Sean is gone.

The young boy sat cowering at the table, his gaze down at the worn, faded wood. He said nothing.

"You see," said his mother, "this morning there were five cupcakes and now there are four and you say you didn't take one."

The boy shook his head no.

"Well, this doesn't make any sense. I didn't take one, you didn't take one and we're the only two people in the house. How do you explain that?"

"I don't know," said the boy, "maybe Abraham took it."

"Abraham, okay maybe Abraham took one. Let me ask him." She glanced around the small kitchen. "Oh wait, that's right, there's no one else here except you and me."

The cadence and pitch of her voice changed as anger crept in.

"Sean, admit that you took the cupcake. You won't get in trouble for taking it, but you will get in trouble for lying to me."

"Abraham says you need to be nice to me," said the boy, looking up and into his mother's frustrated eyes. "He also says the cupcake was dry."

The woman stood, stunned at the comment.

"Dry. Hmm okay, well, tell Abraham if he wants a moist cupcake, he needs to get his own and stop taking ours."

"I don't need to tell him, he can hear you."

The woman glanced around, a reflex reaction.

"That's enough Sean, you've had your fun. Now admit you took it."

She slapped the boy through the face.

The voice that came from her eight year old son's mouth was deep, confident and raspy, it was not a boy's voice and it sent chills up the woman's spine.

"Sean's gone. It's just us now. Why don't you try slapping me and see what happens."

The boy stood.

The woman muttered "Abraham?"

"That's right."