My Name is Caleb.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: June 07, 2011

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Submitted: June 07, 2011



“Why don’t you take a seat over there Mr. Trust?” “It’s Caleb.” “I beg your pardon?” “My name is Caleb. Mr. Trust is my father.” “Alright well just lay down on that couch Caleb and we’ll get started. Hypnotism is just like calming your mind. Nothing bad will happen, trust me.” Caleb rolled his eyes at the therapist. “I know nothing will happen to me.” He slowly laid down on the plush couch. “Now watch my clock go back and forth. I‘ve sped up the clock so pay attention to where the hour hand is going. That’s all.” As the clock started to swing slowly before his eyes, Caleb watched the fast moving hour hand. Soon after starting, he closed his eyes. “Good, good, now why don’t you tell me about what’s been going on inside that head of yours Caleb?” “Well sir-.” The fifteen year old boy took a deep breath before beginning his life story.

When I was little, mother said I didn’t really cry much. I only looked and laughed. “What do you mean by that?” said the therapist. Caleb was quiet for a moment. He let out a disapproving hum and frowned. The therapist nodded and the boy continued. “At first mother thought maybe I was just one of those serious people, like my father. He was the type of man to look after us kids, but he would never play with us. He said it might make us soft on the inside.” The therapist nodded his understanding. “Of course that’s what she thought until one day she caught me ‘talking to myself’.” Caleb did in air quotes sarcastically, letting out a small grin. The therapist’s eyebrows furrowed at this, but he let the boy continue. “I was six by then so she was thinking of it as just an imaginary friend or maybe I was just exploring my imagination. She used to praise me and ask me questions about him like “How old is he or what’s his name?” The therapist cleared his throat. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

Caleb had a moment of silence again, as if he was questioning himself. “He has no age and his name is the same as mine.” “Is?” Caleb hummed a second time. The therapist nodded again and Caleb sunk back into the couch. “It wasn’t until I would take up hours at a time with my imaginary friend that mother begun to worry. Time after time she would come upstairs and watch me from the hallway. She thought I didn’t know but I could tell. It made Caleb uncomfortable.” “How about we call him something else to reduce confusion?” “But I’m not confused.” Caleb softly answered. The therapist shook his head. “Let’s call him Kyle ok? His name is Kyle.” Caleb became quiet for a long minute before he answered again. “It made Ca…Kyle uncomfortable when mother watched us.” The therapist smiled at his ability to slightly alter Caleb’s memory. It had always been useful. “At first I told him to let her be. She was only worried about us, that was all.

But after her visits became more frequent, Kyle got angry and insisted I make her stop.” Caleb’s face furrowed and settled quickly. The therapist hadn’t seen it. “Once, when Kyle and I were talking, I saw her at my door so I decided to go then. Maybe I frightened her a little but when she saw me she jumped like someone had thrown her with all their strength. I asked her if she could stop watching me because it bothered Kyle and she apologized, but after a good week or so she did it again. She stood at the door and watched us for half an hour. When I got up to go pee she jumped again. I wouldn’t have said anything about it. I understand mother, but then Kyle called her a ‘Fucking nosey rat’ and pushed her down the stairs.” Caleb was silent for another minute. The therapist took this time to catch up. “Was your mother mad at Kyle?” “No, she was mad at me. When she came from the hospital she said she didn’t blame me, but Kyle said she was being sarcastic.

At first I believed him, but now I know she’s scared of me.” The therapist hummed his confusion and let Caleb start again. “Later on, when she got better, she refused to let me stay in my room for too long. She thinks maybe I personified Kyle from what I learned in school and that the long hours alone made me cling to those things.” “She thinks? Caleb. Your mother-““She’s wrong but I let her do what she wants these days.” Caleb sighed. “Well when I was nine, mother took me for a ride. We were headed to a park I used to love. On the way there she turned down the radio and asked me about Kyle. She asked where he was now and why he hadn’t left yet. She explained to me that imaginary friends are just that, imaginary. I should have forgotten him by that age. I warned my mother that Kyle wasn’t the same. He liked to stick around a lot. Mother just sighed and told me to forget Kyle already. ‘Big boys have REAL friends.’

That made Kyle angry so he made me take off my seatbelt and jump on mother.” The therapist nodded. “There was a crash.” He said in his deep voice. “The car was totaled. You and your mother only had a few scratches, but somehow she had died.” Caleb smiled, which again made the therapist puzzled. “Kyle was ok with it. Mother doesn’t like Kyle, but she knows it wasn’t me who did it.” Caleb paused for a moment. “After the police looked into it they returned me to my father and didn’t ask anything. I was given medicine from the doctor to ‘calm myself’, but Kyle still spoke and Mother still argues. Father wasn’t much help after that. He remarried after two years of avoiding us kids. My sister Maryanne was eight by then. I was eleven. None of us liked father very much, especially when Maryanne died.”

The therapist recalled how he had so readily given up his youngest. She was found in her bed with just a few scratches, but when the doctors checked, she had lost her life. It was most likely the result of her mild schicophrenia passed down from both perents. Her late mother 's was almost non-existant, but her father had a particularly special kind. One that could only be detected in times of severe anxiety. Nodding at the facts, he turned to pace the room while Caleb continued. “We lived in that house for three years more. Our stepmother was an angry woman. She yelled constantly about everything no matter what it was. We tried to tell father, but he never notices the small things. He never does, do you sir?” The therapist turned to look at Caleb. There he was, sitting up on the couch staring deep into the therapist’s eyes. “Even when we want you to, you never do. You just change anything we remember into something else.” The man began to feel hot, as if a fire burned in his body. He coughed terribly and his eyes stung like needles as tears welled in his eyes. Bugs crawled out of his skin and flew around the room creating a loud buzzing sound that seemed to cover up his screams. “And by the way, my name is Caleb, I wasn’t confused.” With his last breath, the therapist cried in pain, hoping, pleading that someone would make this agony stop!

Hearing a scream, the guards ran in, but what they saw had puzzled them. Mr. Trust, the therapist, was dead on the floor without any marks at all, and Caleb,his son, was smiling in his chair talking to himself about how father took so long to come to his senses and join the family again.

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