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Theodore looked up from the crystal water flowing from the sink, catching his gaze in the reflection of the mirror resting above it. His eyes were sunken in and tired, and his curly hair was disheveled and dirty. He stared at the reflection for a moment, watching as his face seemed to twist and morph the longer he looked. He blinked slowly, watching as his reflection lagged behind and failed to keep up.
After a moment, he finally pulled his gaze away, turning off the faucet and moving to dry his hands on a nearby towel. He felt numb; his brain was foggy and the world around him felt blurred, like he was in a car racing down the highway. He couldn’t focus on anything but the static in his ears.
When his hands were dried, he walked past the sink and the mirror and stopped by the door. He stared at its handle for a while, then extended a trembling hand to twist it and carefully creak open the door.
Peering out through the small gap, Theodore could see the pale walls and carpeted floor of his old childhood home—or one of them, anyway. It was dim, and he couldn’t see all the way across the hall, but it appeared still and empty. So, after another moment of waiting, Theodore finally swung the door open.
He slipped outside, and was suddenly startled by a trio of older children dashing by. He could feel the air whizz past him, and he had to press himself against the wall as they laughed and tripped over their own shoes. His gaze followed them as they turned the corner into a bisecting hall and he listened to their laughter fade until he could no longer hear them.
He then remembered why he never came out here. The old green wallpaper that was peeling off the walls in some places and the wooden floors that creaked with every movement made Theodore’s stomach lurch with sickness, and he desperately wanted to turn around and hide back in his room. However, he couldn’t force his body to move anywhere but forward, and he found himself wandering the halls of Home Sweet Home instead.
The bright lights overhead flickered and wavered as he walked, but never went out. They hurt Theodore’s eyes, and a small pulsing headache was beginning to form behind his skull. It further added to the fog and static, and his head felt too big and heavy for his shoulders to carry. Laughter echoed across the halls—maybe the group from earlier again?—and he could feel the sound bouncing into his ears and through his head.
As his headache increased, he balled his hands into fits and rubbed them against his eyes. They blurred against the pressure, and he had to blink away the smudges of light that had begun to form at the edges of his vision. It only seemed to make the pain worse.
When his vision cleared, Theodore realized that he was standing outside the orphanage; although, he never remembered leaving. Perhaps he had wandered out when he wasn’t paying attention…?
He glanced around, spotting other children playing in small groups or on the equipment planted in the grass. The air was crisp and smelled like flowers, and a soft breeze fluttered by and ruffled his hair. The golden sunlight hanging in the afternoon sky warmed his skin, and he could feel it sinking deep into his arms and face and settling faintly in his chest. He then took in a wheezing breath and looked up towards the sky. Clouds dotted the sea of blue, and the Sun glared against the tops of far away trees. It looked like an eye gazing down at him.
Theodore took a step forward, and he soon found himself walking between the trunks of the trees. His sneakers landed with soft thuds against the paved trail, and he glanced around at the birds chirping and fluttering through the branches above him. It was cooler in the shade where the glare of the Sun couldn’t reach him, although he couldn’t help but miss the warmth.
Theodore’s gaze was suddenly ripped from the canopy of leaves as he slammed into something in the middle of the trail.
He looked up and froze.
His eyes widened and his lips opened in a small whisper, although no sound came out. While the man he had just ran into was facing away from him, Theodore could recognize him immediately. His eyes locked onto the back of the man’s head, focusing on his dark, graying hair and the stiff way he held himself. He was on the older side, maybe in his 50s. Glancing down at the man’s knuckles, Theodore could tell they were already bruised.
A wave of panic washed over Theodore’s entire body, and he felt his lungs stop and his heart skip. His fingers trembled and curled into weak fists, and his legs felt glued to the spot. Thousands of thoughts were rushing through his head, but the loudest was telling him that he was in trouble; he had done something wrong and the man before him knew.
His heart was pounding in his ears.
Just as the man had begun to turn his head to look down at Theodore, the boy finally remembered how to run. He messily turned, kicking up the grass beneath his shoes as he did, and sprinted up the steps of the house that had appeared behind him.
He burst through its door, shutting his eyes and angling his head away from its pale walls and shattered picture frames. His shoes crunched against glass that had fallen and tangled in the carpeted floor, and he continued to shove his way through door after door blocking his path. He could feel the man’s sharp eyes burning into his back and scorching his neck. He couldn’t breath, he realized, and he gasped as his lungs begged for air and his hands scrambled against the handle of the next door in front of him.
It was locked.
Theodore banged against its wooden surface and dug his nails into its chipped paint, pressing all his weight against the door and trying desperately to shove past it. He could feel the looming presence behind him slowly approaching, and he pushed against the door as hard as he could. Theodore’s brain was screaming at him, and he could hear the man getting closer, and closer, and closer.
The door creaked, then shifted, then burst under Theodore’s weight.
He stumbled forward and began to fall. His heart lurched forward and he waved his arms around in an attempt to grab something—anything—but his hands slipped through the floor, and then the rest of him followed.
He fell down… and down… and down… and then he hit the bottom.
Theodore jolted forward, his hands struggling to gain purchase on anything solid. Then, he finally grasped the soft fabric beneath his fingers, and he remembered where he was.
He looked around the room, his heavy breathing slowing slightly as he recognized the patterned wallpaper and wooden floors. He was in Home Sweet Home—for real this time—and he was sitting in bed with his blanket partially kicked off and his Catnap toy thrown halfway from where it was originally perched at the foot of his bed.
He stared at the abandoned toy as it rested on the floor, then the droplets pricking at his eyes suddenly burst into a river of tears. He covered his face with his hands, and water rolled down his cheeks and down his arms as he sobbed. When his hands weren’t enough to stop his tears from flowing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them instead.
He didn’t want to remember that man again, but it felt as if every time he closed his eyes he could see the man staring back at him. His eyes were so vivid, so sharp and clear, that Theo couldn’t seem to forget them. He didn’t dream often, but when he did it was of them. Even if he couldn’t see them directly or even if the man wasn’t there, he could always feel their gaze burning through his skull, staring down at him with a disapproving, hateful glare.
The more he thought about his dream, the more upset he got. He continued to sob, the sound of his sputtering and whimpers only seeming to grow louder as the minutes passed. He didn’t want to wake anyone up, but at the same time he selfishly wished someone would be disturbed by the noise. He needed someone to notice.
No one did.
Eventually, Theodore had cried so much that he couldn’t any longer. His sobs were dry and empty, and any tears remaining on his face were quick to fall to the mattress or be soaked up by the fabric covering his knees.
Theodore continued to dryly sob until he was interrupted by a faint scratching sound, like metal against metal, and his nightmare was almost completely forgotten.
“Huh?” He lifted his head just above his knees, peering around the dark room curiously. He heard the sound again and startled, sitting up and listening more intently.
Was it coming from behind him? No—below him?
Theodore pulled himself to the edge of his bed, peering down at the darkness below and swallowing. He leaned forward slightly and hesitantly whispered, “Friend?”
It was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Is…is that you?”
His question was once again followed by silence. He sighed, his lips pushing forward into a small pout. His grip on the bedsheets loosened and he was just about to pull back from the edge when a small, crackled voice responded back. It was soft, child-like, and horribly uncanny sounding.
“...Hello, Theo.”
The boy immediately pulled himself back to the edge of the bed, almost throwing himself off it in his haste. He peered into the darkness underneath his bed, his eyes widening as a single glowing yellow eye locked on to his.
“Ollie!” Theodore gasped.
He practically fell off the bed, landing on his knees and ducking his head under the bed frame to get a better look at his friend. The outline of his jester hat and face were just barely visible through the shadows, and his glowing eye closely followed Theodore’s movements. The boy partially pulled himself under the bed, propping his body up against his arms and grinning up at his friend. Ollie tilted his head as he watched, his eye gleaming curiously and the bells on his hat jingling with the movement.
“You’re late,” Theodore said, pouting slightly. “Did something happen?”
Ollie tilted his head back into place, his metal joints clicking softly. He looked off to the side as he thought before focusing back on Theodore.
“I was… busy,” he said. He then hesitated. “Is something wrong? I heard you...”
Theodore blinked, then frowned. “Oh.”
He suddenly felt extremely guilty. He didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t know if he could even consider some of them as such. The mechanical being hiding under his bed was the only real friend he had, and he couldn’t help but feel bad. Ollie had probably been doing something important, and he had interrupted.
“I’m sorry,” Theodore murmured. “It was just a nightmare… I’m okay.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Ollie responded immediately, his joints creaking as he pulled himself forward. He stopped just before the faint lighting of the room could illuminate his face. “Nightmares can be really scary, I know. Do you want to talk about it…?”
Theodore looked up at Ollie and sniffled. He wiped his eyes—which had begun to tear up again—with the back of his hand. He was quiet for a moment. People had told him they cared before, but this was the first time he believed it. Of course, the counselors frequently talked with him about how he was feeling, but they were adults and that was their job. It never felt like they really cared.
Theodore opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again. He wanted to talk about it—he really did—but could he? He had tried so hard to forget about everything, could he really bring it back up now?
After a moment, Theodore shook his head. He couldn’t.
“That’s okay, you don’t need to if you don’t want to,” Ollie said softly. “And, you can always tell me later. I’m here for you… I promise.”
He then pushed himself away from Theodore and farther back towards the end of the bed. Theodore watched curiously as he extended one of his needle-like hands towards the abandoned Catnap plush just beyond the shadows of the bed and pulled it back under. Ollie then returned to Theodore, holding the toy out to him.
Theodore carefully took the toy in his hands, his fingers brushing against its soft felt. He leaned back as far as he could without hitting his head on the bedframe and looked down at its cold, plastic eyes. He then squeezed it against his chest and looked back up at Ollie.
“Here… he’ll protect you while you’re sleeping,” Ollie said, a grin audible in his mechanical voice. “That way those scary nightmares won’t bother you anymore!”
Theodore looked back down at the toy’s shiny eyes and wide smile. Some of the other children thought that Catnap was scary and weird, but Theodore didn’t think that. He related to the character, in a way, and he couldn’t help but love the cartoon cat. He hugged the toy closer, his eyes squeezing shut as he nodded in agreement. That’s right, Catnap would protect him.
“Thank you,” he said softly after a moment.
He looked up at Ollie again, who was still staring at him with his one gleaming eye. The others would probably think Ollie was scary and weird, too, but they were wrong. Ollie was kind, and so was Catnap—it wasn’t their fault that they were different! The others were mean and quick to judge. They were the weird ones.
Ollie raised one of his hands, gingerly patting Theodore on the head. The boy feigned annoyance with a huff, and he batted Ollie’s hand away. Ollie let out a mechanical chuckle and removed his hand, resting it back against the wooden floor.
“It’s far past your bedtime, Theo,” Ollie said. “You should get to bed.”
Theodore bit the inside of his cheek. While the nightmare from earlier had mostly faded from his mind, the fear from it was still fresh. Ollie seemed to notice this, as his voice became much softer.
“Hey, hey, Catnap will watch over you, remember?” He said. “...and I’ll be nearby, too, if you need me.”
Theodore nodded silently, holding the stuffed toy tightly against his chest. It was only slightly reassuring, but he was glad that his friend would be there, just in case.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself out from under the bed. As he stood, he could hear Ollie’s joints creak and scrape against the floor as he disappeared back into the obscured vent under Theodore’s bed. He reminded himself that his friend would be near if something happened. Everything would be okay.
The boy climbed into bed, the stuffed Catnap toy still clutched in his arms, and pulled his blanket back over his chest. He snuggled into the bed and shifted onto his side, looking down towards the bottom of his bed.
“Goodnight, friend,” Theodore said softly.
“Goodnight, Theo,” Ollie responded faintly before the metal clinking of his joints faded under the floorboards.