#13 – For a Moment, I Thought There Were Two of Them
PAPACITO #13
Something is wrong with this house, because lately, I've started seeing things.
Small figures dart across doorways. Strange noises come from behind my back. Sometimes I get the feeling that someone is following me.
I've even started looking over my shoulder.
In my own home.
In broad daylight.
And it doesn't help that, more often than not, someone really is there.
A tiny human.
Two teeth.
And a grin on his face that makes me pretty damn sure he knows exactly what he's doing.
I've started getting scared of my own child.
And I'm not talking about the occasional little jump.
I'm talking about nearly shitting my pants on several occasions when, instead of the toothless little troublemaker being wherever I thought I'd left him, the Termite suddenly appears from around a corner.
If this were a horror movie, there'd be some deeply unsettling violin music playing in the background right about now.
In reality, all you hear is the sound of little hands slapping against the floor.
And believe me, that's a hell of a lot scarier.
SOMETHING IS FOLLOWING ME
I already wrote in #08 – "FUCK NO" about how the Termite learned to move around and how life changed because of it.
Back then, the main problem was that the kid could get into places he had absolutely no business being.
Now the problem is something else entirely.
I no longer have a fucking clue where he is at any given moment.
I might walk into the kitchen to get some coffee.
The Termite stays in the living room.
I grab a mug from the cupboard, turn around and...
There he is.
Sitting on the kitchen floor.
Staring at me.
Smiling.
What the fuck?!
Weren't you just in the living room?
I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything. Suddenly, the kid just appeared, as if he'd been sitting there the entire time.
And this keeps happening.
I'm walking down the hallway when a tiny head suddenly pops out from behind a doorway.
I jump.
The Termite laughs.
I turn around on the sofa to look at the floor, and there's a tiny human standing right next to me who definitely wasn't there a moment ago.
I jump.
The Termite laughs.
I'm starting to notice a pattern here.
I'm having a bad day. He's having the time of his fucking life.
THE SILENT APPROACH
The most unbelievable thing about all this is how quietly the Termite can move when he wants to.
We're talking about a human being who can make an impressive amount of noise just by eating a banana.
But apparently, when the mission is to sneak up behind Papacito, he can move in complete silence.
I have no idea when he developed this ability.
And they certainly haven't mentioned it at any of his checkups.
They ask whether the baby can sit, crawl and pull himself up to stand.
But nobody has asked:
"Has your child started appearing in rooms without any kind of warning?"
Well, they fucking should.
At least in horror movies, the music warns you when something bad is about to happen.
Not in our house.
In our house, the soundtrack cuts out right when you should start worrying.
I'm seriously considering installing a reversing camera at home.
Or one of those beeping alarms you hear on trucks, except it would activate whenever the Termite approaches.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Warning. Small human approaching.
At least I'd have a few seconds to prepare myself.
As it stands, every time I get up from the sofa, I first have to check that a child hasn't suddenly materialised next to my feet.
And even when I check, there might still be one there.
THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE IN THIS HOUSE
I'm beginning to understand why people in horror movies behave like complete idiots.
Why do they go and investigate strange noises?
Why do they open doors when they know nobody should be on the other side?
And why do they always ask out loud:
"Is somebody there?"
Because apparently, I do exactly the same thing now.
I hear something in the hallway.
I stop.
I listen.
Slap, slap, slap.
Then nothing.
Oh, for fuck's sake...
I look down the hallway.
Nobody there.
I check the living room.
Nobody there.
At this point, I'm starting to wonder whether I imagined the whole thing.
Then the floor creaks somewhere.
And that somewhere is right behind me.
Before I can even turn around, I feel something against my leg.
I look down.
There he is.
Sitting there.
Smiling.
I make a noise that I never, ever want to hear on a recording.
The Termite laughs.
Again.
I'm becoming increasingly convinced he's doing this on purpose.
THE FIRST UNDENIABLE EVIDENCE
Then something happened that made me question my own sanity for a moment.
I was by the front door.
I closed it and turned back towards the house.
And that's when I saw it.
Or rather, THEM.
FUCK THERE WERE TWO OF THEM!
Two Termites.
Side by side.
Both chewing on my sandal.
I don't know what happened inside my brain at that moment, but apparently it decided to skip rational thought altogether and go straight into panic mode.
For a split second, I genuinely thought another identical child had appeared out of nowhere, before my brain finally caught up.
A mirror.
Fuck, he's sitting in front of the mirror.
There I stood in the hallway, trying to get my heart rate back to something resembling normal.
Meanwhile, the Termite just kept chewing on my sandal.
Not the slightest reaction.
Absolutely no understanding that Papacito had just spent several seconds completely convinced that two identical children existed in this house.
And worst of all, they both looked equally pleased with themselves.
I took a picture.
Not because it was some particularly adorable moment.
But because I wanted to document the first time my own child and the hallway mirror had teamed up to scare me to death.
ONE IS ENOUGH
Ever since then, I've been wondering what would happen if there really were two Termites.
And I don't mean some cute little scene with two children playing nicely next to each other on the living room floor.
I mean one disappearing into the kitchen while the other heads for the utility room.
I'd be standing in the hallway trying to decide which one I love more and which one to chase after.
And at that exact moment, both of them would come up with something spectacularly fucking stupid.
One would try climbing something.
The other would find something that absolutely does not belong in anyone's mouth.
And I'd be trying to deal with both situations using one pair of hands and whatever remains of my ability to function at this point in parental leave.
NO.
One is enough.
One is more than fucking enough.
The problem is that this one moves so fast these days that sometimes it feels like there are two of him.
And sometimes I actually see two of him.
Although that second problem could probably be solved by remembering that we have mirrors in this house, including ones at his height.
The second one can wait until this current one is old enough to help me chase after him.
SILENCE IS THE SCARIEST PART
I've gradually learned to live with the fact that the Termite can appear from absolutely anywhere.
Behind a door.
Under a table.
Behind my back.
Right at my feet.
Sometimes even in a mirror.
But the scariest thing isn't when he suddenly appears.
It's when I can't see him anywhere.
When there's no sound of little hands slapping against the floor.
When there's no laughter.
When the entire house is completely silent.
That's when I stop.
I listen.
I look around.
Somewhere in the distance, that familiar horror-movie violin starts playing.
Quietly at first.
Then a little louder.
And there's only one question running through my head.
Where the fuck is he now?
Because in horror movies, the scariest thing isn't what you can see.
It's what you can no longer see.
And here I was thinking parental leave would mean getting to relax at home.