“Hey, buddy. D’ya have fun?” Thomas asked his son Elijah as he stepped through the sliding glass door. He was sure he’d heard him but Elijah stared at the floor, not saying a word. Thomas stopped dicing up onions for dinner and walked over to him.

“Hey! What’s the matter with ya?” Thomas asked. Elijah looked up at him and shook his head. He looked his son up and down but didn’t notice anything unusual. Elijah had just left to go play in the woods behind their house, a normal thing he did most evenings if it wasn’t too cold. There were no scuff marks on his jacket or overalls and while he was a little slow learning to speak, he was now eight years old and was talking just fine before he left. Thomas held his face between his two hands and looked into his eyes.

“What’s wrong boy?” he said, but Elijah just shook his head and stared.

“Did something happen?” He nodded his head.

“Did somebody hurt you?” He shook his head.

“What happened?” He shrugged and tilted his head back towards the sliding doors.

“Did something happen in the woods?” He nodded his head again. Thomas let out a frustrated sigh and searched for any evidence of wrongdoing. Elijah’s clothes didn’t seem to be touched but if someone were careful, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he looked past Elijah, out into the woods. He knew that if something did happen it was better to get help now than to waste time trying to force information out of a stubborn child. “C’mon,” he said, rubbing the side of Elijah’s arm, “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

On the way to the hospital, Thomas kept checking the rearview mirror. He played a few of Elijah’s favorite songs, half expecting the kid to start singing along, but Elijah never gave up the act. Pulling into the convenient care parking lot, he felt silly. Elijah was smiling and looking out the window. Sure, he’d heard stories of things happening to kids so bad they turned mute but this kid seemed fine. Still, the possibility of somebody hurting his child, however slim, was enough to make his stomach turn. He had to make sure.

“I’m worried about my son,” he told the receptionist. Her eyes instantly darted to Elijah and back to Thomas.

“Okay, can you tell me a little about what is wrong sir?” Her words stayed professional but, maybe it was just Thomas, but her inflection implied he was incompetent. That annoyed him.

“He’s not speaking. I think something may have happened,” he said and she nodded her head, clacking away at her keyboard. A pit formed in his stomach as he thought about this all getting back to Sarah. Before the divorce, they’d frequently argue about letting Elijah play in the woods. You need to watch him, she would say but the boy was grown enough to know right from wrong and to stay away from strangers. She would just love to throw this in his face.

“Alright, you may have a seat. Somebody will be out to get you,” for a second Thomas felt like he was being dismissed but then she smiled and looked past him to the next person in line. Maybe his adrenaline was warping his judgment, he told himself and took a seat in the waiting room.

It only took ten minutes for a nurse to come out and retrieve them. She guided Elijah through the normal intake routine: marked his height, took his pulse, checked his blood pressure. Everything came out normal. She left and a few minutes later a balding man with a thick mustache walked in.

“Hello Elijah,” he said in a deep, booming voice. Elijah waved.

“He’s not talking,” Thomas said. Obviously the doctor hasn’t checked his notes or, maybe, he was trying to catch Elijah lacking. He couldn’t really blame the doctor as he tried to do the same in the car.

“I see. How long has he been unable to talk?” he said, pulling out a notebook.

“He can talk. He was talking just a few hours ago, and then he went to play in the woods and now, he refuses to speak.” Repeating the sequence of events made the whole thing sound even more ridiculous. “I don't know what his issue is. I just want to make sure nothing funny happened.”

“I see.” Now this time he was sure that there was some judgment in the doctor’s voice. “Can you write?” he asked Elijah who nodded his head. The doctor pulled out a small notepad and a marker and handed it to him, “Can you tell me why you’re not talking?”

Elijah started writing and heat rose to Thomas’s cheeks. Why is the doctor acting like he couldn’t have thought of this? This doctor was just wasting his time. Elijah finished writing and Thomas and the doctor both leaned in and read what he had written.

It put a curse on me.

“What is it?” Thomas said and Elijah’s eyes widened in panic as he shrugged.

“It’s okay,” the doctor said, smiling gently. Thomas rolled his eyes. “What does this curse do?”

It said if I talk it will rip out my tongue.

“This is fucking rediculous,” Thomas snapped at his son, stood up, and started to drag him off of the examination chair by his arm.

“Now, hold on,” the doctor said firmly and Thomas stopped, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Can I speak with you in the hallway?”

“I’m sorry that we wasted your time, doc. I should have known the brat is pulling some stunt.” The doctor shook his head slightly.

“I don’t think it's a stunt,” the doctor said and Thomas was taken aback. This doctor, this college-educated doctor was entertaining this nonsense?

“You think it’s a curse?” he almost laughed in the doctor’s face.

“Well no,” he said and Thomas’s face fell flat, “I don’t believe that a literal curse has been placed on the child but sometimes children use play and imagination to process their environment or something that may even be going on internally.”

“My kid ain’t special.” Thomas rolled his eyes again. This guy was talking about as much nonsense as Elijah.

“I am not saying that it is something developmental but it is a possibility. Have there been any major life changes or stressful situations?”

“Me and his mom just got a divorce a few months ago.”

“I see. This very well could be an extension of that. It’s possible that Elijah hasn’t felt very heard or hasn’t felt very safe to speak openly.”

“My son is safe. I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest,” Thomas was starting to get angry.

“Sir, I am not trying to suggest anything. A parent’s divorce is a difficult thing for a child to experience even when the parents do everything right. All I am saying is that maybe it's best not to push him to speak. Give him a little time. He seems willing and ready to communicate in other ways and nothing seems to be wrong physically. I would suggest maybe seeking therapy. We can provide references to local practitioners who specialize in children of divorce.”

“No thanks,” Thomas waved him off, went back into the office, and grabbed Elijah up out of the examination chair. “We’re going home,” he said and practically dragged him back to the car.

Elijah kept up the schtick for the rest of his weekend. He found a little notepad and a pen somewhere and communicated through notes. The kid would come running up to him with a piece of paper saying, I’m hungry. Besides the fact the boy was old enough to feed himself, it was unnecessary and annoying when he could just use his words. “Just speak,” he would say and by the end of the night, he would yell. The frustration grew to a climax when, just before bedtime, Elijah ran up to him with another note.

“I ain’t reading that,” he said, sipping his beer and watching the game. It already annoyed him that he had to wait until this late to start enjoying himself to be seen as a good dad anyways, and this kid was supposed to be in bed, getting ready to sleep. Elijah tugged on his sleeve and shoved the note back in his face.

“I said I ain’t fucking reading that. If you have something to say boy use your fucking words. Use your fucking words!” he yelled. Tears welled up in Elijah’s eyes but he still didn’t say anything. “Fine. Have it your way but then get your ass to bed and stop pestering me,” he said and Elijah set the note down on the side table and ran off to his bedroom. Thomas rolled his eyes and went back to watching TV, but the note buzzed in the corner of his sight. He sighed and grabbed it up off the table.

I love you. Im sorry Im bad.

When Sarah came to pick him up Sunday morning, Thomas was hungover. The note made him feel a little guilty but, then again, being a parent didn’t mean being friends with your child. If he wouldn’t do it, the world would force the words out of him, and they would be far less gentle.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” she asked when he told her the story through her car window.

“You said only to contact you directly in the event of an emergency. The doctor said he was fine. It wasn’t an emergency,” she really could be unreasonable at times, he thought. Maybe that’s why things didn’t work out.

“I still would like to know when my son is being taken to the hospital. Was he out in the woods?” She threw in his face. He wanted to say ‘Yeah he was in the woods. So what? He’s fine?’ but she would’ve taken that as argumentative so he bit his tongue.

“No, actually. He was just in the backyard,” she nodded like she knew he was lying but left without saying anything else. Over the next two weeks he received a series of texts which he ignored. After all, responding to them didn’t seem like much of an emergency.

I called the doctor and they said you dragged him out of the building?

I don’t care if you don’t agree but I think the doctor is right. I’m signing him up for therapy. Don’t worry it will be on my insurance ;)

He’s still not talking but he started writing me notes. At least we’re seeing improvement.

Elijah told me he was in the woods.

He rolled his eyes at the last one. Elijah didn’t tell her shit; she was just fishing for reasons to undermine him, and he could see through it. Whenever she dropped Elijah off on his next weekend, he could tell that she was pissed.

“He’s making a lot of progress in therapy,” she said through pursed lips.

“I’m sure he is,” Thomas said and she pulled out of the driveway. Elijah looked up at his dad, still saying nothing.

This weekend he was going to get the child to speak. It was ridiculous that his mother and the doctors kept entertaining this nonsense. He had hidden the notepad, put all pens on top of the refrigerator, and spent most of the night talking at Elijah who would just nod or shake his head in response. At this point, Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this was all his mother’s idea, a ploy to get back at him, to get under his skin. Either way, this kind of behavior is something he inherited from his mother, not him.

“Elijah, look at me!” he barked, towering over his son. He had just finished screaming at him to speak for nearly five minutes straight, but Elijah only cried, still refusing to speak and now, he was refusing to even look him in the eye. “Look at me,” Thomas said and grabbed at his arm. Elijah slipped his arm out of his father’s grip but Thomas caught his hand and gripped it tight. Still Elijah was turned away from him. “Elijah, look at me when I am speaking to you,” he growled and grabbed at his other arm and almost took ahold of his hand but Elijah started flailing.

Elijah flung his arms in all directions, threw himself into the floor, and kicked at Thomas’s arm to keep him from grabbing his other hand. “Boy, what the fuck is your problem!” Thomas lifted him up out of the floor and carried him by the arm to the car. “I’m taking you back to the doctor. There’s obviously something fucking wrong, maybe you are fucked in the head but whatever it is, this has got to stop.”

He flung the crying child into the backseat and sped to the doctor’s office. A look of concern flashed across the receptionist’s face but Thomas was too angry to care and demanded to be seen right away. It only took a few minutes but they were soon ushered back to the same examination room as before. The nurse completed the usual check-in routine and didn’t even look at Thomas once. That annoyed him. Soon after, the doctor strolled into the room, looking smug.

“Hello Elijah. Sir, what is the issue today?” he said.

“He’s still not talking. I don’t know if it's the development or whatever you said but his behavior is getting worse. I just tried to speak to him, and he wouldn’t even look me in the face, screaming, crying, and throwing a fit. I don’t know what it is but there’s obviously something wrong.” Thomas had started the rant angry and yelling but by the end, he sounded defeated and on the verge of tears. “The therapy office has him playing with toys and shit. I need real answers. I need you to figure out what’s wrong and fix it. This is too much.”

“I see,” the doctor nodded, and Thomas wanted to scream at him. He pulled out the little notepad and marker from before and handed it to Elijah. “Can you explain what’s going on?” he said. Thomas wanted to snatch the notebook out of his hand and throw it on the ground, but he bit his tongue and waited for his son to finish.

It told me if someone holds both my hands they will be cursed too.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Thomas rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Elijah, why are you making this shit up? It’s not funny.”

I'm not.

“Sir,” the doctor cleared his throat, “Can we please speak in the hallway?”

“What the fuck is this?” Thomas said after stepping out.

“Look, regardless of the reason why Elijah refuses to speak, I don’t believe pressuring him like this is good for him. There are many other options available for communication. Notes work well in the meantime, but we can also look into things like sign-language or AAC devices if this persists but I really do assume this will all pass in due time. With a little bit of patience and understanding, I’m sure Elijah will open up again.”

“This is bullshit,” Thomas screamed and stormed back into the office, “Look. Elijah take my hands,” his eyes went wide and he shook his head, “Elijah now! I’m going to show you that this is all bullshit.” Thomas grabbed one of his hands and he strained his other arm away but Thomas leaned over him and snatched it too. With both hands in his, he opened his mouth.

“See—,” he started to say but as soon as the word came out, a bony hand with bluish-grey skin creeped up his esophagus. The fingers spread out around his mouth, gripped his tongue, and ripped the muscle backwards down his throat. Thomas let go of Elijah’s hands and fell into the floor. Looking up at his son, his mouth filled with blood.