Fiction

Treehouse of Illusions

by Izzy, Grade 7

Matthew liked to think of his treehouse as a safe place. It was an escape of sorts; a break from the pessimism and monstrosity that was his reality. Or, at least, how he perceived his reality. Matthew -- imaginative, fun-loving, and rather self-centered -- wasn’t nearly as unlucky as he believed himself to be. In fact, it was true at times that he wished for a life of depression and hopelessness, just for the sake of being rid of the terrorizing guilt that told him to stop complaining. His greatest fear was to lose his treehouse, or worse yet, that it had already been lost.

Now, ordinary people could be thinking: how, exactly, did one go about losing something as large and noticeable as a treehouse? Who would even want to steal an adolescent boy’s treehouse? Unlike, perhaps, a hundred-dollar bill, it was of no significance to thieves, and even if it were, how would one even go about taking it? See, it wasn’t the treehouse itself that Matthew was directly afraid of being stolen. That would be utterly ridiculous, even for his standards. Still, truth be told, the real reason wasn’t any less ridiculous.

Matthew had heard voices in his head. Of course, everybody hears voices in their head, especially when they’re thinking. But Matthew, either too trapped in his own world to realize this, or perhaps having chosen to ignore the fact, had taken the internal voices as a sign. A sign that he would forfeit his treehouse, or forfeit his soul.

“At midnight, the decision shall arise,” a voice rasped, and the air around Matthew had suddenly turned crisp and alert. “Wait you will; that would be quite wise.”

“When the clock strikes twelve, you will dive very deep.” A deeper voice interrupted, and Matthew assumed it was referring to the small pond just across the street. He almost smiled as he reflected on all of the fun times he and his siblings -- his little brother Peter and teenage sister Rita -- had spent in that exact pond. “With you, Matthew, shall be small little Pete.” The voice, Matthew decided, was not the best poet. Then again, neither was he, so he couldn’t talk - err, think, as the case may be.

What did the lines mean? Matthew figured it had to be referring to the pond; that was for certain. Pete, he decided, likely meant Peter. So, basically… he and Peter were supposed to dive into the pond together, and then the treehouse would be safe? But how could they swim in the cold weather without getting sick?

Anything for the treehouse.

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And so, as he had imagined, Matthew found a way to convince his parents to allow himself and Peter to go swimming at midnight. Well, not midnight -- he wasn’t going to tell them exactly how late he was planning to go -- but offering to do all of the extra credit work possible and some chores around the house helped him to convince them. Matthew was quite creative, but his grades didn’t live up to that fact.

“Thanks for letting me come, Matty!” Peter giggled and bobbed his head excitedly. “I’ve never been up this late before. I tried once, but Rita gave me a scary look,” the little boy shivered. Matthew had indeed had similar experiences with his older sister. “Why are we doing this anyways? The Fall’s a horrible time to swim!”

“Oh, um,” Matthew racked his brain for a believable lie. “‘Cause it looks cool at night, y’know, with all the leaves with their, uh, colors.”

Peter, incapable of believing Matthew could ever tell a lie or be in the wrong, didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “Awesome! Let’s go!” Was his only response. The two boys clumsily walked down the street, barely stopping to look both ways before leaving their property. This would prove to be a moment of regret for both boys.

“What is that?” Peter stopped in the middle and looked at the two bright lights moving towards the boys.

Matthew’s head whipped around. At first, he saw a flicker of a car, which was then taken over by one of his enemy (it was a one-sided rivalry), Nathan, and finally one of a gigantic, scarlet-colored demon. Matthew shrieked. “It’s Nathano, Pete, it’s Nathano!”

If Peter didn’t have such admiration for his older brother, he would’ve burst out laughing. “Nathano? You mean like Nathan, that boy you hate so much?”

“No, Peter, you don’t understand! Nathano only pretends to be Nathan at school… He’s a demon!” Matthew exclaimed. Peter, innocent and oblivious, took him at face value.

Even naïve Peter understood that his brother was out of his mind, but for different reasons than one might think. “His name is Nathano? That’s a terrible alias.”

“I didn’t choose it,” Matthew shrugged.

“Why’s Nathano so evil, anyways?” Peter was considerably less excited after learning the demon’s name was Nathano, of all names (and quite understandably).

Matthew spoke in a hushed tone. “Nathano… Nathano is evil because he wants the treehouse. Nathano and his army of monsters. They want the memories that it savors; the happiness it endures.”

Peter, although skeptical at this point, was more than willing to play along with his brother’s fantasies. “Then I’ll beat him up!” he exclaimed, and charged energetically at the so-called demon that, in reality, had been a car the whole time.

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“You’re such an idiot,” Rita spat, for the umpteenth time. “Such an idiot.”

“Will you shut up?” Matthew glared at his sister. “I said I was sorry.”

Rita returned the gesture. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You could’ve killed your own brother, for goodness sake, all for some silly little game of yours. He almost got hit by that car! And what did you even think it was? A demon?!”

“Calm down, you two, break it up,” their father intervened, but he gave Matthew a stern look. “Your sister is right, you know. We love how creative you are, Matt, but at some point you have to draw the line.”

Matthew grumbled to himself, cheeks reddening. “It’s not a game.”

Rita fired back, “Oh yes it is!”

“How am I the only one who sees the truth?” Matthew protested.

“The ‘truth?’ Really? That’s a load of BS and you know it!” Rita clenched her fists.

This time their mother ended the argument. “Mind your language, Rita,” she started. “I agree that Matthew went much too far this time in all of his silliness. What’s more, it ended with Peter almost terribly hurt. Matthew will be grounded for a month.”

For a moment she looked like she was about to cry. There were tears on her husband’s face already. “But fighting won’t fix anything. I must ask, however… Matthew, why did you do it?” the softness in her tone caught Matthew by surprise.

Matthew opened his mouth to respond. He was going to speak of all of the voices in his head, how his treehouse was in trouble. He was going to tell a story of how the evil Nathanos was ready to attack, and Peter had courageously saved him, how Peter was the only one who understood what was really going on, and he paid the price. He was going to admit to his family how it was all to save the treehouse; the treehouse of monsters, like Nathano, ghosts, and even zombies. It was all for the treehouse. But really, how much of it had been with the treehouse in mind?

But something stopped him. Maybe -- just maybe -- the boy realized how selfish his words would have been; how insane this -- all of this -- really was. What was he doing? Why? “I…” he started, and for the first time ever, Matthew felt self-conscious. He was the color of a tomato. “I don’t know.”