Haunted Canada

by Pat Hancock

  Jasmine looked up at Mom.

  “Mom? She’s your friend, isn’t she? You just forgot about her, didn’t you?”

  “You’re right, Jasmine,” she said softly. “I just forgot about her. She was a very special friend. Now, it’s way past your bedtime. But I promise, I’ll tell you all about her one day.”

  THE NEWCOMER

  Raffi knew exactly how it felt to be the new kid. He remembered his own first day at Langley — and how nervous he’d been. So when he spotted Damien, all alone, leaning against the schoolyard fence, he walked over.

  “Hi,” he said, trying to sound friendly, but not pushy. “I’m Raffi Kadir.”

  “Hi, I’m Raffi Kadir,” Damien repeated snarkily.

  Startled, Raffi blurted, “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Damien parroted.

  “Hey, come on. I was just trying to …”

  Before Raffi finished, Damien was already repeating his words, like an evil echo. Turning away, Raffi muttered, “Forget it.”

  He flinched as Damien spat back, “Forget it.”

  “So … what’s he like?” Tony Lo Presti asked as Raffi rejoined the cluster of kids gathered near the door. Tony glanced warily at Damien before continuing. “Did you ask where he came from?”

  “Nope,” Raffi shrugged.

  When Mrs. Mullen had introduced Damien to the class and asked him to say something about himself, he’d simply shaken his head. At the time, Raffi had thought that the newcomer was just shy. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Melanie says he just stared at her when she tried to talk to him,” Jenny Clayton added in a low voice. “Remember when she was handing out the magnifying glasses? She says he’s scary.”

  “So?” Raffi said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “People say lots of things about a new kid, right?”

  “Yeah, but …” Tony argued, “this guy could be trouble. I mean, look at what he’s doing right now.” He added quickly, “But don’t stare.”

  Damien had grabbed a soccer ball from a group of grade three kids. He was holding it at arm’s length, out of their reach. One boy jumped up and grabbed Damien’s arm, trying to drag it and the ball down. Damien shook him off like a fly. Then he drew back his arm and heaved the ball all the way to the far end of the yard.

  At that moment, the bell rang and everyone, including Damien, started toward the door.

  By lunchtime, Raffi had nearly forgotten the nastiness at recess. So it took him a while to catch on to what was happening behind his back as he walked to the cafeteria.

  First, he noticed two little kids outside Miss Daneff’s room staring past him. Then, he heard the giggling. He turned quickly, and caught Damien turning too, just a few steps behind him. Three grade-eight girls farther back snickered.

  A feeling of helplessness washed over Raffi. He knew exactly what would happen the instant he turned around again. Damien would follow him, imitating everything he did.

  “What’s with you?” Raffi asked.

  “What’s with you?” Damien repeated, without turning to face Raffi.

  Quickly, Raffi moved toward Damien and stepped in front of him. “I was just trying to be friendly. Guess I was stupid, eh?”

  Without waiting, he strode deliberately past his tormentor to the cafeteria. As he pushed open the door, he enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction. Damien had made it all the way to “stupid” before he caught on.

  But Raffi’s victory was fleeting. During lunch, Damien positioned himself at the next table and mirrored his every move. He even managed to win over a small audience of nervous grade fives desperate to avoid becoming victims themselves.

  During afternoon classes, Damien toned down the attack somewhat. But even though the teacher noticed nothing unusual, Raffi knew what was going on behind his back. And he felt powerless to combat it.

  The next two days were Raffi’s worst ever at Langley. His only defense was to keep away from the tall, glowering newcomer whenever he could and to say as little as possible. He even stopped putting up his hand to answer questions for fear of hearing the vicious whisper mimicking his words from two seats back and one over.

  When his friends asked him what he was going to do, he shrugged and told them he could handle it. Sounding more confident than he felt, he said that Damien would soon get bored with his stupid game and everything would be fine again.

  “Maybe you should tell Mrs. Mullen,” Jenny suggested.

  Tony rolled his eyes, saying that would probably only make matters worse.

  But Jenny persisted. “Mrs. Mullen says she won’t stand for bullying, and this is bullying, that’s for sure. I bet she can help.”

  “Maybe,” Raffi agreed, “but Tony’s probably right. Anyway, what am I going to say? That Damien is driving me crazy by acting like my shadow? I’ll sound like an idiot.”

  “She’d understand.”

  “Maybe, but he wouldn’t,” Tony shot back. “What do you say we get some of the guys together and make him understand?”

  The thought of beating up someone horrified Raffi, but he didn’t say so. Instead he simply repeated that he could take whatever Damien was dishing out.

  “Well, I couldn’t,” Jenny admitted. “I still think you should tell Mrs. Mullen. She’d understand. Or how about your mom or dad? They would too, I bet.”

  By Friday, however, Raffi doubted whether Mrs. Mullen or his parents would understand what was happening between him and Damien. He didn’t think anyone would. Why should they, he thought. It was impossible.

  Impossible as it seemed, though, Raffi was convinced that Damien was no longer just one nerve-racking step behind him. He was now a sinister sidekick, lifting a hand exactly when Raffi did, reaching for a sandwich or opening his locker at exactly the same moment, even saying or whispering the few words that Raffi still spoke in exactly the same breath. There was no longer a time delay on the bully’s broadcast network.

  After school on Friday, Raffi hid in the washroom until he figured the coast was clear. Then, he slipped out of the building and, like a lone rider waiting to be ambushed, cautiously worked his way home.

  The dreaded Damien never materialized. Raffi made it safely to his house but, even after slamming the door behind him, he didn’t feel safe. Shaded windows and thick brick walls were useless barriers against someone who seemed to be able to tune in his thoughts at will. Raffi tossed his bag behind the coat rack and threw himself on the couch, face down.

  That’s where his dad found him a few minutes later.

  “I thought I heard you come in,” Mr. Kadir said. “Here, look at this one.”

  Raffi glanced at the watch his dad was holding out. The back was open and he could see the tiny brass wheels and gears turning smoothly.

  “Isn’t it a beauty?” Mr. Kadir continued. “Lucy Vanier brought it in yesterday. It was her great-great-grand-father’s. I couldn’t resist working on it right away. Just one little spring — that’s all it needed. And now it’s ticking away like new again.”

  “Just a spring, eh?” Raffi asked, trying to sound interested in the work that brought his dad such satisfaction.

  “That’s all. She wound it too tight by mistake, and it just snapped.”

  I know how that feels, Raffi thought, watching his dad’s long, thick fingers gently close the watch. It never ceased to amaze him that a man with such big hands could do such delicate work.

  Mr. Kadir palmed the watch in his left hand and reached out with the other to brush the hair off Raffi’s forehead. He frowned and asked, “Everything okay, son?”

  Raffi rolled over, hoping his eyes wouldn’t betray the turmoil he felt.

  “I’m fine, Dad. Leave me alone, okay? I’m just tired.”

  “And a bit touchy too, eh? Your mom won’t be home from work for another hour. Why don’t you grab a nap? I’ll be down in the shop if you need me.”

  “Sounds good,” Raffi mumbled, turning his face back into the cushion.<
br />
  “I’m beat,” he added, shutting his eyes. Within a few minutes he was lost in sleep, but it was a sleep that brought him no rest.

  The dream was painfully real. He was running — from a monstrous, twisted version of Damien that was reaching toward him with long, talon-like fingers. “You can’t get away, Raffi,” it intoned as it drew ever closer. “There’s plenty of room in here for me,” it said as the hands began to claw at Raffi’s hair. “I’m coming in.”

  Raffi woke with a start. He was sweating and gasping for breath, as if he had actually been running. He sat up and leaned against the back of the couch, trying to calm down. Some of the nightmare’s details were already fading, but not the fear it had created — and not Damien’s words.

  “You can’t come in,” Raffi whispered to the empty room. But, he wondered as he pushed himself up, how do I keep him out? Feeling helpless, Raffi dragged himself into the kitchen, toward the comforting sound of his parents’ voices and dishes rattling. He couldn’t stand another minute alone.

  Miserable as he was, Raffi told his parents nothing, not even when his mother asked straight out if something was bothering him. Instead, he mumbled that he felt crummy and said he’d decided to go to bed early.

  He didn’t like lying, but he knew exactly how they’d react if he told them the truth. They’d be worried and angry and they’d probably want to call the principal. That’s all I need, he thought, as he headed upstairs. My parents talking to the principal. Then the whole school will think I’m a wimp.

  As he slipped under the covers, he decided he’d just have to wait until Damien stopped.

  But, as he surrendered to an overwhelming fatigue, Raffi was haunted by the thought that Damien would never stop. Damien would go on and on, until he got what he wanted — whatever that was. Then he’d find another victim and the vicious game would start all over again.

  Raffi managed to survive the rest of the weekend without arousing his parents’ suspicions that anything really serious might be wrong. When Tony dropped by Saturday afternoon to see if he wanted to shoot some baskets, he said he was still feeling too crummy.

  And he dredged up the too-much-homework routine to avoid joining the kids on a visit to the new virtual reality exhibit at the Science Centre. This was hard to pass up, but keeping out of Damien’s line of fire was the only defense he felt he had. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could stomach any more virtual reality than he was already experiencing. Damien couldn’t be real. Real people couldn’t do what he did.

  Monday morning brought with it the harsh realization that hiding out was no longer an option. Filled with dread, Raffi dressed slowly, dragging on a clean pair of jeans, an old green T-shirt and his well-worn Leafs cap. Halfway through his Shreddies, the knot building in his stomach tightened and he put down his spoon, unable to take another bite.

  After pouring the leftover cereal down the sink when his dad wasn’t looking, he moved to the hall, picked up his bag and opened the door. As it closed behind him, he called out a quick goodbye. He had to get away before his parents saw the look he was sure must be in his eyes, the haunted look of someone trapped in a hopeless situation. Shoulders sagging, he set out for school.

  It wasn’t until he wandered into his homeroom two minutes after the bell rang that he realized the full extent of Damien’s power. As he passed the seat two behind and one over from his, a flash of green caught his eye. There was Damien, smirking. He was wearing blue jeans, a green T-shirt and a well-worn Leafs cap.

  Before Raffi could gasp, Damien beat him to it. Then he said, “We’re wearing the same clothes.”

  Raffi was horrified. The same words had just flashed through his own mind. It had finally happened. His nightmare had come true. Damien was in his head, thinking his thoughts, making the same choices he did.

  Like a deer frozen in a spotlight, Raffi stood in the aisle, his breath coming in short gasps. His eyes blurred and tears began to scald his cheeks. Humiliated, he turned and ran from the classroom, ignoring Mrs. Mullen’s plea to stop.

  His mother had left for work when Raffi arrived back home, but the squeaky floorboards in the hall gave him away. From his repair shop in the basement, his father called out loudly, “Who’s there?”

  “Just me, Dad,” Raffi called back, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “Feeling sick again. Going to bed. That’s all.”

  Raffi made it all the way to his room and into bed before he heard the phone. It rang just once. Good, he thought, figuring a customer’s call would distract his father. But, moments later, his dad was standing in the doorway.

  “Raffi, that was Mrs. Mullen. What happened?”

  Fighting for control, Raffi outlined his torment. He told his dad about Damien and the laughter of the other kids. He didn’t — he couldn’t — tell him about how Damien had finally invaded his mind. Instead, afraid to say more, he clenched his fist and began punching his pillow.

  “Bet you wish that pillow was him,” Dad said softly, sitting on the bed beside him.

  Raffi nodded weakly.

  “Bullies can do that to you — make you want to punch their faces in. But that’s not you, is it?”

  Raffi nodded again and gave the pillow a last feeble punch.

  “Or they make you run and hide. Either way, they’ve got you, right? The turf is theirs. They just take over.”

  Mr. Kadir placed his hand on Raffi’s shoulder. “Look at me, son.”

  Raffi looked up at his dad.

  “Do you want me to go back to school with you?” Raffi shook his head.

  “Okay. Then how about talking to Mrs. Mullen? She’s worried about you and I know she could help.”

  Again, Raffi shook his head.

  “All right. Maybe what you need right now is time, time to think this through. But promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll ask for help if you need it. That’s the other way a bully gets you, by making you afraid to do that. Promise?”

  Raffi promised and, after letting his dad tuck the covers around him, lay alone and exhausted, staring blankly at the ceiling. In his mind, he replayed the horrors of the last week. Like a movie playing backwards, he started with Damien’s ghoulish triumph an hour earlier and worked back through the less deadly days of shadow-dancing to the petty parroting that had started it all off last Monday.

  At this point, Raffi hit his mental pause button. He managed a small smile when he recalled how he had nearly trapped Damien into saying, “Guess I was stupid.”

  Damien had seemed human enough that day, with his evil powers still under wraps. Maybe, Raffi wondered, I could have stopped him back then, done something, told somebody. But it was too late now. Damien’s powers had been revealed and, as if feeding on something, they were growing stronger.

  Raffi froze this frame for a moment. He approached it carefully, poking at it to see if it would snarl and poke back. It didn’t. It lay still in his head, waiting for him to make sense of it. When he did, a glimmer of hope and the vague outline of a plan emerged from his frustration and desperation.

  Raffi pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, letting his plan take shape. When he had filled in a few missing details, he still wasn’t sure it would work. But he was sure of one thing — he had to give it a try.

  He considered changing his clothes, but quickly dismissed this idea. “I can wear what I want,” he said aloud as he stood up.

  He jammed his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his cap from the bed and headed downstairs. He walked over to the bench where his dad was working on an old mantel clock.

  “Feeling better, son?” Mr. Kadir began, but Raffi interrupted.

  “Dad, I know this is going to sound really weird, but I’ve got to ask you something. Would you call Mrs. Mullen for me?”

  “No problem. I’m sure she’ll have a talk with this kid and …”

  “No, Dad. No. That’s not what I want. Please, could you just call her and tell her I’m on my way back to school — and ask her not to say a word wh
en I walk in?”

  “Of course,” Dad said guardedly. “But you’re not going to do anything foolish?”

  Knowing what Dad was afraid of, Raffi reassured him with a grin, saying quickly, “Don’t worry, Dad. That’s not me, remember?”

  As he bounded up the stairs and out of the house, he added, “You can tell her if I need her help, I’ll ask for it, okay?”

  “You will?”

  “I will, Dad, for sure.”

  The fear Damien created was still with him when Raffi reached the school, but he was no longer fighting it. Instead, he was counting on it to act as a distraction. If his plan worked, Damien would be so busy feeding on that fear that he wouldn’t realize what was happening.

  He paused at the school door, took a deep breath and walked in. He passed the office and headed down the long hall to his homeroom. As he got closer, he saw that the door was open.

  When he slipped into the back of the classroom, Mrs. Mullen stared at him for a moment, as if to make sure of something. Then she looked back at the class without saying a word.

  Raffi stood perfectly still and focused on the desk two back and one over from his own. He gauged the distance between himself and his desk, and between Damien and Mrs. Mullen. Then he concentrated fiercely. Nothing happened.

  Frantic, Raffi tightened every muscle in his body and concentrated even harder.

  At last, Damien started to move. Slowly, he stood up and took a step forward. Raffi did the same. The rest of the class — and Mrs. Mullen — watched in silence.

  Step after step, Raffi followed — until Damien stopped in front of Mrs. Mullen. Raffi stopped, too, right beside his own desk. Then he focused on each word of the silent speech he’d prepared.

  Damien’s words sounded wooden, almost mechanical, but they were loud and clear.

  “Damien is a bully, but he’s not going to win. Raffi is fighting back. Damien is a bully, but he’s not going to …”