't really sleep that night.

On Wednesday, when I pulled up to the school to drop Jesse off, he got this really weird look on his face and told me that he didn't want to go in.

"Are you feeling sick?" I asked.

"No," he said. He was chewing on his bottom lip like crazy. This was something else I'd never seen him do. "No. I need to go to school."

He opened the car door and got out.

No goodbye.

No I love you.

Nothing.

He trudged up the front steps of the school with his head down. I let off the brake and turned away to drive to work.

A little boy was standing right in front of my car. Two more seconds and I would've run him over. The boy was pale, with a mop of blonde hair that was almost white and bright blue eyes. He knocked on the hood of my car twice, waved once, and walked up the stairs to school.