We five siblings decided to play Hide ‘N Seek at our grandparents’ home on one of the days during summer vacation. We chose twelve-year-old Bobby, the oldest of us, to be the seeker, and the rest would hide. Bobby began to count until twenty. The rest of us scrambled like mice before finalizing the hiding place close to the attic. We avoided the room below the attic, where a mysterious uncle had been staying since last week. Bobby remembered seeing him when he was seven and how that uncle was always smoking and getting into trouble with Grandpa. Then, one day, he just disappeared. Nobody talked about him until he suddenly returned after five years and occupied that room. We were indignant as two of us had to give up our room for him. He never came out, and Granny would take food and water for him. Sometimes, we heard her talking to him softly, like he was a child.
Downstairs, we could hear the adults chatting and the television blaring with the news constantly streaming. Pots and pans clanked in the kitchen, and Granny and our mother were setting the table. Granny had probably made her famous potato roast and walnut cake. A light aroma of freshly baked cake entered our nostrils, and our stomachs growled.
Bobby finished counting twenty and bellowed, “I am coming for you.”
The adult chatter stopped for a moment and commenced again.
“Those kids and their games,” we heard our father mutter.
We were hidden inside the cupboard near the staircase landing, with some discarded books, photographs, and a few spiders for company. We stumbled upon Grandpa’s old pictures in a dark blue cop uniform with badges. He looked terrifying with his sturdy and tall physique, thick mustache, and steel-grey eyes.
Bobby’s footsteps edged closer, and we peeped from the keyhole in the cupboard. Then one of us sneezed. We heard Bobby walking toward our cupboard—every step of his made a thunderous sound on the wooden floor. Our breathing became rapid. Around the same time, there was a screeching clamor of wheels and slamming of breaks. We heard quick, urgent footsteps outside the house as if they had no time to lose, followed by a loud hammering on the front door. The adult voices stopped, and the television was muted. The house was plunged into an eerie silence. Someone continued to bang on the door. We opened the cupboard door and wriggled out. Bobby turned around and placed his fingers to his lips.
“Shh,” he said.
The tension in the air was palpable, and we were unsure what would unfold next. We crowded around the staircase landing and watched Grandpa open the door. He was still tall and sturdy, but his hair had traces of white, along with a large white beard. A bulky-looking cop in a dark blue uniform stood there, along with two constables. The cop handed Grandpa a white paper. After reading it, Grandpa’s voice changed to a more serious tone. It was the same tone he used when he discovered us plucking bananas from his garden.
The sun was shining brightly outside. Crows were cawing, and sparrows were chirping.
“But isn’t there something…,” Grandpa tried to protest.
The burly cop stormed past Grandpa and climbed up the stairs. Grandpa followed him with a look of dismay. We crouched in terror, hoping no one would see us. Father tried to reason with the constables, who ignored him. We heard the sound of shattered glass, followed by Granny’s loud exclamation as Mother tried to calm her. Granny probably dropped a glass mug on the floor in shock. The burly cop hammered on the door to the mysterious uncle’s room before he broke it down. We could hear some commotion followed by a slap and a whimpering sound. The burly cop emerged, dragging the mysterious uncle from his room—a skinny man with long dark hair and bloodshot eyes. An odor of smoke emanated from him, and he was crying like a baby.
“No, please wait. Just listen,” Grandpa pleaded with the cop.
Granny was sobbing. Mother had her arms around her. The burly cop paid no heed but stormed out, followed by constables. Father stood rooted to the spot. His jaw dropped open. We heard their jeep roar down the street, leaving a cacophony of emotions behind. Shaken with terror, we retreated to the attic and found a strange solace in the musty scent of old newspapers and the sparrows chirping outside. We recollected Grandpa’s cop photograph, imagining the number of people who must have pleaded with him in the past as he did for that mysterious uncle. We were confused about what had happened, instigating us to contemplate who the mysterious uncle was. Was he an escaped prisoner? A criminal? Where was he all those years? Why did he suddenly return? Our appetites had disappeared, and we didn’t feel like playing any more games.
We spent the rest of the day in the attic, asking each other more questions none of us knew the answers to. Downstairs, the television was no longer blaring, but the adults were immersed in a serious discussion, with the occasional sobs from Granny floating in the air. We didn’t realize how much time had passed until our father came to fetch us. We must have been a sight—five children drenched in sweat, messy, fearful, and tired.
“Come down and eat something,” he said, exhaustion written all over his face.
We trudged down the stairs and glanced at the broken door of that mysterious uncle’s room. Could it be fixed? The silence at dinner time was stifling. Granny was still sniffling. None of us could eat a morsel. We didn’t dare ask what had happened or who that uncle was. When we later went to bed, we noticed the darkness outside created creepy shadowy figures on the walls. An owl hooted, and a dog wailed. We couldn’t sleep that night.
