The Boy Who

A short story about a young boy's discovery in his backyard.

                Seth clutched the rope of his early Christmas present while the fresh snow seeped into the pant leg that had wiggled out of his boot. The snow was ruffled from the footprints and impressions of track marks left by the sled after his thrilling first and last ride down the small hill behind his house.  The wind had settled nicely to a soft breeze that still carried a chill through his body. His sled obediently lay beside him while a warm drop of snot slowly dripped from his tender nose.

He did not take much notice to any of this, because of the frozen body of a dead man had caught this young boy’s attention. Seth was too young to realize that this indecorous discovery was unfortunate for a boy his age. Nonetheless, there lay the body, regardless of appropriateness for Seth’s age, and undoubtedly dead.

 Seth was old enough to know that this man was in no more need of immediate help, but also knew he should tell someone about this finding. He recalled a few days ago before being released for winter break, when the policemen had come in and talked to his first grade class about what to do in an emergency. They said if you or someone else is in trouble get an adult and dial 911. Being a dutiful young man, he knew this is what he should do. He knew an adult needed to know about this dead man. He knew his mother was just a short run up the hill and she would know what to do. Still, he stood grounded at the sight, not from fear but from the innocent curiosity that young boys seem to inherently possess.

His eyes traveled over the length of the body. The dead man’s brown hair was frosted with flakes of ice and the frozen skin was an unnatural shade of grey and blue. The face was simply dead. It would be comforting for Seth to think that he was asleep, but he knew better. This was the face of a dead man. The man was wearing clothes that were too thin and inappropriate for such weather. He must have been so cold, Seth thought. Seth could not see most of the dead man’s mid-section or legs since they were covered with a soft, undisturbed layer of sleet. The dead man’s shoes though, his shoes were regular tennis shoes. Seth recognized them because they were the exact same shoes that his father had. There was absolutely nothing special about the grey tennis shoes except for that fact, which scared Seth in a way that he had never experienced in his short life so far.

He wished his dad was there. Seth wondered what time it was and if his dad was going to come home from work soon. The dead man was wearing a watch, but Seth did not want to know the time if it meant getting any closer to the body. Seth wondered who the dead man was; if he lived close, if he had any kids, or if he was a nice or a mean man. The longer he stayed there with the dead man, the more anxious Seth became. He had a lot of questions that just were not being answered. Still, he stood and stared. He was wondering in the back of his mind if anything would happen, but nothing did. Seth was growing more and more familiar with death as the moments passed. Nothing was happening, nothing at all. Is that what death is, thought the young boy, nothing? So many questions were running through his juvenile mind at once, and he missed his dad more and more because of this. He would know what to say, he would know the answers to my questions. Daddy would know what to do with this dead man. He missed his dad more than ever now, and he turned to look up the hill to see if he was home.

Seth decided that even if his dad was not home yet, then he should tell his mom. Then she would tell dad. Dad will know what to do. Seth turned on his heels and scampered up the small hill. His footprints were deep and his sled glided ungracefully behind him, striking him in the right calf every few steps. Seth was out of breath when he reached the top of the hill and made it to the door. The adrenaline in his body was pumping, and he wanted his heart to slow down. He did not like this feeling and he grew more scared. Seth shouted for his mom on the back patio that was open to the hill where his discovery rested. He could feel a presence behind him, almost like a shadow had followed him up the hill, lingering around him.

All Seth wanted, more than ever, was to run into the house and be hugged by something warm and alive. He stumbled through the back door to the end of the hall landing in just that, his mother’s embrace. Seth’s mother held him and he started crying, he was not sure why, but he did. His mother asked what was wrong, assuming maybe he had fell head first into the snow again. His words were muffled into her thick sweater, and she strained to hear him at first. She knelt down, with her hands on Seth’s shoulders and asked again, “Seth, what happened?”

“There’s a d-d-dead man in the snow at the b-b-bottom of the hill, Mommy,” he mustered out between sobs.

“…There’s a dead man?” Seth’s mother swept him up and closed the back door to the cold chills that were being let into the house. “Seth, are you sure it was a dead man?” This woman, having been raising two young, but good boys for almost a decade knew that it was good to check the validity of such statements. She was prone to believe this though; Seth did not make up stories that were so outlandish just for attention.

Seth had not stopped crying, but he felt better now that his mom knew about the dead man. “Yeah, he was in the snow. He’s dead.”

Seth’s mom slipped on her boots and jacket, “Show me where, Seth.” She wanted to call the police, but she thought maybe it would be good to confirm that there is, in fact, a body and her son had not just imagined it. After all, young boys tend to tell stories.

Seth grabbed his mother’s hand while she opened the door to the open space. He did not want to go back, but she was with him now and it would not be so bad, he thought. They stepped outside, and went to the edge of the hill. Seth was looking at the snow; he did not want to see the dead man again. He knew if he looked up he would have to look at him again at the bottom of the embankment, clear as day.

“Seth, where is he?” His mother asked.

He was surprised that she had not seen the dead man right away. He pointed first to where his own footprints were. Seth was sure that she would see the dead man then.

“Seth, I don’t see anything,” she groaned, annoyed.

“Mom! The dead man’s right the-…” Seth’s eyes shot up to an empty sleet of untouched snow. “…But…there was…the…”

“Seth, you really shouldn’t tell lies like that! You scared me, I thought someone needed help!” His mother was upset, and that made Seth more flabbergasted, because he really was telling the truth, and he knew that. His mother dropped his hand, and turned quickly back to the house. “Your father is going to be so mad at you when he gets home, Seth. Get inside, take your boots off!” She slammed the patio door with such force it pushed the snow off the edge of the awning.

Seth could not begin to comprehend what had just happened; much like any grown adult would have trouble comprehending the sequence of events had the same happened to them. He could not believe what he was seeing. Nothing. He had not taken his eyes off of the cold grave that had once held the dead man. There was nothing. There was no dead man, no footprints, and no sign of any life except his own track marks he made just minutes ago. In his mind though, it was not about making sense of it logically, all Seth knew was what he saw, and now he was in trouble for it. He did not mean to lie, he did not think that he had lied, and now he was going to be in trouble. Seth stood at the top of the hill for a few more moments, looking at nothing. And no matter how long he stared, there would still be nothing.

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated.