by RD Hale
'What do ya mean? You're a mutant, aren't ya?' Scoop butts in.
'No, she's not a mutant. She's a robot!' Killow gapes as though surprised by his own suggestion.
'She's not a mutant or a robot. She's a girl, you simpletons!' Sylvie insists.
Scoop points to a tin bucket perched on the L-shaped bench, worryingly close to the compuscreen. 'Ssthee if you can move that,' he says with a manic gurn.
'Yeah!' the gang yell as expectant eyes pressurise our timid little phenomenon and her gaze shifts, before settling on the intended target. Dynah clenches her fists as the occupants of the room wait with baited breath and she focuses for ten seconds... twenty seconds... obviously building the suspense before her physics-bending demonstration... thirty seconds... and nothing. The supergirl's face drops with a perceptible nervousness of the gang's disappointment.
'I don't know how,' Dynah whimpers.
'Ah man, I knew yous were lying,' Emmi complains as faces crinkle with understandable scepticism. One hundred times out of one hundred this kind of scenario would turn out to be a prank so I am surprised the gang even considered believing our ridiculous tale.
One by one they wander off with heads hung low, stopping where they stand as a rattling loudens. Before they have a chance to turn around, the bucket flies through lingering smoke and spills water on Scoop and Oscar who jolt in shock, letting out embarrassing squeals. The animated object catapults off the far wall and lands next to the sandbag, spinning on the spot.
'WHOA!' the thunderstruck gang shriek as Scoop wipes his dripping lips with his sleeve.
'Need a t-towel,' Oscar mutters, bumping into the rear of a confused Emmi who is apparently looking for a snack. The waif seems oblivious to the development as excitement cuts short her rummaging. She removes her hungry head from the cupboard and raised eyebrows confirm she has finally noticed the bucket on the wet floor.
'Did she really do that? Was anyone looking?' Emmi asks.
'Arturo it was you, wasn't it? You flung it when no-one was looking,' Bex yells from midway up the winding staircase.
'Don't look at me.' I glance at the faint pink afterglow in Dynah's irises which the others have failed to notice.
'Do it again! Do it again!' the gang shriek and Dynah backsteps into the coffee table, jumping as a glass wobbles. Taking a long yawn, she lowers her blinking eyes as though her sudden heroine status has worn out a body which must at least be semi-human.
'Come on, let's get you cleaned up. It's been a long day.' Sylvie ushers Dynah towards the stairwell with a gentle arm.
The damp-haired Oscar is again gazing at the supergirl, having clearly forgiven his soaking and Bex wobbles her head as though trying to snap out of a daydream. As other housemates watch on, stroking chins and curling lips, I can almost see their minds hoping to persuade our new recruit to use her powers for evil purposes. Emmi grabs a makeup bag from the table, then tugs Lel's sleeve and they follow upstairs, whispering and giggling suspiciously.
'Whatever, I don't have time for silly tricks. I'm going to my room.' Bex trudges off as moodily as ever.
'What the hell, Arturo? Either this is the best practical joke you guys have ever pulled or we've struck gold!' Killow smiles in wonderment as he flops onto the threadbare couch.
'Hey Mila, you might wanna go upstairs. The girls have a new friend!' I yell as the ice queen wanders through the door and shrugs her shoulders, plodding towards the winding staircase with no knowledge of this brain-boggling sequence of events.
'Hey Arturo, do you have any food?' Mila yells and when I do not reply she does an about turn, approaching the couch where I am seated with her palm held out. 'Come on, I can't be doing with greedy lads, especially after an hour long walk home. A girl should be taken care of…'
Mila's foundation-free face looks drained following another secret solo outing and I have no idea what could be interesting enough for her to take such a risk. Despite her presumptuousness I reach into my deepest pocket, removing a see-through packet with the intention of sharing but Mila snatches the fare from my hands.
'What do we have here? Fish sticks… Never had them before, they'll do.' Mila nods and clanks up metal steps, yelling: 'Thanks Arturo'.
Beer is bellowing from the cupboard so Killow gets up to grab a couple of bottles of Dog and he removes both caps with his gnashers as mine would likely break. Exchanging a sausage roll for a beer, I down most of my bottle in one go and we resume our preferred couch-boozing lifestyle now the volume has plummeted to a sane level.
'We need to be careful,' I mutter wearily as Scoop and Oscar join the budding session. 'She could be dangerous if she turns against us and the authorities will be looking for her. It's a tricky situation, we can't abandon her but she poses a risk. She seems nice, harmless even, but from what I've seen she's very powerful and incredibly naive. That's a volatile combination.'
'But she has super powers! And if she can teach us how, we'll finally take our rightful place as rulers of this slum!' Killow replies.
'Yeah, I suppose she's a risk worth taking... Not that I need superpowers to command respect,' I mutter.
'So what else d-do you think she can do?' Oscar jumps in his seat.
'Maybe she can turn people into animalssth, like toadssth or something!' Scoop suggests.
'Or turn toads into humans. There's hope for Scoop yet!' Killow remarks.
'Best not get on the wrong side of her mind, she might shrink you down to midget size or something! Seriously though, she escaped from the lab so we need to keep this quiet, but something tells me that is going to be an impossibility,' I caution.
The Dead Can Talk?
Distant female voices disturb our boozing session for the next couple of hours and there is an unpleasant increase in volume as girls scurry downstairs in a giggling procession. The ludicrous attire of Dynah snaps us from our drunken slumber and we gasp in revulsion as the perpetrators grin with self-satisfaction. Their unsuspecting test subject has been transformed into a human doll by hair-dye, sparkling makeup, a neckerchief, waistcoat and pleated skirt in shades of pink and white.
'Looking like that, you'll find a boyfriend in no time!' Sylvie's beaming facade trembles.
'And no man will dare mistreat this one!' an about-faced Bex adds.
'Oh, I almost forgot Dynah has super powers.' Mila rolls her eyes.
'What have they done to you? You look like a giant piece of candy floss!' I protest.
'I know, brilliant isn't it? Sylvie's widemouthed zeal lingers but the supergirl seems nonplussed.
Dynah's self-appointed stylists park their scrawny arses onto the couches to commence an overdue debate about which colours would complement her pale complexion. The unfortunate Scoop finds himself sandwiched between this ordeal, asking: 'Do they ever ssthdop?' as he grips Dog bottle with thighs and sticks fingers in ears.
'I have powers too, I can predict things. Watch this. Think of a number between one and ten... Was it seven?' Lel asks.
'No, it was two.' Dynah's near-blank expression masks a hint of contempt.
'Oh well. It works sometimes, honestly. Last week I was singing this song and you never guess what happened next? That same song came on the radio ten minutes later. I hadn't heard it in ages, it was a premonition! And once, I was talking to Bex about this boy I remember from school and a week later we bumped into him. It couldn't have been a coincidence!'
'Yeah Lel, you're powers are comparable to Dynah's,' I remark.
'Well obviously not, but... Oh my goddess, I have an idea. Let's do a ouija board!' Lel suggests.
'Yeah, it'll definitely work with Dynah in the room!' Bex shrieks with a logic somewhat at odds with her previous scepticism. Her encouragement prompts Lel to rummage for a pen and paper, sweeping clutter from the table as a mouse scurries behind a filing cabinet.
'Hey, some of my stuff is on there,' I protest as a dirty jumper, a videogame controller and a pair of headphones crash onto a pile of food wrappers on the floor.
Lel tears a few pages from my notepad, tossing them beside the pile in a crumpled ball which I pick up and unfold, skimming the brainstormed lines of an unfinished poem: ...wake with whiplash, my bloodied head encrusted to the sheets, flashbacks of knuckle-dustered fists... I recrumple the barely coherent ramblings and toss them over my shoulder. Garbage.
'Arturo, you'll have to do the letters. I dunno the full alphabet,' Lel says.
Sitting at the circular chipboard table, I left-handedly scrawl the letters of the alphabet, followed by the numbers one to ten and the words Yes and No. Lel tears them into separate pieces of paper which she arranges in a neat circle with a random order. She places an upturned glass into the middle of the table and dregs form a small puddle on the surface. Shadow obscures freckles on Lel's oval face as she flicks off the lights and the other participants bring chairs over.
'Everyone take a seat and prepare for the fright of your lives! The ouija board is ready,' Lel proudly announces as rafters rattle in wind and faint moonbeams creep through barred windows, generating the perfect atmosphere.
'What's a ouija board?' Dynah takes the final seat to complete the circle.
'It's a game where you talk to the dead.' Mila strums her fingers on the table.
'You can talk to the dead?' Dynah squeaks.
'Only to the lost souls who couldn't find their way to heaven and wander around unseen. A ouija board gives a voice to lonely spirits, but we have to be careful because some are evil!' I advise, obviously talking garbage. As if there is such a place as heaven.
Killow has vanished to do evilness knows what, but the rest of us squeeze our chairs together in darkness with little or no idea how to follow the correct spirit-summoning procedure. Sight deprivation makes every slight noise pronounced and brings an irrational feeling of eeriness. Shady faces repeatedly glance at Dynah in nervous anticipation as though she can communicate with supernatural beings by default. And I remain sceptical despite the recent weirdness, but there is a niggling doubt in my mind. What if?
Stretching forward to touch the glass, the gang wait in silence for the ouija board to spring to life without instruction and terrorise us with an apparition none of us really wants to encounter, but unsurprisingly nothing happens.
'I thought ghosts were meant to come and speak to us. They must be feeling shy! What are we gonna do, Arturo?' Lel asks.
'Don't ask me, it was your idea!'
'Rebeccaaa,' a quiet voice hisses.
'H-H-Hello, is anyone there?' Bex flicks her head from side to side.
'RARRRGH-HAHA!'
'EEEK!' Everyone screams in unison with the exception of my naturally unaffected self. Table legs rattle as the easily-startled bunch fling hands into the air like they are plunging downhill on a rollercoaster ride, or rather on a ghost train. During this moment of spectre-anticipation an indistinct visage laughs ghoulishly as bony arms wave clawed fingers up and down. The gang sigh upon recognition of the approaching joker.
'Killow! You nearly gave me a heart attack.' Lel places hand on heaving chest as the gang once again shuffle chairs into position.
'You lot trying to do a Ouija board?' Failing to conceal a smirk, Killow cracks his fingers and reaches for the glass. 'I'll show ya how.'
Although he is clearly not taking this ritual seriously, Killow's confident tone seems to raise the group's expectation level regardless. The trepidation buried in the backs of their minds generates a warped air of delight. And their desperation to share a ghostly tale without experiencing a true sense of dread, means they will be convinced by any hint of paranormal activity.
'Is anyone there?'
Uneasy seconds pass without response so I decide to repeat Killow's question, but as the first word is departing my lips the glass slides to the word: Yes. And despite my suspicion the midget is up to mischief again, I feel secretly unsettled by the movement. Something tells the irrational part of my brain we are being watched by a familiar force; the glass being our method of communication with an imaginary dimension and ridiculously I am transfixed. It is way too easy to get sucked in by paranormal nonsense.
'Oh my goddess, a g-ghost?' Emmi sits straight like a tent pole.
'Killow, that was you moving it.' Bex elbows the midget's upper arm.
'It wasn't, honestly... What's your name?' Killow asks.
The glass slides to A then B and I analyse all fingers to identify who has sufficient grip to shift the vessel in various directions but I cannot work the culprit out. All fingertips seem to be resting gently on the brink and all eyes appear equally suspicious as it returns to the middle of the table, apparently of its own accord.
'A.B? That's not a name! Hang on, Arturo are those your initials? Stop messing around, you're freaking me out!' Lel says.
'Hey, don't look at me.'
'Do you have anything to tell us?' Killow asks and the glass magnetises our eyeballs by swooshing towards one, then seven so quickly that the suspects in a position to push lose contact. Sylvie retouches the brink and instantly recoils with a shudder, before letting her fingers settle on the implement which clearly does not require human contact to operate.
'Seventeen? Dynah, is that you? You little prankster.' Sylvie laughs weakly as though the effort pains her lungs.
'Nope, it wasn't me,' an unfazed Dynah whispers.
'Is it just me or is it getting cold in here?' Emmi gasps; her breathing suddenly crisp.
'Bloody freezing,' Mila replies as she rubs goose-bumped arms. The room temperature has plummeted and the glass is untouched as we shiver, waiting for the situation to pan out in a harmless manner which we can all have a good laugh about, but coldness spitefully cuts through clothing and proves to be as intimidating as any unseen apparition.
'Th-this is t-t-too weird,' Bex says through chattering teeth. 'We're t-t-totally gonna be haunted and it's all Arturo's fault!'
'H-hey, you sthound like O-Osthcar!' Scoop chooses the least appropriate of times to joke.
'It's m-moving again... W... A... R... N... I... N... G... Warning?' Killow says breathlessly as the circle of faces are transformed by terror: the intended end result provoking regret as the realms of the living and the dead are bridged in such evil-testing fashion.
'It's a message that we are tampering with forces beyond our control. We should stop now,' I advise, daunted by the unknown consequences of curiosity.
'No, we need-' Killow is interrupted by a gust of icy wind. The instrument of communication is flung off the table by an invisible hand and disintegrates into a thousand pieces mid-air, showering the concrete.
'EEEK!' the gang, and our chair legs, screech as we leap to our feet unscathed and the culprit was unlikely to be Dynah because her eyes did not glow this time.
'Shit, you guys weren't joking earlier, were you?' Mila gasps.
Lights flash on and off and all faces are fixed into gurning expressions of horror as a paradoxical feeling sweeps through my flesh. It is not fear, discomfort nor sadness, just negative energy in its most pure form and can best be described as experiencing the emptiness of death whilst remaining fully conscious. Intuition interprets this as an omen that tragedy awaits on our road to deliverance.
'Oh my goddess, did you see that? A face just appeared. It said something,' Emmi shrieks.
'It can't be a real ghost, we were just playing a game. Killow's messing with ya heads. This is all a trick, it must be!' Bex gasps with hand over racing heart.
'No, I saw it too, floating in the air before disappearing. It was weird, it looked a bit like Arturo. It whispered something, but I couldn't make it out,' Lel whimpers.
'Yeah, it was really quiet. It said something about destruction,' Killow whispers as disbelief leads to motionlessness, due to the fear of any movement which may provoke our demonic visitor into further action.
My heart rate eventually settles and I regain the ability to speak: 'Well it can't have been me, I'm not dead.'
Trip to the Farm
The night-monkeys have
achieved a lifetime first by being out of bed before midday, hoping our paranormal visitor does not take up permanent residence which seems unlikely given underworld has better scenery. All brain's refused to switch to sleepmode last night and although no-one has stated the actual reason, the protestations of: 'I wasn't even scared,' between yawns are self-explanatory.
Summer sun is painting cheeriness over decaying constructions and the paler of the shirtless lads are at risk of burning their grazed flesh. Scoop stands timidly in goal as we play heads and volleys with a couple of old jumpers placed against the fence as goalposts. Strips of leather peel from our football as it skids over this micro-desert and I chip the caser for Killow to scissor kick. Scoop cowers as a superbly executed strike rattles the fence, somewhat defeating the object of being a goal keeper. 'Goooaal!' Killow runs with arms spread like glider wings.
'You can't just let the ball in. You're supposed to try to save it, ya soft shite!' I yell.
Scoop bends knees with arms dangling like he does not intend to turn his back again, but inevitably will. 'Why don't you go in goal then?'
'Because I've gotta broken hand and anyway it's no fun on the receiving end!'
Mid-laugh I am distracted by the scratchy voice of a half-criminal, half-choirboy: 'That's him, the thieving little shit who robbed us!'
A group of vested, noodle-armed lads are crossing the dirt road in search of a confrontation we are not presently in a position to resolve. Scoop's drooping chin further drops, but I am surprised these outsiders have the bottle to violate this territory because our reputation tends to precede our rather limited capability. Killow kicks the football away as we stiffen our shoulders to demonstrate we are unintimidated by tribal hostility. 'You talking to us?' I slide my cast behind my backside.
'Yes, we're talking to you. You're gonna pay,' one of them grunts, flicking a cigarette butt to slam his fist into his palm.
'Pay for what exactly?' I snort.
'You know what you did. You climbed through our window while we were sleeping and robbed us,' the lad replies.