Such simple things scare me. Hot, sunny days, dark shadows on the grass, children with red hair and the name "Harry".
My daughter Christine was five years old. It was a hot, sunny day and she was playing alone in the garden. I heard him talking to someone. I went out to see who it was, but there was no one there. I was surprised. "Who were you talking to?" I asked "Harry," he replied. "Harry who?" I asked He shrugged his shoulders. "Just Harry," she said. That evening, when my husband came home from work, I told him about it. He said that it was normal for children to have imaginary friends. I tried to get it out of my mind, but something about that name... Harry... shook my spine. The next day, Christine was playing again in the garden while I was in the kitchen. Then, I heard him talking to someone. When I looked out of the window, I felt that I could see a dark shadow on the grass. It looked like a person, but maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I tapped on the window and asked Christine to come in for dinner. "Can Harry also come?" He asked. "No!" I said. "Harry has to stay out." "But he is hungry," he said. "Who is Harry?" I asked "He is my brother," he replied. "But you have no brother," I told him. "Yes, I do," she said. "His name is Harry." "Who told you?" I asked "Harry told me," he said. My daughter spends every day in the garden, talks to her imaginary friend. After a while, it started worrying me, so I took him to see a psychiatrist. "All children need friends for their age," the psychiatrist told me. "If they don't have friends, they invent them. It's a normal part of childhood. She will forget all about it as soon as she starts school." I was convinced to talk to a psychiatrist, but I couldn't help you feel nervous. After a few days, Chirstine started school. I saw that she went to the front door of the school and went inside.
I had to do something. I took a bus in the city and made my way into a big gray building. I had been visiting the building for four years. This was the orphanage where we adopted Christine. The woman running the orphanage opened the door and invited me inside. I told him that I need to know about Christine's history. Who were the parents of his birth? Where were they now? Did they die and if so, how did they die? "I'm sorry," the woman said. "We have strict rules about dividing such information." I told him that it was very unqualified. I begged and begged. I sat on my knees. Finally, the woman said, "very well," she said. "But it must be strict between us ... Christine was born into a very poor family. Her parents didn't want her. They were drug addicts and they neglected their children. The house they lived in was in a terrible state. One night, mother and father came into a violent argument. The father grabbed the knife and stabbed his wife." Oh God! "I said." When the police arrived, it was all over. They found the chistine in the garden, held in the arms of their brother. She was unhappy. Her brother was dead. He was stabbed badly and as soon as he was dying, he managed to take Christine into protection. He found his father and mother in the house. I was in tears. "What was his name?" I asked in a trembling voice. "His brother ... what was his name?" "His name was Harry," he replied. I stumbled out of the orphanage in a gaze. I wandered out of the streets. Where I was going. The name "Harry" was roaming in my mind. I felt like I was in a bad dream. I was very scared, but I did not know why. Then, I looked at my watch. Was after 3 o'clock. I had to choose Christine from school and I was already late. I boarded a bus and finally, I reached school. I went under the hallway and went to class, where I found the teacher collecting my books. "I am very sorry that I was late," I started panting. "Where is Christine?" "Christine?" The teacher said. "He's gone." "Gone?" I cried, aghast. "Yes. His brother picked him up a few minutes ago." My heart drowned in my chest. Without another word, I ran out and started shouting my daughter's name. I was running on the road in search of my daughter, screaming and crying. There was no use. He was gone. I spent the next two weeks in bed. Was on. His face was on milk cartons. Everyone was looking for him, but it was as if he had disappeared into the thin air. After a while, people lost interest and the search was closed. It remained just another unsolved mystery. Since then years have passed, but the pain in my heart is never over. Dark shade on the grass, children with red hair and the name "Harry".
