The Horror of Theodore Wilson

Last night, little Theodore Wilson kissed his mother and father goodnight. He checked under the bed and inside the closet for monsters. Then, he read until his eyelids drooped and his flashlight slipped from his fingers. He drifted off to sleep with a soft uptick at the corner of his mouth.    

Before opening his eyes the following morning, he knew something was different. Though, try as he might, he couldn’t quite comprehend what it was. It began with the sun, or lack of it.

Theodore Wilson woke every morning to the sun shining through his bedroom window: the rays danced across his body, warmth seeping into his skin through the blanket. Eventually, the rays found his face and then his eyes. It was around this time that Theodore Wilson’s mother tiptoed into his bedroom and found him squinting. His sleep-swollen face scrunched up against the sun’s onslaught. Theodore Wilson’s mother always showered her adoring son with affection and attention in the mornings, while his father sung old showtunes as he prepared breakfast. It was all he’d ever known, and he cherished the routine dearly.

This morning, however, a chill clung to him. It coursed through his veins. Instead of his father’s baritone voice carrying through the halls and into his bedroom, he heard the steady beeping of machines, a clanking he couldn’t place, and muffled voices. One voice in particular would scream suddenly and violently. Theodore Wilson recalled hearing the scream in a long ago dream.

He wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. When he tried to open his eyes, Theodore Wilson found them too heavy to even flutter his eyelashes. So, he lay motionless, un-thinking, until he went back under.

The next time Theodore Wilson came to, his mother bustled about his room.

He called to her.

Mother.

Theodore Wilson didn’t make a sound.

Mother.

He tried again and again, to no avail.

Once more.

Mother, and a low groan rumbled in the back of his parched throat.

Mother gasped and dropped something. He pried his eyelids apart, but grew fatigued before he saw more than formless light. Mother shuffled around the bed. There’s a click of a lock, followed by the whoosh and the clank of a door opening, closing. He pulled his eyes open long enough to see an empty and unfamiliar white room.

The heaviness pulled him back under.

When Theodore Wilson next wakes, he notices the heavy shroud has lifted, replaced by a throbbing and an ache that seems to spread throughout his body. Opening his eyes is still a feat, as though his muscles don’t know how to perform the act. He barely musters the strength.

A man sits staring at a clipboard, flipping through papers. His eyes scan the page, then he looks up at the wall behind Theodore Wilson’s bed and back down at his papers, scribbling furiously throughout. Theodore Wilson watches him for a moment, trying to figure out who this man is and, more importantly, where he was.

The room is white and clean and spotless, with no pictures on the walls or windows to let the sun in. The ceiling is lined with bright, white lights that force Theodore Wilson to squint periodically. The man looks up suddenly, his eyes widen when they meet Theodore's. The man reaches over to a switch on the wall and flips it. Then, rushing over, begins to scan his papers and scribble things with even more fervor than before.

Voices pool just outside the steel door — his bedroom door is wooden and painted firetruck red, he remembers. Theodore Wilson listens for Mother’s voice amongst the strange voices— there’s that scream again— but can’t find her. He searches for Father’s, and thinks he finds it, but it grumbles in a way Father’s doesn’t. Theodore Wilson can’t be sure, and that terrifies him. Where is he? Who is this red-faced stranger?

I want to go back home.

Theodore Wilson looks up at the man, and with a voice coarser than he recognizes asks, “Where is mother?” The man freezes for a moment, then resumes his scribbling. Theodore Wilson watches the man ignore him.

A darker man, who Theodore is sure is a police officer, opens the door with a click and walks into the room. He walks directly to the folded chair in the corner of the room, opens it, and sits down. Crossing his arms, his eyes meet Theodore’s. Suddenly, a sinking feeling permeates his stomach, and he feels as though he has done something terribly bad and is about to receive a lecture. Would the police office scold him? Would he call mother? Oh, Theodore Wilson would admit to just about anything if it meant Mother got a call. She’d come running, he was sure.

The officer’s eyes remain on Theodore’s, unblinking and free of any emotion. Theodore wonders if his cheeks are as red as they feel. “Officer,” Theodore groans, “where is mother?”

Though the officer’s eyes flinch, his face remains steel and stone. Almost like he doesn’t even hear Theodore Wilson.

Theodore Wilson keeps his eyes on the officer, who remains unmoving in the chair, until the door opens. Two smartly dressed individuals walk in, and little Theo marvels at their synchrony. They waltz through the room in unison, like Mother and Father when they danced around the living room. The taller of the two turns to him and offers a small smile, but when Theodore Wilson asks where Mother is, he receives no response. The stouter man’s eyes dart around the room and at Theodore, but his lips remain pressed in a thin line.

Theodore Wilson barely has time to wonder who these men could be when a woman in a purple dress walks in. With purpose, as mother would say. Her body is calm though her voice is terse. “Call me when they decide to show up.” She’s gone before Theodore can make out the name written on her name tag. Theodore Wilson wonders why the other adults in his room aren’t wearing name tags.

Theodore Wilson doesn’t know how much time passes before the door opens again. The men in the room speak amongst themselves in harsh, sharp whispers. Theodore Wilson thinks he hears his name, but can’t quite make out the sounds through the fog in his head. Suddenly and with a bang, the door opens. Theodore jumps. The other men don’t even flinch.

A man in a white coat — like the doctor one in my costume bin, Theodore thinks— strides in. Mother would call him handsome, like the men on the TV shows she watches after Theodore goes to bed. There’s no name tag. The men greet each other, then the door opens, and in comes the woman in the purple dress.

“Theo,” she calls to him with a calm and careful voice, “my name is Nurse Jeanie, do you know where you are?”

She steps closer to him; he shakes his head.

“Okay, that’s okay! You’re in the Williams County Hospital. You’ve been here awhile. Do you know how long you’ve stayed with us?”

Theodore Wilson shakes his head again. “Where is Mother?”

Nurse Jeannie looks around at the men in the white doctor coats. They scribble in their notepads and binders. Theodore wonders why they’re keeping her from him.

“Never mind that for a moment. Now, Theo, what was the last birthday party you remember having?”

Theodore Wilson thinks for a moment. There’s blue and green balloons with silver string floating from the ceiling. White bows on every gift. Mother smiles from behind a glowing cake. He counts the candles. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. But that feels so far away from now. Theodore Wilson tries to remember more, but can’t get past the haze.

“I don’t— Seven.”

The men standing behind Nurse Jeannie whisper amongst themselves again. “Preposterous.”

“I can’t believe it—“

“—it isn’t so.”

The tallest man, with blue eyes grows impatient. Theodore can tell from the way he clicks his tongue and taps his right foot. It reminds him of his second grade teacher, Miss Beatrice. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach again.

“Why am I wasting my time here?” The doctor turns around to face the other men. “We can’t seriously be wasting our time here, can we?” He shifts his body, looking over his shoulder at Theodore. “He’s a murderer. You can’t trust anything he says.”

The police officer looks between the doctor and Theodore Wilson. His arm tightens around the handle at his hip. Theodore wonders if it’s a gun or a taser. Either way, he doesn’t want to find out. Remember to breathe, he thinks to himself.

“Where is Mother?”

“You killed her, you bastard.” The doctor nearly spits at Theodore Wilson, “Along with 27 other innocent people.”

He storms out of the room, mumbling about real patients worth his time. Theodore Wilson remains frozen in place.

No. No, it can’t be. Why would they say such terrible things about him? How can they say such terrible things about him…

Nurse Jeannie reaches a hand out towards his. Theodore Wilson looks down and is horrified at what he sees. He’s shackled to the bed railing, but more shocking is the thick red hair that grows from his arms. Just last night his skin had been smooth as lotion, as Mother said.

“Theo, do you remember the banks?” Nurse Jeannie’s voice is soft, and he feels comforted even in the chaos.

He remembers early Friday mornings. And the light that would shine in though the tall windows. He thinks of the sharp smell of money that would mingle with the perfumes and colognes of the patrons. He remembers the slips of papers and the pens: how Mother would stand in line to fill one out, then stand in line to hand one off to the person behind the glass screen.

Theodore Wilson loved early Friday mornings with Mother. He had her all to himself. She’d talk to him and tell him stories, or explain to him the way the world worked, answering any question he had. These were cherished moments for little Theodore. An ache and a darkness cloud his mind.

“I want to go home.”

“You can’t do that, Theodore. You hurt a lot of people. You’re an old man who caused a lot of damage. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I want to go home. Where is Mother?”

“You know where she is, Theo. You must remember what you did to her.”

“I want to go home.”

“I’m sorry, Theodore, you aren’t going anywhere.”