One: Thomas

April 27

It was hard to believe the weekend had passed by already. My son, Thomas, and I had been camping. It was a perfect way for us to spend quality time together. Apparently, our adventure had worn him out since he was asleep in the car before we left the campground.

The drive went smoothly, with less traffic than I’d seen in a while. At last, we arrived home and I pulled in the driveway. I looked at my sleeping baby fondly. “Son? Wake up. We’re home.” I smiled when his eyes opened and grew enormous with excitement.

“Dad, can I go play with my friends?”

“Can you take the bag inside first, please?” I asked.

“But Daddy, I want to go over to Bobby and Crystal’s and play. Please!” Thomas jumped up and down in his seat with his hand gripped onto my shirt.

I shook my head and chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Okay, you can go and play, but I need to get the rest of our gear back inside.” I mussed his head as he laughed and held onto me.

“You’re awesome, Daddy!” He cheered and took some of his toys that were inside the car then ran over to his friend’s.
As I gathered the toys and some of our camping equipment, I heard Thomas call out to a couple of the neighborhood kids to hang out with him. They had been playing together nearly every day before we left for the weekend, so it wasn’t a big surprise that they were just as excited to see him as he was to see them.

All the stuff was put away and I had just sat down on the recliner and picked up a book to read when Thomas ran inside, screaming and bawling.

“Crystal bit me!” He showed me a deep wound on his right arm. Shit, she bit him hard. Blood welled from the bite mark and I immediately took him to the kitchen. I turned on the water at the sink and rinsed the wound carefully before pouring some peroxide from the kitchen first-aid kit over it to clean out any contaminates. As soon as I had it covered with a bandage, I picked him up and cradled him in my arms.

“It’ll be okay,” I mumbled into his ear, and my soothing tones seemed to calm him a bit. I took him to the living room, rocked him, and talked softly. As everything got quieter, we both fell asleep, my wounded child cuddled in my arms.

I had no idea how long I’d been asleep when a loud growl ripped me to full awareness. I immediately grabbed for my boy, but he was no longer in my arms, no longer even on the couch with me. I looked around, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

I jumped when the growling rumbled again. “Thomas?” I called, feeling a quiver of fear. My whole body was shaking as I approached the stairs I clutched the rail and looked up. I crept up to the second floor, following the ominous sound. My heart raced when I realized it was coming from inside Thomas’s room. I carefully pushed the door open and peeked inside. The lights were off, and the neon stars on the ceiling cast an eerie light over the dark blue walls. I found Thomas standing at the edge of the bed, shaking and swaying. It looked like some horrible illness had overtaken him; his skin was pale and blotched in varying shades of bruised purple.

I froze, shocked, and he rushed at me, pushing me back toward the hallway. He was so strong, I actually stumbled backward until my back hit the wall across from his room. The growl that rose from his throat sounded so unlike him, so unlike anything I had ever heard, that I froze.

Thomas gnashed his teeth and chomped at me. I nearly lost my balance in shock that my own kid tried to bite me. What the hell was going on? When I found my footing, I managed to pick him up without getting bitten, and to my horror, he roared, loud enough to hurt my ears. He squirmed in my arms, knocking me off balance, and we tumbled to the floor while I tried to hold him steady.

“Thomas! Calm down! It’s Daddy.” I alternated between begging and ordering. Nothing seemed to penetrate the fog that had taken him.

He continued to flail and struggle in my grasp until I thought I was going to lose my mind. What on earth was happening? He was only seven years old, my sweet innocent boy. I remembered when he was welcomed into our world, when I held him in my arms the first time and our eyes met. His wide-open eyes, full of wonder, held a hint that they would one day be the same blue as my own. I knew in that moment he was my world and I would treasure him forever.

Somehow, I managed to hold his head steady and looked into his eyes. The bright blue had turned much darker. They looked damaged, as if the Thomas I knew was somehow no longer inside. How can something be so dreadfully wrong with him in just a span of a few hours? Usually when he had a tantrum or a screaming fit, his face and ears turned red, but at that moment his face was still pale, with those purple blotches. Even scarier, my hand was on his chest and I felt none of that sweet rhythm. Nothing came from him but the sounds of growling and roaring.

My own heart beat like a runaway train as I struggled to figure out how to actually check his pulse. I used my legs to hold him down and reached for his wrist to feel it. It was no time to panic, but I needed to convince myself he was alright. Holding him down felt like some sort of nightmare coming to a head as I searched for his heartbeat. I gasped.

There wasn’t one.

How was this possible? He was alive, kicking and making noises. There was no way that my son didn’t have a pulse. Dead people had no pulse, not living people. No, it was impossible.

I nearly let go of my grip on Thomas when I heard loud noises outside the house. Fuck, what’s happening out there? No way in hell can I let Thomas go. I thought it’d be best to put Thomas back to his bedroom. I reached my right hand over his chest and hooked it under his left arm. The move forced his chin up and kept him from biting me. My other hand grabbed his right shin. I had to hold him firmly to make him immobile. I got on my feet and tried to get him into the room.

Carrying him was hard. It was as if he had the strength of a grown man. As soon as I reached his room, he latched on to a piece of molding around the doorway and it ripped free in his grasp. I fought to contain the violence that overtook him. I had to put him in his bedroom and lock him in for safety. Ashamed, I realized it was for my own safety as well. The windows of his room were unbreakable, and the door was solid. I told myself he’d be safe there.

I jumped as Thomas banged the door repeatedly. “Thomas, please calm down.” I rested against the door, trying not to cry. A loud pop brought my attention to the hallway window. The view was surreal and I immediately went downstairs to get a better handle of what was going on outside.

I looked out the patio door. Cars littered the roads like they’d been thrown together. Smoke poured from fires in homes and vehicles. People screamed and moaned. It was overwhelming and lent a terrifying background to the sound of my son pounding on his bedroom door.