Papa Nos by Debbie Paterson

What happened was, I died.

Daddy ripped out my heart, despite Mama telling him not to. They even sent me away, buried me somewhere else.

Then Papa Nos found me.

He dug me up from that lonely hole, broke me out of that box. He said how thin I looked. He was thin and pale too, with a bald head. I wondered if Papa Nos had been ill like me.

I wanted to go back, show Mama I was fine. Papa Nos said I couldn’t, not yet.

He took me back to his house. It looked empty, all the windows broken. Spray paint covered the walls outside, the door halfway hanging off. It smelt old and mouldy. It felt cold. It looked nothing like Mama and Daddy’s house.

I backed away. I didn’t like it.

Papa Nos put his hand on my shoulder and guided me inside. Shadows darted between rooms. He led me upstairs and told me to pick a room, that it was mine from now on and I could put anything I wanted in it.

“But all my toys aren’t here!” I protested. “My teddies. They need their monthly hide-and-seek! It’s the final!”

Papa Nos pulled something from behind his back and handed it to me. Mr. Ted, my favourite teddy! I hugged him.

He told me Mama and Daddy put it in the box with me, but he made sure to take it with him, knowing that it was important. It really, really was. Mr. Ted was so so so important as the head of the Hide-And-Seek Committee.

I picked a small room because it was yellow, my favourite. Papa Nos ordered me to stay there no matter what I heard. When he left, he locked the door behind him.

I heard bangs, crashes, and screams. Papa Nos’s voice shouting as it boomed loud, echoing upstairs. Then it went quiet. Footsteps thudded across the room below like a drum.

Papa Nos raised his voice, a screech replied, then the smash of glass.

The rest of the night passed slowly. Mr. Ted and I explored our new room. There was no table with big doll heads that watched me, nor hair to hide my bald head that I was sure would come alive. The long window showed other houses and trees dancing outside.

The people-shaped shadows stretched up the wall, like a drawing. I jumped into bed, pulled the duvet over my head.

Later, Papa Nos came to check on me. He pulled the duvet down from my head and offered his hand. His nails were long and brittle. I didn’t like them and moved away. He didn’t say anything, just handed me Mr. Ted from under the duvet, and another bear I didn’t know. He said it was an opponent for Mr. Ted. He closed the curtains and the blinds, the room now pitch black.

I thought I saw new shapes and shadows, all of them scary. Tree branches stretched across the ceiling, long and gangly. They looked like arms and legs, fingers and bones. They were so stiff, moving back and forth. At some point, I got so sleepy I couldn’t fight it. As I drifted off, one of the branch-hands reached closer.

When I woke up, I called for my Mama.

Papa Nos came instead.

A sharp pain cut through my tummy. I thought my disease was back, that what Papa Nos said about not being ill anymore was a lie.

I dropped Mr. Ted. Papa Nos shook his head, handed me Mr. Ted then held out his hand. I grabbed his sleeve and let him lead me out the room.

We reached the stairs. On either side were people, fat and swollen. They had long black teeth, broken nails, some with scratches, others missing big chunks of skin. They smelt bad.

Some stared, others swiped at me. Papa Nos snarled and hid me behind him. They hissed.

Outside, we went down the street and through a gate to the gardens behind the houses. The pain hit and Papa Nos scooped me up. He glided down the street, feet not touching the ground.

He put me down then pointed to a door and told me to knock. When I was let in then I’d let him in too. He hid behind the shed as I shuffled up the steps.

I knew this house. They were friends with Mama and Daddy. They visited us and we visited them too. When I got sick, they brought food and flowers, toys and films, then sat and talked for hours. Mama liked them and because she did, I did too.

I knocked on the door.

Mama’s friend answered and his jaw dropped. “Clara? I thought you were…” he trailed off. “Where’s your mum?” He looked up and down the street. “Come in, come in.”

I followed him.

Mama told others, told Daddy how much weight I’d lost. My arms and legs looked like twigs that could snap at any minute. It made me sad to know how sad she was. That how I looked made her upset.

A mirror stood in front of me and my skinny figure, shadowed by the streetlight behind me, waited. I couldn’t see myself, only the dress I woke up in when Papa Nos took me out of the box. I looked down at my hands, they were purple and bruised.

Pain shot through my tummy again. I fell to my knees and the old man rushed over to me. He lifted me up to carry me into the living room.

I saw red, I smelt red, I heard his heartbeat.

Papa Nos stood at the door. “Feed,” he said.

And I did. I sunk my teeth into the old man’s neck, my hands tearing at his skin. I felt better. I felt stronger.

What happened was, I died.

What happened was, I was raised.

What happened was, I fed.

What would happen next? I would kill my Mama and Daddy.

Debbie Paterson

Image: Black and white image of graves and tombs by dd