Dead Branches

by Benjamin Langley

“This is what you wanted, boy,” Dad said.

  “It’s not,” I said, as Jake kept muttering incoherently.

  “It ends here.”

  “We were only messing around!” I said. “Let the police decide.”

  “It’s too late for that, boy.” Dad’s eyes were glassy, and the brown iris had become so dark it was almost black. He twisted the cap off the petrol canister and tossed it to the ground and started to splash petrol onto Jake.

  I could hear the police sirens in the distance. “The police are coming. They’ll know what to do.”

  “If they knew they would have done it already. Then you and Will would never have got so crazy about all this.”

  I looked round for help. Granddad was now lying on his side with Mum over him. “Something’s wrong with Granddad,” I said. “Look.”

  Dad looked over at him. For a second the true colour returned to his eyes. The petrol canister dropped from his hands.

  “I… never…” muttered Jake, his chin wet and shiny with drool.

  The dead-eyed look returned to Dad’s face. He put both hands to his head and scrunched his hair, leaving it sticking up in wild tufts when he removed his hands. His face was beaded with sweat, and his beard glistened with it. He reached into the deep pocket of his overalls and pulled out a box of matches.

  “But he’s family,” I said. I ran towards him, thinking that I could knock the match box from his hand before he had the chance to do anything with it. I reached out, got my fingers into the matchbox and got hold of a few matches. Pathetic.

  With the hand that was holding the match he struck out at me, the back of his hand catching me across the bridge of the nose which knocked me to the ground. He stared at me, his eyes scanning from my feet, to my head, with a look of absolute disgust on his face. “Families make mistakes,” he said. He struck the match and tossed it at Jake’s feet.

  Flames immediately engulfed his shoes, and were licking at his trousers, climbing up his legs. He was still protesting, “I never. I never.”

  But I couldn’t take my eyes off Dad. He was focused only on the flames, almost hypnotised by the way they danced. I could see the fire reflecting in his eyes. It was like he’d been possessed. He couldn’t take his eyes from the fire, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

  Jake’s protests turned to screams.

  I turned to look at him, and the flames had covered him completely. The rope must have burned through because Jake fell forward. He rolled over in the mud until the fire was out, and then lay there twitching, smouldering.

  The tree was fully aflame now. It had spread to some of the higher branches and was dropping flaming debris.

  Dad still stared at the tree. The fire was so bright that his face was glowing orange. His eyes were almost entirely flame. His face was entirely without emotion. His dry, cracked lips parted as he seemed to inhale the smoke. His hair, where he had earlier pulled at it, had formed into horns.

  I felt into my back pocket. Liam’s Top Trumps were there. On top was the picture of the Fire Demon. I looked from the card to Dad. He looked more than human, as if he had the strength of a demon. I looked at the card again and the vision became clearer. It wasn’t the flame that was making him appear orange, it was his skin. He was orange. Those were horns on his head, not tufts of hair. My father was a fire demon.

  I ran. Not up the bank and onto the bypass. I’d never do that ever again. I headed across one field and into another. I ran through the oilseed rape, no longer a bright yellow, having dropped its flowers, but green, tall and thick. I pushed through until I hit Catchwater Drove and I followed it up along the river. I could feel heat on my back, chasing me, closing in on me. I daren’t turn around. When I reached the bridge, I turned to the left and followed the path of the river, all of the way past where it went under the new bypass. The old pumping station came into sight. I cast a glance behind me, fearing that it would be my last and the demon would be upon me, but he was not in sight. I daren’t slow down though, not until I was in the shade of the crumbly old brick building.

  Around the side was a door, which was slightly ajar. I pushed it open further and edged in, only to be met by an almighty stench. There were steps that led down a little way, and then there was a little more space, before it dropped down into a massive hole, which had a low metal frame all around it as an ineffective barrier. Whatever machinery used to be in there had been recovered, and it looked like the inside of an empty shell. Part of me wanted to shout to see if there was an echo, but I didn’t want anyone to hear me. I took the steps, slowly and carefully, with one hand over my nose. The steps were slimy, and slippery, and I had to hold on carefully to avoid falling. At the bottom, as I stepped on something, I heard a rustle. Looking down I saw some familiar sweet wrappers: Bamse mums and Stratos bars. Not the typical sweets that you could buy at Little Mosswick Post Office.

  I crept towards the pit and looked down, not knowing what to expect. It was too dark to make much out. I couldn’t see the bottom. I felt around on the ground and found a stone. I dropped it in, and a couple of second later heard a plop. There was water, but it wasn’t deep. My eyes started to adjust to the lack of light, and I thought I could make out chains hanging down the opposite side.

  Light flowed into the chamber, and I looked to the door to see a tall silhouette with enormous hands and wild hair.

  “Uncle Rodney!” I cried.

  “Shush, Thomas, dear boy,” he said. “Your father will hear you. He’s gone crazy.” He came down the steps towards me.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I saw the fire across the fields from where I was having a quick drink, and saw you running off. I ran as fast as I could and thought I might find you somewhere near here.”

  “Is dad out there?”

  “Keep your voice down. He looks wild.” Uncle Rodney’s eyes grew large as he reached the end of the sentence, and he continued to walk towards me. “Stay here with your Uncle Rodney.” He said in a comforting whisper, “I’ll look after you.”

  Rodney wrapped his arms around me. He was breathing heavily, and it stunk of alcohol. “There’s a place in here you can hide. No one will know you’re here.” He led me around the pit where it was almost completely dark. He grabbed something, which sounded like a piece of thick board, and dragged it aside. “Through there,” he said, and guided me into a gap. I felt myself passing under an old sack, and then I found my way to the end. There were cushions to sit on, but little else.

  “Wait there,” said Uncle Rodney. “I’m going to check to see if your father is still on the rampage.”

  I heard the board slide back across the entrance to the hole, and then something else being placed in front of it.

  I tried to open my eyes wider to see anything, but it was pitch black. I touched the walls. I could make out some kind of scratches in the wall, but nothing else. I leaned forward and pushed at the board in front of the entrance, but it wasn’t moving. Dad would never find me in here. I sat back on the cushions and tried to make myself comfortable. I was sitting on something which was an awkward shape. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Liam’s Top Trumps and tossed them in front of me. There was something else in my pockets too. Some of the matches I’d grabbed from Dad. If I could light one, I thought, I would be able to have a better look at my surroundings.

  The first one I struck against the wall snapped in half. That was no good. I tried again with a second, and with a satisfying fizz it erupted into life. On either side were old fashioned slightly pink bricks, thick with years of grime and in from of me the piece of board. On the floor the Top trumps were scattered. The Beast, the creature with a horror rating of 98, the creature pictured on stage, was on top of the pile. I turned to look closer at the bricks. Something had been carved into them. Lyrics. Lyrics about holding and giving and doing it at the right time. It was John Barnes’ rap from New Order’s England World Cup anthem, ‘World in Motion’. There was only one person I knew
who knew and loved that song so well that he’d turn to it in his darkest hour. John. He’d been trapped here, and now I was stuck in the very same place.

  The match fizzled out on my fingers and I yelped.

  “Quiet,” cried Uncle Rodney from the other side. “He’ll hear you.”

  I lay on my back and kicked at the board. It barely moved.

  “Stop it,” said Uncle Rodney, “Or I’ll have to silence you.”

  “It was you!” I shouted. “You killed John.”

  “No one can prove that, dear boy.”

  I kicked at the board again and again. Pain arched down my leg, and I could feel bleeding from where my stiches must have split open.

  “It’s no good. You don’t have the strength, my boy.”

  I was sick of being told I was too weak. I held nothing back and gave one more almighty kick. I felt it move further. I squirmed around so that I was facing forward, and I was able to push my arm out of the gap. I pushed forward, edging the board, and whatever was holding it in place, forward, millimetre by millimetre until I could get my head out. I wriggled forward, trying to force my body through.

  “I told you it’s no good,” said Rodney, and I saw him move towards me. He put a piece of cloth over my mouth and a sickly-sweet smell hit me like a Bullet Bill. I tried to hold my breath, but then a slither of light appeared over by the door and I gasped.

  “Rodney!” called a gruff voice.

  He dropped the rag from my face and stood up.

  I felt dizzy and was struggling to keep my eyes open. The figure at the door was surrounded by a fiery glow.

  “Turn around, Trevor. The boy wants to be here with me.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s always been you.” Dad moved quickly down the steps, and I could feel a wave a heat wash over me. “You never rescued Jacob Radford. You’d kidnapped him.”

  “Why don’t you ask him, see what he says? Oh, that’s right; you toasted him like a marshmallow.”

  “That boy, John. That was you too.” Dad was beside Rodney now. The Beast versus Fire Demon. Every statistic was in The Beast’s favour.

  “Dad,” I managed to murmur.

  He looked down at me, and as he did so he seemed to weaken. Rodney was taller and he was bending Dad’s hands back. Of course, he was. The Beast had 87 physical strength, and the Fire Demon only had 71. They came together in a flurry of blows, and I could no longer see my father and my uncle, but the two monsters. They locked their massive hands together, grappling, trying to overpower one another. The Beast loomed over The Fire Demon, and pushed down hard, forcing it onto one knee. He was losing. He looked weaker. I was going to be left to be consumed by The Beast. He seemed to be shrinking into himself, and all of a sudden, he was my dad again. He roared, “I’ve lost one of my boys. I won’t let you take the other.” He let go of The Beast’s hands and threw his body forward, his shoulder crashing into its stomach, orange sparks flying from his body.

  The Beast came forward again and kicked Dad, who was still on the floor having thrown himself forward, in the ribs. The Beast took a step back and joined his hands into a mighty club. He ran towards Dad again, but Dad moved too quickly. He arched forward, under The Beast’s blow, and stood up, lifting it over his shoulders and letting it crash against the metal barrier with a sickening crunch.

  “You okay, boy?” called Dad.

  I managed a feeble, “Yes.”

  The Beast had gotten back onto his knees, but it wasn’t The Beast anymore. He was Rodney again, with his ridiculous clown hair. His back was twisted, and he couldn’t straighten his body. Dad kicked out, planting his foot right on Uncle Rodney’s chest. He tumbled back, over the low metal barrier and fell into the pit below, screaming weakly until he hit the water with a splash.

  Dad hurled the board away, and started to come towards me, flames flickering in his eyes. He placed his hands on me, and the last thing I remember is an intense heat washing over me.

  NOW

  We keep moving along Catchwater Drove, and I begin to look around frantically.

  “It’s gone,” says Liam.

  I break into a run and stop where it should be. A brink scar remains, running up from the river. You can see the outline of where the pumping station used to be, and the huge pits have been filled with the bricks that once made up the station.

  “They tore it down not long after what happened there.”

  There is a low fence around it, with barbed wire at the top, and a sign that warns of danger.

  “What did happen there?” I say.

  “You were there, Tom; you should know.”

  I stare at the place that Uncle Rodney had held me and think back to what Dad did. I can’t shake the vision of the two monsters going at it, but then I remember that I’d been drugged. The whole reason that Liam and are out here is because we’re looking for a missing child. What would I do if Charlie was in danger? Would it give me super-human strength? Would it allow me to kill? I hope it would.

  “But I don’t know,” I said. “My Dad turned into a monster. He burned Jake to death, and then killed Rodney.”

  “He did it for you, Tom.”

  I see those burning eyes coming towards me again.

  “Do you remember what happened when you left the pumping station?”

  I remembered waking in my bed. Everything was hazy. I had a feeling as if I’d been plucked from a nightmare by a guardian angel. Then the sun had shone through a window, I thought I was burning, and I started screaming. After that was the hospital.

  “Your Dad carried you all the way home. Three police officers tried to take you from him, but he refused to let you go until you were safe.”

  I was shivering as we stood on the drove, the cool breeze blowing from the river on to us. “Then what happened?”

  “They took your Dad away.”

  “And I told everyone that he was a monster.”

  Liam put an arm on my shoulder.

  “What did they tell you about me?”

  “They said you’d be okay. They told me not to worry.”

  “More lies.”

  “I don’t know. I look at you now, and you’re not doing so bad.”

  When I first saw Liam again, I couldn’t see a change. He’d seemed like a giant version of himself, with a little Liam clone behind him, but maybe there was more to him than that. “What would you know?” I said, brushing Liam’s arm off.

  Liam moved round to look me in the eye. “You and Charlie are all your Mum ever talks about – once she’s stopped bossing me around with what to do on the farm.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The solar farm was all her idea. That really got us out of a hole.”

  Same old Liam, getting the wrong end of the stick. “No, I meant, does she really talk about us?”

  “All of the time. So does your dad.”

  Now I knew he was lying. I started to walk back towards the house.

  “He does. He says that he always knew you were the smart one.”

  I move faster.

  With the extra weight he’s carrying, he can’t keep up. “He says he’s proud of you.”

  I leave Liam behind.

  When I get back to the farmhouse, I’ll grab Charlie, and go. I can’t take all of these lies. I won’t even have to go back into the house, I realise, as Charlie is sitting on the patio outside, drinking juice with Billy.

  “Where’s Dad?” asks Billy.

  “He’s coming,” I say, and suspect it’s true.

  “They found Jessica,” he says.

  I see the photograph the police officer had flashed in front of me, now stained with blood.

  “Her Dad had taken her.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “See, Dad,” says Charlie. “There wasn’t anything to worry about.”

  Mum comes out of the house. She ruffles the hair of both boys, a
nd then places her hand on my wrist. “We thought you’d gone again.”

  “I’m going,” I say.

  “Your Dad was so upset when you ran off like that.”

  “Why was he shouting?”

  “Shouting? He can barely whisper, Tom.”

  Mum was still sticking up for him. Or maybe it was another echo from the past.

  “He won’t want me to tell you this, but he wept when you went back down them stairs. All he wants is to see you again.”

  “No, Mum.”

  “He talks about that day all of the time.”

  I see his mud-smeared face, wild beard and fiery eyes, and can hear him boasting about killing two men.

  “He blames himself. Says part of him always suspected Rodney, but he didn’t want to believe it. Then, when he saw the fear on your face, he knew that he had to save you.”

  I try to pull myself away from her, but her grip on my arm is strong.

  “I saw you two coming down the drove. He was batting them police officers away like flies. ‘Leave my boy alone’ he was saying. ‘You can take me when I know he’s safe.’ When he placed you in my arms what I saw on his face was pure relief.”

  I imagine Jessica’s mum is feeling the same kind of relief, knowing that her child is safe. So, I guess there really was nothing to worry about. Almost every day there’s nothing to worry about. There are monsters out there, but they’re not on every street corner. They’re not hiding behind every twitching curtain. They’re not upstairs, in a bedroom of your childhood home, waiting for you to come home so that they can finally devour you.

  I look up at the house, and into his bedroom window. It’s time.

  I climb the stairs alone. I don’t need my Mum to hold my hand. I push open the door, and I’m unsurprised to be hit by a blast of heat. I look at the bed. He doesn’t take up as much space as I thought he would. It’s as if he’s shrunk, though of course, I realise, I’ve grown significantly since I last saw him. And the last time I saw him, he’d become a monster in order to save me.

  His eyes open. I should say something. How about I’m sorry that I haven’t spoken to you in twenty-five years. How about I’m sorry that you spent years in prison, partially because I refused to tell my side of the story.