Simon by Jason Buchholz

"Simon, were you talking to yourself again last night?" asked Claire Langford of her son, beside herself with Simon's constant conversations with no one but himself on a nightly basis. A woman of twenty-nine years, with long brown hair and striking blue eyes, she couldn't help but feel concerned for her son, who had just turned nine years old but didn't have much in the way of friends as of yet.

          "I was talkin' to my friend Carson, mommy!" he said with a smile in return. His short blond hair and light blue eyes gave him a handsome but cute look.

          "Carson. Okay, honey," replied Mrs. Langford, dismissing him. "Could you do something for mommy starting tonight? Can you talk more softly to Carson so mommy and daddy can get some sleep? Is that okay?"

          Simon put a finger to his chin and looked deep in thought for a moment.

          "Okay, mommy!" he replied with a grin, before running off.

          Claire shook her head, but smiled.

          'He's such a good little boy, albeit a boy who has some odd ideas.'

          Turning back to the kitchen counter and the trays of meat that were seasoned and ready for the barbeque, she didn't wait long before the sound of the front door unlocking and opening deposited her husband into the house.

          William Langford put down his lunch bag and water bottle, flinging off his shoes before wandering down the short hallway into the kitchen and into the waiting open arms of his wife. They passionately kissed for a moment, before William saw the food. He ran a quick hand through his short, dark hair and smiled at Claire, his love.

         "No Simon?" he asked, still with a hand around her waist.

         "He went off to play in the back room," she said. "You'll see him on the way to the back door for barbequing."

          William kissed Claire on the cheek, and was about to turn his attention to his barbeque duties, when he noticed a slight look of concern on her face.

          "He's misbehaving?" asked Will, calmly.

          Claire shook her head slightly. "No, not at all. Will. He was talking to his imaginary friend again last night before bed, and now that friend has a name."

          Will stroked his chin.

          "I heard him softly playing on his xylophone when I hit the sack, but no talking. You're worried about him talking to himself like that?"

          Claire looked baffled now.

          "Yes and no. I've heard that kids do this, but he really needs more than one real friend to depend on."

          Will shrugged. "Let's see how it plays out for a while. No harm is being done, and it's occupied him and given him a purpose. No need for him to stop just yet."

          "All right," she replied, before kissing Will on the cheek and letting him pick up the tray and barbeque tools, heading off for the back door. It wasn't long before she heard Simon yell, "Daddy!" in the background knowing he'd follow his father outside.

          'Boys will be boys, I guess...'

Supper had long since been eaten and cleaned up from, and the day was turning into evening and starting to wind down. Having played outside for a bit after the meal, Simon was upstairs in his room and had been playing with some toys for the last couple of hours. His parents had both gone to the living room to relax and put their feet up, leaving him alone to his own devices for a period of time.

          Done with his toys for the night and knowing it was close to his bedtime, Simon crawled a short distance to his bed and pulled out from underneath it his xylophone, moving it to a spot where he always liked to sit on the carpet. He started to play the only melody he knew, a tune he had heard at his grandparents' house that came from the grandfather clock in their spacious den. Simon couldn't get the song out of his mind, and managed to duplicate it on his xylophone, and with astounding results.

          He bumped each bar with the rubber-ended sticks and played the melody over and over again, and it wasn't until the sun had fully set outside his window, did something along the lines of the paranormal begin to happen, as it did every night he played his song.

          An apparition came into view between his xylophone and the wall, resembling that of a small child his age, wearing kid-sized overalls, and a small blue cap. It was a boy, like him, who sat down and smiled at the sound of the tune, the simple melody bringing him a joy that he had never experienced before and evident on his face. Simon noticed the arrival of his friend, named Carson, and smiled back but kept playing.

          "Hi Carson!" he said happily, but softly, remembering what his mom had told him earlier that evening in the kitchen.

          Carson nodded, before responding with a "Hi" of his own.

          "What did you do today?" asked Simon of the apparition, as if it were a real friend sitting before him.

          "I went and spent time with my parents today," replied Carson happily. "I wish it could have lasted longer because they miss me quite a bit."

          Simon frowned. "I'm sorry."

          Carson gave a slow two thumbs up with a half smile, then went back to listening to the tune for a few moments before asking Simon about his day in return.

          "How was your day?"

          Simon shrugged, but kept playing. "It was okay. School isn't too fun, but I came home and mommy said that daddy was making bar-ba-kyoo, and then we played outside!"

          Carson suddenly looked disappointed and sad, but listened to more of the melody before saying anything too quickly.

          "You're lucky," he mentioned. "I wish I could play with my parents and go to school again like you do. But, I'm only here for a short time once in a while, and my parents don't hear me. I just stay with them a while before going back to my new home."

          Simon stopped the melody, and put the sticks down for a moment before reaching over and giving his friend a hug. His arms wrapped around the other boy, who almost appeared to be a living, breathing boy for a brief moment before returning to his apparitional state. Remembering how much the music meant to his friend, Simon went back to the xylophone and continued playing right up until his bedtime.

 William Langford sat in his favourite end chair, reading a book he had started days earlier, but hadn't gotten back to due to work as well as the time he liked to spend with his son when he wasn't too tired. Flipping to the next page, he was still thinking about what his wife had said earlier about Simon, and wondered if it had something to do with the house they all lived in.

          A half century earlier, in the nineteen forties, the house was originally owned by a family that had two children - a brother and sister. The brother, a young boy close to Simon's age, had fallen down a well at the back of the property and was found days later, having perished due to a broken neck. He never made it to his tenth birthday, and the family ended up moving out shortly thereafter. The people that had bought that house from the original family had sealed up the well, and went on to own the house until they sold it to him and Claire, finding it suitable to raise a family of their own.

          "Honey, what was the name of the boy that died in the old well? I forgot," asked Will of his wife, who had just sat down on the couch across from him.

          "Hmm, I don't remember, sweets. Why?"

          William shrugged and went back to his book. "No reason. Was just thinking of this place, and how storied it is."

          Claire suspected that her husband was in a train of thought regarding their son, and always knew when the gears in his head were turning.

          "You think it has something to do with the young boy's death, Will?" she queried.

          Will shrugged. "Maybe. Just hit me as a possibility."

          Claire smiled affectionately at her husband.

          "Try not to worry, hun," she reassured, softly. "He's upstairs having fun, and I heard his xylophone start up before I down here. I didn't hear any talking, so maybe this thing of his will fix itself. After all, he's only nine years old."

          William pondered what his wife had said for several moments, before lowering his book and smiling at her affectionately. Claire always had a way of making sense and finding reason when it was needed, especially when it came to their son.

          "You're right, of course," he conceded lovingly.

          Claire giggled and blew him a kiss, before picking up a puzzle book that contained word searches, and relaxed in her chair to tackle a page of them to relax.

          "He's okay up there for a little bit longer?" asked Will, while reading again.

          Claire grinned. "Yes. It'll be his bedtime soon, and I'll be heading to tuck him in once I get a bit of a start on this puzzle."

          "Okay." replied William, giving his full attention back to his book. He started to wonder if he was reading too much into the history of the house, and thought of a couple of creepy historical shows on the paranormal he'd watched on television recently. Even though a little boy died on the property all that time ago, there's no way it could possibly affect his son at all.

          'It's just a phase.'

After pulling the bed sheets up near her son's chin, Claire kissed him softly on the forehead and smiled.

          "Good night, big boy. See you in the morning."

          Simon smiled. "Goodnight, mommy."

          Claire turned and headed for the door, glancing back at her son once, briefly before turning off the light at the wall switch and heading out the door. Simon lay there for a little while, staring at the ceiling and trying to process all the thoughts that a nine-year-old might have in his head after a long day.

          Just as he was about to close his eyes and start drifting off, the dark room started to brighten a bit to the right side of the bed, from the spot where Simon had been sitting on the floor earlier playing his xylophone. He sat up in bed slowly, and looked over to see that the glowing form of Carson was sitting in the exact same spot, with an identical xylophone set up in front of him on the floor.

          "My turn," he said quietly with a grin.

          Moments later, Carson began to play the instrument, tapping out the same melody that Simon would play for him with his rubber-tipped sticks, replicating Simon's tune note for note with ease. Simon lay back down on his bed and pulled the sheets back up a tiny bit, closing his eyes and letting the melody carry him off to sleep, content.

          "Sleep tight," whispered Carson, finishing the melody and getting up off the floor to wander over to the side of Simon's bed and watch for a moment as the young boy slept peacefully. Carson smiled and put a hand on the bed before slowly vanishing from sight, the room again going dark and almost silent, save for the minute sounds of Simon breathing in and out as he continued to sleep, blissfully unaware of how deep the connection was between himself and the apparition.

          Carson had been present on and around the property since after his death a half-century earlier, but none had ever seen him nor were believers of the life after death or what it really entailed. Simon had been the first to ever see him and speak to him directly, the melody the young child played on his xylophone something that Carson thought he'd never ever hear again, having played the instrument himself at that age.

          When he did hear the xylophone again after so long, it could only have come from one person, and one alone. It could only have come from a mirror image of himself, a child who saw what others could not.

          It could only have come from Simon.

Jason Buchholz has been writing fictional works and such since the age of eight. Most of his fictional works fictional works reside in the fantasy and science fiction genres, as well as the occasional foray into romance. His passion for writing has taken him on an extraordinary journey that he hopes will never end. Writing is his way to tell the world about the stories that form in his mind and flash past his eyes like a movie.