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Chapter 24
The Shed

It was dark.  There was no transition.  One moment he was standing in the hallway, his dead wife in front of him and a science lab freak show behind him, the next he was nine years old and it was dark.
It wasn't pitch black.  There wasn't any of that dark of the tomb stuff that haunted his nightmares.  It was dark yes, but dim shapes could be made out in the darkness.  The bulk of a mower here that looked like some formidable beast crouching in preparation for an attack, there a hoe, a rake, a shovel, standing in the corner looking like wicked implements of torture.  Of course Thomas didn't know what any of those things were.  The dim outlines were worst than complete darkness because his marvellous imagination filled in the blanks and provided him with a thousand explanations, each one worse than the last.  Foremost in his mind was all the stories about Old Man Rogers.  Could he even now be sharing the room with one of Rogers's latest victims?  Maybe that Korean kid was stashed over in that darkest corner and Thomas's unrevealing gaze was fixed upon his mouldering corpse.
These thoughts were happening peripherally to his mind because over riding all… was the pain.
So much pain.  His hand, which he cradled against his chest, throbbed constantly and each tiny twitch of nerves through the damaged flesh sent sharp daggers of pain searing through his body and into his brain.  His jaw could no longer clamp shut without a massive amount of pain and each stab of pain from his hand forced him to grit his teeth, causing fire to explode over his face.  Cuts, bruises and abrasions stung all over his small body, each one vying for attention against the sharper pains of his hand and face.  The worst pain of all was his chest.  Thomas was a bright boy and he knew enough about the human body to know there were thin bones around his chest to protect the vital organs contained there.  He suspected he had a broken rib as he could feel its jagged ends scraping against the flesh on the inside of his chest.
What would happen if those broken ends of bone ripped a hole in his lungs?  He would die, that is what would happen.  His breathing was already difficult and his impulse was to draw deep breaths to re-oxygenate his air starved blood, but Thomas knew that would increase his chances of rupturing a lung.  He forced his breathing to remain shallow, fighting to hold it against the constant onslaught of pain that ripped through his body.
He lay there in the dark, his wondrous mind clouded with pain and fear, trying not to think of what else might be in there with him… then he felt the first spider.
It crawled onto his leg.  Eight tiny appendages splayed across his skin.  Thomas lay still, afraid to move, afraid to re-awaken the tidal wave of agony that had just recently swept him away, afraid to let the tiny creature know he was still alive.
It began crawling up his leg, headed toward the gap between his skin and his shorts.  One of its comrades joined it, slightly larger, slightly more repulsive.  Another, another then still another crawled onto different points of his body.  One by one, then in droves they came to explore this new addition to their world.  Five, ten, a hundred, a thousand till he felt a living carpet of alien arachnid bodies covering him.
Thomas lay amid a moving mass of tiny terrifying creatures, too afraid to move, too hurt to move, totally at their mercy.  They crawled into every recess.  Every nook and cranny of his body and clothes was invaded by a conquering horde of tiny monsters.  They crawled into his ears, his nostrils and even his mouth when he proved incapable of clamping his lips shut enough to stop them.  Finally, he felt a much larger weight step onto his body.  A Tarantula.  They were real.  Unlike all the other kids, Thomas had never seen one and had doubted their existence amid the myriad of spiders that were obviously haunting the tin shed.  Now he knew better.  The kids were right.  There was at least one big black hairy Tarantula in the shed and it had just crawled onto his arm.
Thomas couldn't help himself.  He jerked his arm.  A wave of agony coursed up his body as he caused nerves and muscles to contract sharply with his movement.  Thomas arched his back, spitting out the spiders and causing a revolution amongst the ones already on his body.  They began to bite. Poison from about twenty different species of spider pumped into him and by the time Thomas had stopped convulsing in pain; he had been bitten over forty times.  Luckily for him, none of the spiders were particularly venomous but the combined toxins felt like liquid fire in his veins.  Now Thomas knew not to move.  He wasn't sure he could have if he had decided to.  The terror was absolute.
The Tarantula was still there and as its weight began to move up his arm, Thomas tried desperately to distract himself.  He tried maths tables.  'One plus one equals two.  Two plus two equals… oh my god, it's on my chest.'  Periodic tables.  He had memorised them from the science book Mr Grassby had leant him.  'H, the sign for Hydrogen, He is for Helium, Li is Lithium, Be, was it Beryllium or Benzine.  No Benzine was an ointment… or was it?'  He couldn't think.  'No. No. Not on my neck… Was it Carbon next?  Was it?' He didn't know.  Suddenly, he realised it was on his face.  One of its hairy legs dipped into his mouth and sat against his swelling tongue.  Thomas stopped thinking.  He stared past the repulsive black abdomen of the creature, out past its hairy legs and focused on the one and only thing he could see with any clarity.
It seemed there was a screw missing from the roof and it let one thin shaft of light spear down into the darkness.  That spear of light fell on a seed packet.  Pansies.  A green packet with a gay picture of a fairy hovering over a beautiful field of flowers.  Thomas focussed all his nine year old will on that packet, trying to shut out all the pain, all the spiders and mainly that huge horrible beast perched on his face.  Thomas willed himself into the picture. He willed himself amongst the beautiful field of pansies with the cheerful, tender looking fairy.  He cast his mind into a fantasy world that existed only on a seed packet.
He felt the breeze on his skin.  He felt the strength in his muscles, the joy of youth in his veins and the illusion was complete.  Laughing only in his mind, Thomas ran up the field.
Suddenly there was someone else there.
'That isn't right,' he thought.  'There was no one here but me before.'
Thomas turned and saw her.  That foul rotting body standing in his field.  Standing where no one but he could go.  "What are you doing here Grace?" he asked bewildered.
"Further back Thomas.  Not here.  You have to start at the beginning."
* * * * * * * * * *
It was dark again.  Safe and warm inside natures cradle.  Suspended in Amniotic fluid and fed directly into his blood stream, he was safe.  Subject only to the feelings and emotions of his mother.  Safe in the womb.
But his mother wasn't happy.  He could feel the huge sobs wrenching through her body.  He could feel the pain in her heart as if it were his own.  He could hear her voice and that of the other. He couldn't understand what they were saying back then but he could now.  The memory might have been from the womb but the brain deciphering the sensations was a mans.
"Please Frank," his mother was saying.  "I want to have this one. No more abortions.  Please, just one child."
"What," said the Frank voice, "so I can have another leech hanging off me?  Shit, I gotta put up with you, aint that enough?"
"I'll look after him Frank.  I'll keep him happy.  He won't be a bother to you."
"He'll suck up all the money I work so hard to get.  You already suck up enough.  Why should I put up with another?"
"No Frank, no.  He won't cost much at all.  I promise. Please?"
Something crashed and he felt his world topple and jar.
"Fine!! Have the little freak, but the first time he gets in my way I'm sending him to a home… You got that!!"
His mother sobbed. "I'm sorry Frank.  I just want one."
Suddenly the thin red glow was blotted out by a shadow as the Frank voice hovered menacingly over his mother.
"You'll both be sorry you bitch.  You stuffed up my life and now you're bringing another little creep into the world to stuff up the rest of it.  Have the little bastard and just remember… if our life goes to shit and we lose everything…" Thomas felt something sharp poke into his mother's belly.  Through the flesh of his mother's body he saw the shape of a finger outlined in red… "It'll be all his fucking fault."
* * * * * * * * *
Eight months old.  Lying in his crib.  The crib was decorated with little hand painted fairies that his mother had spent hours sweating over before his birth.  They were a little faded now but the colours were still bright and the paintings were quite good.  Mary didn't have money spare to spend on such luxuries as mobiles and cute fluffy toys to hang above his bed so she had strung together some coat hangers and taped pictures from an old calendar she had rescued from a friend and cut out for that purpose.  The most prominent picture was of a green field sloping gently up to the top of a hill, studded with red berry bushes and one lone ghost gum on one side.  It was Thomas's favourite picture.  He would lay quietly in his bed for hours staring up at the beautiful field.  So much so that his father called him a retard, much to his mother's disgust.
He was staring up at that beautiful picture again that night when his father came into the room.  His father smelt bad.  He smelt sour and unwashed.  Not the sour of spit up or even dirty nappies but a horrible wrong smell.  Thomas's adult brain recognised that smell as one of whiskey and the sweat of sex but he was trapped in the body of a baby in this memory and could not voice his outrage.
His father stumbled over to the cot.  There were tears in his eyes.
"Lost her.  The bitch left.  The only woman I could eva have loved and she left me coz I got a bastard kid and I'm married to his bitch of a mother."
Frank Levy laid his huge gnarled hands on the cot and stared down at the baby.  "Lost everything. All coz o' you.  If'n you hadn't come along, I'da been able ta get rid o' that bitch you call a mother.  I'da been able to have a real woman, not some namby pamby baby fuckin factory.  All coz o' you.  You came along an' suddenly I got me a family.  I gotta look after you bloody leeches.  Can't just leave youse.  T'aint done like that.  If'n I did, everyone'd hate me.  If'n it was just me'n the bitch, I could leave her and no-one would say anythin'.  But there's you, you little shit.  It's all your fault."
* * * * * * * * * *
Two years old.  Thomas is playing on the floor.  His mother is in cooking dinner.  Scabetti. Mmm.  Thomas loves Scabetti.  It's about the best thing in the world and that red sauce that goes over it, with the big chunks of cooked mince and stuff.  It sure is yummy.  Frank Levi, or Daddy as Thomas knew him, is sleeping on the couch.  He's had a hard day.  Thomas isn't quite sure what a hard day entails but you can bet that every time Daddy has a hard day it involves smelling of the booze stuff and snoring on the couch.  Mummy says that Daddy works at Coles.  He is a vejtabull manger, whatever that is.  All that Thomas knows is that Daddy doesn't often smell much like the vejtabulls that he mangers.  But Thomas likes the uniform.  Daddy looks good in the uniform.  'Specially with that shiny badge on his shirt.  Thomas had admired that badge for simply ages.  He thought it was pretty special.  Daddy had gone crook the last time Thomas tried to look at the badge so Thomas pretty much admired it from afar.
Today, Daddy was lying snoring on the couch, as usual, and Thomas was trying to keep an interest up in the plastic donut shapes he was supposed to be stacking.  The shapes were boring though.  He had long ago figured out just how many ways they could be put together and he really didn't feel like going through all the possibilities again.  The only thing that really caught his attention was that shiny badge.  He could see it hanging from Daddy's pocket and it looked sooooo inviting.
Unable to restrain himself any further, Thomas toddled to his feet and wobbled over to his daddy.  He wasn't too steady on his feet.  Most kids his age were running by now but then again, most kids his age didn't know most of the alphabet by now and couldn't read simple words.  Thomas could, however, and reading the words on that badge seemed like the most important thing he could ever do.
He wobbled over to his father and gingerly reached out to cradle the badge.  He really didn't mean to do anything wrong.  He wasn't going to take the badge or anything.  He just wanted to turn it a little so he could look at the letters.  That was when things went wrong.  Thomas's wayward balance betrayed him and he fell backwards onto his padded tush.  Unfortunately, he forgot to let go of the name badge and with a ripping sound it came away from his father's shirt along with half his pocket.
If Frank Levi had have been just a little more drunk, the incident would have escaped his notice for a few more hours and he might well have blamed it on Thomas's mother instead of him but, Frank Levi had left the pub early today and come home only half shot instead of his usual maggotted self.  Frank woke with a jerk and sat up.  It took him only a moment to connect his torn shirt and the wisp of rag hanging off the name badge in Thomas's chubby fingers.
"MARY!!' he hollered, his face going instantly red as he snatched the badge off his cringing son.  Mary came running. "LOOK WHAT THE LITTLE BASTARD'S DONE NOW!!! HE TORE MY FUCKING SHIRT!!"
"Don't worry about it," Mary said soothingly while scooping Thomas up and shoving him back in front of his donut shapes.  "I'll get a needle and thread; it'll be fixed in a trice."
"NO!!" Frank exploded. "NO, NO, FUCKING NO!! The shirts ruined.  I'll have ta pay for a new one now.  Do you have any idea how much these bloody shirts cost?"
"No dear I don't." Mary said pushing herself between Frank and her son.
Frank blustered. "Well neither do I but it's a bloody lot.  Now I gotta go spend money we can't afford on a new shirt coz that little shit cain't keep his bloody hands offa things.  He's useless Mary.  He'll cost us Christmas this year at this rate." Frank turned and poked a wide calloused finger at Thomas. "If everyone misses out on Christmas this year then it's your bloody fault."
* * * * * * * * * *
Four years old, learning to ride his first two wheeler bike.  It was an old bike that his mother had rescued from the tip.  She had intended to restore it herself but in the one and only show of interest Frank Levy showed in his family, Frank had insisted on restoring it.
Well it was done now.  Coated in a thick coat of enamel that Frank had found in the back of the shed, the bike had been wired together and was far from a trust worthy vehicle but it was good enough for his father so it was good enough for him.
Thomas sat unsteadily astride the rickety bike while in his only true show of fatherly love (probably because he was stinking drunk) Frank was pushing the boy down the path getting him ready for a solo trip.
"No Daddy No! I can't do it!" Thomas wailed.
"Oh stop being a pansy boy and ride the fucking thing." Frank growled.
Suddenly Frank gave an extra hard push and sent Thomas sailing down the path. Thomas travelled down the path, gave one terrified scream before running off the path and slamming into the post beside the gate.  He catapulted over the bars and slammed face first into the post where upon he fell howling to the ground.
Frank ran down the path and wrenched him to his feet.  He took one look at the bike.  The front wheel, which had been wired in place, had fallen off and one of the pedals had broken.   Frank grabbed Thomas by his shirt front.
"You stupid little bastard.  Look what you done.  I spent ages working on that piece of shit and you bust it first time you get on it.  Do you have to fuck everything up?"
Mary was running down the path by this time.
"Stop it.  Leave him alone!" she screamed.
Frank rounded on her dropping the boy on top of the wrecked bike. Thomas bashed his nose on the seat as he did and a small bit of blood spurted out onto the seat. Frank didn't even look and Thomas was too scared to draw attention to himself by making a fuss out of a little blood.  Frank was busy yelling at his mother anyway. "Why Mary.  He screws everything up.  He's useless.  Maybe if I didn't let you molly coddle him so much he wouldn't be such a waste of space."
"It's you who's a waste of space Frank Levy," Mary shouted up at him.  "You're a waste as a father and a waste as a man."
Frank balled up his fists, towering over the smaller woman. "Me a waste?" he said his voice a high pitched incredulous shriek. "The only waste is being married to you.  If it wasn't for that little bastard I'da been rid o' you a long time ago.  He's useless and if my life's fucked up it's coz o' him."
* * * * * * * * *
Nine years old, in the hospital ward at Mercy Hospital. He was still unconscious to the outside world but inside he was still living in his dream world with the delightful fairy that never blamed him for things, never told him he was useless and most of all never beat him and stuck him in a shed with lots of spiders.  Thomas was playing hide and go seek with the fairy as he usually did.  There wasn't that many hiding places in the field and the game got pretty boring pretty quick.  The topography had changed drastically since he had first come into the field.  The pansy's had disappeared to be replaced with lush green grass that ran up a hill.  Red berry bushes now dotted the field and a massive ghost gum had magically appeared one day.  Thomas was curious as to what was over the hill but the fairy had told him not to go there.  For some reason the fairy didn't think he would be able to come back so Thomas had stuck to the field, playing with his fairy.  Right at that moment, the fairy was hiding amongst the branches of the gum tree, which Thomas didn't think was strictly fair because the fairy could fly and he couldn't.  Thomas grabbed the bole of the tree for the fifth time and tried, once again, to climb up after his friend.  That's when he heard the beeping.  A steady beeping, like some sort of machine.  Thomas was sure he had seen a machine that made just such a noise on one of those doctor shows.  The sort of machine that measured heartbeat and stuff.  Then, as if from a distance, he started to hear voices over the beeping.
"What's the little turd done to 'iself this time?"
"He didn't do anything Frank.  It was done to him,"
"Ptchaw!!! Obviously didn't put up much of a fight, did he?"
"There was three of them Frank.  They brutally beat him."
"Don't touch him!! His ribs are broken and you'll make them worse."
"What ya yellin at me for?  He's the one that got hisself beat up.  Shouldn't be so weird.  Then the other kids wouldn't be forced to pick on him."
"What? You blame Thomas for getting beat up."
"Well, if he were a bit more of a man and less of a sissy boy then maybe they'd have left him alone. Now I'm gonna have ta pay bloody doctors fees, ambulance fees and not to mention the fact that you're probably gonna spend the rest of your life in here with the little turd so's now I gotta cook me own bloody dinner."
Thomas had sat on the ground, tears running down his face.  He remembered those voices.  He remembered them all too well.  The fairy had come down to sit with him.  It turned its tiny face up to him. "Don't listen Thom.  It's not your concern anymore.  You're with me now."  But Thomas couldn't help listening.  He couldn't shut these voices out.  They were too familiar.
"My god!!! I never realised just how fucking useless you are till this moment.  You've always been a lousy father and a lousy man.  Get out of my son's room!"
"More of a man than you can handle woman, that's why you had to go elsewhere. That aint my son.  My son would be strong. He would be a leader, not some pansy boy that gets hisself beaten up every other day.  The bullies wouldn't pick on him coz he would beat the crap outta them if they did.  That aint mine."
"You've blamed him for everything since he was born Frank.  Why? Why do you hate him so much?"
"Coz he is to blame.  If he hadn't come along, I'd be someone by now.  I'da met a real woman, not a podgy bitch like you.  I'd be runnin some company.  I'd be rich an respected but noooo… you had to go have pansy boy and now I'm stuck in a dead end job with a dead end family."
Thomas felt tears pouring down his young face. "It's my fault," he said sadly.
The fairy sighed. "It's only your fault if you make it Thom.  Don't make it your fault."
But Thomas had stopped hearing the fairy.  He was listening to the voices again.
"I never stopped you from trying anything Frank and neither did Thomas.  In fact I encouraged you.  I encouraged you to pull your face out of the bloody beer glass and put some effort into your life but you were a loser Frank.  Right from the start you were a loser."
"That… is a loser, He's been nothing but a burden right from the start and you right along with him.  Don't know why I stay in this god forsaken family.  If that little shit had been worth something… anything… then maybe you and I woulda stood a chance Mary but, he aint worth shit."
"Then why do you stay around? Why don't you fucking piss off to your drinking buddies and leave Thomas and I alone?"
"Maybe I will, Maybe I will go find meself a decent woman.  An when I find me someone and when I get meself outta this hole you and the turd have put me in, then you can blame him."
* * * * * * * * * *
Twelve years old.  Thomas came home from school as usual and tried to sneak up to the back stairs to his room.  He really didn't want to face his father this afternoon.  He had had enough bullying from the kids at school and he really didn't need his father telling him exactly how useless he was. The boys didn't touch him anymore.  They seemed a little averse to striking him now.  Everyone had been a little in awe of him since he was nine.  He didn't know why but it seemed to have made him an untouchable.  Even though it didn't stop the cruel comments, whatever had happened to him at the tender age of nine seemed to have made the bullies loathe to beat on him like they did the others.  However, they did take great joy in telling him just how useless he was.  It almost seemed like his father had been giving them coaching lessons on just how to make him feel the worst.
So Thomas sneaked up the back stairs and tried to creep into the house via the back door.  How was he to know his father had left the new TV perched on top of its box by the back door?  How was he to know that opening that door would result in the TV falling off the box with an almighty crash and waking his father up from his usual doze.
The TV went crash and Thomas heard the creak of bed springs as his father levered himself up off the bed and stomped with his heavy angry gait through the house.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT!!" Frank exploded when he saw his precious new TV lying on the floor.
"I-I-I'm sorry Dad, I didn't see it.  I-I didn't know it was there."
"WHAT THE HELL YA CREEPIN IN THE BACK DOOR FOR ANYWAY!!  I SWEAR YA LITTLE SHIT, YOU'RE AS WEIRD AS THEY COME!!"
Frank bent down and straightened up the TV.  "Awww shit.  It's probably stuffed now.  I've already promised the old one ta ol' Jake, n' I caint go back on me word. Now we aint got no TV.  It's your fault ya little bugger.  Just like everything else."
* * * * * * * * * *
Seventeen years old.  Thomas has just got his license. He got it after only the second try and he was so proud of himself.  Beaming with pride he had driven out to the workshop where his father now worked.  Sudson's Ironmongery.  Thomas parked in the lot carefully, eager to show his Dad his new license.  Surely his Dad would be proud of him for that.  Surely he would have done something right at last.
Thomas got out of the car, holding his new license tightly in his hand and walking towards the big oak doors beaming happily.  Just as he got to them and reached out to pull the big iron bound doors wide and announce his victory, the door was shoved backwards and Thomas was knocked to the ground.  His fresh new license went flying into a puddle of mud and Thomas followed it shortly after.
Frank Levi stormed through, turning and shouting back into the darkness of the workshop.  "YA CAN STUFF YA JOB UP YA ARSE!! I AINT WORKING FOR NO ONE WHO THINKS I'M A DRUNK."
Frank stormed across the parking lot.  Thomas quickly pulled himself to his feet, fished his dripping license out of the mud and tried to sneak back towards his car, hoping against hope that his father would not notice him.  He was never that lucky.
Frank Levi spotted his son as he crept toward the old valiant Thomas had bought with his own money from working at McDonalds.
"What the hell are you doin here?"
"Err- nothing Dad.  I just wanted to show you I got me license."
Suddenly Frank looked suspiciously at him. "It was you weren't it?"
"Me?" Thomas squeaked. "What did I do?"
"I shoulda knowed it.  It was you.  Someone's been tellin that bastard lies about me drinkin of a mornin."
Thomas stepped back hastily. "No Dad, I wouldn't.  I didn't even know you were drinking in the morning."
"Bull, it was you, you back stabbing little fuck.  You've cost me everything all my life.  I know it was you.  Ya happy now ya little bastard. I lost me job now.  The whole family's gonna starve all coz o' you. Once again you're keepin us all down." Frank waved his hand in disgust. "Get outta my sight ya little creep.  Go crawl back under ya Mummy's skirts where ya belong.  I shoulda punched her in the stomach when you was still in it.  I mighta had a real life now if'n I had." With those final words, Frank turned his back on his son and walked toward his own car.
* * * * * * * * * *
Twenty three years old.  He was standing next to a grave.  Fresh flowers stood in the urn on top of the concrete border that surrounded the simple brass plaque.  'Grace Angela Levi' it said.  'Beloved Wife and Mother'.
Tears sprang to Thomas's eyes as he stared at the grave.  It was well maintained; the brass plate gleamed from recent polishing.  All the weeds and grass had been pulled from around the grave and the urn was a gleaming crystal vase.  Love and attention had been lavished on this grave by someone who missed the dearly departed very much, and that person wasn't Thomas.  Thomas hadn't visited the grave of his wife since they had laid her in the ground five years before.  He had been far too involved in his quest for money to pile into Gracie's account and, worse than that, he had been trying very hard to forget her.  Guilt exploded in him knowing that someone else had shown the care for his deceased wife that he should have shown.  He dropped to his knees and sobbed.
"Mum comes here every Saturday," a voice said behind him.  "She comes and replaces the flowers, polishes the plaque and picks all the weeds out.  Sometimes the vase is gone so she brings a new one the next time she comes."
Thomas turned and stared through red streaming eyes up at his wife.  She stood there in all her glory, as beautiful as the day he had first met her, her hair shining like a red halo around her beautiful features.
"Oh Grace," he moaned. "I'm so sorry.  I let you down." He clasped her hand and sobbed into it.  "I let you die," he wailed.
Grace knelt in front of him putting her arms around his shoulders and hugging her to him.  "No Thomas.  You never let me down.  You were the most loving and gentle man there ever was.  You gave me more love in the time we were together than I received in my whole life."
"But I let you die," Thomas wailed.
"How did you let me die Thomas?  I suffered a hemorrhage. How were you supposed to control that?"
"If I had taken you to a doctor.  If I had taken you just once they would have seen it and they could have been ready for it."
Grace shook her head and kissed Thomas on the cheek. "You silly man.  I did see a doctor.  Do you really think I would have risked our baby by not seeing a doctor?  I knew you would worry about the money so I borrowed it from Mum and went to the doctor.  I just wish I had told her what the money was for.  She could have told you a long time ago then."
Thomas looked up into her eyes, startled.  The whole basis of his guilt was shaken and crumbling with one simple fact. Grace had seen a doctor.  "But… but…?"
"I saw a doctor and he didn't find anything wrong Thomas.  How could he?  It was such a small tear.  He wouldn't have even known he had to look for one." Grace ran a loving hand down Thomas's face. "It was just fate Thomas.  No one could change it and you are wrong to feel guilty about it.  Remember me Thomas.  Love me as you always have done.  I have so missed that love."
"But… but…?"
"Is it so hard to let go of your guilt?  Your father treated you like garbage all of your life, but that was his fault.  He had no right.  You were a wonderful child Thomas, and most people would have been overjoyed to have you.  Your mother certainly was.  Stop looking at your father's actions and look at Mary's for a change.  Can't you remember the joy she took in you?"
Grace laid her other hand on Thomas's face and suddenly he arched backwards with a cry.  Memories flashed through his mind.  Memories of love.  His mother holding him as a baby and crooning to him with a soft happy smile on her face.  His mother's eyes lighting up with joy when she received his first report card with all those A's on it.  His mother's face laughing and crying at the same time as he drove off with his new wife to begin their life together.  A thousand memories, all of them of his mother's dear face smiling at him, taking pure pleasure in his very existence.  A lifetime of joy in his mother's eyes and all focused on him.  Against such an onslaught, all the negativity that his father had thrown at him paled and vanished.  For the first time in his life, Thomas saw his father for what he was.  A bitter old drunk that didn't know just how lucky he was.  Frank Levi had been given a wife that any man would envy, then he had been given a son who was bright beyond reason and who had a pure heart of gold.  Frank Levi had rejected them both, denying himself the happiness that had been his to grab.  Frank Levi's troubles started and ended with himself, not his son or his wife.  Frank Levi was a true blue loser.
Thomas gasped and crumpled to the ground, his hands outstretched as he tried to dig his fingers into the soil, his soul overflowing with joy. But it wasn't grass.  It was carpet.  The rough industrial carpet he had laid in his office.  Thomas was back in the present and back in his own house. Grace was gone and so, it would seem, was the spiders and the freakish fairy.  In fact there was no sign that they had ever been there.
Thomas climbed shakily to his feet, his eyes searching for some sign of the battle he remembered having fought that night.  Could it be so simple?  Could it be that just accepting what his father was and relieving himself of twenty nine years of guilt could wipe the slate clean? Could it be that all the horrors he had faced in the last few days had simply been constructs of his own mind lashing out at the guilt he had overburdened himself with?
Thomas wandered out into the dining room, staring around him.  Not a trace.  In the kitchen there was a broken glass and some coke spilled on the floor but no other sign that a fairy had ever been there.  There was blood on the floor but it was in the shape of his own footprints, undoubtedly from the piece of glass he had stood on.
Thomas turned and rushed to the bathroom, pulling out bandages to wrap his foot in.  He felt so light, so free, and so happy.  He paused and looked into the mirror, smiling at himself.  "My father is a bastard," he said happily.  "He is a bastard and he is wrong."
Thomas sat on the edge of the bath and began wrapping his foot. He didn't do a very good job and the bandage threatened to fall off when he stood up.  He didn't care.  He was free.
It was as he walked out into the hallway that he noticed the knife.