The Shaded

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

I stared absentmindedly out the window, gazing at the autumn scenery in my yard. I watched that leaf, that very first leaf droop quietly from the highest branch of the tall oak tree, softly dancing in the air and landing delicately on the white grass. I was contemplating whether or not to run upstairs and jump off the roof just to get a thrill. Boredom was my worst enemy.

I guess if I'm going to tell this story, I should start here. My name is Timothy, I was twelve years old, and I was trapped. I couldn't even remember the last time I left my home. I mean, without my father. He would help me out of the house at times. I wasn't allowed to step a foot off my property. I was homeschooled, my mother as my teacher, but she hadn't said a word about school since June. I think she still believed it was summer vacation. She should have taken a good glimpse at the foliage; it was well past September. She was very into her work lately. Twelve years of living with her, and I still had yet to discover what her job was. She didn't tell much of anything of her life. She'd always leave me to infer about her lifestyle.

I knew it had something to do with her dolls. My mother salivated over them. They were her role-models, in an odd way. She would make them, talk to them, and dress them. She was a hoarder of those things, had a mountain stack of them scattered around the house. In fact, she was in the middle of designing one now, with piles of stuffing and sack dolls spread messily onto the dining table.

There she was, peacefully inserting a handful of stuffing into a brown sack cut flawlessly into a human shape. She was very meticulous about doll-making. It had to be the perfect amount of stuffing. The scissor's work was to be spot on, creating a flawless image. Attention to detail was essential, but most definitely the sewing should be the most impeccable. That was her canvas, and she was a proud Da Vinci. The phone rang for the second time in the row, but my mother had entered her own realm of art and beauty. Never would she...it flabbergasted me. She rose from her chair and picked it up. I was undoubtedly boggled. It must have been a life or death situation. She wouldn't even stop for the paramedics. This must have been important. She listened to the landline while consciously nodding her head while twisting the gray cord apprehensively, and then an enormous smirk sprouted on her face.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Her legs sprung from the kitchen tiles sporadically.

I had to hear this. I wouldn't want to perturb her from her blissful bouncing, but I had to hear this.

"What happened?" I asked inquisitively as I got up from my chair.

She didn't respond at first, recovering from her joy. Abruptly, she latched onto my shoulders and grinned.

"Timothy, we are going to have a special visitor this afternoon!"

Crap. This again.

"One of my, um, clients will be coming here today, you know the drill..."

The drill. Of course, the drill. Let me start off by saying that occasionally, my mom would invite some guests to my house. Clients of hers, she said. So my mom worked at home. It was possible she was some sort of psychiatrist, or a saleswoman I hope.

Somebody needed to get rid of those dolls. They gave me the eternal goose-bumps. My guesses say she's so thrilled because it was her first "customer" in ten months. I wasn't allowed to be seen. As soon as she would catch any sound of any car engine incoming, I would be forced up into my room, locked up for hours of solitary confinement. It was very necessary that she and she alone would interact with the newcomers. Maybe it was a professional thing, and frolicking twelve-year-old running about in the house didn't look good on her half.

I remember that time she found my bedroom unlocked just as our visitor was departing. When she found me, she looked a beating wreck with a beating heart as boisterous as a drum and sweat dripping from her forehead. She stood very still and asked me if I had seen anything. I said no, and to this day I hadn't yet figured out what that meant. Whatever it was, the ambiguity frightened me to a slight degree. I let that thought dissipate in my mind. It was nothing worth my time.