"Lad, I need you to wake up now."
He was having a wonderful dream. He had lots of toys, lots to eat, and lots of cuddles like Duddles got from Auntie 'Toona. Unca Vernon didn't hit him in the head, either. He liked his dream.
"Yes, lad; it's a nice dream. But, I need you to wake up now."
The man's voice was making his dream go away. He tried to make the man's voice go away by con'trating really, really hard. He wanted his dream to come back.
"I'm not going to go away, lad. I'm not in your dream. You need to open your eyes."
Opening his eyes meant waking up in his cupboard. Waking up meant feeling hungry and sore from the last time Unca Vernon hit him. Waking up meant getting sore hands from pulling weeds from Auntie 'Toona's garden. Unca Vernon made his head hurt; and the weeds made his hands sting.
"I promise you, lad; that will never happen again. Open your eyes and you will see."
The man sounded nice enough. It sounded like Unca Vernon's voice when he was talking to Duddles; not like it sounded when Unca Vernon was talking to him. Maybe he could have a quick peek and, if he didn't like it, he could close his eyes and go back to his dream.
"That sounds like a good idea, lad. Let's try that then."
He still didn't know if he should open his eyes; but, he knew he felt different. He felt as if he was lying on his back on a really soft pillow. But his bed wasn't a soft pillow. His bed was an old, dog-smelly thing Auntie Marge threw at him. It was lumpy. Not what he felt he was lying on now. Maybe he should open his eyes to see what it was.
"That's a very good idea. Do that."
He'd do it then.
Opening his eyes the small boy expected to see the bottom of the stairs above him. What he saw, much further away, was a roof made of rocks stuck together.
He started to look around. He was on a big bed. And it had red curtains around it! And the curtains were held up by big wooden poles! Wow!
He looked around some more. Beyond the opened curtains on each side of the bed he could see walls. The walls were made of stone just like the roof. And there were some little fires on the top of big sticks stuck to the walls. At least they looked like big sticks, he thought, frowning.
Fire was bad unless it was in the fireplace. He knew he was not allowed to play with fire. Duddles played with it and burnt the rug; and he got hit lots for it - even though it was Duddles who did it. He was only 'little' but knew it wasn't fair that Unca Vernon hit him instead of Duddles.
"I put the fires there, lad. And they're called 'torches', by the way."
There was that voice again. It was coming from down where his feet were pointing.
The boy, a child barely beyond toddler stage, sat up to look where the voice was coming from. It was coming from past the foot of his bed.
There was a man standing there. He could see him through the open curtains at the foot of the big bed he was on. At least he thought it was a man. He had a funny dressing gown on.
"I see you're awake now, lad," said the man.
The boy tried to see what the man looked like. He knew he had to be really, really old because he had a white beard and white hair. He scrunched his face up trying to see him properly.
"Who are you, Sir?" asked the boy.
He had to call all man-adults 'Sir' and lady-adults 'Ma'am', unless they were Unca Vernon, Auntie 'Toona or Auntie Marge. If he didn't, Unca Vernon would hit him lots.
"You can call me 'Sir', if you like," the man said while walking around the bed to stand alongside where the boy was sitting.
The boy was glad the man came closer. It made him easier to see.
"I'm Freak!" said the small boy, beaming proudly.
The old man's eyebrows shot up on hearing that. "And what makes you say that?"
The boy scrunched his face up wondering if the man was upset with him. "That's what Auntie 'Toona calls me," he moped. But suddenly brightly said, "But Unca Vernon calls me 'Boy'."
The old man gazed down at him for a while. The boy hoped he hadn't said anything to upset him. He didn't want Unca Vernon to hit him again because he upset the old man. Whatever the old man was thinking he suddenly didn't look like he was upset anymore.
"Lad. You are not a freak; and I will not call you 'Boy'," the old man said kindly. "Neither of those two words are your name."
"Oh," the boy sadly said. If 'Freak' and 'Boy' weren't his name he wondered what it was. He wondered if it was 'Lad'.
"How about you come with me, lad," the old man said, reaching to help the boy off the bed. "And I'll tell you all about your name and who you are."
The boy started to get off the bed but then hesitated. "Are you 'a strange man'?" he asked.
Hesitating, the old man asked, "What makes you ask that?"
"Unca Vernon said that, if a strange man should come up to me and tell or ask me to go with them, then I should."
The boy saw that what he said seemed to make the old man get angry again. It frightened him. But the old man was only angry for a very short time before the angry face went away again.
Meekly, the boy said, "I'm sorry if I said something that made you angry, Sir."
"That's quite alright, lad," the old man replied, finishing helping the young boy off the bed. "I just didn't like that your Uncle Vernon said that to you."
Leading the small boy over to a chest of drawers against one of the walls he said, "Now - to answer your question - I guess I am 'a strange man'. I've been called much worse."
Kneeling, the old man opened a drawer and began to remove clothing fit for a boy of his young charge's stature.
"First, though, I'm going to get you out of those rags you're wearing and into something much nicer," he said. "Then we're going to go and have some breakfast."
"Me, too?" the young boy asked while the old man was helping him change.
"Yes. You, too."