For as long as I had worked at Carfax Manor the door at the end of the hall on the second floor of the west wing had always been closed. When I was first employed by the Carfax family, it was Mrs. Carfax who told me that I was not permitted to enter that room under any circumstance.
I did not question it at first for I pushed it out of my mind completely as I went about the manor, cleaning and attending to the needs of the Carfax children, but as the months went on, I began to wonder what this family wanted to keep from all the staff of the manor.
Every night I would hear the voices of Mr and Mrs. Carfax down by the door and go into the locked room, only to come out an hour later. One night as I went to my room, I saw Mr. Carfax carry a small, childish figure into the room, taking no notice of me.
My mind longed to know what was going on. Why were the lord and lady of the house going into that room at night? Who was being kept in that room? I began to wonder if something of the sinister nature was occurring in this manor.
Half a year had passed before I summoned the nerve to at least stand outside the door and press my ear against it. Perhaps I could hear something and I did; a young boy's voice could be heard muttering from behind the door. I peered through the keyhole but saw no one but the edge of a bed, rug, and a large window.
Then one day, as I was heading out of the manor on holiday, I saw the door was slightly ajar.
Here was my chance to see for myself what was behind that door and who was in the room muttering to themselves. A part of me urged me to continue down the hallway to the stairs and forget about the door but my curiosity got the better of me.
I set my traveling bag on the floor outside the door and gently pushed it open. Immediately I was met by the sight of a wheelchair perched in front of the window and a small figure hunched over in it.
I crept my way further into the room and surveyed my surroundings. There was a plain bed set to the right of me and a bookshelf with a wardrobe next to it. There were shelves on the walls with toys lining them. Next to the bed was an bedside table with a wash basin resting on top of it. At the foot of the bed was a battered chest. Overall, the room looked out of place with the rest of the manor. The furniture and toys were cheaply made and the room seemed grey and dreary.
Tentatively, I approached the figure in the wheelchair, feeling afraid for what I was about to see. To my shock and horror, the figure curled in the wheelchair was a young boy no older than ten years of age. His hands were claw-like in appearance, his knees tightly drawn in together, his feet bent inward and his head lolled to one side of his body.
His eyes shifted and caught me in their gaze. He turned his head slowly, like it was a difficult task for him to accomplish, and regarded me curiously. Although I was a stranger, he showed no fear at my intrusion. "Hello." He croaked.
I returned the greeting and crouched next to the boy. I felt great pity for the child; here he was forced to spend most of his time alone in this room watching the world go by from his window.
"Why was the door open?" I asked. I didn't know whether the simple-minded child would be able to give me a clear answer but I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask.
The boy wheezed. "The neighbours were having some trouble so mummy left in a hurry."
The child gazed out of the window and smiled, his eyes glittering. He gestured towards the window with one clawed hand. "There was a butterfly!" He cried gleefully.
I smiled at his joyful expression. "Yes. Butterflies are very pretty."
"I wish I could be a butterfly." The boy commented absentmindedly.
"Why?"
"Then I could fly away." The boy stretched his arms out as far as he could (which wasn't very far) in an effort to mimic a pair of wings.
I then realized I didn't know the boy's name. "What is your name?"
"Christopher."
"Hello Christopher, my name is Esther."
The Carfaxes had never told me about them having another son. How many acquaintances of the Carfax family went about their lives ignorant of the outcast son that was locked away in his room?
Christopher was fidgeting in his wheelchair and mumbling to himself, seeing something that I obviously couldn't. I wondered what it was like being in the mind of the mentally ill.
I looked over my shoulder and listened for any sign that someone might be approaching but the house was silent. How strange. I thought.
"Do you get lonely here Christopher?" I asked.
The child slowly shook his head. "I have my friends to keep me company."
"Who are your friends?"
Christopher pointed over his shoulder to his bed where a stuffed bear and dragon sat. "Wilfred and Simon like to sit on my bed."
I smiled sadly. "They're lovely friends to have."
I glanced out of the window and saw Mrs. Carfax coming up the lawn. Oh no, I thought. I can't let her catch me in here!
"Christopher it was lovely meeting you," I said. "I have to go now."
The boy simply waved his hand in farewell and averted his attention back to the window.
I left the room, leaving the door the way it was and quickly headed out of the house with my traveling bag firmly in hand. I went back to live with my family for several months but I couldn't get Christopher Carfax out of my mind.
When I returned to Carfax manor, the room at the end of the hall was empty of the neglected child. I didn't dare ask what had happened but judging by the missing belongings, I came to the conclusion that young Christopher had been sent off to a hospital or relatives.
It was then I decided to terminate my employment at the manor and seek work elsewhere. I didn't want to be in the same house anymore and be reminded of the young child I had met.
I have often wondered since then how Mr. and Mrs. Carfax could have treated their child like that but I have heard such treatment isn't uncommon.
I wish I could have done something for Christopher, but I had neither the skill nor means to care for one so dependent on others.
I wish I knew where he went. Perhaps I'll never know. I just hope he's somewhere better.735Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmqZpqo0NhW
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A/N: Being the history buff that I am; this story takes place in the 19th century. It was typical for families with mental or physically disabled children to lock them away out of sight of the public and family.
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