Oswin's Project

by Fiona Law

  After a tense moment, Griswold blinked. “The game,” he repeated expressionlessly.

  “And we were fighting over the remote, when we slipped on this wet floor,” Beryl continued, then turned to her cousin accusingly. “Oswin, did you wet the floor?”

  “No!” he frowned. Beryl obviously was under the illusion that she could be blamed for taking a part in making the device. Ha! With her flea brain? Not likely! Yet he was amazed at how fast and calculating she could be when scheming.

  “You kids can’t go horsing around the house like that, you’re far too big!” said Griswold, returning safely to what was normal behavior for him: scolding and complaining. A lot. “Someone could have got hurt! If the authorities notice so much as a tiny mark on a kid nowadays, they put them on the At Risk List! We have to reason with them nowadays. No clip around the ear, or the authorities chuck the parents into jail and the kids go straight into care!”

  “Excuse me! Someone did get hurt!” Beryl wailed indignantly, rubbing her rump and leaning on the table dramatically as she clamored up to her feet.

  “You’re right, Griswold, I’m so sorry! Don’t know what came over me,” muttered Oswin. Then he said with deliberate clarity, “I’ll just put the remote next to the telly!” He slipped out of the kitchen before Beryl could stop him, making a graceful beeline for his room. He had plenty of notes to scribble out, and once Griswold got started about At Risk lists, he could go on for ages.

  “No! Put the telly on for the match!” Griswold said pointedly to Oswin’s hastily retreating back then he turned to Beryl. “Make us a pot of tea, Luv. That was a dreadful fright you gave me…I thought for a moment you were torturing the boy…ugh!” He shuddered.

  Chapter Five

  Later that day Oswin worked at his next construction, illicitly using a welding iron to make some sort of helmet with an intricate array of electronics worked into it. Brazenly flaunting Griswold’s rule forbidding welding, sawing and drilling in the house, Oswin left his door wide open as he worked. He didn’t want to miss Gemma’s return. When she came back, he called her and she hung in the doorway, holding a small paper bag with her purchases, and listened to his account of what had happened in the kitchen earlier.

  “Didn’t you see anything, when the detector went off?” she asked.

  “No. I was so involved in wrestling with Beryl that I wouldn’t have noticed a freight train going passed my nose,” Oswin replied regretfully, “And the lack of any actual sighting at the time makes the readings seem dodgy.” He sighed and switched his forbidden soldering iron off at the wall. “I just hope she hadn’t broken the thing and set it off.”

  “Well, it seems to be working excellently. Also, if the readings were slightly high in the living room ages after I saw my ghost, then wouldn’t the kitchen still show a slightly higher than normal reading shortly after it went off, like that?”

  He nodded and rummaged about for a piece of paper. “Yes, and it has. But as none of us actually saw anything it…Ah, here it is!” He handed Gemma the page of recordings. “Will you copy this down into the diary I gave you? I’ve taken readings on ten-minute intervals, and they have been coming back down. They’re almost normal now.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Gemma grinned. “Isn’t it?”

  Oswin adjusted his specs and agreed. “But I think we need to do recordings around quite a few sightings before we’ve got something concrete. I need to be very thorough with researching this project. It’s a tricky subject.”

  “You would have been ultra-thorough anyway—you always are!” Gemma said and did a celebratory double twirl.

  “I suppose so. And I’m improving the ghost detector system with this visor I’m making. I’m hoping to be able to see the ghost’s aura—which is made of magnetic fields.”

  “Do you think it can be done?”

  “Why not? The hand device works—or seems to at any rate—and this is just an extension of the whole idea. It’s the head sensor!”

  Oswin proudly tried on the elaborate helmet. Gemma hung onto the jar of the door and giggled.

  “You look like an android in a Sci Fi serial,” she said.

  Gazing through the visor, everything was dark and murky—like swimming in a peaty loch. Oswin could vaguely make out Gemma as a lighter haze, against an indistinct world of shadows.

  “By the way,” he said, taking off the helmet and his glasses, and rubbing his eyes, “I’ve discovered something interesting in the library—about your house!”

  The bag rustled as Gemma absently tweaked it with her slender fingers. “Oh, what?

  “This house is situated on a ley line.”

  Gemma stared at him for a moment. “Sorry—I haven’t the slightest idea what a ley line is!”

  “It’s a line joining two prominent points of a landscape, usually along prehistoric tracks. But in the world of the paranormal, they also seem to join up recorded ghost sightings,” explained Oswin. “Places of heightened paranormal activity are often on these lines. Weird, yeah? They often coincide with underwater streams, which is stranger still. What could water have that attracts ghosts? Or makes us see them, you might ask? Well, for one thing, water’s a good conductor, you know.”

  By now Gemma had glazed over a bit, but Oswin was in full swing, and he went on to explain his thesis exploring the significance of magnetic fields in ghostly activity. This took a chunk out of Gemma’s evening, and, thanks to Beryl hogging the bathroom, it wasn’t until the next day that she had a chance to try out her nice green body paint.

  * * * *

  The next morning—Sunday—saw Beryl hunched over her work, which carpeted her bedroom floor again. There was an air of franticness about her studying. She had lost an afternoon watching the game with Griswold. Later, in an effort to come to terms with her ordeal of being chased down by Oswin and slipping on the floor—about which no one had shown the tiniest bit of concern!—she had spent the evening shut in the bathroom, giving herself a makeover. Next, she had to gone bed in a fancy nightgown, with a cup of cocoa, a box of chocolates and The Sound of Dolphins on her CD player.

  Beryl had certainly gone to bed feeling pampered and comforted, but the next morning had woken up to a pile of unfinished work. Her misery crawled straight onto her back again as she began her revision.

  Gemma, meanwhile, with a mind to test the waters, locked herself in the bathroom and emerged within the hour painted bright green and wearing the closest thing she could find to a medieval dress. Her beautiful red hair looked very striking next to her new, leafy hue. She swept it back into a plait and took it as a good omen when she saw in the mirror that it was very close in color and texture to that of Princess Fiona’s.

  Gemma reckoned she would be instantly recognizable as the ogre princess at the party. She was sure her classmates would be impressed with such a good costume. But just to confirm, she thought she might as well walk around as Princess Fiona at home to see what the family’s reaction would be. They may even tolerate her pottering around the house dressed up as the ogre princess on the odd occasion.

  Impatient to test the family’s reaction, Gemma looked for someone to try it out on. Oswin had worked on his visor late into the night and seemed to be fast asleep. Griswold never left his room before midday on a Sunday, so that left Beryl. Of everyone’s reactions, Gemma was least keen on getting Beryl’s but her impatience to show off her striking resemblance to Princess Fiona gnawed at her. After pacing her own room restlessly, Gemma at last tapped timidly on Beryl’s door.

  “Come!” Beryl grunted from within.

  Gemma pushed the door open slowly and emerged from the landing.

  “Well, what do you think of my new look?” she asked quietly.

  As they gazed at one another, Beryl was vaguely aware of how unsettled she was by the vivid contrast between Gemma’s green skin and her red ha
ir.

  Gemma’s hands fluttered about her face and she blinked. The green paint was irritating her eyes.

  Beryl blinked too but for a different reason.

  “Would you please not go Ga Ga on me at this time!” she bellowed at last, making poor Gemma twitch. “I’ve got not one, but two—yes two wretched, great tests to study for next week. And if that’s not enough, I’ve got homework from all my other slave-driving teachers! It never bloody ends! Father wants me to look into getting the washing machine replaced—when I’m not keeping him company while he watches his blasted football matches! I just don’t have time for more appointments with health visitors and psychological assessments. So, if it’s not too much to ask, could you please wait until after this term to freak out!”

  Beryl panted a little after this volley, and glared at her leafy hued sister.

  Gemma glared back at her for a moment, before turning on her heel and departing in a swirl of green.

  Her pace slackened as she trod down the stairs, unaware that she was dragging a green smudge along the banister. She trailed into the kitchen, but unsure of what she wanted to do there, flitted through to the lounge, thinking vaguely in terms of catching the last of the weekend children’s programs.

  Yes, that might cheer me up, she thought.

  The ghost just happened to be sitting in Griswold’s chair again—knitting as before. As Gemma entered, she looked up, her fingers poised in mid-stitch. Gemma’s eyes widened, but the ghost’s eyes bulged. They gasped in unison at the sight of each other. The ghost, having the ability, withdrew immediately, vanishing in a gentle pop!

  Gemma stifled a scream, before running round in circles, telling herself to “Breathe! Breathe!” Used to taking orders, she obediently took two deep breaths, recovering enough to remember to contact Oswin As Soon As Possible!

  Dashing through to the phone in the hall, she frantically dialled his mobile.

  Chapter Six

  Although Oswin answered his phone with his eyes closed, he pulled himself from his slumber instantly at the sound of Gemma’s urgent voice.

  “What—the ghost? Again? Where? Oh, right, I’ll be there in a flash.”

  Of course, he literally was. He came stumbling down the stairs in his pyjamas, the ghost detector and his notebook in his grasp, the visual gadget on his head. Gemma gulped nervously at the sight of his equipment. Her green pallor got no reaction from Oswin; indeed, he was so focused on getting results from his head sensor and his handheld sensor that he barely noticed.

  “Right, show me…” he said, pulling the visor down. He was plunged instantly into his private, self-created void. Seeing only shadowy darkness, he stumbled forward, stretching his arms out in an effort to detect where he was. “Oops! Ouch! Show me where the lounge is!”

  Gemma took one of his hands and lead him through to the living room.

  “Shall I take the hand set’s readings for you?” she asked, removing the pad and hand device from him and setting to work. “This is really good. Look how high it is!”

  Of course Oswin couldn’t look. He stumbled around with his hands outstretched. “This way?” he asked, before swivelling round. “Or this side? I can’t see!”

  Absently, Gemma took him by the shoulders and turned him to face where the ghost had sat a mere minute or two ago. “Mind the chair,” she said, as turned back to her recordings.

  “Yes! Yes!” yelled Oswin, racing blindly towards a misty haze he glimpsed momentarily through the darkness. “Yes, I can…Oh, no I can’t. I thought… Ow! No! Ow!” he groaned, tripping over the chair, and sprawling over the coffee table.

  “Yes! Ha, ha! Got you!” laughed Gemma, punching the buttons of the hand detector excitedly.

  Griswold arrived in the doorway just at that moment. Having been disturbed by the excitement downstairs, he had arisen from his bed, and hurried down to investigate. He froze, gaping in shock and horror at the bizarre goings on before him.

  “What’s all this? Gemma, what are you doing to him?”

  Oswin, letting go of his shin, which he had knocked on the table in the fall, tried to get the headgear off of him. It stuck fast.

  “Get it off! Oof!” Oswin groaned from beneath the helmet.

  Gemma’s teeth glowed hideous and bright against her green face as she grinned. Her shining eyes unnerved her father.

  “What are you doing to him?” he gasped, making a grab for the hand detector. He assumed it was linked to the helmet, which was—as far as he could make out—obviously torturing Oswin. Slowly and painfully.

  “You’re hurting him—you’re going to kill him!” cried Griswold, his voice raised to a screech. He heard Oswin’s breathing behind the visor; it was laboured.

  “Gemma! Please! I can’t breath!” wheezed Oswin, floundering in the air with his hands as though he were drowning. Desperation tinged his voice, making it pitch to a squeal. “Gemma!”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry!” said Gemma at last. “No, Dad, don’t touch the buttons! Dad!” She thrust the ghost detector down the front of her dress, where Griswold’s hands would never dare to go, and set to work at helping Oswin.

  “What are you kids doing?” gasped Griswold, holding his head in his hands. “Can’t you press one of your buttons on your remote, Gemma?” He stepped forward, making weak attempts to help with removing the helmet.

  Gemma blinked and uttered an indeterminable reply as she tugged at the helmet, making Oswin squeak hoarsely. Then the helmet popped off, revealing a red-faced, panting Oswin. Griswold took a step back as he observed the blue tinge around his nephew’s mouth, and the flecks of spittle on his cheeks.

  Then he rounded on Gemma, his eyes bulging. “What on earth were you doing, girl?” he wheezed and pointed at the hand-held detector peeping out of her scooped neckline. “You’ve nearly killed him!”

  Gemma frowned. “What?”

  “Oh no, Uncle,” Oswin explained, breathlessly at first. “That’s not a remote control Gemma’s holding, it’s a nifty little gadget that takes readings of magnetic, static and temperature fluctuations. Part of my science practical for this term. I made it.”

  Griswold stared from one teenage to the other in a moment of calm confusion.

  “And the helmet thingy that he was wearing is similar,” Gemma joined in. “It shows the magnetic fields around objects, I think. Something like that. It’s for ghost detection.”

  There was another pause after which Griswold whispered, “Ghost?”

  Oswin swallowed. “That’s right, Uncle Griswold, I’m going to prove—or disprove—the existence of ghosts. That’s part of my project.”

  “Is it, indeed?”

  “I think we may find that they really do exist,” Gemma beamed supportively. “And if anyone can, our Oswin can!” She pranced about with glee, doing a neat little pirouette.

  Griswold made a futile attempt at swatting her and his customary scowl deepened, darkened.

  “Keep still, girl! There’s no such thing as ghosts! You’ll soon find out, with all your scientific gobbledygook paraphernalia that there’s no such thing!”

  “Then, with all due respect, sir,” said Oswin quietly, “you’ll let me carry on with my project without trying to stop me. I’ll prove you right, if, of course, you are right!”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts! And these gadgets look positively dangerous. This helmet especially—you nearly suffocated. No, my boy, I’m confiscating it! And this ghost-proving rubbish must stop, do you hear?” With that he snatched the helmet from Oswin and spun round to go. Oswin let him take the helmet. At least he still had…

  “The remote!” spat Griswold, turning back. He stared at its hiding place, his hands clenching and unclenching but he did not lunge for the device.

  “If I ever see that hand device in action again, I’m not only going to confis
cate it, I’m going to smash it up!” he snarled, and turned on his heel once more.

  Then he hesitated as he considered interrupting his authoritarian exit—again—to enquire why Gemma was painted green. He should have said something earlier, but it had seemed a trivial detail in the moments he thought his daughter had been torturing his nephew to death. And now, it seemed the opportunity for tackling the issue had passed. Then again, to say nothing would be to condone this strange fashion. What would be next, he wondered, Beryl in Teletubby yellow?

  “And wash that stuff off your face, girl,” he snarled at last. “You look hideous!”

  “Daddy, I was hoping I could…” Gemma began timidly, her hands fluttering like leaves blown about in a storm.

  “Now, I said!” Griswold interrupted.

  “Wear it to the party, as my…”

  “Now!” he shrieked. “It’s disgusting!”

  “But Daddy, I want to wear it to Rebecca’s party,” Gemma pleaded.

  “You’re not going out of the house looking like that, my girl. And that’s final!”

  The look on Griswold’s face was positively dangerous as he strode out with stormy determination. Then he popped his heard round the door again, and waved the helmet ominously at them.

  “I’m confiscating this weird gizmo contraption, and I’m going to destroy it,” he announced with a victorious sneer.

  Gemma wilted, motionless in a little spotlight of misery.

  “Actually,” said Oswin, when Griswold’s footsteps had faded upstairs, “I think it’s a brilliant costume. Princess Fiona in Shrek, right?”

  She nodded, as the first of her tears rolled down her cheek, leaving a flesh-colored path for the rest to follow on.

  “See?” smiled Oswin. “I knew immediately who you were. When’s the party?”

  “The what?” gulped Gemma, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.