Put the knife in...

She freaked out. Of course she did. After all, her five-year-old was holding one of those ridiculously big Michael Myers-style kitchen knives that was bigger than his whole arm.

Samuel jumped out of bed as loving and protective husbands usually do when their wives scream in terror. Little Andy screamed as well and dropped the knife to the floor. It missed his toes and made a loud metallic noise.

Vera freaked out again, jumped out of bed as well, took Andy in her arms, cried and sobbed and demanded to know if Andy’s alright. Samuel was confused at first, for everything happened much faster than one could read.

“Daddy left this knife in my room,” said Andy sobbing, obviously frightened by all the freaking out. “I wanted to return it, but I’m not supposed to go downstairs alone in the dark.”

Vera attempted to calm him down and assured him he has done nothing wrong. Then she took him to his room where she tucked him in and told him everything is “a-ok.” She returned to the master bedroom when he finally closed his eyes and seemingly went to sleep.

Samuel did not get any of that loving, caring treatment his son got.

Vera hissed and murmured and did everything she could not to yell at her husband at the top of her voice. What’s wrong with him? What the hell was he thinking? Does he realize what could’ve happened? This is not over yet. She’s taking Andy to her sister’s in the morning.

Samuel knew when he wasn’t welcomed in the bedroom.

Like that time he returned home drunk. Or that time he had a short-lived affair with his secretary.

But now, Samuel was both confused and angry. What just happened? Does Vera actually believe he left that thing in Andy’s room? She didn’t even ask him what his version was. She just blindly believed that little cat-killing maniac without even questioning the stupidity and downright insanity of his statement.

What the hell, Vera? We never even told him not to go downstairs in the dark! What kind of nonsense is that?

It seemed obvious to Samuel, now getting dressed in the bathroom where he left his clothes after showering, that no one is ever going to believe him his son Andy is deranged. That he killed a cat and tried to kill his mother and put the blame on his father. No one is even going to consider the possibility that this kid, age five, could be dangerous.

But what is dangerous?

Is it not the ability to hide one’s full potential? After all, piranhas are small too, but you wouldn’t swim with them.

Could his son be a piranha? A predator cloaked in cute little pajamas with Spider-Man, who secretly possesses enough will and mind-power to kill his own parents and get away with it?

Samuel, dressed, shoes tied, keys in hand, couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave the house. Sit in the kitchen and wonder about the monstrosity of his son or go out and drink till he forgets all of this? He was about to decide for the latter when a new thought entered his mind uninvited.

What if Andy was telling the truth?

Could he be so stressed out from work that he gave his son a knife and forgot all about it? Or was it the dead cat that freaked him out so much he now unconsciously wants to frame Andy and prove he’s a killer?

He heard footsteps upstairs, going from their bedroom to Andy’s bedroom. Vera was probably checking in on Andy, maybe taking him to sleep with her in the large bed, maybe taking him to Wanda, her sister.

If Samuel was imagining all of this, if the cat just died and if there was nothing more to it, then it must mean he is slowly and steadily going crazy. Crazy as in toys in the attic. Crazy like truly gone fishin’. Crazy like there’s no tomorrow. Crazy like a…

A parent who kills his child?

Samuel suddenly found himself spiraling out of control. Truly worried that his son is pure evil, and he is the only one capable of seeing it. The only who sees right through those big beautiful eyes.

Samuel suddenly found himself with another knife in his hand. A smaller one, but not one bit less deadly.

Samuel suddenly found himself walking upstairs, cold sweat oozing from the pores on his back, making his shirt damp.

Samuel suddenly found himself truly stark raving mad, standing in the bedroom door, looking at the evil son curled up, embraced by his easily fooled mother. Both asleep as if nothing was happening. Both asleep as if this little bed-time drama wasn’t about to reach its explosive climax.

Samuel suddenly found himself holding a knife covered in blood.

Was he crazy? Was he a killer or was he suicidal?

And most importantly, was he right?