by Oisin McGann
‘What?’ Jason grunted.
‘What?’ Vince asked.
‘Who said that about engaging in social whatyamacallit?’ Jason retorted.
‘What you talkin’ about?’
‘Roger that, Indigo. Orange out.’
Jason flinched, and then looked at the questioning faces of his posse.
‘You didn’t hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ Tony asked, a sly smile forming on his face.
Jason knew that smile, and the sideways glance towards the others. He knew it because he did it often enough himself. Tony was getting ready to slag him.
‘You don’t hear that?’ Jason pressed him. He put his hand to his ear, and then held his palm out to Tony. ‘Here, listen.’
On reflex, Tony turned his ear towards the hand to listen, and Jason slapped him lightly on the face.
‘That’s the sound of you lookin’ like an eejit!’
The other boys laughed, and Jason cackled with them, but his eyes were casting fearfully around.
‘Subjects are laughing at a practical joke.’
‘I have to go to the jacks,’ Jason spluttered. ‘Back in a sec.’
He sauntered away, trying not to look bothered. But there was no mistaking that voice he had heard. Why hadn’t the other lads heard it too? He needed a bit of time on his own, to think. As he strode through the door, the Singh Twins were coming out. Jason gave them a surreptitious glance, and brushed past them.
‘Was that a surreptitious glance, you just gave us, Jayo?’ Anita asked.
‘And he brushed past us too,’ Sonia added. ‘You’re supposed to hold the door open for girls. Didn’t you know that?’
They both gave him the same smug smile at exactly the same time.
Too distracted to come up with anything smart to say, he slammed the door on them, and made a face, pressing his nose against the window.
‘Mind you don’t crack the glass,’ Anita chirped, and then they skipped away together.
Those Singh Twins. He couldn’t figure them out.
Barging into the boy’s toilets, he hurried into one of the cubicles, bolted the door, and sat down on the loo seat. Something weird was going on, and he didn’t know what. He let out an exasperated sigh. With nobody around, he felt safe; he stuck his finger up his nose, rooted around for a good lump and then licked the snot off his fingertip.
‘Orange, this is Mauve. Subject Alpha has moved to the boy’s toilets. He is currently picking his nose.’
Jason stood up with a jolt, staring around at the walls of the cubicle, up at the ceiling, and down at the gap under the door.
‘Roger that, Mauve. Keep me posted. Orange out.’
‘Who’s there?!’ he shrieked. ‘I’ll … I’ll rip your flippin’ heads off if you’re messin’ with me! What do you want?’
‘I just want to go to the toilet,’ a small child’s fearful voice squeaked from the next cubicle. ‘But I can’t while you’re shoutin’ at me.’
His cheeks hot and flushed with embarrassment, Jason threw the door open and rushed back to his classroom.
5
The Face In The Window
It wasn’t like him to stay in at break, and the teachers always made the children go outside when the weather was all right. He found Fintan sitting at his desk near the window, writing something in a copybook. All worked up like he was, Jason wanted to be on his own, but at least he wouldn’t get any hassle from Fintan.
Sitting down at his desk, Jason pulled his mobile from his bag, and started playing one of the games on it.
‘Indigo, this is Orange. Commence second phase of testing.’
Jason ignored the voice, glancing over to see if Fintan might have heard it. The swot was still writing. Probably poetry or something stupid like that.
‘Roger that Orange.’
There was a tapping at the window, and Jason looked up. There was a kid he didn’t recognise leering in at Fintan. He reminded Jason of somebody, but he couldn’t think who. He had weird eyes, like the pupils were too big or something, so hardly any of the white showed at all. He had really bushy eyebrows for a kid. His teeth were very crooked too, and his face looked like it was packed with rocks. The boy gazed in at Fintan and gestured with his finger to come out. Fintan turned away, staring down at his book and grinding his teeth. The other boy sneered at him, drawing his nails down the outside of the glass, and then walked away.
‘Who’s that?’ Jason asked.
‘You mean you saw him too?’ Fintan raised his head.
‘’Course I saw him, ya eejit. Who was he?’
Fintan regarded him for a moment, to see if this might be leading to a slagging, but Jason looked genuinely interested.
‘Nobody else seems to notice him,’ Fintan mumbled. ‘He’s new. I think he might be from the other fifth class, or maybe one of the sixths.’
Their school was a senior primary, it had two of each class from third up to sixth.
‘Thought he might be your big brother or something,’ Fintan sniffed.
Jason’s face twisted into a sneer.
‘My brother? I don’t have a brother! What the hell are you on about?’
‘Well, he looks like you … a bit, I mean.’
‘I don’t look like that! That guy looks like a … like a … a flippin’ cave-boy or somethin’ like that.’
Fintan giggled a little, and Jason found himself smirking too.
‘Is he giving you hassle?’ he asked.
‘What do you care?’ Fintan retorted.
Jason didn’t reply immediately, but he realised that he did care. There was something nasty about that strange kid, and although Jason would never have thought of Fintan as a friend, the swot was in his class, and that counted for something. His posse gave Fintan a hard time, but they were just having a laugh, it wasn’t anything serious. He might be a prat, but he was their prat.
‘Just let me know if he starts messin’ with you,’ Jason grunted, not wanting to sound too friendly.
Fintan nodded, and there was a cautious, thankful look on his face. It made Jason feel good, seeing that look. He left the swot alone for the rest of the break; there wasn’t much fun in picking on him when the other lads weren’t there anyway.
* * *
Struggling through Irish class, Jason could not keep his mind off the voices he had heard. He had seen films where people heard voices, and those people were always mad … or maybe possessed, or living in haunted houses. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t mad (at least, not in the unhip, sick-in-the-head way), that was the kind of thing that happened to grown-ups – they’d been around for longer, and had more reason to be loopy. Some of the teachers, for instance, were definitely on their way to being fruitcakes, and anyone who wanted to spend the rest of their lives in school couldn’t be right in the head to star t with; but you just didn’t see many gone-in-the-head loopers his age.
And he wasn’t possessed either, as far as he could tell. He hadn’t turned grey and wrinkly or started speaking weird, ancient languages (apart from Irish, of course, which he was useless at) and his eyes hadn’t started glowing yellow. So it wasn’t possession.
That only left haunting. And it was all too easy to believe the school might be haunted. If he was going to haunt anywhere after he died, it would definitely be his school. He figured they had it coming.
‘I think the school might be haunted,’ he whispered to Vince.
‘That’s only old Mr Mitchell,’ Vince muttered back. ‘He just looks dead. No one with a beating heart should be that white.’
Jason stifled a laugh, which Miss Taylor heard, and swivelled to give him a hard stare.
‘No, but seriously …’ Jason began again, once the teacher’s back was safely again.
But he was interrupted by a tapping on the window. It was that boy again, the one who was hassling Fintan. Fintan was gawping back at him.
‘What does he want?’ Jason murmured.
‘Who?’ Vince lifted h
is head to look in the same direction.
‘Him. Your man in the window.’
‘Who?’
It was at this moment that Jason knew how this was going to go. He had seen it in enough films. He would insist the kid was standing there, outside the window, and Vince – who obviously couldn’t see him – would think Jason was seeing things and … well, everyone knew what happened then. Jason was having none of that.
‘He’s gone now,’ he lied, still staring at the strange kid’s face.
‘Jason!’ Miss Taylor snapped. ‘You won’t find the answer to those questions outside in the yard.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ he mumbled.
But Fintan continued to look, his face frozen in that look he always had when he was about to cry, as the boy in the window smiled eerily, and drew a finger across his throat.
6
More Victims
Fintan went home at lunchtime. Miss Taylor had found him sitting in a corner of the yard, shivering, and decided he was sick. His mother came in and picked him up. Jason wandered around the school, trying to catch sight of the ghost. It had to be a ghost; what other answer could there be? His posse wandered with him, but he refused to say what was up. His teeth were tingling again, and he had a real urge to poke at his gums to stop them itching. He couldn’t keep his tongue away from the metal, it was like having something stuck between his teeth, except this was stuck to all of his teeth.
‘Look at what Spit’s wearing today,’ Vince said, suddenly. ‘Check it out.’
Brian Swift – or Spit as he was known – was in sandals. Only hippies, crusties and saps wore sandals. A serious slagging was in order.
‘This one’s mine,’ Vince announced.
‘No way,’ Jason held him back. ‘This calls for a strategy, this does.’
They went into a huddle, planning their assault.
‘… and remember,’ Jason said finally. ‘Nobody says anything until I ask him where he parks his camel.’
Then they turned, and headed across the yard towards their target. Jason caught his breath when he saw the ghost kid walk from nowhere and start to circle Spit. Spit froze as the boy sauntered around him, hissing something to him, baring his teeth and twisting his face up. So the thing was after Spit too.
‘Hey!’ Jason barked. ‘Hold it!’
His posse stopped, and looked at him expectantly. But Jason strode on, hurrying towards the other two boys.
‘I SEE YOU!’ he yelled, running at the strange figure, who was ignoring him completely.
Spit turned to find Jason running straight at him, and Jason saw tears in his eyes, and like Fintan, he was grinding his teeth. Spit bolted like a scared rabbit, sprinting into the school. And then the other boy disappeared – turning to wisps of smoke and vanishing.
Jason stumbled to a halt, his heart beating like a machine-gun. He couldn’t get his head around it. Part of him never really believed the boy was a ghost, and then to see him just … just vanish like that …
‘Nice one, Jayo,’ Vince said from behind him. ‘“I see you”. Nice one. What kind of slaggin’ is that? You’re losin’ your edge, man.’
‘Kiss my arse!’ Jason snarled at him.
‘Orange, this is Indigo. Did you get that?’
Vince was saying something, but all Jason could hear was the crackling voice, louder than ever in his head.
‘That’s a roger, Indigo. Subject Alpha was definitely reacting to the Tormentor.’
Not in his head. In his mouth. Jason put a hand up to his lips.
‘We didn’t anticipate this. This may call for more direct action, Indigo,’ the voice continued. ‘Something may have to be done about that boy.’
‘What’s up, Jayo?’ Tony asked. ‘Your braces at you?’
Jason nodded, but didn’t say anything. First the ghost and then this. What was going on? Dr Shapiro had said the braces were experimental, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about hearing voices – or seeing weird psycho ghost boys. That oddball orthodontist had some explaining to do. What the hell had he put in Jason’s mouth?
Jason shivered. The last words he had heard from his teeth echoed in his head. Something may have to be done about that boy.
* * *
The rest of the day passed without another sighting of the strange boy, or hearing any of the voices from his teeth. Jason shrugged the strap of his bag onto his shoulder when the bell went, and shuffled towards the door, his mind turning over what he had seen and heard that day. The brief sunny spell they’d had during the week had disappeared, and dark grey clouds brooded overhead as he walked outside. The air had turned cold, and the effect was of a winter’s day, gloomy and chill. At the front of the school where the cars and buses pulled up, he saw the Singh Twins standing off to one side on their own. Anita was crying, and Sonia had her arm around her sister’s shoulders.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Jason inquired, walking up to them.
Sonia rounded on him, and he could tell she’d been crying too.
‘Why don’t you get lost!’ she spat, glaring out of red-rimmed eyes. ‘We hate the lot of you – you’re all as bad as each other!’
He stopped dead in his tracks, and reflexively donned his innocent look – except this time it was for real.
‘What are you on about?
‘Don’t come the innocent with us, Jason McGinty,’ Sonia hissed, her face creased in rage. ‘You’re a worm, your mates are worms, and that brother of yours is the biggest worm of all! Now get lost and leave us alone!’
‘What do you mean, my brother? I don’t have a––’
Jason was going to have a go at her, his temper fired by hers, but he shut his mouth. What could he say? That they were seeing a ghost? That would go down well. Better not to say anything, and avoid getting into those stupid situations they always got into in films. And why did everyone think this thing was his brother? He smothered his anger, and shifted his strap on his shoulder.
‘He’s not my brother,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know who he is.’
Turning away, he walked slowly back to the gang of kids waiting to be picked up by their mums. His mobile rang in his bag, and he pulled it out. It was his mother.
‘Jason? Listen, I’ve got held up at work. Could you ask Vince’s mum to drop you home? I’ll be back in a little while.’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ he replied.
‘Thanks. I’ll see you later. Love you! Bye!’
Looking around, he realised Vince was already gone, but Jason felt like a walk anyway. His mum was always trying to get him to walk; it was only a couple of miles. As he started walking, the air grew colder, and he zipped up his jacket, hoping it wasn’t going to rain.
The school sat in the middle of a huge bunch of housing estates; there was no straight route back to his house, but Jason knew a short-cut across a football field and over a wall that would knock fifteen minutes off his journey. The rain started to fall when he was halfway across the park, and the clouds crowded out what was left of the sunlight, plunging him into an early, grey dusk.
There was someone ahead of him, near the edge of the field, and they were coming towards him. As he drew closer, Jason felt a chill down his spine. It was the boy. The ghost. He stopped as Jason came towards him, standing with his hands in his pockets, a sneering smile on his face.
‘Who are you?’ Jason shouted at him through the rain.
‘None of your business,’ the boy called back. ‘You’re not even supposed to know about me. I’m not here for you. Not yet, anyway.’
Jason shivered.
‘Are you a ghost?’ he asked.
The boy laughed, and quickly crossed the last stretch of ground between them. With a start, Jason noticed that the other boy wasn’t wet from the rain. The kid glared wide-eyed at him. His whites were barely visible, the eyes filled with huge, dark discs.
‘The Ghost Of The Future,’ he chuckled. ‘Like in that film? A Christmas Carol? Like that. I’m what’s comin’. You’ll all
know me before long.’
His dark hair hung over his forehead in an untidy mop that nearly reached his thick eyebrows. Something about his lumpy face made Jason hate him; it wasn’t just that horrible smile, but the sheer nastiness of it. Like he’d grown up being nasty, and it had twisted his face into this ugly mask.
‘I don’t know what you’re doin’ here,’ Jason gritted his teeth, feeling them grind together. ‘But I’m not scared of you.’
‘Yes, you are,’ the kid grinned. ‘I can see it in ya. I know everythin’ about you. I know you pick your nose, I know you have smelly feet and you hate washing your hair. I know you cry sometimes because you hate your teeth. I know what you eat for dinner. I know where you live. You’re a dirty, smelly, nose-pickin’, chicken-boy cry-baby, and you’re all alone out here with me.’
He leaned his face very close to Jason’s.
‘And I know you’re really, really frightened of things you don’t understand.’
And with that he disappeared, right in front of Jason’s eyes. The rain fell through the wisps of smoke he had left behind.
Jason ran. He scrambled over the wall on the other side of the field, and kept running until he stumbled up to the porch of his house, fumbled the key into the lock, and fell in the door. His teeth were fizzing as if they had pins and needles, like you get in your foot when you’ve been sitting on it for too long watching the telly. Eager to do anything to forget his disturbing encounter, he decided he had to get these braces sorted; this tingling was going to drive him mad. His mother wasn’t home from work, but he couldn’t wait.
Picking up the phone, he punched in the number for the orthodontist’s.
‘Hello?’ the receptionist’s voice answered.
‘Itsch Jayshun McGinchy,’ Jason spluttered into the handset. ‘Ah nid choo feak choo Jocda Shafiro. Itsch wealy urshent.’