(Before starting this post, even if it's a story that happened years ago, I just want to make it clear that every names included in this post, were changed to make sure to protect the children's privacy.)

You see, ever since I met this kid, he has always intrigued me.

But no matter how hard I try to ignore the little strange things surrounding him, I can't seem to brush off that awful feeling which shakes my composure. A feeling that creeps on me every time I look at him from afar, from where he can't seem to see me.

I was thirty-six and he was no more than seven.

I should be the responsible one, as I am his teacher, be able to rationalize everything and keep my head cool no matter the circumstances, yet it's getting harder and harder to act like nothing is wrong with how his brain works.

I'm not trying to inculpate him.

I actually fear what his behavior might do to him in the following years.

Hence why I'm writing this post.

You see this particular student, whom I'll call "Basile" for clarity's sake, has always acted a bit "out of it" as my colleagues and some of his friends put it.

He's a kid that has always loved smiling, for no particular reason, he just loved doing it. However, I started to sense that something was wrong with him when he wouldn't stop, even after getting hurt or messing up in class.

And I can guarantee that Basile might be the clumsiest student I've ever had. (Make a record of all of time he messed up, like incidents, outside his control and within)

What genuinely unnerves me the most about Basile however, is his prolonged periods of complete blackout. He has a tendency to completely shut his brain off to the rest of the world and simply watch in silence the emptiness around him, only coming back with a laugh, with teary eyes or when someone urges him to respond.

It's like he lives in his own little world most of the time.

Sadly, it's a major detriment to his social life. Given that he mostly dozes off, or shuts his brain, during class, he's a subject of mockery that can resemble bullying a bit too much for my taste. I try my best to mitigate this negative attention he seems to always get, but that doesn't stop him from slowly becoming a pariah during break.

To be fair, Basile does have something close to a friend.

Well, at least he seems to like him, even if that feeling isn't mutual. It's a kid that I'll call "Quentin", and what you should remember about him, is that he unfortunately got caught in a car crash with his family. All survived with more or less minor injuries, save for Quentin who lost the usage of his legs.

He was inconsolable for weeks mostly because he couldn't partake in his favorite sports anymore.

That's when Basile started to become extremely interested in him, and when I truly started to see just how deep the rabbit hole surrounding this child go.

Quentin, after finally gathering the courage to go back to school for the first time in months, was immediately jumped by Basile. Obviously a lot of them were curious or saddened by his state, however Basile really was the only one to be so... excited... about this.

He didn't seem to have any ill will towards his now disabled comrade, yet the whole class was off-put by his earnest attempts to cheer Quentin up, often resulting in some fighting and crying on Quentin's side. Strangely, his protests never deterred Basile who simply continued his thing without bearing any hard feelings or getting angry at the other kid.

He became way more active, but was still trapped inside his bubble.

He could still spend minutes, maybe hours, just staring into space, especially in class.

In the end, I think it worked out?

After days of trying to make Basile stop bothering Quentin, the latter came to me and simply asked to let him be. "Even if I don't know why he changed so much, he's the only one at school that treats me like a person. Doesn't make a pity party. He's kinda nice even if weird... So I don't mind his presence..."

It didn't feel any satisfactory at all.

Didn't feel any right at all...

Nonetheless, since both parties seemed content with the situation, I couldn't get involved in all of this.

At least, I shouldn't have.

But Basile's behavior seemed stranger and stranger to me. He was starting to speak of seeing Quentin walking in an empty space, he drew disturbing imagery, sometimes simply coloring the page with one color, before speaking on the many wonders inside of the color.

I couldn't bear it anymore, I needed to find its roots.

I wondered many times before going through with this, was I going insane?

Still, my curiosity and my fear won over my rationality, so I asked Basile to stay in the classroom.

He didn't seem to really mind or question why I asked him that. Thankfully, he actually came instead of forgetting about the appointment, as he tended to do for anything related with administration. However, his clumsiness or lack of attention, led to him hitting a wall and getting the door to his face while trying to walk up to my office.

I also noted his lack of focus when I tried to reassure him that he didn't do anything bad. He seemed entirely comfortable with how he acted these past few weeks, no regret or self-doubt.

This led me to audibly sigh. Basile didn't seem to catch my exasperation. His expression remained unwavering, a small smile, and empty eyes. It's as if he was frozen like a statue.

Knowing I wouldn't go far by trying to find a roundabout way to get him to explain his change in attitude, I opted for a more straightforward approach. "Basile, I need you to be honest with me."

This sentence actually peaked his curiosity. "What is it, teach?"

I spoke again, hoping my tone wouldn't betray any kind of nervousness: "What's going on with Quentin? Why did you suddenly feel the need to be nice towards him?"

His apathy was replaced by something I couldn't read at the time. He looked extremely embarrassed, but also guilty, and still he let out a laugh.

It didn't sound childish despite his young age, it sounded desperate.

"I can make things right, if I take care of Quentin..." He was starting to shake, as his voice became weaker and weaker.

However this sudden show of weakness was quickly replaced by a sudden jump onto my desk. "Teach! Can I ask you a question?"

I backed off a bit before actually answering. "Sure... but stay on your chair please."

He made a small apologetic sound before resuming his talking. "If something disappear, it's -1 right?"

I had no idea where he was going with this. "Yes?"

Ignoring my confusion, he continued: "But if something is given in return, it's +1, right?"

A nod was my only response.

He was beaming with misplaced pride, he probably misunderstood my confusion or thought getting his teacher confused made him smarter. "Well if -1 meets +1, then they cancel each other! So nothing has happened in the end.

I couldn't bear seeing the conversation get more and more astray so I asked: "Basile, where are you going with this?" Then it hit me. "Is this about Quentin's lost legs and how you try to be an uplifting influence on him? Is that it? I appreciate you trying so hard to brighten his day but..."

I wasn't sure what to say next, or if him comparing this ordeal to a mathematical operation was a good sign or not, but in the end I took it as just a little boy being concerned for a classmate's well-being.

However he looked at me strangely: "No. The -1 is me, the +1 is Quentin's bad day."

I was dead wrong.

This cold answer, one that seemed so logical in his mind, frightened me.

This was the first time in my career I felt any kind of fear towards one of my pupils. I struggled to get any other word out, but I needed to know more: "Wha... what do you mean by that?"

He smiled brightly and innocently: "Well I'm a bad kid! So this accident gives me a chance to be better!"

Flabbergasted, outraged, speechless... these words wouldn't even be enough to describe how I was feeling at the moment. Several thoughts plagued my mind: What kind of seven years old thinks and acts this way? How can he say things like that with such a carefree attitude? And what about that moment of weakness? Did I imagine it?

I tried to pry a bit more, but he wouldn't speak anymore, his brain had shut down when I asked about why he thought of himself that way. He then left me office without listening to me. That unnerving boy disappeared from my view, although his little cries in the corridor didn't escape my ears.

I had the urge to join him in the corridor and comfort him, especially if he was actually pulling up a front when talking about his self-esteem issues, yet I stopped myself. I rationalized that me suddenly showing up wouldn't help him open up to me.

But as he was leaving, I heard his footsteps coming to a sudden halt, a weak "Dad..." was all I could fully understand before the footsteps came back in my direction.

Basile was standing in my doorway, his eyes darker than anything I've ever seen. He was not saying anything, just looking at me for what felt like an eternity.

I tried to say something: "Is... something...?" The words just died in my throat.

He opened his mouth to answer my almost-question:

"If only I could trade your life for his, you invading prick."

But it was deep, too deep, this voice couldn't belong to a child. Still, Basile was the only thing in front of me. He had to have said this...

I was petrified.

He left without saying another word.

The suffocating silence of the classroom was all that reminded me of the fact I was alive. After minutes, maybe hours, went by, I continued my usual routine as if nothing happened. I locked the classroom, went to my car, drove myself home and sat on my rundown sofa.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except I had no recollection of ever doing that. It was as if my mind had been completely shut down. I simply "awoke" in the middle of the night, briefly wondering how I even got back to my flat, before going back to sleep. Well... sleep is a generous word to describe what happened that night. Nightmares kept me company, and I had to call a day off due to how unbelievably tired I was.

Eventually, I calmed down and went back to my job. But I became wary of Basile. I found myself staring at him more and more, hoping to prevent him from catching me by surprise. However, my behavior ended up being a frequent subject of question and discussion among students. Not wanting this situation to go out of control, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I needed to stop being worried about one of my students, especially if my behavior could end up damaging said student's reputation. I was a professional. I couldn't let my bias overtake my duty.

...

I was scared.

It pains me to admit it now, but I found myself terrified of Basile.

Being scared of a grade schooler, how pathetic.

That's why it took me a month to properly gather up the courage to ask for a meeting with his family. In the meantime, the rumors had begun to run rampant and some people tried to bully Basile. I felt ashamed. It was exactly what I predicted, yet I could not act to defend this child. Luckily, Quentin had stepped in, even against former friends to defend him. I wasn't sure if their friendship was healthy, but I was glad he was around, not matter how uncomfortable I could get when watching them play.

Sometime, Basile would show Quentin people or events that didn't seem to exist or happen, he could also hurt him by saying that he can see him running freely somewhere, or abruptly stop his movement to cry about something. As for Quentin, sometime he would brawl with Basile or a bully, but most of the time he would push Basile out of harm's way. It was strange how poor his luck seemed to be. Nonetheless they were happy like this. I... I didn't know what to think.

Still, I needed to meet his family. So I stopped finding excuses. That's why two weeks later, I found myself at the doorstep of a small but seemingly cozy house. I was greeted by a middle-aged lady, looking slightly older than I was. She invited me in, but I found no sign of Basile, only pictures of him with a man I did not recognize. When I asked her about her son, ever face illuminated with motherly joy. "Oh, my little angel isn't here right now. He's currently playing with his new friend."

I tried to get her to clarify what she meant. "Are you talking about Quentin?"

She clapped her hands together. "Yes! That's his name! He is one of your students I assume? Poor thing..." She didn't add anything else, but it didn't matter. She knew about his accident. That meant I could safely bring out the topic of Basile's behavior more easily.

I cleared my throat. "Indeed, Quentin has been the subject of something terrible."

She cut me off before I could add anything else. "That's why I'm proud that my baby decided to become his friend! I was scared he would end up alone, but to hear those two are getting along so well... It's truly a miracle." The heavy feeling in my chest came back.

No point in beating around the bush, I needed to be more direct. "About that... Miss, I think your son is not being a healthy support towards Quentin."

Her cheerful behavior slowly faded away, being replaced by something I could only describe as a saddened resignation. Her smile was still there but much thinner, her eyes were pleading me to stop talking. A faint "Oh no." left her lips. "I found it strange his first friend was handicapped because of..."

I found myself insisting, pushing her to tell me why Basile is the way he is. Tears started to stroll down her face, so I reassured her: "Miss, I want to help both of these children, but please, be honest with me. What happened to Basile? Why is he the way he is?"

Regardless of her tears, her eyes locked onto mine, the sadness and fatalism were mixed together in a stare I would remember my entire life.

"Basile heard his father die in a car crash while on the phone with him."

Despite sitting in a chair, I felt my entire body grow heavier with each passing second. I couldn't move. Images were flashing inside my head. Was it...? "I'm so sorry for your loss." I said to the woman who was now barely holding her tears. My words were sincere but they must have sounded so fake to someone still in deep grievance.

Still, I continued to talk in hope to learn more and diffuse the situation: "If I'm not too indiscreet..." You already were you idiot. "may I learn more about Basile? How he was prior to this, and how it affected him?"

His mother silently nodded, eyes still red, and told me everything. "You see, our son has always been a secluded person with a view of the world nobody could fully grasp. Among what you described, like seeing fictional persons or drawings move on their own, are things he actually did before. Thankfully, his father did his best to connect with him, and it worked. Basile was always excited to show him his new creations or talk about his latest epiphanies. But, then tragedy struck..."

A hiccup interrupted her tale, so I timidly tried to reassure her. "If it's too hard for you, don't feel obligated to continue."

She shook her head. "No. It feels good to let everything out." Understandably I kept my distance and didn't interrupt her any further. "Another oddity surrounding Basile is his poor luck. Whenever he tries to do something, most of the time it backfires. Some of the more superstitious members of the family even ended up thinking he was cursed. That's obviously not the case. It's ridiculous. But only my husband, his father, had the strength to protest, defend him, against them."

Hearing this, a question came to me: "Is that self-view as a "misfortune magnet" one of the reason he mostly preferred to keep to himself?"

She offered a weak "I don't know." as a response before saying. "At least fictional characters can't hurt him." Another pause in the conversation happened, the air was gradually tenser and tenser. "He heard everything." She said. "When I asked him to phone his father... I didn't expect." Her face gradually lost her colors. That should have been my cue to stop probing.

But I didn't. I was foolish enough to continue. "I've also seen Basile get lost a lot in his mind, even with his new... friend. He can cry or laugh about whatever he sees. Is there something other than fictional characters or famous people that he can think about? Has he ever talked to you about it?"

Wordlessly, his mother stood up and incited me to follow her, up the stairs. A bit of silent walking later, we arrived in the attic, where a little box stood out. It was well-kept compared to the dusty furniture all around it. She opened it and took a stack of paper out of it. "He never explicitly told me, but I've seen his drawings." is what she said before handing them over.

I felt like I was going to cry, myself. Most had little notes in the left corner, expliciting when or how he saw these visions. Most were crudely drawn but strong with emotions. Some had Quentin happily walking, some had Basile's father cuddling him or coming at school to take him home, but others were red or black scribbled mess. "Me when dad got hurt." "Dad going elsewhere." "Quentin leaving." "Me when mom doesn't love me anymore."

His imagination was completely corrupted by the tragedy. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, his subconscious would catch up, his positive daydreaming would turn to nightmares. He blamed himself for everything. I could now understand what he meant despite how twisted his -1 and +1 explanation sounded. He was just a kid trying to fix his mistake after being given "another chance".

Although, with that said, one of his drawing intrigued me more than the others. It was a poorly drawn representation of himself being held by the throat by a black figure. "He haunts me." I presented it to his mother. "Miss, what is that-"

"What are you doing here?"

It was that voice. The voice that shouldn't belong to a child.

The two of us turned around instinctively to see Basile, knife in hand, an expression of pure rage on his face. His mother tried to calm him down "Basile, snap out of it!" However, instead, his eyes locked onto me, with a look of hatred so intense he couldn't just be described with words.

He rushed at me.

And stabbed violently my knee.

The pain was unbearable. Yells, blood, cries... That's all I saw before fainting from the shock.

When I awoke I was being taken to an ambulance. The mother was frantically apologizing to me, I tried to reassure her, but when I saw Basile showing no remorse next to her. I couldn't bring myself to be gentler with her. My fear had come back and his eyes haunt me to this day. What was he talking about in this drawing? Surely ghosts aren't real. However, what seemed to possess him in these violent outbursts? I think I'll never know for sure.

After I recovered from my leg wound, at least as much as my body could, the school's administration made no concession. Seeing that I was now forced to have a cane with me for the rest of my life, they promptly excluded Basile from the school. Quentin tried to continue going to school, but the bullying and rumors were too tough even for him, so he begged to be sent where Basile was. Apparently they reunited in some sort of youth reeducation center.

I had no idea if I should have opposed this decision, but I didn't anyway.

Sadly that's all there is to it. Those conversations and drawings did give me new insights on how Basile saw the world, a lonely place he ought to make friendlier, but I couldn't help him.

His deep-rooted self-loathing, his general lack of focus, his obsession with Quentin...

Speaking of which, neither of them showed up at the class reunion which happened this year. According to one of their classmates, the sole who actually saw them after they went out of rehab, it was better this way.

Had Basile crossed a line? Had he rendered Quentin so dependent on him?

Just like a lot of things in this post, I don't know. I couldn't even think or say anything when this student told me about it.

So here am, now forty-eight, thirteen years have passed, multiple children became my pupils and I didn't encounter anyone like Basile ever again.

The doubts are eating me alive as I write this.

For failing to offer any kind of solution...

For letting this disturbed kid go away...

Am I... a failure as a teacher?