Standard disclaimer applies. The characters aren't mine. It's been a
while since I've seen the show, so forgive any discrepancies.
A Place to Belong
The seconds ticked by as the hand on his watch made its way around the numbers. It was the only sound he heard. It was safe now. Reaching up with a scrawny arm, the boy grabbed the knob and opened the closet door a crack. Putting a blue eye to the narrow space, he scanned the room. The coast was clear. His mother's boyfriend was in bed. Finally.
It didn't really matter where his mother was, but it would make things easier if she were asleep too. His luck was riding high…she was. Grabbing a small bag from the closet floor, the child shoved the few articles of clothing he owned into it. Next came the blue shoebox in the corner. He had to have that. Draping his blanket over his shoulders, their ends trailing the floor, he slipped from the closet and headed for the kitchen.
Now was the dangerous part. If he were caught stealing food, he'd catch it sure. His hands shaking, practically holding his breath, he hastily grabbed cans and boxes randomly off the shelves and dropped them in his bag. Opening a few drawers, he added a can opener, candles, matches, a flashlight and batteries. His heart pounding, the boy tip-toed back into the living room.
He took one last look at the closet he'd spent so much time in over the last year. It wasn't the prison most people would think it would be. For him, it had meant sanctuary. His mother's boyfriend was a mean drunk and the boy had learned early on that hiding was the best way to survive. His mother had been the one to think of the closet.
One night, the man had come home raging drunk and she'd thrust the skinny child into the closet for safety. "Be quiet as a mouse, and he won't have any reason to hit you. You understand? Quiet as a mouse."
He'd understood. And he'd followed her warnings. Every night her boyfriend had returned home drunk, the boy hid in the closet. He'd had a flashlight and a shoebox of brightly colored Legos to keep him company. The boy was certain he could build just about anything with Legos by now.
The night before, however, his time had run out. After tiring of throwing things, and hitting his girlfriend, the man had gone looking for the child. He knew the boy was in the apartment somewhere. It didn't take him long to find the kid hiding in a closet.
Afraid, knowing the next time his mother might not be able to stop the big man, the boy made his decision to leave. He knew he could take care of himself. He'd been doing that for years.
Now, trying not to breathe too loud, praying he wouldn't step on any creaky boards, the boy made his way to the apartment door. He kept up a chant in his head, in time with his pounding heart. ~Quiet as a mouse, quiet as a mouse.~
It was a struggle to reach the bolt, but he managed to get the door open without a sound. Once he'd gained the freedom of the hallway, the child ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.
He rode the subway for hours, ducking under turnstiles to save his meager stash of money. Money he'd earned by running errands for old Mrs. Lacey on the fourth floor. When he saw the transit cop giving him funny looks, the child got off at the next stop.
Climbing back up to the street, he looked around, wondering where to go. He smiled when he realized where he was. Central Park. What a great place to hide. Nobody would look for him there. Not that anyone would bother to look, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
His first two nights in the park were pretty scary. It was dark, there were strange noises and he worried someone would find him and make him go back home. It was his third night that something amazing happened. He'd seen HIM.
The child had moved from the place he's slept the last two nights, because a bum had run him off. Wandering through the trees, he suddenly stopped and dropped to the ground without a sound. A huge man had just emerged from what looked like a tunnel of some sort. No, not a man.
The figure turned so that the moonlight revealed his face. He looked like something from the book of fairy tales the boy had stolen from the library. Like a cross between a lion and a man, his hood pulled up to hide his shaggy tawny hair. It was the neatest thing the boy had ever seen. Also the scariest.
It was the tunnel, though, that had aroused the child's curiosity. Once the figure had disappeared into the shadows, the boy made his quiet way into the entrance. He found the way barred with a gate. He spent several long minutes trying to figure a way to unlock it, but gave up in frustration. Looking closely at the bars, he thought maybe they were far enough apart to let someone as small as himself through.
It was a tight fit, and for one terrifying moment he thought his head was stuck, but he squeezed through. It felt like he'd ripped his ears off, but he was through. Brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, he reached back through the bars for his bag. After pausing to listen for sounds of danger, the boy crept down the dim tunnel.
There was just enough light filtering into the tunnel to see where he was going. He was afraid to turn on the flashlight. As he got deeper into the system of tunnels, a constant echo of tapping assaulted his ears. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to the noise, and he wondered if it was some kind of code. He'd read about Morse code in a mystery book he'd read. Maybe it was something like that.
He slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the scream that got as far as his throat when a man suddenly appeared out of the shadows not four feet in front of him. Pressing himself against the cold hard wall, the boy waited for discovery. Fortunately, the man seemed not to have noticed anything but the paper he held in his hand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the boy slipped into the tunnel the man had come out of. He hadn't gone very far when he noticed it was getting lighter and lighter. It was gradual enough that his eyes had no trouble adjusting to the change. The most amazing thing was, he heard voices.
Not just one voice, but many. And laughter. He heard laughter…and children's voices rising above the lower pitches of adults. After a few more turns in the maze he'd suddenly found himself in, the boy realized the voices were coming from a chamber to the left. Brighter light shone through the entrance. Edging closer, he leaned his head around the corner…just enough to see inside.
A group of children were gathered around an older man as he regaled them with a story. Several adults sat nearby with smiles of amusement. The children looked to the older man with rapt attention, eagerly waiting for the next exiting twist to the tale. The man had dark hair and a beard, going just a bit gray. He waved his arms theatrically as he weaved his story of adventure.
The boy became just as caught up in the story as the other children, and would've like to have stayed to hear the end of it, but a sound behind him had him scurrying away. He didn't know who these people were, but they'd surely send him back if they caught him. He couldn't go back home. He couldn't.
He wandered the tunnels for hours, memorizing their every twist and turn with his sharp little mind, drawing mental maps. He found a tunnel that showed no signs of use and followed it to a small chamber that required a bit of climbing to reach. Lying down on the dirt floor, he curled up with his blanket to get some much-needed sleep. He drifted off to sleep that night feeling safe for the first time in too long to think about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boy spent many nights roaming the tunnels when the others were sleeping. He learned where they'd placed sentries and avoided those spots, always whispering to himself, ~quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet as a mouse.~
He'd found the kitchen three days after he'd run out of food, and raided it without thought. He'd sobbed with relief when he grabbed the first thing he found, a juicy red apple. Stuffing his pockets, he'd hurried back to his little 'room' with his bounty. Thus began a weekly raid.
Of course, the kitchen raid hadn't gone unnoticed.
"I'm telling you, Father, somebody went on an eating binge last night and tore the kitchen upside down. I want to know who did it!"
"William, I'm sure it was just some of the children after a midnight snack. I'll talk to them and find out who did it, then have them come in here to help you clean up." John was mystified, however. The children had never done anything like this, and they'd had no new members of their subterranean community in six months.
"They better is all I can." William ran his kitchen like a general, and wouldn't put up with any shenanigans.
But, after an intense interrogation, the culprit or culprits had not been found. The children all vehemently denied having raided the kitchen, and everyone but William believed them. It was a mystery that looked like it had no solution.
Everything eventually settled down, and life went back to normal. It was a week later that William noticed a few things were missing. Over the next few months, it drove him absolutely crazy that he couldn't figure out WHERE the food was disappearing to.
"Maybe we've got a rodent problem."
"Well, we have cats for that, but it wouldn't be surprising if one or two slipped by them." Vincent chuckled at William's obvious ire. "William, set out a few traps and see if that solves your problem."
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was a raccoon or magpie or something similar." When the others turned to look at him in confusion, John clarified his statement. "Food isn't the only thing to go missing over the last few months. All sorts of odds and ends have disappeared. Raccoons and magpies both like shiny objects."
Well, it was certainly a good theory. Vincent shrugged his massive shoulders. "Father has a point. In any case, your best bet is to set a few traps for our thieving animal."
And so they set traps. All that accomplished was to frustrate William to the point of sleeping in the kitchen. The thieving little rodents were just setting off the traps and taking the cheese. Sure enough, sleeping in the kitchen seemed to have worked. The thefts were fewer and far between, allowing William to go back to his own chamber six nights out of seven. Just to be sure, though…he randomly rotated which night he slept in the kitchen. After all, he was just as smart as whatever rodent was stealing their food.
The thief in question was stumped when he showed up to 'borrow' food, only to find a man sleeping on the floor. He returned night after night for several days, and still the man was there. Growing desperate, the hunger a pain in his stomach, the child ventured back out to the city to steal his food. It was more dangerous, but he had no choice.
By the decorations appearing on the streets, and the talk in the tunnels, the boy knew that Christmas was coming. The people below called it something else. It meant nothing to him, but it was nice seeing how the tunnel dwellers reacted to the approaching season.
The children were excited and making plans for the upcoming festivities. The adults whispered to each other a lot. The creature the boy had seen that first night he entered the tunnels, he'd heard him called Vincent, distracted the children with games and stories. The boy hid and listened. He loved the rumble in Vincent's voice.
The boy had seen how gentle Vincent was with the children, and how much they so obviously loved him. He was fascinated by Vincent. It was then that the child got the idea to give him a Christmas present. But, what to give him? He didn't have anything to give. Maybe he could make something.
Over the next few weeks, the boy wandered the tunnels, muttering to himself. "What to make? What to make? Must think."
The child hadn't had any human contact in months, not that he'd had a whole lot before, and his speech patterns were rapidly deteriorating. "Must find something. Something good. Better than good."
He gathered up all the odds and ends he'd been pilfering and stared at them, as if they'd suddenly tell him what he wanted. Picking up his battered watch that had stopped ages ago, he smiled. "Time. Will make him time."
One of the things he'd done to earn him a beating at home, had been to take apart the clock in the living room to see how it worked. He'd been caught putting it together again. He hadn't tried to take apart anything after that. But he remembered how the clock had worked, and what the insides had looked like. He could build something similar. He just needed a few things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midwinter's morning was heralded by the joyous shouts of children, and Vincent smiled when the shouts woke him from his dreams. He stretched then threw back the covers. After getting dressed and performing his morning ablutions, Vincent grabbed his present for Father and went to join the festivities.
He stopped at the threshold of his chamber when he spotted a small package, wrapped in old newspaper, lying just outside. He glanced around then picked it up, smiling at the torn piece of paper tied to the package. In a child's shaky scrawl, the tag read: Mary Christmas Vensent.
Thinking one of the children gave it to him, he took it with him to open in the main room so everyone could see. Pausing to give Father his gift, Vincent peered around the room at the children. Several came running up to him to show off a new toy or game, but none inquired about the battered package he held.
"Thank you for the book, Vincent." Noticing his son's distraction, John gestured to the package. "What do you have there?"
"This? I'm not sure, Father. I found it outside my door. I thought one of the children gave it to me, but none of them said anything."
"Maybe it's supposed to be a surprise. Open it."
Others had heard their conversation and gathered around to see what the mysterious gift was. Gently tearing away the newspaper, Vincent smiled in appreciation. Someone had made him a clock. It was made from haphazard materials, but it worked. "It's a clock. Who in the world made this?"
Everyone looked around at their neighbors, but not one of them claimed the gift. Suddenly, Pascal leaned forward for a closer look then pointed at the glass making up the clock's face. "Wait a minute. That was mine!"
"What do you mean?" Vincent turned the clock so Pascal could get a better look.
"That glass. That's from the picture frame that disappeared from my room. The frame was broken, but the glass was okay. I was meaning to fix the frame but, before I could, someone took it."
As people took a closer look, Vincent started to laugh. Now he knew where most of the stuff that had disappeared lately had gone. It had been used to make his Christmas present. Looking around the room, Vincent smiled. "Well, thank you for the gift…whomever gave it to me."
Later that evening, when all the festivities had ended, Vincent returned to his room. He went to set the new clock on a shelf and was surprised to see a sheet of paper propped up by a rock. A sheet of his own paper. Three words were written on it. 'You are welcome.'
Shaking his head, Vincent took down the note and replaced it with the clock. He couldn't help but wonder who had made it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The tunnel dwellers continued to find things missing from time to time over the next year, and periodic kitchen raids still infuriated William. By now, Vincent and Father were convinced someone was living in the tunnels, but their searches had turned up nothing. Whatever person was living down there with them didn't appear to be any harm to them. He or she was a nuisance, but nothing more than that.
Once again, Midwinter was drawing near. Children became anxious for the big day to arrive, plans were made for the banquet, and decorations went up. William was guarding the kitchen day and night. Three more days until the big celebration, and he was determined that not one soul was stepping into that kitchen without his say-so.
Which meant that there was one very hungry boy wandering the tunnels.
The boy had had a hard time thinking of something to give Vincent this year. The only thing he knew how to make was the clock, and he'd given him that last year. He'd been playing around with things, trying to build stuff he'd seen up top. He needed to find some books to show him how.
One thing he'd noticed since being down in the tunnels, was that Vincent only went out at night. The boy understood why, but felt bad that Vincent never got to see anything in the daylight. Everything up top looked different in the sunlight. There had to be a way to show him.
He spent a week trying to find the right kind of paper, but all he could find were dirty pieces of notebook paper, or newsprint. It was when he passed a construction site that he found just the right things. They were just lying around, nobody was using them, so he took them.
It took two trips. The board wasn't heavy, but it was too big for him to carry in one small arm. The paint cans were nearly empty, but trying to carry four of them was hard. The metal handles dug painfully into his hands, but he managed to get them back to his 'room' without dropping them.
He washed the board and rubbed it dry to get the dirt off it. He'd found a paintbrush in one of the tunnels by a mural someone had been painting. It was just lying there and the painting looked finished, so he borrowed it. He'd take it back when he was finished.
Dipping the brush into the paint he'd brought from up top, he began to make his gift to Vincent. He painted all day until it looked just right. His body ached for him to sleep, and he couldn't seem to get warm. His stomach rumbled and cramped from hunger, but the boy new he wouldn't get anything to eat until that man left the kitchen. Or he finally resorted to taking from up top.
When he was satisfied at the painting, he laid it flat to dry so the paint wouldn't run. Hopefully it would be dry by morning. If not…that gave the boy another idea. He'd seen something else at the construction site that he might need to use. Shivering at the thought of going back out in the cold, the boy grabbed his flashlight and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. One more trip up top should do it.
As an afterthought, he picked up the brush he'd been using. He could drop it back off where he'd found it on his way out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As it had the year before, the joyous shouts of children woke Vincent from his sleep. Smiling, he got up and dressed. Glancing at the clock to check the time, he was reminded of the surprise he'd found on his doorstep last year. Curious, but not really believing it would happen again, Vincent checked for another one. What he found had him bursting into laughter.
Looking up when his son entered the chamber, Father smiled at the look on Vincent's face. He was carrying a wooden board and shaking his head. "What have you there, Vincent?"
"I received another mysterious gift, Father."
The children squealed with delight and rushed forward to see. Vincent held it up so that they couldn't touch it. "Careful, it's still a little wet. You can look, but don't touch."
It was a painting of trees. The oranges, reds, yellows and browns of the leaves indicated that it was autumn. A park bench had been painted beside one of the trees. One of the little girls smiled and pointed at the bench. "It's the park, Vincent. There's a bench like that not far from the tunnel."
"You know, Jamie, I do believe you're right. Looks like someone wanted you to see the colors of the autumn leaves, Vincent." The painting had obviously been made by a child, but you could still tell what everything was supposed to be. There was a twinkle in Vincent's eye that Father couldn't place. "What's so amusing?"
Laying the painting on the table, Vincent pulled a cardboard sign from his pocket. "I found this lying next to the painting." The sign read, 'wet paint'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unlike the previous year, the boy hadn't waited to hear the response to his gift. He ached and shivered and just wanted to go to sleep. He huddled beneath his blanket, feeling miserable. He slept most of the day.
When he finally woke up, he decided he absolutely had to have food. If that man was still guarding his kitchen, he'd just have to go up top to get something. Reluctant to shed the meager warmth of his blanket, he wrapped it around his thin shoulders and made his silent way to the kitchen. "Quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet as a mouse."
Heading back to his chamber after playing a game of chess with Father, Vincent bumped into William who was on his way back to the kitchen. "William, where are you headed at this hour? It's getting late."
"I figured I'd keep an eye on the banquet leftovers."
"You would get a lot more sleep if you'd stay in your own bed. That food isn't going anywhere." Vincent found it amusing, the lengths William would go to just to catch a mouse.
"Says you. There's a lot of good food in there, just for the stealing."
"You know, I was thinking of getting some of that wonderful bread you made, with some jam, for a snack before I go to bed. Is there any left?"
"Plenty, Vincent. I'm not sure how much jam we have left, though."
The two talked about the banquet as they made their way to the kitchen. The sound of a pan hitting the floor stopped them in their tracks for a moment. William shot Vincent a look of triumph. "I told you so!"
At the sound of William's shout, a small figure darted out of the kitchen and dashed away from them down the tunnel. The two men took off after him. William wasn't about to let the thieving little rascal get away. Vincent just wanted the mystery solved.
The boy was terrified. He couldn't believe he'd dropped that pan. He gasped for air as he sprinted through the tunnel as fast as he could go. He was so weak and tired. He couldn't seem to breath. He let the blanket drop from his shoulders so it wouldn't tangle around his feet and trip him.
The pounding of the feet behind him was getting closer. The boy felt like crying, but couldn't spare the breath it would take. His legs were numb and his mouth began to tingle. Spots danced in front of his eyes and darkness seemed to creep at the edges of his vision. His running steps faltered. He stumbled a few steps then fell, sliding on the stone floor.
Cringing when the child stumbled and fell, Vincent closed the gap between them. When the child didn't get back up, he started to worry. Sliding to a stop, he knelt down and rolled the boy over. He was pale and shivery, and was bleeding from his lip where he'd struck it on the floor when he fell.
Vincent smiled in relief when the boy opened his eyes. Leaning down, he tried to catch the mumbled words. All he understood were the same words spoken over and over like a mantra. "Quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet. Mouse. Mouse."
"What's your name, child?" It was no use. The boy had closed his eyes again.
Leaning down to get a good look, William didn't recognize the boy. "Who is he, Vincent?"
Lifting the child in his arms, Vincent headed back to his father's chamber with William trotting to keep pace. "I believe this is your mouse, William."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Putting his stethoscope back in his bag, John shook his head in wonderment. "I can't believe this child has been down here by himself for over a year. He has to be the one that has been taking things."
Sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed, Mary smiled fondly at the sleeping boy. His dirty blond hair was a tangled mess and it was obvious that the child had been cutting it himself. He was in desperate need of a bath, his clothes were a size too small or a size too big and were full of holes to boot. "How is he, Father?"
"He's a pretty sick boy, but I think hunger is his biggest problem right now. As soon as he wakes up, we need to get him to eat some soup."
Feeling a little guilty, knowing his vigilance was the reason the child hadn't been able to get anything to eat, William slipped out of the infirmary to start a pot of chicken soup.
Watching the man leave, Vincent smiled. William was gruff, but his heart was in the right place. Turning back to the sleeping boy, Vincent raised an eyebrow. "How old do you think he is?"
Brushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes, Mary shrugged. "I'd guess about ten, wouldn't you, Father?"
Opening the boy's mouth, Father shined his penlight for a moment then stepped back. "More like twelve. His twelve-year molars are coming in."
"But he's so small." Mary wondered who the boy was, and where he'd come from.
"He'll grow. He might just be small for his age, but I suspect it has a lot to do with lack of good nutrition."
"Father, I think it would be a good idea for someone to be with him for a while. He's likely to run off the minute he comes to."
"Good idea. We can take turns. Vincent, why don't you take the first shift. He seems to like you."
That was fine with Vincent. His curiosity was getting the better of him. He really wanted to know who this boy was.
It wasn't until morning, however, that the child showed signs of waking up. Just as Father showed up for his shift, the boy mumbled a few words and rolled over. After a few restless minutes, he finally opened his eyes.
Opening his eyes, the boy looked at his strange surroundings, unsure where he was. He did, however recognize the two people standing beside him. Sitting up with a start, the boy moaned from the pain in his stomach. That didn't compare with the fear raging inside him.
He'd been caught. How could he have been so stupid? They were going to send him back home. He was as good as dead. Curling his knees to his chest, the boy rocked back and forth, crying. He covered his head with his arms and cried until no more tears would come.
Exchanging a look with his father, Vincent tried to comfort the boy, but couldn't get him to stop rocking. They waited until the crying turned into hiccupping little sobs, then tried again. Rubbing the child's back with a gentle hand, Vincent pulled one skinny arm away then the other. "Come on, son, tell us what's wrong."
Between hiccups, the boy shook his head, his blue eyes full of despair. "Should've been quiet. Quiet mouse. Should've been a mouse."
John had never seen a child look so despairing, like he'd lost all hope. He vowed then and there that wherever the boy had come from, he wouldn't be going back. "Where did you come from, child?"
"Up top."
"Up top? You mean above? Where above?"
"Up top. Up top."
Rubbing a hand over his face, Father sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Okay, you come from somewhere above. That much I could've guessed. What's your name?"
Name? He did have a name. He couldn't seem to catch the elusive memory.
Father repeated his question, gently prodding the boy. "Your name, boy. Who are you?"
If only he'd done what he'd learned. If only he'd been quiet as a mouse. Mouse. "Mouse."
"Well, that certainly seems to fit." Vincent smiled encouragingly. He knew as well as his father that that was probably all they were going to get out of the boy, as far as name went. "Alright, Mouse, how about something to eat? After that, I think a bath is in order."
Food! He'd do just about anything for something to eat.
Patting Mouse on the shoulder, Father smiled when William entered the infirmary, bowl in hand. "Perfect timing, William. Your little mouse, here, is ready to eat."
Laughing, William handed the soup to Vincent. "Well, at least now maybe the kitchen raids will stop. I can sleep in my own bed again."
Shaking his head, Father led William outside so Vincent could have a few minutes to talk with their new charge. They needed to find Mary and figure out what to do with the boy, anyway.
When the two men left, Mouse reached out a shaky hand for the bowl. Vincent watched the boy eat for a few minutes. "By the way, Mouse, thank you for your gifts. I haven't had a chance to tell you how much I've enjoyed them."
Smiling shyly up at Vincent, Mouse shrugged. "Welcome."
"Did you really make that clock by yourself?"
"Yes. Clock is easy."
"For you, maybe. I couldn't make one. Where did you get the parts?"
Again Mouse shrugged, concentrating on the wonderful soup. "Found. Needed, so took."
"I see." Vincent smiled a little at that one. Apparently the finer points of property ownership were up for debate with this one. He took the empty bowl and set it on a small table.
Mouse was busy looking around the room at all the fascinating things lying around. He could do a lot with the stuff he saw.
Looking up when he heard a noise at the door, Vincent looked at Mary then his father. He was relieved with what he saw on their faces. "Well?"
Father stood next to the young thief and pretended to think about it. "Well, after he takes a bath and gets some new clothes, what do you say we get him settled into the boys' chamber?"
What? "Mouse can stay?" It seemed beyond hoping for.
"Yes Mouse, you may live here with us. Is that okay?"
"Yes! Good. Better than good!" It was more than he'd thought possible. He'd found a home.
Laughing, Father leaned on his walking stick. "I think you'll fit in just fine, Mouse."
Little did he know.
END
A Place to Belong
The seconds ticked by as the hand on his watch made its way around the numbers. It was the only sound he heard. It was safe now. Reaching up with a scrawny arm, the boy grabbed the knob and opened the closet door a crack. Putting a blue eye to the narrow space, he scanned the room. The coast was clear. His mother's boyfriend was in bed. Finally.
It didn't really matter where his mother was, but it would make things easier if she were asleep too. His luck was riding high…she was. Grabbing a small bag from the closet floor, the child shoved the few articles of clothing he owned into it. Next came the blue shoebox in the corner. He had to have that. Draping his blanket over his shoulders, their ends trailing the floor, he slipped from the closet and headed for the kitchen.
Now was the dangerous part. If he were caught stealing food, he'd catch it sure. His hands shaking, practically holding his breath, he hastily grabbed cans and boxes randomly off the shelves and dropped them in his bag. Opening a few drawers, he added a can opener, candles, matches, a flashlight and batteries. His heart pounding, the boy tip-toed back into the living room.
He took one last look at the closet he'd spent so much time in over the last year. It wasn't the prison most people would think it would be. For him, it had meant sanctuary. His mother's boyfriend was a mean drunk and the boy had learned early on that hiding was the best way to survive. His mother had been the one to think of the closet.
One night, the man had come home raging drunk and she'd thrust the skinny child into the closet for safety. "Be quiet as a mouse, and he won't have any reason to hit you. You understand? Quiet as a mouse."
He'd understood. And he'd followed her warnings. Every night her boyfriend had returned home drunk, the boy hid in the closet. He'd had a flashlight and a shoebox of brightly colored Legos to keep him company. The boy was certain he could build just about anything with Legos by now.
The night before, however, his time had run out. After tiring of throwing things, and hitting his girlfriend, the man had gone looking for the child. He knew the boy was in the apartment somewhere. It didn't take him long to find the kid hiding in a closet.
Afraid, knowing the next time his mother might not be able to stop the big man, the boy made his decision to leave. He knew he could take care of himself. He'd been doing that for years.
Now, trying not to breathe too loud, praying he wouldn't step on any creaky boards, the boy made his way to the apartment door. He kept up a chant in his head, in time with his pounding heart. ~Quiet as a mouse, quiet as a mouse.~
It was a struggle to reach the bolt, but he managed to get the door open without a sound. Once he'd gained the freedom of the hallway, the child ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.
He rode the subway for hours, ducking under turnstiles to save his meager stash of money. Money he'd earned by running errands for old Mrs. Lacey on the fourth floor. When he saw the transit cop giving him funny looks, the child got off at the next stop.
Climbing back up to the street, he looked around, wondering where to go. He smiled when he realized where he was. Central Park. What a great place to hide. Nobody would look for him there. Not that anyone would bother to look, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
His first two nights in the park were pretty scary. It was dark, there were strange noises and he worried someone would find him and make him go back home. It was his third night that something amazing happened. He'd seen HIM.
The child had moved from the place he's slept the last two nights, because a bum had run him off. Wandering through the trees, he suddenly stopped and dropped to the ground without a sound. A huge man had just emerged from what looked like a tunnel of some sort. No, not a man.
The figure turned so that the moonlight revealed his face. He looked like something from the book of fairy tales the boy had stolen from the library. Like a cross between a lion and a man, his hood pulled up to hide his shaggy tawny hair. It was the neatest thing the boy had ever seen. Also the scariest.
It was the tunnel, though, that had aroused the child's curiosity. Once the figure had disappeared into the shadows, the boy made his quiet way into the entrance. He found the way barred with a gate. He spent several long minutes trying to figure a way to unlock it, but gave up in frustration. Looking closely at the bars, he thought maybe they were far enough apart to let someone as small as himself through.
It was a tight fit, and for one terrifying moment he thought his head was stuck, but he squeezed through. It felt like he'd ripped his ears off, but he was through. Brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, he reached back through the bars for his bag. After pausing to listen for sounds of danger, the boy crept down the dim tunnel.
There was just enough light filtering into the tunnel to see where he was going. He was afraid to turn on the flashlight. As he got deeper into the system of tunnels, a constant echo of tapping assaulted his ears. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to the noise, and he wondered if it was some kind of code. He'd read about Morse code in a mystery book he'd read. Maybe it was something like that.
He slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the scream that got as far as his throat when a man suddenly appeared out of the shadows not four feet in front of him. Pressing himself against the cold hard wall, the boy waited for discovery. Fortunately, the man seemed not to have noticed anything but the paper he held in his hand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the boy slipped into the tunnel the man had come out of. He hadn't gone very far when he noticed it was getting lighter and lighter. It was gradual enough that his eyes had no trouble adjusting to the change. The most amazing thing was, he heard voices.
Not just one voice, but many. And laughter. He heard laughter…and children's voices rising above the lower pitches of adults. After a few more turns in the maze he'd suddenly found himself in, the boy realized the voices were coming from a chamber to the left. Brighter light shone through the entrance. Edging closer, he leaned his head around the corner…just enough to see inside.
A group of children were gathered around an older man as he regaled them with a story. Several adults sat nearby with smiles of amusement. The children looked to the older man with rapt attention, eagerly waiting for the next exiting twist to the tale. The man had dark hair and a beard, going just a bit gray. He waved his arms theatrically as he weaved his story of adventure.
The boy became just as caught up in the story as the other children, and would've like to have stayed to hear the end of it, but a sound behind him had him scurrying away. He didn't know who these people were, but they'd surely send him back if they caught him. He couldn't go back home. He couldn't.
He wandered the tunnels for hours, memorizing their every twist and turn with his sharp little mind, drawing mental maps. He found a tunnel that showed no signs of use and followed it to a small chamber that required a bit of climbing to reach. Lying down on the dirt floor, he curled up with his blanket to get some much-needed sleep. He drifted off to sleep that night feeling safe for the first time in too long to think about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boy spent many nights roaming the tunnels when the others were sleeping. He learned where they'd placed sentries and avoided those spots, always whispering to himself, ~quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet as a mouse.~
He'd found the kitchen three days after he'd run out of food, and raided it without thought. He'd sobbed with relief when he grabbed the first thing he found, a juicy red apple. Stuffing his pockets, he'd hurried back to his little 'room' with his bounty. Thus began a weekly raid.
Of course, the kitchen raid hadn't gone unnoticed.
"I'm telling you, Father, somebody went on an eating binge last night and tore the kitchen upside down. I want to know who did it!"
"William, I'm sure it was just some of the children after a midnight snack. I'll talk to them and find out who did it, then have them come in here to help you clean up." John was mystified, however. The children had never done anything like this, and they'd had no new members of their subterranean community in six months.
"They better is all I can." William ran his kitchen like a general, and wouldn't put up with any shenanigans.
But, after an intense interrogation, the culprit or culprits had not been found. The children all vehemently denied having raided the kitchen, and everyone but William believed them. It was a mystery that looked like it had no solution.
Everything eventually settled down, and life went back to normal. It was a week later that William noticed a few things were missing. Over the next few months, it drove him absolutely crazy that he couldn't figure out WHERE the food was disappearing to.
"Maybe we've got a rodent problem."
"Well, we have cats for that, but it wouldn't be surprising if one or two slipped by them." Vincent chuckled at William's obvious ire. "William, set out a few traps and see if that solves your problem."
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was a raccoon or magpie or something similar." When the others turned to look at him in confusion, John clarified his statement. "Food isn't the only thing to go missing over the last few months. All sorts of odds and ends have disappeared. Raccoons and magpies both like shiny objects."
Well, it was certainly a good theory. Vincent shrugged his massive shoulders. "Father has a point. In any case, your best bet is to set a few traps for our thieving animal."
And so they set traps. All that accomplished was to frustrate William to the point of sleeping in the kitchen. The thieving little rodents were just setting off the traps and taking the cheese. Sure enough, sleeping in the kitchen seemed to have worked. The thefts were fewer and far between, allowing William to go back to his own chamber six nights out of seven. Just to be sure, though…he randomly rotated which night he slept in the kitchen. After all, he was just as smart as whatever rodent was stealing their food.
The thief in question was stumped when he showed up to 'borrow' food, only to find a man sleeping on the floor. He returned night after night for several days, and still the man was there. Growing desperate, the hunger a pain in his stomach, the child ventured back out to the city to steal his food. It was more dangerous, but he had no choice.
By the decorations appearing on the streets, and the talk in the tunnels, the boy knew that Christmas was coming. The people below called it something else. It meant nothing to him, but it was nice seeing how the tunnel dwellers reacted to the approaching season.
The children were excited and making plans for the upcoming festivities. The adults whispered to each other a lot. The creature the boy had seen that first night he entered the tunnels, he'd heard him called Vincent, distracted the children with games and stories. The boy hid and listened. He loved the rumble in Vincent's voice.
The boy had seen how gentle Vincent was with the children, and how much they so obviously loved him. He was fascinated by Vincent. It was then that the child got the idea to give him a Christmas present. But, what to give him? He didn't have anything to give. Maybe he could make something.
Over the next few weeks, the boy wandered the tunnels, muttering to himself. "What to make? What to make? Must think."
The child hadn't had any human contact in months, not that he'd had a whole lot before, and his speech patterns were rapidly deteriorating. "Must find something. Something good. Better than good."
He gathered up all the odds and ends he'd been pilfering and stared at them, as if they'd suddenly tell him what he wanted. Picking up his battered watch that had stopped ages ago, he smiled. "Time. Will make him time."
One of the things he'd done to earn him a beating at home, had been to take apart the clock in the living room to see how it worked. He'd been caught putting it together again. He hadn't tried to take apart anything after that. But he remembered how the clock had worked, and what the insides had looked like. He could build something similar. He just needed a few things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midwinter's morning was heralded by the joyous shouts of children, and Vincent smiled when the shouts woke him from his dreams. He stretched then threw back the covers. After getting dressed and performing his morning ablutions, Vincent grabbed his present for Father and went to join the festivities.
He stopped at the threshold of his chamber when he spotted a small package, wrapped in old newspaper, lying just outside. He glanced around then picked it up, smiling at the torn piece of paper tied to the package. In a child's shaky scrawl, the tag read: Mary Christmas Vensent.
Thinking one of the children gave it to him, he took it with him to open in the main room so everyone could see. Pausing to give Father his gift, Vincent peered around the room at the children. Several came running up to him to show off a new toy or game, but none inquired about the battered package he held.
"Thank you for the book, Vincent." Noticing his son's distraction, John gestured to the package. "What do you have there?"
"This? I'm not sure, Father. I found it outside my door. I thought one of the children gave it to me, but none of them said anything."
"Maybe it's supposed to be a surprise. Open it."
Others had heard their conversation and gathered around to see what the mysterious gift was. Gently tearing away the newspaper, Vincent smiled in appreciation. Someone had made him a clock. It was made from haphazard materials, but it worked. "It's a clock. Who in the world made this?"
Everyone looked around at their neighbors, but not one of them claimed the gift. Suddenly, Pascal leaned forward for a closer look then pointed at the glass making up the clock's face. "Wait a minute. That was mine!"
"What do you mean?" Vincent turned the clock so Pascal could get a better look.
"That glass. That's from the picture frame that disappeared from my room. The frame was broken, but the glass was okay. I was meaning to fix the frame but, before I could, someone took it."
As people took a closer look, Vincent started to laugh. Now he knew where most of the stuff that had disappeared lately had gone. It had been used to make his Christmas present. Looking around the room, Vincent smiled. "Well, thank you for the gift…whomever gave it to me."
Later that evening, when all the festivities had ended, Vincent returned to his room. He went to set the new clock on a shelf and was surprised to see a sheet of paper propped up by a rock. A sheet of his own paper. Three words were written on it. 'You are welcome.'
Shaking his head, Vincent took down the note and replaced it with the clock. He couldn't help but wonder who had made it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The tunnel dwellers continued to find things missing from time to time over the next year, and periodic kitchen raids still infuriated William. By now, Vincent and Father were convinced someone was living in the tunnels, but their searches had turned up nothing. Whatever person was living down there with them didn't appear to be any harm to them. He or she was a nuisance, but nothing more than that.
Once again, Midwinter was drawing near. Children became anxious for the big day to arrive, plans were made for the banquet, and decorations went up. William was guarding the kitchen day and night. Three more days until the big celebration, and he was determined that not one soul was stepping into that kitchen without his say-so.
Which meant that there was one very hungry boy wandering the tunnels.
The boy had had a hard time thinking of something to give Vincent this year. The only thing he knew how to make was the clock, and he'd given him that last year. He'd been playing around with things, trying to build stuff he'd seen up top. He needed to find some books to show him how.
One thing he'd noticed since being down in the tunnels, was that Vincent only went out at night. The boy understood why, but felt bad that Vincent never got to see anything in the daylight. Everything up top looked different in the sunlight. There had to be a way to show him.
He spent a week trying to find the right kind of paper, but all he could find were dirty pieces of notebook paper, or newsprint. It was when he passed a construction site that he found just the right things. They were just lying around, nobody was using them, so he took them.
It took two trips. The board wasn't heavy, but it was too big for him to carry in one small arm. The paint cans were nearly empty, but trying to carry four of them was hard. The metal handles dug painfully into his hands, but he managed to get them back to his 'room' without dropping them.
He washed the board and rubbed it dry to get the dirt off it. He'd found a paintbrush in one of the tunnels by a mural someone had been painting. It was just lying there and the painting looked finished, so he borrowed it. He'd take it back when he was finished.
Dipping the brush into the paint he'd brought from up top, he began to make his gift to Vincent. He painted all day until it looked just right. His body ached for him to sleep, and he couldn't seem to get warm. His stomach rumbled and cramped from hunger, but the boy new he wouldn't get anything to eat until that man left the kitchen. Or he finally resorted to taking from up top.
When he was satisfied at the painting, he laid it flat to dry so the paint wouldn't run. Hopefully it would be dry by morning. If not…that gave the boy another idea. He'd seen something else at the construction site that he might need to use. Shivering at the thought of going back out in the cold, the boy grabbed his flashlight and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. One more trip up top should do it.
As an afterthought, he picked up the brush he'd been using. He could drop it back off where he'd found it on his way out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As it had the year before, the joyous shouts of children woke Vincent from his sleep. Smiling, he got up and dressed. Glancing at the clock to check the time, he was reminded of the surprise he'd found on his doorstep last year. Curious, but not really believing it would happen again, Vincent checked for another one. What he found had him bursting into laughter.
Looking up when his son entered the chamber, Father smiled at the look on Vincent's face. He was carrying a wooden board and shaking his head. "What have you there, Vincent?"
"I received another mysterious gift, Father."
The children squealed with delight and rushed forward to see. Vincent held it up so that they couldn't touch it. "Careful, it's still a little wet. You can look, but don't touch."
It was a painting of trees. The oranges, reds, yellows and browns of the leaves indicated that it was autumn. A park bench had been painted beside one of the trees. One of the little girls smiled and pointed at the bench. "It's the park, Vincent. There's a bench like that not far from the tunnel."
"You know, Jamie, I do believe you're right. Looks like someone wanted you to see the colors of the autumn leaves, Vincent." The painting had obviously been made by a child, but you could still tell what everything was supposed to be. There was a twinkle in Vincent's eye that Father couldn't place. "What's so amusing?"
Laying the painting on the table, Vincent pulled a cardboard sign from his pocket. "I found this lying next to the painting." The sign read, 'wet paint'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unlike the previous year, the boy hadn't waited to hear the response to his gift. He ached and shivered and just wanted to go to sleep. He huddled beneath his blanket, feeling miserable. He slept most of the day.
When he finally woke up, he decided he absolutely had to have food. If that man was still guarding his kitchen, he'd just have to go up top to get something. Reluctant to shed the meager warmth of his blanket, he wrapped it around his thin shoulders and made his silent way to the kitchen. "Quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet as a mouse."
Heading back to his chamber after playing a game of chess with Father, Vincent bumped into William who was on his way back to the kitchen. "William, where are you headed at this hour? It's getting late."
"I figured I'd keep an eye on the banquet leftovers."
"You would get a lot more sleep if you'd stay in your own bed. That food isn't going anywhere." Vincent found it amusing, the lengths William would go to just to catch a mouse.
"Says you. There's a lot of good food in there, just for the stealing."
"You know, I was thinking of getting some of that wonderful bread you made, with some jam, for a snack before I go to bed. Is there any left?"
"Plenty, Vincent. I'm not sure how much jam we have left, though."
The two talked about the banquet as they made their way to the kitchen. The sound of a pan hitting the floor stopped them in their tracks for a moment. William shot Vincent a look of triumph. "I told you so!"
At the sound of William's shout, a small figure darted out of the kitchen and dashed away from them down the tunnel. The two men took off after him. William wasn't about to let the thieving little rascal get away. Vincent just wanted the mystery solved.
The boy was terrified. He couldn't believe he'd dropped that pan. He gasped for air as he sprinted through the tunnel as fast as he could go. He was so weak and tired. He couldn't seem to breath. He let the blanket drop from his shoulders so it wouldn't tangle around his feet and trip him.
The pounding of the feet behind him was getting closer. The boy felt like crying, but couldn't spare the breath it would take. His legs were numb and his mouth began to tingle. Spots danced in front of his eyes and darkness seemed to creep at the edges of his vision. His running steps faltered. He stumbled a few steps then fell, sliding on the stone floor.
Cringing when the child stumbled and fell, Vincent closed the gap between them. When the child didn't get back up, he started to worry. Sliding to a stop, he knelt down and rolled the boy over. He was pale and shivery, and was bleeding from his lip where he'd struck it on the floor when he fell.
Vincent smiled in relief when the boy opened his eyes. Leaning down, he tried to catch the mumbled words. All he understood were the same words spoken over and over like a mantra. "Quiet as a mouse. Must be quiet. Mouse. Mouse."
"What's your name, child?" It was no use. The boy had closed his eyes again.
Leaning down to get a good look, William didn't recognize the boy. "Who is he, Vincent?"
Lifting the child in his arms, Vincent headed back to his father's chamber with William trotting to keep pace. "I believe this is your mouse, William."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Putting his stethoscope back in his bag, John shook his head in wonderment. "I can't believe this child has been down here by himself for over a year. He has to be the one that has been taking things."
Sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed, Mary smiled fondly at the sleeping boy. His dirty blond hair was a tangled mess and it was obvious that the child had been cutting it himself. He was in desperate need of a bath, his clothes were a size too small or a size too big and were full of holes to boot. "How is he, Father?"
"He's a pretty sick boy, but I think hunger is his biggest problem right now. As soon as he wakes up, we need to get him to eat some soup."
Feeling a little guilty, knowing his vigilance was the reason the child hadn't been able to get anything to eat, William slipped out of the infirmary to start a pot of chicken soup.
Watching the man leave, Vincent smiled. William was gruff, but his heart was in the right place. Turning back to the sleeping boy, Vincent raised an eyebrow. "How old do you think he is?"
Brushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes, Mary shrugged. "I'd guess about ten, wouldn't you, Father?"
Opening the boy's mouth, Father shined his penlight for a moment then stepped back. "More like twelve. His twelve-year molars are coming in."
"But he's so small." Mary wondered who the boy was, and where he'd come from.
"He'll grow. He might just be small for his age, but I suspect it has a lot to do with lack of good nutrition."
"Father, I think it would be a good idea for someone to be with him for a while. He's likely to run off the minute he comes to."
"Good idea. We can take turns. Vincent, why don't you take the first shift. He seems to like you."
That was fine with Vincent. His curiosity was getting the better of him. He really wanted to know who this boy was.
It wasn't until morning, however, that the child showed signs of waking up. Just as Father showed up for his shift, the boy mumbled a few words and rolled over. After a few restless minutes, he finally opened his eyes.
Opening his eyes, the boy looked at his strange surroundings, unsure where he was. He did, however recognize the two people standing beside him. Sitting up with a start, the boy moaned from the pain in his stomach. That didn't compare with the fear raging inside him.
He'd been caught. How could he have been so stupid? They were going to send him back home. He was as good as dead. Curling his knees to his chest, the boy rocked back and forth, crying. He covered his head with his arms and cried until no more tears would come.
Exchanging a look with his father, Vincent tried to comfort the boy, but couldn't get him to stop rocking. They waited until the crying turned into hiccupping little sobs, then tried again. Rubbing the child's back with a gentle hand, Vincent pulled one skinny arm away then the other. "Come on, son, tell us what's wrong."
Between hiccups, the boy shook his head, his blue eyes full of despair. "Should've been quiet. Quiet mouse. Should've been a mouse."
John had never seen a child look so despairing, like he'd lost all hope. He vowed then and there that wherever the boy had come from, he wouldn't be going back. "Where did you come from, child?"
"Up top."
"Up top? You mean above? Where above?"
"Up top. Up top."
Rubbing a hand over his face, Father sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Okay, you come from somewhere above. That much I could've guessed. What's your name?"
Name? He did have a name. He couldn't seem to catch the elusive memory.
Father repeated his question, gently prodding the boy. "Your name, boy. Who are you?"
If only he'd done what he'd learned. If only he'd been quiet as a mouse. Mouse. "Mouse."
"Well, that certainly seems to fit." Vincent smiled encouragingly. He knew as well as his father that that was probably all they were going to get out of the boy, as far as name went. "Alright, Mouse, how about something to eat? After that, I think a bath is in order."
Food! He'd do just about anything for something to eat.
Patting Mouse on the shoulder, Father smiled when William entered the infirmary, bowl in hand. "Perfect timing, William. Your little mouse, here, is ready to eat."
Laughing, William handed the soup to Vincent. "Well, at least now maybe the kitchen raids will stop. I can sleep in my own bed again."
Shaking his head, Father led William outside so Vincent could have a few minutes to talk with their new charge. They needed to find Mary and figure out what to do with the boy, anyway.
When the two men left, Mouse reached out a shaky hand for the bowl. Vincent watched the boy eat for a few minutes. "By the way, Mouse, thank you for your gifts. I haven't had a chance to tell you how much I've enjoyed them."
Smiling shyly up at Vincent, Mouse shrugged. "Welcome."
"Did you really make that clock by yourself?"
"Yes. Clock is easy."
"For you, maybe. I couldn't make one. Where did you get the parts?"
Again Mouse shrugged, concentrating on the wonderful soup. "Found. Needed, so took."
"I see." Vincent smiled a little at that one. Apparently the finer points of property ownership were up for debate with this one. He took the empty bowl and set it on a small table.
Mouse was busy looking around the room at all the fascinating things lying around. He could do a lot with the stuff he saw.
Looking up when he heard a noise at the door, Vincent looked at Mary then his father. He was relieved with what he saw on their faces. "Well?"
Father stood next to the young thief and pretended to think about it. "Well, after he takes a bath and gets some new clothes, what do you say we get him settled into the boys' chamber?"
What? "Mouse can stay?" It seemed beyond hoping for.
"Yes Mouse, you may live here with us. Is that okay?"
"Yes! Good. Better than good!" It was more than he'd thought possible. He'd found a home.
Laughing, Father leaned on his walking stick. "I think you'll fit in just fine, Mouse."
Little did he know.
END