My younger brother Charlie had Down syndrome. As young as I was, my mother still expected me to look out for him. My dad left us shortly after Charlie was born, leaving my mom to raise the two of us alone. The house we lived in was far enough from town that I rarely had a chance to play with other kids my age. Our closest neighbor was almost a mile in either direction, so most of the time it was just me and Charlie.
Charlie was in the higher IQ range for his disability, so most of the time it never crossed my mind. He did have some bad episodes though. If he got mad enough, he would hurt himself. Mostly just punches to the legs, arms, maybe to his face if he was really mad. He was never alone, so one of us always stopped him before he could do any real damage to himself.
For Charlie and I, the allure of the cemetery was the large mounds of dirt near the edge of the surrounding woods. They were like huge sandboxes to us. Charlie knew enough not to tell mom if she asked where we had been playing. It never occurred to me to wonder where those piles of dirt came from. When a grave is dug, and a coffin placed within, some of the earth remains. Our “sandboxes” were the displaced earth of a souls’ final resting place.
One Saturday afternoon we were playing in our favorite spot, knowing that my mother was working behind the house where she couldn’t see us. Charlie had been digging for short time when I heard him start to chuckle. I stopped what I was doing to see what was so funny. At first it looked like a twisted tree branch, but after brushing the dirt off I could see it was something far more interesting. Charlie had unearthed a human jawbone. It was relatively small, most likely it had belonged to a child close to our age.
Charlie quickly snatched it away from me, insisting it was his “treasure” and I couldn’t touch it. If I had any sense I would have immediately thought to call the police, or at least tell my mother (of course the latter would have been guaranteed self-incrimination). Just then I heard my mother calling to us. Before I had time to think of what to do next, Charlie shoved the bone into his coat pocket, and we darted back through the woods.
We reached the house quickly enough that my mother didn’t think to ask where we’d been. As we went inside Charlie took his coat off and hung it in the hallway. While he wasn’t looking I hastily slipped my hand into the coat and tucked the bone into my pants pocket. Charlie realized then what he had forgotten in his coat. He was furious. He dug through every pocket, shook it as hard as he could, and searched every inch of the floor between him and the door. He screamed “My treasure! Where is my treasure!”. My mother glared at me, but I swore I had no idea what he was talking about. I quickly ducked away to my room and hid the jaw underneath my bed.
For the rest of the evening Charlie was completely distraught. He paced back and forth in our front hallway, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with his hands. My mother and I made several attempts to get him to calm down, but nothing could get through to him. After six hours he had completely exhausted himself and fell asleep in the corner by the door. My mother carried him into our room and tucked us in.
The next morning I didn’t wake up until almost 9:30AM, which was strange. Charlie was always up by 8:00AM to watch cartoons with me. I got up and looked in his bed, he wasn’t there. Being careful not to wake my mother, I searched all over the house, there was no sign of him. Then I remembered the events of the previous night. Suddenly I knew where I had to look.
I had to find him before my mother woke up. I passed his coat still hanging by the door on my way outside. Once I was out of earshot of the house I started calling his name. As I approached the edge of the cemetery I felt a wave of relief, I could make out his figure lying down on the side one of the dirt mounds, I ran towards him. He must have fallen asleep there, how long had he been outside? I called his name even louder now, nothing. Something wasn’t right, his clothes were different now. Darker, somehow. I slowed down to catch my breath. His motionless form came into view, but his face, what was wrong with his face?
I fell to my knees, my eyes widened, air pushed from my lungs like I had been kicked in the chest. Charlie’s clothes were soaked in blood, his face unrecognizable from the nose down. The bottom half of his face wasn’t there. I struggled to comprehend the horrifying scene before me. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t turn and run, I was completely stunned. Darkness enveloped my field of vision as I collapsed to the ground.
Although the pathologist who performed the autopsy strongly doubted Charlie’s physical ability to tear his own jaw from his skull, his death was officially ruled a suicide. The fact that his jaw was never recovered was attributed to an animal most likely making a meal of his remains.
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Credits to: xumbi
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