Page 11 of The Black Flamingo
Or would I become an orphan?
Mum’s gone out and her new boyfriend,
Trevor, lets me watch a horror movie
calledA Nightmare on Elm Street.
I am fascinated by the man
in the red-and-green striped sweater
who visits people in their dreams
and kills them. At school I describe
what he does and the glove he wears.
Knives for fingers. I swipe at the air
and children run away screaming,
except Callum, who just laughs and then
says, “Go on, then, rip my guts out!”
Smiling and holding open his navy-blue blazer.
The next day, the principal calls
Mum after complaints from the other parents.
“Children are having nightmares,”
she tells me when she sends me to bed
early, but I sit at the top of the stairs.
“What were you thinking?” Mum shouts
at Trevor. “He’s only seven years old.”
Trevor speaks quietly and I can’t make out his reply.
“You really don’t think you’ve done
anything wrong, do you?” Mum laughs.
“He’s not your son. It’s not for you
to decide what he’s old enough for.”
“So why did you leave him with me?” Trevor shouts.
“Because you said you wanted to
bond with him. I didn’t think you meant
by showing him Freddy-effing-Krueger.”
