Losing the Spider-Man

Losing the Spider-Man

The boy was restless. He shuffled around again and again under his Spider-Man covers, much like during those warm, summer nights, when he would get mobbed by mosquitoes without mercy. He desperately changed sides every few seconds, hoping that, this time, on that side of things, he would find peace. He never did. He wondered why mom and dad weren’t there to read him stories anymore. You’re too old for bedtime stories now, they would say. The boy did not want to be old. The boy wanted his stories.

A single tapping sound manifested itself at the corner of the room, right next to the window, like something falling on the floor and the boy stopped moving immediately. Then there was a voice, coming from the same direction. It was a hushed, male voice. Dad! thought the boy and uncovered himself. He saw a figure standing there and his body froze once again, because this wasn’t his dad.

The man in the corner did not seem to have noticed that the boy was awake. He was shuffling around with his clothes: a long, white robe with little patterns all over it and a hood of the same color over his head. He was dusting himself off, murmuring to nobody in particular. “Dammit”, was the only word that the boy was able to discern among the man’s ramblings.

“Are you my uncle Paul, mister?” asked the boy, tentatively. Every stranger the boy would encounter was a candidate uncle Paul. He had heard so many stories about his father’s mysterious brother who lived far far away, in a place called Rwanda. He had never met this uncle, though he would very much like to. He looked really cool.

The robed man was caught by surprise. He stumbled around a bit more in an awkward manner, before eventually managing to straighten up his body. He started to speak, failed to do so, cleared his throat and then tried again, using a deep, dark voice: “No!” he said in a dramatic fashion.

The boy took a sharp breath and recoiled. “Who are you?” he asked, a bit more scared now.

“I am Death,” the man announced. “Mr Death.”

The boy remained silent for a few moments and the two of them stood there in the middle of the night, looking at each other like cats meeting for the first time. The boy’s eyes were better adjusted to the darkness by now, and with the help of the faint, bluish light leaking in from the street outside, he could make out what those patterns on the man’s robe were. They were … animals. Little, colorful animals from top to bottom: zebras, giraffes, hippos and elephants among others. The robe was almost touching the floor, covering the man’s entire body. The only exposed part was his face, however the shadow from his hood did not allow any details to be revealed.

“You are not Death,” replied the boy eventually. “Death wears black. And carries a big sword.”

“Of course I don’t look like Death in those stupid costume dammit,” murmured Mr Death, more like cursing the universe rather than replying to the boy. “And it’s not a sword,” he said louder, now addressing the boy.  “It’s called a scythe.”

“But you are wearing white!” the boy insisted.

“Have we met before, little boy?” asked Mr Death and before giving him any time to respond, he continued: “Then you know nothing!”

“He’s wearing black in the video game dad’s playing.”

“Oh, is he now? And you’re joining along, I presume? No doubt I’m here then.”

“You are wearing pajamas like me,” said the boy. “Why?”

“Oh what do you want, little man?” said Mr Death, suddenly sounding annoyed and exhausted. “You think I have a choice over that shit? That’s the underage version they’re trying out. Too many of you were scarred for life with the black ones apparently.” To nobody in particular, again, he cursed: “This is ridiculous! This is goddamn ridiculous!” He inhaled. “It’s just a job,” he said to himself.

“Mom?” shouted the boy, without moving from his spot. “Mommy! Daddy!”

Mr Death laughed a terrible laugh, gaining some confidence from the fact that the boy was calling for his parents and trying to forget that he was dressed in a white robe covered with vegetarian wild animals. “Mommy and daddy cannot hear you, little one,” he said mockingly. “They are not able to perceive you in any way while I’m here.”

“Leave!” said the boy, now sounding scared.

Mr Death laughed again. “Leave? Are you freaking kidding me, boy? It’s you that summoned me. It’s you that wanted to meet me.”

“No, I did not! I want mommy and daddy. Leave!” The boy had held on long enough. Now, it was time for those tears.

Mr Death hunched his shoulders and sighed loudly. “It’s fine,” he said, taking a couple of steps towards the bed. The boy continued crying and snorting. “It’s fine, man,” repeated Mr Death. “I’m just working here, you know, like mommy and daddy. They hate doing it, but they show up in their ridiculous costumes nonetheless.”

He sat at the edge of the boy’s bed. The boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand and retreated at the other end of it.

“Come on, let’s get on with this. I’ll show you something cool,” said Mr Death without trying to use his scary voice this time. “That’s why you called me, isn’t it?”

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but instead of that, he started screaming, because all of a sudden, the window and the night beyond it rushed towards them and they found themselves outside, floating in darkness. The clouds were flying past them and the world receding below them. “We’re flying!” said the boy and when actually realized what that meant, he started screaming again.

“Come on, man, show some mercy to an old folk,” said Mr Death, who was casually floating beside him. “You’re a big boy now. Enough with the screams already.”

The boy obeyed for the time being and now watched their rapidly changing surroundings with fascination. The world below them had disappeared. They were surrounded by balls of light and fire, streams of lights like fireworks, pulsing circles and all sorts of randomly shaped and colored … things. He had a weird and very unpleasant sensation of flying up and falling down at the same time. He felt his head spinning out of control.

Without realizing when or how the transition happened, he soon found himself walking on steady ground, or at least that was what it felt like. The sensation of extreme vertigo persisted for a few seconds before going away. He looked around. They were in a bizarre place. Familiar, yet alien at the same time. The sky was pink. He could see the dark silhouettes of hills and mountains and very tall trees drawn against it with high contrast. So tall were the trees that he could not see the end of them. The ground was vibrating. The boy turned and watched Mr Death walk in silence next to him.

“So cool! Where are we?” asked the boy.

“We’re in your room.”

“Don’t be silly, Mr Death. This is not my room.”

Mr Death murmured something to himself, then cleared his throat. “Of course it is. There’s your bed,” he said, nodding to somewhere beyond the boy.

The boy turned around and saw with surprise that indeed that was the case. The bed that he had constructed with his dad last summer. “African rosewood,” his dad would repeat with pride. The boy had no idea what that meant, but didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded too girly. The Spider-Man bed covers were all messed up, creating a twisted figure of his favorite superhero who was now looking back at him. Then it started moving. The boy made a sharp inhalation and took a couple of steps back. The tangled red and blue figure jumped off the bed, let out a horrible otherworldly scream and made another jump, so high and far away that it turned into a disappearing dot on the horizon within only a few seconds.

The ground started vibrating more violently now, until the boy could barely keep himself standing. Something was moving next to him, something huge. It was one of those giant trees. The tree left the ground and then the boy realized that those were no trees. They were feet! The feet and legs of giants, so huge that their bodies were lost above the clouds. The giant feet moved slowly forwards and landed a few hundred meters ahead of them, creating a small earthquake when touching the ground. The boy looked at the horizon, at all those tall trees he had seen before, and with his newly acquired knowledge realized that they were all moving along with slow and heavy steps. And it wasn’t just the trees. The hills and the mountains too! They were moving as well! Everything in this world was huge and alive and monstrous. Another step somewhere behind him and another earthquake. The boy fell to the ground this time. He was not physically injured, but enough was enough. He started crying, louder than ever, feeling more scared than ever.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Mr Death stopped a few meters away from the boy and kept his distance, staring at the boy in silence. Then he spoke in a new voice. It was calm and soothing. “What happened to the baby turtle?” he asked.

The boy kept crying and calling for his parents.

“What happened to the baby turtle today?” asked again Mr Death, though this time it was like his voice repeated itself infinite times. “What happened to the baby turtle? What did you do? What did you do to the baby turtle? Why? What did you do? What did you do?” Each question echoing to infinity.

“No!” screamed the boy, unable to bear all those voices. It tried to stand up, but another earthquake brought it down on the ground once again. Then the pink sky started getting darker and darker. He looked up. A giant black foot was coming down towards him, while Mr Death’s million voices echoed louder and louder in his head. “The baby turtle. What happened to it? What did you do? Why? Why? Why?”

The giant black foot came closer and closer.

“Why?”

The sky was pink no more.

“What did you do?”

Only black now.

“Why?”

The boy fell off his bed while still screaming. Mommy and daddy barged into his room and ran to pick him up. “What is it? What did you do? What happened?” The boy hugged his dad and held him tight, burying his weeping face in his shoulder. When he had no more tears, he raised his head and looked behind his father’s back, towards his bed. The Spider-Man covers were not there anymore.