Jason's Last Wish
© J. R. McLemore

There wasn’t a thing to do and Jason was bored out of his mind. He and his parents had recently moved to Atlanta so they could be nearer to Emory Hospital, nearer to Dr. Haber, a leading physician in the field of cancer research. Jason’s parents put a lot of confidence in the doctor’s abilities due to the latest breakthrough his team had made in cancer treatment.

Jason plopped down on a chair in the kitchen, where his mom was busy preparing dinner. She was preparing two separate meals; one for her and Mike, Jason’s father, and a special meal for Jason. Dr. Haber had given specific dietary instructions for their son.

“Mom, it’s boring here. I wish we never moved,” he said.

“Honey, why don’t you go read a book—”

“I’m tired of reading. I want to go outside.”

“You know you can’t. If you get hurt, it could—”

“I know. I know.”

He was tired of hearing about his fragile condition and his hypersensitivity to infections. It was the chemotherapy. It wreaked havoc on his immune system. He’d already had two treatments before arriving in Atlanta. His hair fell out and he wore a red baseball cap to hide the baldness. He did not have any eyebrows either. When he looked in the mirror, a sad, pale, skinny kid stared back at him.

“Baby, you know why we moved here. Dr. Haber thinks this treatment can help make you better,” his mom said, peeling potatoes over the garbage can.

Jason turned, thinking about retreating to the basement as his mother was speaking. Every day it was the same routine. He begged and pleaded to go outside, to escape the boredom indoors, and every day his mother shot down his requests.

He approached the door leading downstairs and opened it. His mother did not mind if he played down there because she thought it was safer than outside. It was a huge subterranean open space with cinderblock walls. Squares of indoor-outdoor carpet covered part of the cement floor. Along two walls was a narrow cement shelf, where Jason’s old toys rested. The boxes his parents used during the move from Ohio lay stacked beneath the stairs. A door on the far side of the basement opened onto a narrow side yard. A small creek separated the side yard from a thicket of woods.

The last time Jason had been in the basement was two days ago with his mother, as she tried to get him to play with some of his old toys. He wasn’t interested in any of the toys. He considered them old for a reason. He wanted to play with some kids his own age. He had grown tired of his own company.

Jason closed the door behind him, turned on the light in the stairwell, and walked down the steps. The air grew cooler and mustier as he descended. At the bottom, he had to walk a few feet into the center of the room to pull the string for the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He glanced at the ledge where his toys lay in piles. As the light bulb swayed, the shadows grew and receded making his toys look less appealing than ever, dusty and neglected. He walked over, pulled down a Sit-N-Spin, and set it on the floor. He placed his foot on it and turned the disc back and forth. He decided he didn’t want to play with it after all.

His eye traveled along the ledge in front of him, scanning the piles of playthings. A box of Legos, another box of Lincoln Logs, some roller blades, Star Wars action figures, plastic Army machine guns; none of it interested him.

Finally, in the shadows at the corner of the room, he saw the heap of folded boxes under the steps and had an idea. He pulled out one of the flat boxes, opened it, and placed it on the floor. He took more of the cardboard boxes from the pile, opened them as he did the first, placing them in a line in front of one another. He looked through them, at the tunnel he’d created.

“Jason, wash up. It’s time to eat,” he heard his mother call from upstairs, her voice distant.

He stood back and surveyed the room. The loose maze of boxes stretched out before him, nearly twelve boxes in all, and there were still plenty of boxes under the steps.

When Jason went upstairs, he saw his father’s briefcase in the foyer, sitting next to the front door. His dad was in the bathroom washing for dinner. The water stopped and the door opened.

“Hiya Champ,” his dad said, and thumped the bill of Jason’s baseball cap.

“Hey dad,” Jason said, stepping into the bathroom to wash his own hands.

When he was finished, he took his place at the dining room table. His mother had already filled his plate with vegetables and chicken.

His dad scooped steamy pasta onto his own plate while Jason’s mother placed some garlic bread and parmesan cheese in the center of the table.

“What’ve you been up to for the last half hour?” his mother asked.

“I’ve been making a fort in the basement.”

His mother looked up at him, appearing to object to his new endeavor, but his father interjected.

“That sounds fun,” he said, looking at Beth in an attempt to stop her from scolding Jason.

She shot Mike a wide-eyed expression of resentment.

“It is,” Jason said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“You’ll have to call us down to see it when you’re finished,” his dad said.

Jason said he would and speared some broccoli with his fork. His dad started discussing his day at work. During his parent’s conversation, Jason managed to shovel most of his supper into his mouth.

“Whoa! Slow down before you choke yourself,” his mom said.

He tried to reply, but his mouth was too full. His dad sided with his mother and gave him a pitiful look. Jason swallowed what was in his mouth and finished off the last few bites of chicken and broccoli in a more civilized manner. When he was finished, he asked to be excused.

“I guess. Rinse off your plate and put it in the dishwasher, please.”

Jason did as mother asked and opened the basement door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked him.

“I’m gonna go work on my fort,” he said.

“No. I think it’s a little late to play in the basement. You can go back down there tomorrow after your doctor’s appointment. Why don’t—”

“Aw come on, mom,” he protested and slumped against the door still holding onto the knob.

“You heard your mother. You can go back downstairs tomorrow,” his dad said.

Jason closed the door, went upstairs to his room, and changed for bed. He had blood tests scheduled the following day at Dr. Haber’s office.

When Jason and his mother arrived home from the doctor’s office, he immediately went downstairs to arrange the boxes for his fort. Beth entered the house through the kitchen, just in time to see him closing the basement door.

“Honey? Are you sure you don’t want to rest for a while?” she called to him.

He answered her as he descended the steps, “No. I want to work on my fort, mom.”

A few minutes later, he emerged from downstairs. His mother was emptying the dishwasher when he approached her.

“Mom, do we have any tape?”

Beth stopped what she was doing, her right hand holding silverware. “What kind of tape? Scotch tape?”

“No, something stronger. I want to tape the boxes together.”

She thought for a moment as she put some of the utensils away.

“There might be some packing tape in the utility drawer,” she told him.

Jason pulled open the drawer nearest the den, where his parents stored miscellaneous items such as flashlights and batteries. He shuffled things around, finally spying a silver roll of duct tape, which he plucked from its hiding place.

“Thanks, mom,” he said, running past her.

“Stop running,” she said over her shoulder, but he was already clomping down the steps.

Jason pulled the flap of tape. It made a ripping sound as it peeled off the roll. When he had an arm’s length, he bit the strip at the base and ripped it free. He hated the weird taste the adhesive left on his teeth. The strip fluttered and stuck to itself as he dropped the roll on the floor. He had quite a time straightening the sticky strip, but once he had it undone, he placed it along the edge of two boxes, securing them together.

He repeated the process until six of the boxes were joined, creating the beginning of a tunnel leading to the main part of the fort, which was a refrigerator box standing at the far end of the room, next to the outside door.

“—ason”, something faintly whispered.

He smoothed out the latest piece of tape he’d applied to two boxes and stopped. Did he just hear someone call his name? Was it his mom? He was listening carefully now, but heard nothing. The basement was quiet. After a moment, and still not hearing anything, he resumed his work.

“Jason”

This time the sound was a little clearer than it was the first time. More articulate, but still whispery. Jason paused, holding one end of the tape. He knew he heard his name.

“MOM?” he yelled from his kneeling position on the cement floor.

There was no answer. He slapped the tape against the box and ran upstairs. The kitchen was empty. He walked into the den, where he found his mother sitting on the sofa reading a book. A glass of wine sat on the coffee table.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Did you call me?”

“No. I’ve been reading.”

“Okay. I thought I heard you call me.”

His mother took a sip of her wine and shook her head. Jason went back downstairs.

In the basement, he continued fastening boxes together with tape. When he was close to the end of his box-tunnel, and near the end of the roll of tape, he heard his name again. This time, it sounded like it floated in on a gust of wind, although there was no breeze blowing. He stopped, and stared at the large refrigerator box.

Jason walked slowly toward the tall box. The basement was silent, except for his breathing. He was scared of what he might find. After all, he was the only one down here, or at least he thought so. He circled the box, finding no one, and then pushed the box over. Still nothing. He was alone, but he knew he heard his name. The sound came from the direction of the box, or so it seemed.

From upstairs, he heard the front door close and footsteps move from the foyer to the kitchen. Muffled voices followed. His dad was home. Jason ran upstairs to ask him if he could bring home another roll of tape on his way home from work tomorrow.

The following day was bad for Jason. He felt weak and queasy when he woke up. When he finally managed to pull himself out of bed, his mother let him lie on the sofa, resting his head in her lap, as he watched cartoons. On television, Tom was chasing Jerry with a mop.

It was then that Jason’s nose began to bleed profusely. Beth pinched his nostrils and staunched the bleeding with tissues. She cleaned him up and placed a cool washcloth on his forehead; after a while, he went to sleep. When he woke up a couple of hours later, he felt better.

“I want to go downstairs and play in my fort,” he said. His voice was hoarse and he was still a little groggy.

She looked at him with that worried mother’s look and it reinforced what she said next, “I don’t think you’re up for playing in the basement, baby.”

Jason gave her a look of annoyance, his lower lip protruding as he pouted.

“All right, you can go play for an hour, then I want you to come up here and rest for a while,” she relented.

He scrambled to his feet, eager to go downstairs.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it. Only an hour.”

Jason nodded and ran off. A moment later, the basement door slammed shut and the sound of his clomping footsteps faded down the steps.

Jason looked upon the curving maze of taped boxes leading toward the larger refrigerator box at the far end of the cellar. There was only one last thing he needed to do, join the maze to the larger box.

He picked up some heavy-duty scissors he’d found the previous day and began cutting a circle into the refrigerator box. When he finished removing the piece of cardboard, he pushed the box against the maze’s exit. His father wasn’t home, so he didn’t have any tape to secure the two pieces together. He decided he could play in it now and tape them together later.

He walked back to the first box he had assembled, to its gaping mouth, and knelt. The passageway was dark as coal. Jason began to crawl slowly through the tunnel. As he made his way through it, he pretended to be an archaeologist, searching one of the secret passages of the great pyramids.

Halfway through the maze he heard something ahead of him in the dark. It sounded like something brushing against the cardboard. He stopped and listened. The sound was intermittent. Scared, he turned around in the tight confines and crawled hurriedly back to the opening. Once outside, he stood up. His legs felt tired when he straightened them. He looked back at his creation, listening. He could hear the soft rustle of something against the sides of the boxes, but it was still sporadic.

He went upstairs and retrieved a flashlight from the utility drawer. Downstairs, he stood in front of the fort, listening. His heart was beating fast. He was curious about what was making the noises. As he stood there waiting, the noises ceased.

Jason dropped down to his hands and knees again, and clicked the black rubber button on the flashlight. He kept the beam focused in front of him as he navigated through the tunnel. The light bobbed along the walls as he proceeded. Periodically, he would stop to listen, but heard nothing. He abandoned the thought of being an archaeologist in King Tut’s tomb.

Finally, the flashlight beam landed on the edge of the circle Jason had cut into the huge box at the end of the maze. He was a couple of feet from the end now. He saw the heel of a tennis shoe move across the front of the entrance. Someone was waiting inside.

There was no sound, but the sight alone doubled Jason’s heartbeat instantly. He was so scared he wanted to burst out of the taped seams of the maze and run away, but he knew he was too weak to do any such thing. An icy chill gripped him.

“Who’s there?” he asked. His voice was shaky and feeble in the dark.

Dust motes danced in the light’s beam as he kept it trained on the box’s opening. He could no longer see any part of whoever was inside.

“Don’t be afraid Jason,” came a voice from the darkness. The voice sounded young, like it might belong to a boy his age. “I just want someone to play with.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I heard your mom call you. I’ve been hiding down here so I wouldn’t scare you.”

“How did you get in here? Where’ve you been hiding?” Jason asked, curious.

“I’m a wraith and I used to live here. I know where all the hiding places are; that’s why you never saw me. I was hoping we could play together.”

Jason was wondering what a wraith was. He had no idea and wanted to see what one looked like.

“Poke your head out so I can see you,” Jason said to the voice.

A face peeked around the jagged edge of the opening. Jason eased the beam onto the kid’s face. A hand emerged to shield the owner’s eyes from the glare. The boy’s face looked normal enough.

Jason asked, “What’s your name?” His fear began to subside when he saw the face of a young boy, the eyes defenseless against the bright light.

“Michael,” the boy answered.

“Jason! Time to come upstairs,” his mother called.

Jason told Michael that he had to go, his mother was strict about his rest, and that he would be back as soon as he could. “Don’t leave. I want to play,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” Michael assured him.

Jason climbed the stairs. The basement door shut with a bang, and he returned the flashlight to the utility drawer.

Beth began preparing dinner and watched as he replaced the flashlight. “What’re you doing with that?”

“I’m just putting it back where I got it from, like you always tell me to do,” he said. He was winded from the short distance up the stairs, just another sign that the cancer was wrecking his body.

“No. I mean, why did you have it?”

“Oh. Because it’s dark inside the fort.”

Beth turned to him with an indulgent smile on her face, then she said, “Okay. You go wash up and rest on the sofa until your dad gets home. Dinner should be ready by then.”

“Can I go play in my fort after I eat?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to see how you’re feeling. I’d rather you wait until tomorrow, after you’ve had plenty of rest.”

Jason made a sour face, and went into the den, where he turned on the TV to watch Nickelodeon.

One show led to another as he lay on the sofa. The smell of onions and peppers wafted in from the kitchen. He could hear something sizzling in the frying pan and the sound of his mother walking from the stove to the sink. Then, he heard the front door open, and sat up to watch his father enter the foyer and set his briefcase down.

“Dad!” he said and ran into his father’s embrace.

“How was your day, kiddo?”

“It was fun. I finished my fort.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I may have to come down and see it.”

“Did you get any more tape,” Jason asked, cocking his head to one side.

His dad frowned. “Sorry buddy, I forgot. Work was pretty hectic today and it slipped my mind. I’ll get you some tomorrow though.”

“You don’t have to. I just needed to tape two more boxes together, but I can do without it.”

Mike walked into the kitchen carrying Jason. Beth looked up at them both.

“Are my boys ready to eat?” she asked them.

Mike inhaled and said, “That smells wonderful. What are we having?”

“Sausage and peppers over rice.” A rare meal, one they could all enjoy together.

“Oh that’s my favorite!” Jason said.

“Go wash up.”

Each of them sat at the table eating and talking about their day. After describing the busy day he had at work, Mike put a spoonful of food into his mouth, allowing Jason a chance to ask his question.

“Dad, can I go back downstairs and play in my fort when I finish eating?” He had grown tired of asking his mother; besides, he knew what she might say.

Mike looked at him and then at Beth. “I don’t know. What did your mother say?” he asked, feeling as though he were walking into an ambush.

Jason looked at his mom and replied, “She said maybe, if I felt all right.”

“Was today a bad day? I thought you said you had fun,” his dad said.

“It was a fun day, but it started out icky.”

“He had a bloody nose this morning,” Beth told Mike.

His dad looked at him sadly. “You know you need to rest, son. You’re not well.”

Jason’s heart broke to hear his dad say this. One thing he loved was how his dad never let anyone know that the cancer affected him, too. He acted as though nothing serious was wrong with his son, nothing so grim anyway. If he cried, it was in private.

“I want to play with my new friend,” Jason told them both.

“Who is this friend?” Beth asked him. She winked at Mike, and mouthed the words, imaginary friend.

“His name’s Michael. I met him today in my fort,” Jason said.

Mike smiled, thinking Beth was right. Their son had created an imaginary friend to help combat the boredom he faced confined in the house. Mike knew it was hard on Jason, cooped up in the house every day with no interaction with children his own age, but he was confident that in the end the treatments Dr. Haber was administering would cure his son’s cancer.

“Sure, Champ, you can go play, but only for a little while. You’ve got another appointment tomorrow, so you can’t play for long,” Mike said.

“Hey dad, what’s a wraith?”

Mike’s eyebrows pinched together, suspicious of such a seemingly random question, and said, “A wraith is like a ghost.”

“Oh, okay.” Jason seemed to consider this as he dug his spoon around in his rice.

“Where did you hear that word?” his dad asked.

Jason considered the truth, then opted for a fib instead: “I heard it on Nickelodeon”.

Anxious to play, Jason began shoveling spoonfuls of food into his mouth.

“Slow down or you’ll choke yourself,” Beth said, looking at him with disdain.

Jason giggled with a full mouth and chewed what he had. When he managed to swallow, he took another heaping spoonful, chewed it, and washed it down with the last of his glass of milk. “Can I be excused?” he asked.

His dad nodded and Jason sprang from the table to place his bowl and glass in the sink. He turned on the tap and ran water over the dishes, then turned it off and sped toward the basement. Before he closed the door, he came back and withdrew the flashlight from the utility drawer.

“I almost forgot the light. It’s dark in the fort,” he told them and disappeared behind the door.

“Did he really have a bad day?” Mike asked, now that Jason was gone.

“Yes,” she said, trying to hold back tears. Her voice wavered and her eyes were watery, but she held it together.

Mike squeezed her hand. “What did Dr. Haber say today when you guys were there?”

“He said it didn’t look like Jason’s body was responding to the treatment anymore. He said it looked like the cancer was spreading into his bones. The treatments don’t seem to be working.”

Despite her best efforts, Beth could no longer restrain the tears. She left them flow and picked up her napkin to wipe her eyes.

Mike pulled her closer and hugged tightly. The initial diagnosis of the cancer was tough, but watching their child waste away before their eyes was becoming unbearable. Today’s news was just an affirmation that their son wouldn’t be with them much longer.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this,” Beth said, her voice sounding blubbery.

Jason stood up from the second step, where he had knelt after shutting the door to listen to his parents. Recently, he heard his parents cry too often. Hearing his dad cry was the worst. At their old house, the day after the news of his cancer, he was passing by his parents’ bedroom and heard his dad crying. That stuck with Jason, because his dad was not the type of man to display emotions of weakness openly. Hearing his father cry was unsettling, completely out of the ordinary.

“Jason? Is that you?”

The voice seemed faint, as though it came to him on a breeze that wasn’t there. He knew it was his new friend. Jason crept down the remaining steps, and when he was near the bottom, he answered, telling his friend it was him.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” Michael said.

“Yeah. I had to rest and eat. We just finished eating.”

Michael stepped out of the shadows of the staircase. Jason noticed the boy was very pale and that there was a striking resemblance between himself and his new friend.

“Wow. You look almost exactly like me,” Jason said.

“I know. Isn’t that weird?” Michael said. “Is your mom crying?”

“Yeah. She’s been crying a lot lately.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m sick. The doctors said I have cancer.”

“Well, they seem to really love you,” Michael said, looking at the floor joists above them.

“I love them, too. I wish I could get better so they wouldn’t feel so sad all the time.”

Michael and Jason stood in the dim light, talking. Michael told Jason that his parents used to lock him in the basement, accusing him of being ‘rotten’ and ‘a bad child’.

Jason became uncomfortable with the things Michael was saying and tried to change the subject. “You wanna play?”

“Sure. What d’you wanna play?” Michael asked.

“Let’s play in the fort. We can pretend we have to get to our spaceship before it takes off and leaves us stranded on the moon.”

“Okay, after you,” Michael said and gestured toward the box-tunnel’s opening.

Jason pressed the black rubber button on the flashlight and dropped to his hands and knees. He began crawling inside and turned to see if Michael was following. Michael knelt and entered the tunnel.

The boxes shook as each boy crawled closer and closer toward the end. Once they reached the last box, they sat across from each other as the flashlight beam shone onto the box’s ceiling while dust motes danced in the light’s white column. Jason was breathing heavy, trying to catch his breath.

“I asked my dad what a wraith was,” he told Michael.

“Oh yeah? What did he say?”

“He said it’s like a ghost..”

“That’s right.”

Jason only sat there with his new friend, unafraid, which was unusual after Michael confessed that he was a ghost. Jason looked at him and knew the reason he wasn’t afraid was that the boy did not look any different from any other kid. He was not translucent and he did not hover above the ground they way Jason imagined ghosts did.

“You look real,” Jason said and shifted into a kneeling position.

“Do I?”



Jason grabbed the flashlight and whipped the beam around, focusing it on Michael. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until the light hit his eyes. The eyes had a burning amber glow to them. The sight of Michael’s eyes sent chills up Jason’s spine.

“Are you really a ghost?”

“Yep. I died a long time ago.”

“What happened? How’d you die?” Jason’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

“I told you my mom and dad used to lock me in the basement, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they locked me in here one night and never came back.. It was in the winter and I didn’t have any food or warm clothes. I beat on the door and looked for something to break it open with, but never found anything. I died later. It was painful.”

Jason stared at the apparition with wide eyes. It was a terrifying thought, dying of dehydration, of neglect at the hands of your parents.

“You know how you said you wished you could be normal again?” Michael asked him.

Jason nodded.

“Well, I want to be normal again, too.. I’ve wanted to be normal again for a long time. I want parents who will love me.” Michael said, changing his tone matter-of-factly, and then added, “Parents don’t like sickly children, Jason. They want normal kids.”

“I don’t think I want to play anymore,” Jason told Michael. “You’re scaring me. I want to go upstairs.”

“Me, too,” Michael told him. “I want to go upstairs, too.” Michael’s eyes flared red to emphasize this last remark.

Jason hurried through the jagged opening of the refrigerator box, crawling as fast as he could through the curvy box maze. The flashlight beam bobbed and jerked as he went along hand over hand, around one turn after another, hoping to see the opening. His new friend had suddenly scared him and he didn’t want to see him ever again.

As Jason crawled, his breath became more ragged, his heart pounded, and he felt fatigued. His physical endurance was severely diminished since the cancer invaded his body.

He turned and looked back. Michael was right behind him. There was a sinister grin on his face and his eyes still glowed; they seemed brighter now. Jason continued his race to the entrance.

Where is it? Where is the end? I want my mom!

Finally, he navigated a curve and saw the bright glow from the naked bulb hanging from the basement ceiling. As Jason’s head emerged from the tunnel, he felt a vice-like grip on his ankle and realized Michael had a hold of him.

Jason collapsed, rolling onto his back. From the darkness of the boxes emerged the pale boy with the glowing eyes. He was shaking his head as he crawled over Jason.

“Parents don’t want sickly boys and girls, Jason. They want obedient, healthy children,” he said and grabbed Jason’s ears.

Michael leaned toward his face, as if he was about to kiss Jason.

Jason noticed the boy’s eyes grow darker, redder as their faces neared, and he had a sudden thought, Scream! Scream out to mo—

This thought cut short as Michael robbed the shallow breaths from Jason’s mouth.

Silence.

The boy stood up next to the stairs. He had every outward appearance of Jason. He looked back at the body lying across the tunnel’s threshold. The bald head was turned to one side, a small runner of blood trailed from the left nostril across the pallid cheek.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs toward the kitchen.

In a darkened corner of the basement is a hole in the foundation wall. It’s hard to see unless you’re looking for it.. This hole gives way into a small subterranean cavern. In this cavern rests a freshly drained body beside the brittle remains of a skeleton; they are the centerpiece of a grotesque tableau. Between the bodies is an aged and yellowed newspaper, dated February 12, 1926. The headline reads, “’He was evil!’ say Parents”. The article is about two parents sentenced to prison for child neglect and murder. The two parents are Michael Cafferty’s parents, parents he wished he never had, parents that never loved him—because ‘he was evil!’

Upstairs, the basement door creaked open.

Beth’s voice: “You’re looking better.”

A child’s voice, a familiar voice says, “I’m feeling better…much better.”