I found a pretty cool poster in the attic, where my mom stores all my dad's things. It didn't look old, but I had never seen it before. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, like most of the junk up there. It was a picture of a random, attractive man I'd never seen before. Maybe he's some sort of model or celebrity? I've never seen him before, so he must not be that famous. In the picture, his head was turned to the side, looking at something I couldn't see. He had dark, medium length hair that stopped right at his chin. Some scruff covered his face, and his arms were thick with muscle, but had a thin coating of dirt. He had a weapon strapped to his shoulder. I couldn't be sure, but I think it was a crossbow?
"Carol?" Without knocking, my mom enters my room.
I flinch, frowning. "What?"
She notices the poster I just hung on the wall of the mysterious man. "Where did you get that?"
"I found it," I say vaguely.
"Found it where?" Mom eyes me suspiciously.
"The attic? Why does it matter?" I grumble.
"How many times have I told you not to go up there?" she snaps at me, face hard.
"Mom!" I sigh. "It was nothing, I was only up there for a second!"
"Doesn't matter, you know that place is off limits!"
"Why? What's up there that you don't want me to see?"
"Just stay out of the attic."
"What are you hiding? Huh, mom?"
"Do you want me to ground you?" she threatens. "I will take your cell phone!"
"Whatever, fine. I won't go in the stupid attic anymore," I huff, crossing my arms.
"Go do your chores. Now." Slamming my door, mom leaves my room and stomps down the stairs. Groaning, I leave my room and begrudgingly obey.
Honestly, why can't I go into the attic? All my life it's been, stay out of the attic. But she never tells me why. The only thing she told me is that all of my dad's stuff is up there and she doesn't want me messing with it. She never talks about dad, no matter how hard I press her on the subject. I don't know who he was, what he did...I don't even know his name. There are no pictures either, so I have no idea what he looked like. Every time I look in the mirror, I wonder if my features are more of my dad's or mom's. But I'll never know because I've never seen him. Did he leave her? Did he die? She never says. All I know is that I never had a dad and I don't know why.
The only piece of information I have is a scrap of paper that has the name Jacobs written on it in faded, messy handwriting. I found it in the attic when I found the poster. Is that his name? Jacobs? But my last name is Tyson and so is my mom's. Unless it's a maiden name and not her married name. Is Jacobs my father's last name? I haven't asked mom yet, but I will. I'll get her to tell me this time. I could find out more information if I were able to lurk in the attic longer. But mom almost never leaves the house, and she keeps the attic locked. She hides the key in various places. I've found it a couple of times and gone up there, but she's probably going to hide it again. She really shouldn't bother. I'll just find it again.
I bring the topic up at dinner. "Mom?"
"Yes?" She scoots pieces of corn around on her plate, gathering them into a pile.
"Who is Jacobs?" I ask.
My mom halts, stiffening up the same way whenever I bring up dad. I'm onto something now.
"I don't know," she replies curtly, keeping her eyes on her plate. "I've never heard that name before."
"Then why was this in the attic with all of dad's things?" I push the scrap of paper with the name on it across the table towards her. Mom doesn't even bother to pick it up, doesn't even touch it. Instead she just sort of stares at it like it's a disgusting bug, or something else equally unpleasant.
"I don't know," she says again.
"Is he my father?" I press on stubbornly.
Mom grips a napkin in her pale, bony hand. She laughs quietly. "No."
"If you don't know anything, then how do you know Jacobs isn't my father?" I push further.
She stands up abruptly, screeching her chair across the linoleum kitchen floor. "He's not, okay? End of discussion. Go to your room."
I stand up too. "No. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who my dad is."
"Then you'll be standing there all night." Mom starts cleaning up.
"Why won't you tell me?" I demand.
"Because it's pointless!" she shouts. "It doesn't matter if you know who he was because he's gone now!"
I'm silent for several seconds until I gather my thoughts again. "Gone? As in dead?"
Mom doesn't reply. She has that scary look in her eye, the one she always gets when I press her too much about dad.
"Whatever. Don't tell me. I'll find out on my own." Without another word, I storm out of there and up to my bedroom, where I fling myself onto my bed. I stare at the poster of the mysterious man as my head rests on the pillow. Drowsiness muddles my thoughts and I yawn. When I open my eyes again, they land once more on the poster. For a moment, I swear I see him move, ever so slightly. Did his head just shift? Did I just see his eyes flicker?
I sit up, more alert now, and focus all my attention on the poster. I stare at it for a solid five minutes, but the man's figure doesn't budge. His eyes are in place, his head sitting the same way as before. Must be my imagination. Slowly I lie back down, keeping my eyes on the picture. But nothing happens. I roll over onto my side, back facing the poster.
"Goodnight, mysterious man," I mutter, and then I fall asleep.
I wake up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. I sit up and stretch, letting out a huge yawn. My eyes skim over the picture of the mysterious dude. Noticing something isn't quite right with it, my eyes dart back to it. Either I'm seeing things, or the guy isn't in the picture any longer. He's not there. I swear, the picture is blank. All I see is the background, which is a dense thicket of trees and forest. I blink a few times just to be sure, but when I look again, he still isn't there. Have I finally lost it? Am I really going crazy?
I furiously rub my eyes until I see fuzzy colors, and look back up. The picture is still empty. What is going on? Sliding off my bed, I walk up to the picture to examine it more closely. Empty. Nothing but trees and woods. No man. Something is wrong. Either I've gone crazy for real, or the man actually jumped out of the poster. Which would be impossible. So, it must be the former. I've gone crazy. Maybe I should get mom? If I'm crazy, she'd still see him in it.
"How in the-"
"Are you looking for me?" a deep voice with a slight drawl cuts me off.
Heart thumping, I turn slowly in the direction of the voice, eyes wide. Standing by my bookshelf, I see the man from the poster. Without thinking, a scream rips out of my throat, backing up until I slam into my dresser behind me. Things of mine topple off as it shakes around. He approaches me slowly, the weapon strapped to his shoulder. I can see it clearly now that he's come to life; it is most definitely a crossbow.
"Don't come any closer," I warn him, hand outstretched.
"Just hold on-" Before he can say anything else, I snatch a random item off the floor and fling it at him. He dodges and it hits the wall behind him, creating a dent in the wall. I jump back a few more steps, scooping up a pair of scissors from the floor.
"Hey, wait a minute," he says, hands up. Making sure the scissors are nice and sharp, I fling them at him. He dodges the scissors too, cursing under his breath.
"Girl, I am not going to hurt you," he tells me. Not listening to him, I pick up random items off the floor and just start chucking them at him aimlessly.
"Stop it!" he shouts as he's pelted with a ruler, a bottle of hairspray, a stuffed doll and much more. He grabs my wrists just as I raise my arm up to throw a clock at him, stopping me. I struggle to get my arms free, twisting and writhing.
"Let go!" I cry, dropping the clock. I turn my face away from him.
"Calm down," he says softly. "Take a deep breath, yeah? Do it with me. Inhale.."
The man inhales deeply. I inhale too, obeying. Then he exhales. I exhale.
"See? It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He releases my wrists, holding his hands up. I turn to face him again.
"Are you...real? Or am I dreaming?" My voice wavers as I take him in. He's much taller than he appeared in the poster. He towers over me and I feel so small compared to his larger stature. This has to be a dream. But he looks real. He doesn't look blurry or grainy like people in dreams do. Just to be sure, I pinch myself. Ow. Pain greets me. I'm not dreaming.
"This isn't a dream. I'm real," he says.
"How did you get out of the picture?" My mind starts thinking up very absurd things, trying to comprehend what is happening. But I don't understand. How is this happening? Tell me I'm losing my mind, I want someone to tell me that I'm crazy.
"I jumped out of it."
He says it like it's the plainest, most normal thing in the world. Newsflash buddy. People don't just jump out of pictures. Everyone knows that. Oh jeez, I hope my mom doesn't hear any of this. The last thing I need right now is her coming up here to check things out.
"People don't just jump out of pictures," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He shrugs and doesn't reply.
"Oh gosh. What am I going to do? My mom's downstairs and I can't let her find out about you! She'll flip." I make a swirl motion with my finger. I wait for him to answer, but he just stands there. This is irritating. I wish he would say something because I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall. Maybe I am talking to the wall.
"Just jump back in or...something." I gesture to the empty poster. As if on queue, another picture of him appears inside of it as if he never left it. But yet, he still stands in front of me.
"I can do that."
"So do it!" I exclaim, waving my hands wildly. Before he can answer, I hear my mom's footsteps on the stairs.
"Carol!" she shouts. "What are you doing up there?"
Mind reeling, I think fast. I have to hide him! I grab him by the arm and open my closet door. "Get in and don't make a sound!"
I shove him inside and he doesn't protest. I close the door and lean casually against it. Not even a second later, my mom bursts through the door. With a gasp, she gapes at the mess in my room. It looks like a tornado has just been through here.
"What have you been doing in here?" mom asks shrilly, her mouth a perfect O.
"Um...nothing?" My mind flubs.
"Why is your room a mess? Why were you screaming if you haven't been doing anything?" she demands. "Don't lie to me, Carol."
I think up a quick lie, the first thing that pops into my head. "I...had a nightmare. I-I was screaming in my sleep."
Mom breathes out, seeming to calm a bit. "Okay. Are you alright?"
I nod silently.
"Clean this up later," she says sternly. "Hurry up and get ready for school. Janette will be here soon."
"Yes, mom."
Finally she leaves, shutting the door behind her. I don't open the closet door again until I hear her footsteps disappear down the stairs.