Jonathan JE Brown – Writer and Content Creator

My mum called it a game, but she never played it like one. Treasure hunt in the dark. We never knew when we’d play – that was half the excitement – but we knew when the game had started. The lights would go out and mum would shout ‘Treasure hunt’.

The rules were simple. Me and my big brother Callum would grab our torches and try to find the treasure as fast as we could. Finding it fast was important to mum. Sometimes the game was easy, and we’d find the treasure where mum usually left it. Other times we wouldn’t find it at all. Mum would get angry then. She’d leave us alone in the dark. Those times I didn’t like the dark. 

My torch was my awesome dinosaur projector. If Callum had gone off looking somewhere else I’d get a bit scared if the torch was shining the T-Rex. The T-Rex had huge teeth – as big as my hand. I knew that from school. I didn’t like the teeth. If I got scared though, I could switch the torch to the diplodocus. He was huge but only ate leaves. And I wasn’t a leaf. I was a boy. 

When Callum sees that I’ve got the diplodocus shining, he comes and gives me a hug. It’s ok, he tells me, dinosaurs are extinct. I know what extinct means. Even though I’m only five years old, I know a lot of big words. My mum says I’m going to make our family rich. Callum always leaves the room when she says this. He’s ten years old – double my age – but mum says he’s good for nothing. 

It isn’t true, though. He’s good for pulling me up to the top bunk. For making sure the big boys in the playground don’t bully me (I’m going to miss him when he goes to the big school). He’s good at making beans on toast, when mum can’t. He can jump further and higher than anyone I know. He also makes the dark less scary. I think Callum could probably do anything if he wanted. Just like mum says I can. 

We don’t play treasure hunt that often. Usually in the winter, when the nights are dark. That’s the best time to play it, mum says. 

Callum says it’s not a game. It’s just mum being stupid and silly. But being stupid and silly is like a game, I tell him. Not this kind of stupid, Callum says. This is adult stupid. When you’re an adult, you can’t be silly all the time, Callum tells me, which makes me a bit sad. He says that if you’re silly when you’re an adult, people don’t take you seriously. That’s why mum has to change jobs – because she’s always silly. Always stupid. 

When will I have to be silly, I ask my big brother. Not yet, he says. Not for a long time. When I’m your age, I ask him. Maybe, says Callum. Maybe.

Callum usually wins when we play treasure hunt. But I think he sometimes cheats and knows where the treasure is. He’s also got a more powerful torch than me. A proper camping torch. Not that we’ve ever been camping, but Callum bought one anyway to help him get better at the game, he said.

Mum doesn’t try at the game very hard. She always looks in the same place and then gives up. She does it to let us win, I think. It’s nice of her. But Callum says it’s just because she’s lazy. But she’s always busy, I tell him. She makes us dinner lots and never has time to play. 

When we start to talk too much about mum like this in the darkness, Callum goes quiet. In the dark, when we’re playing treasure hunt, and mum is down stairs smoking, and Callum and me are upstairs hunting in our bedroom, Callum cries. He doesn’t know I know he’s crying, but I can hear it. He only cries these times. When it’s dark and I can’t see his face. And when the lights come back on – whether that’s after the game or in the morning after mum has been to the shops for more treasure – you can’t tell he’s been crying. My brother’s face is so strong, you’d never think it could cry. But I know he does, in the dark, when only I’m there to hear him. 

We’ve played Treasure Hunt two times this year already. Callum says that’s not a good sign. This time the house is dark and cold. I think mum is now crying in the dark. She’s not quiet when she cries like Callum. And her face isn’t strong like his. It always looks like it could cry – even during the day. I hope I find the treasure fast to make her happy again. When we find the treasure, she takes it to her treasure chest on the wall and makes the lights come back on. No one cries in the light. Apart from me. I cry a lot. But Callum says that’s ok because I’m only five and should cry. I try not to cry when it’s dark though. 

I’m not afraid of the dark. I can find my way quickly around the house in the dark now. The house in the dark is different, but the same. You just need to know how to read the darkness. I think I’m going to win this game, as mum’s not crying and Callum’s still in our room looking there, I think. I head downstairs into the hall way. No one has looked there yet. I shine my diplodocus under the hall table and it catches something white. It’s on the floor, behind mum’s shoe. Treasure! I pick up the white card and run to mum as fast as I can. 

I told you you’d save us all, she says. I’m glad Callum doesn’t hear her. She uses the treasure to turn the lights back on. She puts the kettle on and lights another cigarette. I turn my torch off and stand in the corner of the kitchen. Mum smiles as she makes tea, but the tears and crying are still there, just under her face. Callum doesn’t come downstairs, even though the game is over and I won. He usually comes to congratulate me, but he doesn’t. I wish he would.