Concerning Claims

Parker woke the next morning from a startling dream. He was running from something that he couldn't see, nor did he want to see. He was sprinting for his life. Lungs were burning. Tears streaking down his cheeks. Everything felt big and menacing.

Clouds darkened the sky within seconds. Rain came pouring down from the darkness high above his head. There was someone's voice calling out to him. It sounded so familiar, and yet not at the same time. Waves and water threatened to choke him, filling his mouth and nose as he gasped for air.

When Parker opened his eyes, he sat bolt upright drenched in sweat and chest heaving as he looked wildly around the room.

It had been a while since he had that dream.

It was a reoccurring nightmare where the details felt too real, too close, just to be a dream.

But that's what they were.

Dreams.

Heaving breath after breath, Parker leaned back and let his heart pound and race until it finally quieted. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and stared at the space sticker above his head while his mind processed the dream.

The digital alarm clock, right on cue, began buzzing against the far wall. It was the alarm humming away without a care in the world. The boxy numbers on the green lit screen illuminated the room in a Matrix like glow, making the waking world fell like it was still part of the dream world.

Parker gave himself ten more seconds before hoisting himself up out of bed. He pressed the hand-sized button on the side of the watch to turn it off before falling into routine. Comb through the hair. Face washed. Teeth brushed. Clothes on.

The familiar padding of his mom's footsteps came into the room right on cue followed by the signature tap tap tap on the edge of the wall.

"Parker?" His mom's melodic voice was followed by the sound of the creaking hinges as the wall pulled away.

"I'm up," Parker called. The wall stopped moving but remained cracked ever so slightly. Parker took the opportunity to head into his classroom and get everything turned on.

Parker's mom tapped the top of the opening for a moment before asking, "Do you want anything specific for breakfast? I know you've got a lot of presentations today. Just some jelly toast?"

Parker smiled. His mom knew him so well.

"Yes, please," he called. "But in a little bit. I want to go over my notes again. I'll eat during third period. Thanks mom!"

For whatever reason, Parker didn't like eating first thing in the morning. In fact, he tended to do better throughout the day if he ate scarcely. It seemed to contradict the behavior of many of his fellow students and friends. Many of them were ravenous in the mornings recently, but not Parker. There were also a few other interesting things that were developing, but Parker wasn't going to think about it right now.

First things first – notes.

It wasn't until Parker leaned forward and began flicking on all of his devices that he noticed the drill bit he had brought with him the night before. He had scurried back to his bed so fast that he had almost forgotten that he had brought it with him and threw it on the ground by his computer gear.

The events of last night felt like his dream – real and not real. It was more like a memory than a dream, and this dream was staring him right in the face. The rusty flat head drill bit just laid there as if trying to tell some silent story Parker couldn't translate.

Where did it come from?

Where did it belong?

An odd sensation of kinship came over Parker as he stared at that drill bit. Some days he felt like those questions could apply to him. Those were thought that usually happened during bouts of loneliness Parker experienced from time to time in the dark nights when he heard about his friends hanging out or going places he knew he could only dream of visiting one day – and never alone.

"Parker? Are you online?" the voice of Parker's teacher snapped him out of his temporary distraction. He tore his eyes away from the rusty drill bit and focused on the webcam.

"Yes. Yes! Sorry. The connection was acting a bit squirely. Can you hear me?" stammered Parker. The initial startle eventually calmed, and class proceeded as normal. Parker unfortunately had to go first in his presentation because of the initial worry about his internet connection issues, but nothing like that happened.

Tests finished and papers submitted, he and his friends waved a quick good-bye since Parker decided to have lunch with his mom.

"See ya spaceman! Don't forget! Gaming after school. If you're late, I swear I'm coming through the screen to get you," Billie threatened playfully as the screen went to "Please Stand By," a screen Parker created to pan over his face when he needed to step away.

His bones ached as Parker stretched and stood up from his desk. It was finally time for lunch, and his nerves finally dissipated enough for him to feel it. For whatever reason, Parker was feeling hungrier when he did eat. He knew he operated better without it in the mornings, but recently he always felt hungry.

It was probably something to do with what his mom said about his body starting to change, but that was still on the back burner of Parker's mind.

Now, another series of questions was keeping the teen preoccupied, and it was making him nervous. It wasn't like there was anything wrong about what he did. Sure, he didn't want to say anything about using the line because he knew it would worry his mom and she would probably make him take it down. At the same time, the curious things he saw by the electrical cover and the wall made him squirm in ways he hadn't before.

Something about the darkness of the wall and how it seemed to beckon him forward startled the young teen, and hopefully his mom would know what he was talking about.

So, packing up the drill bit into a backpack, Parker headed out of his little house and, like a good little boy who didn't want to get in trouble, climbed down the stairs. The distance from one side of the room to the other felt like an impossible distance and made the hair on the back of Parker's neck.

The space just felt so empty.

There was nothing to climb on.

There was nothing to hide under.

Parker shook his head as he processed what he had actually just thought.

Where did that come from?

It was ridiculous. Why would he need to hide? There was no reason to hide in his own home. While the sensation of being completely exposed in a mostly empty room loomed in Parker's mind, he elected to walk calmly across the wooden floor.

He had just made it to the door when he heard a little tap tap tap on the door high above him. Parker's heart hit the top of his throat and he backed toward the trim, but stopped halfway and corrected his course back toward the door.

What was with him today?

"Parker? Are you finished with class?" his mom called softly as she cracked open the door.

"Hey momma! Down here! Yeah, we're breaking for lunch," called Parker. His mom's eyes flicked from the little house to the floor where she immediately spotted him. He waved as big as he could and stepped back a few steps as she knelt and held out her hand to him.

"Well, perfect timing then," his mom smiled. Parker clambered onto his mom's hand and noticed the faint scent of cheese and butter accompanied by the faint smell of spices. If he was right, she made grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch. "How did your projects go? Good so far? Feeling confident?"

Parker folded his legs crisscross style and braced as the hand beneath him lifted him high into the air. There was always an exciting yet nauseating sensation that came with his mom picking him up from the ground.

He thought about the questions and eventually shrugged as his mom rested her hand on the table for him to disembark.

"I think I did well. I had to go first most of the time since I was worried about my internet connection," Parker replied. He felt something inside of him squirm uneasily.

"Yeah? Well, better to get it out of the way and then you get time during class to just relax," responded his mom. Parker had heard that line before, and he knew she was right. Though he didn't tell her, he had been using some of his spare time in class to work on his own writing.

Now wasn't the time to think about his in-class activities, however.

Parker sadly had no inkling of how he wanted to go about asking, but the direct approach generally worked out for him. So, that's what he decided to do.

"Um… actually… mom? Could… I ask you something?"

"You can always ask me anything and I'll answer as best as I can."

His palms suddenly felt clammy. Something in the back of his mind felt deceptive, like he wanted to keep this thing about the power and the drill bit a secret.

But why?

Why would he feel that way?

"Parker? You okay sweetie? You look a bit pale all of a sudden."

Parker snapped out of his temporary stupor and looked up, realizing his brow felt a bit clammy too. He reached up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, shuddering as he realized he had a light cold sweat on his brow.

"Yeah… yeah… I'm fine. I just… well… I got a bit spooked last night from the lights and that whole thing was just… in my mind just now," stammered Parker.

"Oh… sweetie… I'm sorry. Did you have a nightmare about it?" At his mom's question, Parker remembered more fragments of his dream. He remembered a hand reaching out and grabbing him. He remembered a voice shouting something at him as the rain pummeled the ground around him.

"N-no. I had a… different dream. Well. Nightmare. It's the same one… about the storm."

Amanda's face immediately filled with sympathy. She knew about the reoccurring nightmare Parker experienced about some raging storm and darkness coming at him from all directions. In her heart of hearts, Amanda suspected her tiny, adopted son was catching glimpses of the past of where he was before, but she didn't dare bring anything up – not yet.

When he asked the questions, she would answer them.

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry. You could've come and gotten me. Or rang the bell. I would've gotten up. You can wake me at any time," said Amanda. Her heart ached as she thought about Parker shivering sad, frightened and alone in the other room.

"I know, but I wasn't that scared. It was just a dream," mumbled Parker as he averted his eyes. Amanda watched as Parker reached into his makeshift backpack and, to her heart sinking surprise, produced a rusty drill bit.

Immediately, a thousand thoughts ran through her head.

Where did he get that?

That doesn't look like one of mine.

Why is it so rusty?

Wait… if he didn't get it from me… where did it come from?

Parker's question, raised by his thoughtful, tiny voice, brought her thoughts to a screeching halt.

"Mom? Is this one of yours?" Amanda set her jaw and held out her hand for Parker to place the drill bit. He surrendered it willingly and looked up expectantly for an answer. Amanda lifted it up, pinching it between her index finger and thumb, and rolled it around. The flathead had small scuff marks that she was sure Parker noticed along the tip which had scraped away parts of the rust.

It had been used – and recently.

What was worse was that she didn't recognize it. It wasn't part of her tool kit; but if it didn't come from there, where did it come from?

"Where did you find this?" she asked as she felt her hands starting to shake, her thoughts now kicking back into high gear.

"By the electrical cover, which was a bit loose," replied Parker. "And… there was something else too…"

Amanda swallowed dryly.

What was Parker going to say?

Was there any way to stop it?

Was it happening? Right here right now?

"Oh?" Amanda prayed Parker couldn't hear the strain in her voice.

"Yeah. There was a weird mark on the wood. I… well… I went down to double check that the power cord wasn't going to blow in the middle of my presentations and everything. I went down and found that by the electrical cover that we replaced. And I know you have a flathead, but it doesn't look rusty like this so I looked at the cover and it was off slightly.

"So, I gave it a nudge and it came loose and there was this weird pencil mark on the wood. I can show you. It's kinda small and looks like a little house with a checkmark on the inside. So, anyway, I just wanted to ask you if you know what it is and if this was yours."

When Parker finished, Amanda felt completely sick to her stomach. Parker's questions about where this mystery thing came from was part of her worst nightmares, and it was dangerously close to the truth.

Because, ultimately, Amanda's thoughts went wild and made the dangerous leap that Parker might not be the only small person living under her roof.

If the tool piece wasn't part of her kit and wasn't there before when she was working with Parker, then someone had to leave it there; and that someone couldn't have been much bigger than Parker.

It was only logical.

It was the only thing that made sense.

But… if that's the case… does whoever it is know about Parker?

Are they going to leave him alone?

Are they going to talk to him?

What if they try to hurt him?

How long have they even been he-

"Mom?"

Amanda took her first breath in a moment and looked down into Parker's thoughtful brown eyes. There was something in those sweet, innocent eyes that sent a pang through Amanda's chest.

How?

How could she do it?

How could she tell this wonderful little boy that he wasn't hers? At least, not entirely.

More importantly, why hadn't this mysterious other person, if they were still around, come and talked to Parker? Or her for that matter?

Amanda took another deep breath and looked at the drill bit, making the decision of a lifetime.

Ultimately, Parker didn't ask about himself or where he was from.

He only asked about the drill bit and the markings he found.

Answer the questions he's ready for. If he didn't ask, he's not ready. If he asks follow-up questions after this… so be it. 

"It's weird," she said after clearing her throat a few times. "I don't recognize it. I don't know where it came from. I can put it with my things if you'd like. Maybe it did come from an old kit of mine."

"Yeah, sure. I mean, I don't need it," replied Parker. "And the markings?"

"I can't say without seeing it myself. They don't look like carpentry marks or construction marks?" Parker shook his head to his mom's questions.

"Nope. It's just weird," Parker stated. When her son didn't ask any additional questions, Amanda put a pin in the conversation and decided to change the subject.

"Well, we can discuss this a bit more after you finish school. Until then, you need to get some food down. Your lunch break is almost over. Goodness, they don't give you any time at all," suggested Amanda as she picked herself up from the table and brought over the grilled cheeses and tomato soup she had made.

"Yeah, right. Thanks mom," smiled Parker. He took his bowl and plate graciously and began eating his food in little bites, his appetite stunted by this interaction he had with his mom.

There was something in the air that lingered around like a bad smell. There was a tremor to her voice and a tremble to her hand. Parker wasn't sure what it was. His mom seemed just a little frazzled.

But why?

Parker glanced back up at his mom and noticed her frequent nervous glances in his direction. That little curious voice in the back of his head forced him to surrender and ask once more, "Mom? You sure you don't know where that came from?"

Parker watched as him mom's fingers fumbled on her spoon, dropping it with an ear shattering clang as it fell back into the bowl. It made both of them jump out of their skin before Parker's mom cleared her throat and nodded slowly.

"Yes, I'm sure," she claimed before biting her lower lip and slowly making eye-contact with Parker. "Where do you think it came from?"

Parker averted his eyes and shrugged, embarrassed to say he didn't have an answer. That curious part of him wondered once more about what he saw last night when he stepped out of his room.

Was what he saw really a shadow? And, if so, what made it?

Was that what left the drill bit? The shadow?

One thing was certain, and it was that Parker knew shadows didn't make themselves – and his mother's curious claim of not knowing wasn't sitting well with him.

Was… his mom… keeping something from him?