Deviation Actions
Literature Text
I was walking around the old neighborhood, the first time after being away from a long time, taking in the familiar sights; the row of houses, the plants planted by the road, the small animals wandering around the neighborhood, the still, calm air enveloping the neighborhood, before I stopped by the playground.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the deserted, but well-maintained playground. I looked over the two badminton courts on the left of the field, and the main playground, formerly occupied by a large stone structure consisting of several tunnels, a staircase and a swing, replaced with a more modern structure made out of plastic and rubber-coated steel pipes. As I thought wistfully about the times I used to play here, my sight moved towards the extreme right corner of the playground, and I saw it.
The old monkey bar, with a new coat of blue paint, located a little further away from the playground, beneath some tall trees enveloping the area, giving it an eerie, almost surreal feeling. It’s normal for kids to avoid playing there, not just because how creepy it was but also because it attracts mosquitoes, which can be quite a nuisance at times, until the municipal workers got rid of the surrounding bushes that acts as a breeding ground for them.
But still none of the kids would go near it.
Well, there was this kid. I don’t remember when I met him, but I remember the day he showed up. I was five years old, and had just arrived at the playground that evening, and was waiting for some of my friends to show up, when I saw him.
He was dressed in black, which is pretty odd for a five-year old. He was sitting by the monkey bar, just staring at the ground. Thinking that he might be new around the area and had no friends to play with, I walked up to him and smiled.
“Hey,” I said, “How are you?”
The kid slowly lifted his head, and looked at me blankly with his dark eyes, obscured by his dark fringe. Although surprised, I said, “I’m so-and-so. What’s yours?”
He didn’t answer my question; instead, he looked at me with the same vacant expression.
“Are you new here?” I asked. “Mama said I should be friendly to new people, they could be my new friend,”
The kid simply nodded.
“Well…my friends will be here soon. Do you want to play with us?”
He didn’t nod or shake his head, which confused me.
“Well…what do you want to play first?”
He pointed at the monkey bar.
“You want to play at the monkey bar? Okay, who goes first?”
He slowly, motionlessly lifted his pale left hand and pointed at me.
“A-uh-okay,” I said nervously. I’ve always been a bit nervous around the monkey bar, its height has always been intimidating for me when I was five.
I slowly climbed up the monkey bar, opting to pass through it from the upper side. That way, I’d have a lesser chance of falling down to the ground, and I climbed across as fast as I could.
“There,” I said as I climbed down, “Now it’s your turn,”
The boy didn’t say anything, and started climbing from the inside part of the monkey bar, and started climbing slowly, almost timidly, before he fell down. I quickly rushed to his aid, but instead of crying like a child our age would do, he simply walked past me and tried again. And again. He repeated it several times, until, with bloody hands and weepy eyes, managed to go across the monkey bar.
I stood there motionlessly, in awe of his persistence. Just as I was about to congratulate him on his success, he jerked his head towards me in a sharp, sudden movement, and looked behind me in horror. As I was about to ask what horrified him so much, he started running, never turning back. I looked back in curiosity, and saw that the playground is now deserted; it was almost dusk, and quickly returned home myself. It’s possible that his parents ran a very tight ship, and returning home late, and at such a filthy state, made him worry.
Later that night, I told my parents about the new boy I played with earlier in the evening, and they appeared to be quite surprised by it, since as far as they know, there are no new families moving into our neighborhood, especially children my age.
Adding to the confusion was when I went to kindergarten the next day. Apparently, when my friends reached the playground yesterday, they saw me by standing the monkey bars, looking anxiously at them, occasionally saying words of encouragement, as if someone was there. They tried calling me several times until they all went home, but to no avail.
Unnerved by what they had told me, I started to cry uncontrollably, that they had to ask my parents to take me home. I stayed at home for a week, afflicted with a fever that caused me to wail and thrash around uncontrollably at times. After I had recovered, my parents tried to get me to play again like I used to, with a degree of success, although I now avoided the monkey bars, and always went out with my friends, instead of venturing out by myself like I used to.
I shuddered as I thought of what had happened, and I was just about to walk away, the same boy, from twenty years back, stood at the exact same spot I met him for the first time. Only, this time, when he saw me, he started smiling, showing a row of perfectly black teeth.
“You came back,” he said cheerfully, and before I could react, he grabbed me and led me to the monkey bar once again. “I’ve been waiting for so long,”
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because you’re my friend,” he said, looking at me with those pitch-black eyes.
Oh fuck, I thought to myself.
As we arrived at the monkey bars, he looked at me, and said, “You climb,”
I gulped. Even if they’re not as intimidating as they used to be, what happened here still added to my apprehension, but slowly, steadily, I climbed up the steps, and began swinging through the bars, the boy, whatever it is, kept looking at me as I did that, a look of ravenous interest on his face.
Somehow, I lost my grip at one of those bars and fell down. As I dusted myself, he approached me again and said, “Do it again.”
“I’m too old for this,” I said. “Sorry,”
“No, you have to do it again,”
“But I don’t want to,”
“YOU HAVE TO!” he screamed, “I waited so long!”
I hesitantly climbed back up and began going through the bars, and fell once again. I repeated the process several times, until I fell again for the last time.
“That’s it,” I panted, “I give up. I can’t do it,”
He looked at me when I said that, a look of disappointment on his face quickly turned into a face of pure, unabashed fury. Without any warning, he started biting me, his teeth sinking into my thigh, and I felt the teeth digging into my flesh. I quickly kicked him away from my foot, not before he tore off some of my skin and flesh.
I quickly gave him another kick, hoping no one had seen it, and limped back home, as fast as I can. Nobody home. There’s only me. I locked the door behind me, locked the windows, drawn the curtains, treated my wound as best as I could, and holed up in my room. I sat there in my room, praying as darkness descends.
“Dear god,” I whispered, “protect me from harm…” but before I could finish, I heard a tapping sound on my window. I don’t have to draw the curtains to know who it was. “Come on,” the voice said, “Let’s play some more,”
I sat there in the dark, paralyzed with fear, as he kept on tapping on my bedroom windows, coaxing me to come out. I’ve locked the door. My lights are off. I have to go to the bathroom, but I know I can’t leave. I can’t afford to fall asleep. As I sat there, crouching in the darkness, I noticed that the tapping sounds had finally stopped.
As I got up, I heard the tapping sounds again.
It came from my bedroom door this time.
