Homebody: a story in 60 seconds

When mom is away, the kids will…wait, what is that?

Ernesto shook the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips so that just a few rolled out into his hand. He hastily popped them into his mouth and ground them between his teeth. He poured out some more and watched as a couple missed his palm and fell to the kitchen tile. He considered eating these, too. Then he heard his mom call from upstairs. 

“Ernesto!” she shouted.

“What?” he shouted back.

“Stop eating chocolate and get ready for school.”

“I’m not eating anything,” he answered, shoving the remainder of the bag into his pocket. “And I am ready for school.”

Footsteps thumped down the staircase, then silence. Then, his mom entered the kitchen. “Where’s your backpack?”

“By the door.”

“And why aren’t your shoes on?”

“I’ll get them on,” he whined. “It takes two seconds.”

His mom shook her head and shuffled through the kitchen. She wore a white cotton blouse that flattered her bust but did nothing for her belly and paired it with a tight-fitting pair of tan slacks. Dangly gold hoops hung from her earlobes, and pink-tinted sunglasses covered her eyes.

“The bus comes in ten minutes,” she reminded him. “And you better be on it.”

He stared down at the floor and muttered softly. “I will…jeez.”

“One more unexcused absence this quarter, and you’re suspended. And the last thing I need is for you to be alone in this house. Understood?”

He kept looking at the floor. “What’s so wrong with the house?” he mumbled.

She stopped and turned to him. “You know very well what’s wrong with this house.”

He nodded silently.

“I’ll be home at five,” she said after a moment, kissing him on the cheek.

Ernesto mumbled something inaudible and watched his mom leave through the front door. He glanced at the microwave. It was only 7:10. He still had a few minutes.

He rushed out of the kitchen and into the hallway and stopped at the door to the basement. He tried the handle. It was locked. No matter. He darted to the laundry room, stood on the short plastic step stool, reached into one of the cabinets above the dryer, and felt around until he found the key.

Slipping it into his pocket, he ran back toward the hallway, jammed the key into the door, and yanked it open. The air in the basement was damp and musty, and the lighting was dim, but he knew the way and quickly found himself standing in front of a large plastic storage bin. He grunted as he shoved it across the floor, revealing a sizeable hole in the concrete.

He bent over and whispered: “I have chocolate.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a hand reached out slowly from below and accepted the food. A gnawing sound followed.

“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly above the crunching. “She won’t find out about you—until we want her to.” 

The hand retreated back into the hole, and Ernesto replaced the storage bin. Then he ran upstairs and left for school.