PART II: YUSUKE
Black. That's all I could see. Black everywhere. My legs were pushed up to my chest, my hands curled over my kneecaps. I'm ten years old again, and I'm sitting in the closet, listening to the sound of my parents screaming.
Mom's drunk again. Dad's angry, having come home from work to no supper and a messy house; his useless son failed another test. Little Yusuke puts his hands over his ears; he doesn't want to listen anymore. I bite my lip; glass shatters, something heavy flies against the closet door, making it rattle on its hinges. Cursing, words I can't understand, a few words I know tossed in; drunk, whore, bitch... Just two people, arguing, forgetting that they loved eachother once.
They've forgotten about Little Yusuke.
Mom screams, and there's a sickening thump outside the door. He opens his eyes, just a little, peeks through the crack in the door.
Mom's lying on the floor, face down, arms thrown at awkward angles like she's falling. And dad?
Dad's staring through the crack in the door.
"Yus-chan," his voice like a monsters, "Come out come out...you can't play hide and seek forever."
And he's right. I can't.
So I come out.
I'm about four feet tall, malnurished, deprieved of sunlight. My cheek is bruised, my eyes are wide and unsuspecting. I look down; I've become myself, this small child who hasn't learned how to fight, but knows the cruelties of the world through the crack in the door. I look down at mom; her clothes are gone, and she lies there wearing only a pair of pink underwear. The nice kind that can't go into the washing machine. I'd learned that lesson last year when I tried to help with the laundry, the scar on my head told me so.
"What's the matter with mom?" I say. I'm looking at her, arms hanging limply at my sides. I look up and choke on a scream.
The monster's back. His grin stretches wide as the dawn, teeth sharp and glinting in the lamplight. "Yus-chan..." He hisses, my name coming out like poisoned fog. He flexes long fingers, even longer claws sharpened. Made for skinning stupid little boys. I fall over, scramble toward the door. I reach up, jiggle the handle.
It's locked it's locked...he's locked it again...!
~Hush little baby don't say a word Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird...~
I'm screaming now, yanking at the handle, screaming for the damn thing to open. Mom shifts on the floor, limbs moving fluidly, not human at all. She sits up and her eyes are white, jaw slack and drooling puddles onto the carpet. She turns to me, rests her finger on her lips; shhhhh...
Shaking, I grab the phone, knowing which numbers to dial. 9-1-1. They have to help, don't they? Didn't they tell us at school that the police help little boys who are in trouble?
~Hush little baby don't you cry~
I hold the phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone. Pick up pick up...! I hear a click on the other line.
~Mama's gonna sing you a...
Something tight wraps around my chest. "Help me!"
LULLABY~
...
"the number you are calling has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again...the number you are calling..."
