JOE - By Tim Stewart

Joe's parents were very worried about him. For the past six weeks he had been locked in his room. They couldn't persuade him to come out, so the put food under the door to him all the time. He was still alive, they were sure of that. They could hear him mumbling strange phrases and names, as if someone else were in the room with him.
Mrs Keane put her ear up to the door. She could hear the TV, and her son's voice, talking along to the voice on the TV.
'Joe?' She called out softly, not really wanting to be heard. Her son had been getting stranger as time went by.
They had tried breaking down the door, but it was all blocked up, just like the window. He wasn't coming out until he wanted to, every time they tried to ram the door down, he threatened to kill himself.
They had tried everything to get him out, tempting him with things he had always wanted, but to no avail. He seemed to be completely switched off from reality, and he watched the same show over and over again on his video. The music would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She was sick with worry all the time now. She was jumpy too, scared at little noises. She was scared of Joe as well. What could be going through his head?
She knocked softly at the door, and slid the plate under the door, (Which he had cut away slightly) and quickly withdrew her hand from the slot. In case his hand should shoot out and grab hers.
'Don't be stupid!' She told herself, 'He's your son, he wouldn't hurt you.' But this seemed less of a comfort every day. He had been getting weirder lately. Sometimes she and her husband, John, would be woken in the middle of the night, by a blood-chilling scream. And that would be all they heard, except for the faint sound of that music, relentless in its cheeriness. It could drive someone insane, and yet it sounded so innocent, so happy.
She leaned on the door, crying slightly. She wished John were here. But had gone back to work today. Joe had been such a bright boy, their only child, and he was, well, he had been like a perfect child. And now…
And now came some noises.
Scraping sounds, such as would be made by someone removing several barricades.
'Oh shit, oh shitohshitohshit he's coming out, he's coming out!' Raced through her mind.
Another, saner part of her mind, told her not to be silly. Her son was finally coming out. She would hug him and kiss him and tell him how much she loved him. At last, he was coming out.
The door opened, and he came out.
Her mouth opened, but she could hardly even scream.
He was naked, apart from a pair of pants that had been stained red with blood. In fact, he was completely covered in blood, from head to toe he was red with it, apart from his face, which had been scrubbed so clean it was a startling pale white. He had cut his eyelids off. His eyes were huge and piercing, and framed with blood clots. His hair was shaved off, and his head was stained red. His stomach had a huge square hole cut into it, like some macabre picture frame, and the wound was covered with tinfoil. He had super-glued his fingers together, and as she stared at him, he reached out with his red hands, and grabbed her by the neck.
As she fought for the last of her breath, she heard him sing the song, the awful song, that had woke her in her dreams. He sang it louder and louder.

'Teletubbies, teletubbies, say EH OH!'

the end

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