Prirodzene, nie som native speaker. Toto bolo pisane asi pred tromi- štyrmi rokmi ako záverečná práca na jeden predmet na výške. Ak sa vám nebude niečo pozdávať (gramatika, štylistika), budem rada, ak sa ozvete.

„Don't let them see us."

„That was the sentence which made me realize there was something going on with my son," I told the psychiatrist.

I was sitting in her office for the first time. I hated it there already. I really didn't want to go see her, but everyone kept pushing me to do so. I hated them, as well. They didn't know a thing about what actually happened and yet they thought they had to advise me.

You probably think that I should have told them to mind their own business. Yes, I did. It didn't help. After all the quarrels I realized that if I wanted them to shut up, I would have to go eventually. One session wouldn't kill me.

So I ended up there, in that uncomfortable armchair in a stinky office where all you could see was piles of paper and where you had a feeling that you simply cannot take a proper breath. In order to get rid of that horrible feeling I looked at the opened window, hoping the fresh air would get to me as quick as possible. You would think that a psychiatrist office has to be cosy in a way. Otherwise, how on earth could you pour out your heart, right? Well, in such a case you didn't have a choice.

„Tell me something about you and your family," said the psychiatrist as if she didn't hear me.

I looked at her. I would be lying if I said that she was unpleasant. She was actually the brightest thing in that damn office. With her soft blond hair falling down on her shoulders, with her white blouse and blue skirt, with her big green eyes but mostly with her calm and soft voice which almost made me forget the room I was in.

„If you don't mind," she added.

„No, okay."

I straightened my back and looking a while at the window and a while at her, I started talking:

„I married at twenty-two. Most people thought that I was either blindly in love or hopelessly stupid to get married so young. To be honest, I was both. When I was twenty-five I had Albert-my son. Now I am thirty-one and I am here."

The psychiatrist wrote a few notes into her notebook, then asked: „And your husband? Where is he now?"

„Now? Probably with his damn friends in a club playing God knows what and losing all his money," I shrugged my shoulders.

„You shrugged your shoulders too vehemently."

I was looking at her with a not very understanding expression on my face.

„Excuse me?"

She pointed at my shoulders with her pen.

„Your shoulders. You shrugged them in a way that it is obvious he is not indifferent to you."

What did I say about her before? That she's the brightest thing in the office? I was still looking at her with my mouth half open and really didn't know what to say. I could get angry and shout at her not to analyse me, but the cost of this session was 250$, so I would be even more stupid than I was when I got married.

So I just shrugged my shoulders again, this time just a bit and said: „Probably. I don't know. I still live with him, we're still married and I don't even know why we haven't got a divorce yet. We barely talk, he sleeps on the couch. You know, a classic story."

The psychiatrist smiled. „I don't think your story is classic." She cleared out her throat, then continued: „What was your marriage like before it happened?"

„Normal. Okay, I guess. We had been just the two of us for almost four years, so we travelled a lot. We've been to Europe. I think we were happy... I don't know. I don't remember."

She lifted her eyebrows. „You don't remember?"

„I am trying to forget everything that has happened in the last years."

„Then why are you here? People usually come to me when they want to cope with something, not when they want to forget."

„I had to come. Everyone around me was making such a fuss about my behaviour. I just want them to shut their mouths already. That's all."

The psychiatrist didn't say a single word for half a minute. She looked as if she didn't know how to continue our dialogue at all.

„Erm, could you..." she started suddenly in a higher voice, „tell me what you were like before the... hm... accident."

„It wasn't an accident."

„As you say."

The psychiatrist wrote something into her notebook, then she put it down on the small coffee table and looked directly into my eyes.

„Now, please, tell me what happened. Start at the very beginning," she said, her voice normal again.

I had never told anyone the story. The only living human that knew every detail was my husband. And I had been trying so hard to forget, not to think about it... I hoped at least it would be the first and the last time that I told the story.

„We lived in an apartment back then. My husband and I went to work every day and we dropped Albert at a kindergarten on our way to work. We worked in the same company so it wasn't a problem. I think everything was fine. Albert was a smart kid. His teachers always praised him and told me how proud I should be. And I was. It began a few weeks after his third birthday although at that time I didn't have any idea that something was beginning.

~

We were in his room playing with some toys when he suddenly ran away into the kitchen.

„Albert? Where did you go?" I shouted after him.

There was no response, so I thought he just went there to grab a cookie or something. After a while he came back with empty hands.

„What were you doing there, darling?"

„Nothing. Just talking," he replied, sat next to me and opened his favourite book about a rabbit.

„Oh, talking... I see." I was watching him looking at that colourful book and I told myself that the era of imaginary friends had just begun.

I myself had one when I was a kid. Her name was Anna and I pretended that she was my little sister I had to look after. My older sister always teased me about it, so I promised myself that I would never do the same to Albert.

Days and weeks passed, and I didn't notice anything abnormal in my son's behaviour. Of course, I saw him talking to a corner from time to time, but I didn't pay much attention to it. To reassure myself I even googled something about it and I found out that children in a certain age really do create imaginary friends.

But then, one night when my husband was on a business trip, Albert woke me up.

„Mommy, I want to sleep in your bed."

It took a while for me to wake up and realize that Albert was standing next to my bed. Without asking him what was going on, I tapped on the husband's side of the bed, and Albert crawled over me and lay down.

„They don't want me to sleep," whispered Albert into my right ear.

„Who?"

„They," he pointed to the right corner of our bedroom.

I looked there, but I saw nothing. However, I started to feel uncomfortable, even scared. It was the middle of the night, after all.

I looked back at Albert. „Honey, they? Who? Nobody's there."

Since he kept staring at the corner, I touched the bedside lamp to turn the light on, but that made Albert jump over me and turn the light off.

„NO, mommy!" he hissed in a panicky way. He pushed me to lie down and pulled the blanket over our heads. „Please, mommy, don't let them see us."

We didn't say another word. I just cuddled him and held his hand and I could tell how scared he was. I realized this whole thing that I took as normal was not normal at all and that those, who Albert had been talking to, were not imaginary friends. He wouldn't have been afraid of them. I decided I would talk to him the first thing in the morning.

I barely had any sleep that night and when I woke up I saw that Albert had been already awake. He was again looking at the corner. I looked there as well, but as I expected, I didn't see anyone or anything.

„Albert? Are they still there?"

He just nodded. I picked up Albert and then put him onto my lap to sit down.

„Who are they? Your friends?" I asked him, naively hoping he would say yes.

„I thought they were. But they're not," he replied and started to play with buttons on my pyjamas.

„So who are they?"

„I don't know."

„What do they want?"

„Different things."

„For example?"

But Albert didn't answer me anymore. He jumped from the bed and told me he was hungry.

I kept trying to talk to him the whole day but he either ignored me or changed the subject.

There were a few calm days and nights and I almost forgot that something weird had happened. We kind of got back to our everyday routine until one night.

I was woken up by a horrible screaming coming from Albert's bedroom. My heart immediately started pounding and we both –me and my husband – ran into our son's room. Albert was sitting on his bed, covering his head and screaming and crying. I squatted down and grabbed his hands.

„Albie, what is it? What's happening?"

He hugged me so strongly I could barely breathe, and cried into my ear.

„Make them go away. They're hurting me."

Meanwhile, my husband turned on the light and as I looked at him, I saw that he was rather annoyed than afraid.

„Who's hurting you, buddy? There's no one in here," he said almost in a mocking way.

I looked at him again with a disgusted expression on my face. How could he be so mean? Couldn't he be at least then a bit sympathetic?

„It was probably just a bad dream," he added when he saw my face.

„It's okay, honey. I am here with you now," I said to Albert calmly, ignoring my husband. „Do you want me to sleep here with you?"

Albert nodded, still weeping into my shoulder. My husband just tapped him on his head and left the room. I hated him for behaving that way. I turned off the light and lay down with Albert tightly holding my hand. It took a long time for Albert to fall asleep again, he kept turning and tossing around.

During the next day, I asked Albert several times about the night, but he again didn't want to talk to me about it. So I tried to talk about it with my husband. However, it was a waste of time.

„Look," he said to me after I told him I worried about Albert and that I really thought something or someone we couldn't see was hurting him in a way, „he's just a kid. Probably some friends of his told him a scary story and now he's having bad dreams about it and he thinks they're real. It will go away, you'll see."

„But it wasn't just last night. I told you about the other night, remember? And he has been acting weird for quite some time now."

He took a bottle of beer from the fridge, opened it and said: „Then take him to talk to someone."

„Someone? You mean a psychiatrist?"

He took a sip. „Indeed."

I was standing there, not knowing what to say, so I just waved my hand at him. Like I said – talking to him about it was nothing but a waste of time. He thought our son was some kind of a psycho who needed help.

One morning after a night during which Albert came into my bed again, I discovered several bruises on his left forearm and shoulder and I was sure he hadn't had them the day before. That made me realize it was finally the time to do something radical about the situation.

„We're moving," I told my husband at breakfast when Albert was watching TV. „He has got bruises, he keeps screaming at night and staring at corners. I've had enough."

At first I thought he would laugh or disagree, but to my surprise he just shrugged his shoulders and said: „If you think it'll help."

„I think. I hope."

So we moved to a small bungalow in the suburbs. We had a nice garden where Albert enjoyed playing with his cars. It seemed that all those odd things had stopped.

We had a very nice and calm week or two, when everything began all over again. It was almost as if they had been looking for Albert for those two weeks and finally found him. I even started crying when he began to do all the things he had been doing in the apartment. I really hoped it was all gone. After a few weeks it got worse. Albert came into my bed almost every night, he had circles underneath his eyes in the morning and bruises, that time on his chin. I was more and more desperate every day.

One day while Albert was eating breakfast, I went to the bedroom to grab my phone. When I came back, a big part of the kitchen floor was covered with sugar and flour and salt. I froze, my eyes opened wide.

„Albie? What have you done?"

„They got angry."

I was frightened. I took Albie from the chair and went outside to our garden. No matter how hard I was trying to get some answers out of him, he didn't say a single word. I didn't have enough courage or strength to go back to the kitchen and clean up the mess. At least, my husband would see what happened.

He was quite sceptical when I told him about everything. I started to feel uncomfortable in our house, I tried to spend most of the time outside. Albert was more and more quiet and pale. I really didn't know what to do. I realized that moving again wouldn't help. I even began to wonder if I should take him to see either a doctor or a priest.

One day I found him pushing a chair towards the balcony in his room. I had no idea what he wanted to do and guessing that was some kind of a game, I asked with a smile on my face:

„What are you doing, Albie? Some new game came to your mind?"

He shook his head. „No, they say it would be fun to jump."

I froze on my way to his bed where I wanted to fold his T-shirts.

„W-what?"

„They want me to jump from the balcony. They say it will be fun," he answered as if nothing was happening.

I rushed towards him and put my hands on the chair.

„Are you kidding me?! You know people don't jump from balconies. It's dangerous. You might kill yourself."

To my surprise, he got angry and grabbed the chair as well. „Stop it. I have to do it. They won't like it if I don't. Mommy, stop! Give me the chair."

„Now, that's enough!" I picked up Albert and ignoring his kicking and biting I went outside to the garden.

I put him down, he sat on the ground and started crying.

„You don't know what you have done," he sobbed.

„Albert," I said firmly, „you can't listen to them. Do you hear me? No matter what they say to you, no matter what they want from you, you just can't do it, okay? Do you hear me?"

When I was telling my husband about that, he, suddenly serious and emphatic, put his arm around me and asked:

„What shall we do?"

I just shook my head. I felt like we were stuck. I didn't see any way out.
We lived like that for several weeks. We spent little time in the house, we basically just slept there. We moved Albert's bed into our bedroom.

And then it happened.

I really didn't believe it could get any worse. We were lying in the garden and because Albert got thirsty he decided to go to the kitchen for his bottle of water. I was following him with my eyes and when he disappeared from my view, I began counting seconds for him to come back.

Suddenly the door slammed shut. I immediately got up and ran towards it. I tried to open it, but it was locked. Through the glass part of the door I could see into the kitchen. It was a mess again. The cupboard was open, the dishes were broken on the floor, the flour and sugar were spilled as well.

I started pounding on the door and shouting: „Albert! Open the door! Open the door, right now! Albert!"

He turned around and rushed towards the door, but he fell down. It looked as if someone was pulling him by his leg. I saw his big brown eyes filled with terror and fear.

„Albie, run to the front door!" I shouted.

But it seemed that he couldn't get up. They were holding him. Albert was crying and I could read from his lips he was murmuring „help, help".

„Leave him! Leave him!" I was shouting like insane. I was trying to break the glass part on the door, but I didn't succeed.

„People, help! Help!" I was hoping that some of the neighbours would hear me and at least call the police.

I didn't know what else to do. After a while I ran out of breath. I only heard Albert crying. It took a few seconds for him to calm down a little, he was looking at one spot – probably them - with his beautiful innocent eyes, still filled with tears. If only I could see or hear them. This way I had no idea what was going on. Albert suddenly sat up and nodded. That woke me up.

„Albert!" I was pounding on the door again. „Albert! Run to the front door. You can open it. Just run."

But Albert didn't do anything even though it looked that they weren't holding him anymore.

„Please, Albert, run!" I was crying with my nose pressed against the door.

Suddenly Albert took a piece of glass into his small hands. My eyes popped and I started to bang on the door more furiously.

„Albert, throw it away! Don't listen to them! Do you hear me? Throw it away, now!"

But Albert seemed to be in delirium. He was still looking at one spot, ignoring me completely.

Then he did it. He slashed his left wrist.

„NO! Albert, please, no!" Pounding on the door, crying and yelling I dropped down on my knees.

Albert started crying again, but in a different way. He was still nodding and he lay down on the floor. He reached out his right hand as if he wanted to hold someone else's.

I started kicking the glass part on the door, but nothing happened. I couldn't get to Albert to save him. I was just watching as blood was pouring out of his wrist, as he was softly crying and getting more and more pale.

He wasn't looking at me. Still fixing his eyes on that one spot, he put his right arm beside him and a few seconds after that he closed his eyes. I could see his chest moving slowly. I didn't even know when he died. I didn't know how long I was banging on the door. I didn't know when my husband opened it and picked me up. I didn't know what I told him and that I lay down beside Albert and hugged him until he took me into his arms again. I didn't know what else happened that day.

I just knew that my son was dead.

~

I finished my talking. I took a tissue from my purse to blow my nose and wipe my tears. I looked at the psychiatrist. She seemed more pale and tired than at the beginning of our session.

„I believe you."

How on earth did she know that it was exactly what I needed to hear? All those years I have been trying to convince myself that it really happened, that it was them who killed my son and that Albert wasn't a psycho. And finally, a complete stranger confirmed my thoughts.

„Thank you," I said to her.

She cleared her throat. „You know you won't ever forget what happened, right? It'll be with you for the rest of your life. I am not telling you this to frighten you. I just want to... warn you and let you know that no matter what you'll do, you won't forget. Even though you're trying to, as you told me at the beginning of our meeting."

„I know. But I can at least pretend that I don't remember."

„You can."

There was silence in the office for a half of minute.

„I can give you a receipt on medication against depression, as well."

„I don't want pills."

„As you wish."

~

I came home to an empty apartment and sat on the chair in the kitchen. I allowed myself to think of Albert some more. As I stood up to get a bottle of water from the fridge, I could swear I saw someone standing in the corner of the kitchen.