So Naive

I was so naive as a young boy, it wasn't even funny. Literally anything you’d tell me, I’d have believed you. The sky was blue because of all the water it held before the rain? Okay. The wind comes from the moon blowing on us? Sure, why not. Stewed rhubarb was made from mashed human brains? Even though my mother grew fresh rhubarb in our back garden, if you’d told me that I would've believed you, and probably never touch the stuff again.

My gullibility and overly-trusting nature was getting so bad it was beginning to affect me in school. Bullies would trick me out of my lunch money by ‘helpfully’ informing me of a new Break Tax they were collecting for on behalf of the teachers, and I’d happily fork over every penny and go hungry as long as it meant my parents didn't get in trouble. I quickly became malnourished as a result, driving my mother crazy with frustration. But no matter how many times she explained that these mean kids were tricking, the very next day they’d come up with another ingenious ploy and leave with my money.

In the end, my mother was about to give up all hope and stop giving my lunch money altogether when my wizened old grandmother intervened.

“Hush, dear,” she cooed after Mum had finished venting herself red in the face. “It’s not the boy’s fault, poor thing. He just has a very trusting heart.”

“But it drives me crazy!” snapped Mum, and I jumped slightly at the anger in her voice. “Karl and I work ourselves to the bone to provide for him, and he just keeps throwing it away. He believes everything anyone tells him, it’s getting ridiculous!”

“He means well, I’m sure,” said Grandma, holding Mum’s shaking fists until they relaxed and opened. “There, that’s better. Send the boy to my room in fifteen minutes, dear. I’ll help him out.”

With that, Grandma hobbled out of the kitchen, leaving my mother alone to stare at me with reluctant despair. I averted my gaze, ashamed, and pretended to focus on my Math homework as she returned to preparing dinner.

Fifteen minutes later she was by my side, a much calmer hand now resting on my shoulder. I still flinched, and she gave me a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry for being angry before, dear,” she said, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “I know it’s not your fault… why don’t you help Mummy out and go and pay your Grandma a visit, okay? Then you can come back and set the table. Sound good?” I nodded, gaze still cast to my feet with red-hot shame. She ruffled my thick blond hair. “There’s a good boy. Off you go, now.”

I left the kitchen silently and hurried up the stairs, skirting around the seat of the stair lift Grandma always left unfolded. She didn't have the strength to pull it down, and you had to remember it was out otherwise you’d trip over it at night on your way to the bathroom. I approached her closed door and knocked on it tentatively. Tap-tap-tap.

“Come in, dear,” called Grandma, her aging voice like a shrill wind through reeds. “I've been expecting you.”

Curious about what she could possibly do that neither of my parents had tried before, I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it gently behind me. Grandma was sat across from me on her old oaken rocking chair, a thin smile stretching across her lips at the sight of me.

“Hello, sweet boy,” she cooed, her eyes welcoming me. She beckoned for a thin, bony hand, fingers crooked like gnarled twigs. “Come closer. I promise I don’t bite.”

I approached her slowly, eyes drifting from her smiling face to the outstretched hand, constantly beckoning. As I drew closer, her fingers unfurled, an invitation to take her hand. Gingerly, I did as asked, my small hand instantly enveloped in her cold, dry, papery grip.

“Good,” she purred, her smile widening to reveal rows of serrated yellow teeth.

With a sudden burst of strength, Grandma yanked me forward with a vicious cry. Yelping, I stumbled into her as she sank that horrifying maw into the young, tender flesh of my forearm, fangs digging deep. With a hungry, muffled moan she pulled her head back and I cried out in agony as she tore a bloody chunk from my arm, blood spraying everywhere.

She finally released her iron grip and I crumpled to the floor, clutching the gaping wound and crying in pain and terror. She just smiled a sick, twisted smile as my blood spilled from between those fangs, staining her wrinkled chin a glistening crimson.

“Now,” she crooned, having swallowed my flesh. “What did we learn?”

Terrified as I was, there was no denying I understood her question. She had lied to me, just as everyone else had before her.

I never trusted anyone after that day.

I had been so naive…