In fairy stories new and old

The hero’s always brave and bold.

A handsome mien, a dashing face,

A body steeped in charm and grace.

Our story takes a different lean,

Our hero whilst by no chance mean

Already famed throughout the lands

For vanquishing with his small hands

A villain of unparalleled sin

We pray to never see again.

Unaware of his undoubted fame

Our hero does not know his name.

He sits inside a cupboard dusty

Alone with rubbish dank and musty.

For though our hero is yet a boy

He never sees a book nor toy.

He waits and wishes in the dark

For rescue from his life so stark.

He does not wish for wealth or gold

Or packages of toys untold.

Our hero wishes for one gift

Of which he has been long bereft

He hopes and wishes to all above

For a little show of simply love.

Silence.

Click, scrape.

“Pet, I’m home. Dudders where are you? Daddy’s got a treat!”

Clomp, stamp, clomp, stamp, clomp stamp.

“Daddy! What is it Daddy? What is it?”

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

“Wow Daddy! Thank you. Mummy, look what Daddy got for me!”

“It’s lovely pumpkin. Why don’t you go and play with it in you room? Dinner will be ready soon. Mummy will call you. Go on Diddydums.”

Clomp, stamp, clomp, stamp, clomp, stamp.

“Vernon you really are spoiling him. He’s so precious though. I just love the look on his face every time he gets something new…”

Silence.

“Diddy? Dinner is ready precious. Diddy? Quickly now my darling, we don’t want it to get cold.”

Clomp, stamp, clomp, stamp, clomp stamp.

“Mummy is there chocolate ice cream for pudding again?”

“Yes poppet, of course.”

“With sprinkles? And chocolate sauce?”

“Y…”

Silence.

*************************

A few weeks later.

The boy sat in his cupboard. Dusty blanket on the floor and a tattered teddy bear clutched tightly to his chest. He had just had his best Christmas to date. Aunt Petunia had given him one of Dudley’s old toys. The teddy bear was missing a leg, an eye and quite a lot of stuffing but the boy didn’t mind. The boy had been given a present, an old unwanted present but it was his, for now at any rate.

Through the slats in the air vent the boy could see Dudley sitting next to the Christmas tree. Dudley was a good boy, a special boy. Dudley was so good that Santa had brought him lots of presents, new presents. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given Dudley lots of presents too and Aunt Marge had brought more presents than the boy had ever seen. Presents and wrapping paper littered the floor around Dudley and he crowed in delight with each new gift. Dudley was special. Boy was a freak. But the boy had his own present this year. Aunt Petunia had said the boy could keep it if he was good and quiet and didn’t do anything freaky whilst Aunt Marge was here to stay.

The boy was scared of Aunt Marge. She was Uncle Vernon’s sister and she was big and loud. Her voice boomed when she talked and she didn’t like the boy. No one liked the boy but Aunt Marge liked him even less. What was worse was that her dog didn’t like him either. Ripper growled at the boy every time he saw him. Ripper had pointy, sharp teeth and the boy was more scared of him that of anything else in his life. He was even more scary than the nightmares the boy had. The boy felt scared when he had the nightmares but it was only green light. Green light and laughing. There was nothing scary about green light and laughing; they couldn’t hurt you. Ripper’s teeth could though. His teeth could bite clean through an arm or a leg. Aunt Marge had told the boy so.

So the boy sat in his cupboard and was quiet. He was quiet and he was good and he pretended that he wasn’t there. And whilst he pretended, he hoped and he wished. He didn’t wish for presents. He knew that freaks didn’t deserve presents and he believed it. He had been lucky that he was given the teddy. What the boy wished for more than anything in the world was that he could have someone to hug him like Aunt Petunia was hugging Dudley now. Dudley had hurt his finger on the wrapping paper and Aunt Petunia was cuddling him and rocking him and planting little kisses all over the finger. She tucked his head on her shoulder, under her chin and gently dried his tears. She called him Precious and told him that it would be okay. The boy wanted someone to cuddle him and tell him it would be okay. But freaks aren’t loved. Freaks aren’t wanted. And the one thing the boy knew more than anything was that he was a freak.