Word Count: 524
He spoke in grumbling growls and grunts with an occasional purring sound that he made when he was eating or falling asleep. Indeed, it was clear we had to learn his language first before we could hope any attempt at teaching him ours.
There had been talk of his possible existence in the back alleys of the city with just a few reported actual sightings that prompted brief thorough searches but brought nothing to light. He was described as both troll and a tiger. Quick and limber, unable to be caught by any who happened upon him and had the chance of a chase. It was only through his own misfortune of being grazed by a car that the police followed a blood trail and cornered and caught him and brought him first to a hospital, then subsequently to us.
No one knew who he might be, this boy, somewhere in age between twelve and thirteen. Everyone had theories, of course. We’ve gone through some very bad times in the past several years and children were abandoned at churches and hospitals. We believe that’s what happened, only he wasn’t left someplace safe.
He’d been on his own for a long time, maybe since he was as young as three or four. We were guessing because he seemed to have no language skills developed well enough to have survived his isolation. Eventually he grasped verbal communication enough to comprehend what we asked of him but still pointed to or grabbed what he wanted rather than attempt speech. He’d eat most fruit and vegetables though he wanted them uncooked. Meat too, uncooked. We’d found we had to hide meat in a cellar freezer. He once pulled chicken parts out of a simmering pot, burning his hand. We also suspected he had killed and eaten the cat.
As time went by we made small steps towards civilizing him but he retained a wariness that wouldn’t allow us closer physically or emotionally. Loud noises scared him and he could run like the wind and hide where he couldn’t be found.
There was one other thing that impeded his progress, or perhaps better put, our progress with him. He seemed to resist our efforts to show him he was one of us, a boy, a human. Though he had no relation with animals either, he seemed to have no understanding of nor inclination to accept his commonality with man.
After a particularly stressful session he grew more and more disturbed, exploding in a pinwheel of destruction in his flight to escape. He never came back. We never found him, though we’ve again found evidence of his having been nearby, likely reverting to his own ways of hunting for food in the night.
But he’s never been seen, now having lived with his enemy and knowing our ways. And that strange sense of unrest that I thought was aloof, timid, or fearful on his part, makes my skin prickle, having seen that last hateful look in his eyes. It was a wildness that will never be tamed. Something that scares me. And I lock my windows and doors every night.
