Corey 2022

A bottle of whiskey and sleeping tablets were found near his head while he lay on bunched-up wrinkled sheets.

The authorities had no idea how long he'd been there, but the sight of it alone was heartbreaking. The boy was only eleven years old. His right hand was balled up in a fist so tightly that the medical examiner could not get it undone. Out of frustration and exasperation, she finally pleaded, "Please, I'm just trying to find out what happened? I want to help you." Then, as if on cue, like a blooming lotus, his fingers unfolded, and in the middle of his palm was a sticky note that read, "Don't touch my parents, you'll regret it."

The boy's name was Corey Lewis; his family had lived up in St. Louis heights all their life. They were a very well-known Portuguese/Hawaiian clan and highly respected. All the boys went to St. Louis school for boys, and all the girls went to Sacred Hearts. But there was something particularly unique about Wendell and Sarah Lewis, no one could put their finger on it, but they were just odd. People who met them would say that they were friendly people and that there was nothing strange or ominous about them. It's just that after meeting them, you felt filthy. Their son Corey was adopted. Wendell and Sarah said they felt like the time had come to have a family, except that Sarah could not conceive, so they found Corey and legally made him their son. He wanted for nothing and had the best of everything, but one element had been missing. Wendell and Sarah were not affectionate people; it was Corey's nanny who lived in a separate part of the home who raised him, fed him, and held him. By the time Corey was eleven, his want for nothing but his parent's physical affection became paramount in his everyday life.

Without warning, Wendell and Sarah stood in the kitchen preparing dinner one day. Corey walked up behind them and gave them a big warm hug. His parents recoiled and screeched as if they had been doused with acid. Their eyes became reptilian, and their teeth turned to rows of fangs. Their hair stood on end like sharp spikes, and their fingernails became talon-like claws. Hideous wings sprouted from their backs which flapped once and caused them to hover in the air in the high ceiling living room and kitchen. Then, with the second flap of their wings, they shot out of the house, through the front door, and out into the early evening sky. For several days Corey went about in a state of shock and was now staying in the maid's quarters with the nanny. Wendell and Sarah hadn't been around the entire time. One night he awoke to the sound of someone turning the lamp on in his room. It was Wendell and Sarah. They sat on the bed and looked at him with deep regret and sorrow. Corey didn't have time to react; they reached out and held their son in a warm embrace. When they let go, the only thing Wendell said to Corey was, "No one can know who we are, and we don't want to hurt you. Your mother and I think that you know what you have to do, right?"

"I do," Corey replied. "But I won't."

"It's too late, my love because we touched you," she said. "You'll do the right thing whether you like it or not."

"When you touched us, you saw us as we are," Wendell said. "But if we touch you, or anyone, they end up doing what we want. We don't even have to say it, we just think it, and it's done."

"Like you, sweetheart," Sarah smiled. "You'll be done soon, by your own hand."

Wendell removed a paper bag from his large coat pocket, took out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of sleeping pills, and placed it on the nightstand next to Corey's bed. The two left the room quietly and shut the door behind them. Corey could feel it seeping into his skin, right through the pores. He could feel that he was losing himself. Finally, in a last act of desperation, he wrote something on a stick it note and balled it up in his hand. Then, he was gone inside himself. He could only watch as a helpless observer as his body went on without his influence. He took the entire bottle of sleeping pills and washed it down with the bottle of whiskey, emptying its contents. He lay there and waited, hoping that whoever it was that found the note in his hands would heed its instructions.

~

"It's so tragic," the medical examiner shook his head. "Eleven years old, what was so bad in his life that it led him to do that?"

"We don't know," Wendell said while looking at Sarah. "But thank you for your help; we appreciate it."

"May I?" Sarah asked with her arms outstretched to the medical examiner.

"Of course," the medical examiner replied as he walked into Sarah's embrace for a long hug.

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