The Boy Who Lived With Ghosts: A Memoir

by John Mitchell

  “Yes, we can.”

  “How?”

  “We sell them as much chocolate and sweets as they want. No limit.”

  “What, even if they puke from eating all that fucking chocolate?”

  “Yep. Even if they puke. We’re not responsible for how much they eat.”

  69

  Some people just don’t want to see others succeed. Take Mr. Parsons, for instance. He only comes into our classroom to tell us we are a useless bunch of lazy, good-for-nothing clods and we will never amount to anything in this life because we are stupid, stupid, stupid. Today he asked Gary Gibly what is two minus three and Gary Gibly said it was zero because it was a trick question and you can’t have less than nothing. And then Mr. Parsons asked him what weighs more, a ton of coal or a ton of feathers and Gary Gibly said it was another trick question and the answer is the feathers even though he really thought it was the coal. We will therefore all end up as dustmen or on the Welfare.

  Everyone knows that Gary Gibly is stupid. Mr. Parsons knows just how stupid Gary Gibly is because he is always bottom of our entire year unless you count Tommy Collins but he is simple and that is different from being stupid. So Mr. Parsons is just showing off by picking on a really stupid boy rather than an averagely stupid boy. And if we are all so stupid then Mr. Parsons is stupid for being the headmaster. And Mr. Hudson is stupid for being a teacher here or he is a really clever dirty old man because he wants to look at girls getting undressed for swimming and touch Mandy’s breasts and he knows that we are all too stupid to tell on him.

  But I will show them who’s stupid. The Sweet Shop has only been in operation for a week and it’s amazing how much money fat kids will spend on chocolate and sweets. All I have to do is wait for playtime and then start flashing that little red light. Danny makes all the kids stand in a line and hurries them along when they can’t make up their minds. As I suspected, the Sweet Shop works best with fat kids because they are always hungry and they have money to buy cakes and pies and also sweets.

  I am sure everyone is really impressed with the Sweet Shop and now Mr. Hudson has sent me to the headmaster’s office where he’s waiting to see me—no doubt to apologize for calling me stupid.

  “OK, Mitchell. Viola Pinkerton’s mother was here this morning. And do you know why?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You know very well why she was here.”

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “So you know nothing about the Sweet Shop?”

  “No…I mean yes…”

  “Ah! So you do know why her mother was here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Lies, lies, lies. You clods are all the same. You’d lie to save yourself, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m looking for answers, Mitchell. Answers. Now, did you sell Viola Pinkerton five bars of Fry’s Turkish Delight?”

  “I don’t think it was all in one day.”

  “That’s not the point. What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  “Trying to make money, sir.”

  “Did you know she ate them all yesterday afternoon and was violently sick when she got home? All over the sofa?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are responsible.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “And Mr. Hudson said you have a flashing red light.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were using it to attract fat children?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are doubling the price of the sweets? Don’t lie to me. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did you expect to achieve from this, Mitchell?”

  “A profit, sir. I’m using the money to buy more chocolate and sweets. But also bags of crisps and small packets of biscuits…”

  “You will not make a profit by exploiting fat children! Not in my school. Next it will be gambling and all manner of distasteful things. Sodom and Gomorrah. Jesus drove the moneychangers out of the Temple of God! Out, I say! Out!”

  And according to the letter I have to take home to my mum, I offered Mr. Parsons a bribe. That is not at all what happened. When Mr. Parsons complained about me making profits, I thought it was because I was keeping all the profits for myself. So, I thought he meant that the profits should be shared with the school and used for something like the orchestral instrument fund. So I offered to continue with the Sweet Shop and share the profits with him. I did not mean him personally. I meant the school. So it was not the offer of a bribe.

  And one more thing. Mr. Hudson confiscated the Sweet Shop and all of its contents. Now, I think that is pure theft because all of the chocolate and sweets were paid for with my pocket money that I have saved for months. He could have let me keep the contents and the lights but he said it was a punishment to fit the crime—whatever that means.

  And later today I saw Mr. Hudson outside the Staff Room eating a packet of Rowntree’s Fruit Pastels and offering Madame Auclair a Fry’s Turkish Delight bar. And there is no tuck shop in the school so I know exactly where he got them.

  One day, I will show him that I am not as stupid as he thinks I am.

  70

  I am disappointed that Margueretta has not tried to kill herself again. The bread knife is lying there beside the bread and most of the time there’s no one to stop her from cutting her throat. Mum says she is highly strung and she has no intention of killing herself with the breadknife or any other knife for that matter. That’s why we have not hidden the breadknife.

  Now Margueretta says that we are all infected with some disease that she will catch if she shares dishes with us. But we only have the melamine Ready Brek dishes so she washes them over and over again even when they are already clean. This is to kill the dangerous germs. And because we put our actual lips on those coffee cups, she has to wash the cup under water continuously for what seems like ten minutes and then she holds it up to the light to see if there are any germs on it and she sniffs it before she will make her coffee. I don’t think germs are visible. Or smell of anything.

  And when she is running the tap water to wash the cup it is very important that the water must not form itself into a single tube of water that looks like glass. So the water has to splash when it comes out of the tap. She says that all those things are still talking to her and we will all find out ourselves, soon enough, when they start on the rest of us.

  Mum said she needs to stop this ridiculous behavior and they even had a fight about it in the kitchen tonight when Margueretta was making her coffee. Mum tried to snatch the clean coffee cup away from her because it is an insult to us all to say that we have germs that she doesn’t have. So Margueretta picked up the Camp Coffee bottle and threw it at the wall and it smashed and thick black liquid ran down the roses on the wallpaper and onto the floor and made a small puddle. I think she smashed the Camp Coffee bottle because she knows that the melamine cups are unbreakable. Mum said she could buy her own Camp Coffee now, which is only reasonable. But no one cleaned up the coffee. Misty sniffed at the puddle but she never licked it.

  Last week, Margueretta asked Mum to fit a lock on her bedroom door. Mum said no immediately, of course. But when she asked her why she wanted a lock on the door Margueretta said it was to stop something from getting into her room and she said it’s something in the house and she’s warned us all before but we don’t listen and she can’t sleep anymore unless there is a lock on the door.

  She never leaves that room. She even has a small paraffin heater in there so that she doesn’t have to spend time with us. She only comes down now for Top of the Pops, especially when Cliff Richard is curling his top lip singing “Congratulations” because she is in love with him. She used to be in love with Davy Jones but now she thinks he is too short.

  And because Mum said no to the lock, Margueretta went to Woolworth’s and bought a bolt-lock and screwed it onto her door herself. Mum said she would break the door down if she ever finds it locked.

  I
t was locked tonight.

  We all woke at the same time because it’s hard to sleep when there is a banging sound like someone was being thrown against a door. And it wasn’t just a banging sound. There was a terrible screaming and pleading and we ran out onto the landing and even Akanni woke up this time and leapt out of his box bed.

  Margueretta’s door was closed as it always is and it sounded like someone or something was being thrown at her door over and over. And the screaming. Margueretta was screaming for her life. Mum tried the door and it was locked and she already warned her that she would break it down if she ever found it locked. So she did. The door gave way easily against Mum’s shoulder and it flew open with the sudden force and I could see the small bolt-lock broken away from the wood.

  Margueretta’s face was wet and covered with snot and matted long, blonde hair hung in strands over her eyes. Her hands were bunched up into fists and I thought she was going to hit Mum and then she just stopped dead and her arms dropped to her sides and she stood in the middle of the small room and stared at the floor and small drips of snot fell off her chin.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

  I tried to see past Mum and Margueretta into the room. Bedclothes lying on the floor. Nothing unusual there. Dressing table with her transistor radio sitting on top next to a hairbrush. A poster of Cliff Richard on the wall.

  She never answered Mum’s question. She didn’t speak a word. She just stood there in her old, gray nightie, shaking and trembling, staring down at the floorboards.

  That’s why Dr. Wilmot is here now. He didn’t seem to be very happy getting called out in the middle of the night by my mum.

  “I’ve given her a sedative. She’ll sleep now. Is there anything at all that brought this on? Anything?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We had a row. But that’s nothing unusual. She thinks we have dangerous germs that she will catch if she shares our dishes. And she threw her Camp Coffee at the kitchen wall. She also says that there are things talking to her.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Water. Colors…”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Oh, she’s always in some dream or other.”

  “No, her concern about catching germs from you. And the voices?”

  “Months. Maybe a year or more. She thinks she’s too good for this place.”

  “I’ve written out a prescription for her. Take it to the chemist in the morning. She should take one a day. We’ll see how that goes. We may have to increase the dosage.”

  “What is it?”

  “Valium. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Its clinical name is benzodiazepine. We used to use something called barbiturates but this has a much higher therapeutic index. It’s also an anticonvulsant. And it’s better than barbiturates for treating depression.”

  “Depression? She’s not depressed.”

  “She is depressed. And we have to get to the cause of it or it will get worse.”

  “I thought it was hormones. With her periods coming on.”

  “That’s what we both thought. And it might still be hormones. We’ll see. Bring her in to see me in a couple of days. I have to go. It’s nearly three in the morning.”

  Mum stayed downstairs and smoked cigarettes after the doctor left. I don’t understand why no one asks the right questions. I have been hearing screams coming from the attic for all this time and Margueretta says there is something in the house trying to kill her and she needs a lock on her bedroom door and tonight it is obvious that something got into her room, even though the door was locked, and was throwing her against the door trying to kill her. So they gave her a sleeping pill and no one asked her what happened.

  Something is really not right in this house and no one is listening to me. I know I have been up into the attic and there was nothing there but the thing is obviously very clever and it could easily hide behind the water tank or in a dark corner.

  And sooner or later it will come back down and try to kill someone again.

  71

  I have convinced Mum to let me sleep outside in our backyard. We do not have a tent so I am going to sleep in the coal bunker. I have cleaned it out and put a layer of grass in the bottom. There are several problems with sleeping in a coal bunker. For one, some bloody cat crept in through the shovel hole and took a shit on my new grass bed today. I don’t think it was Misty because she still likes to squat down in the kitchen to take a shit, mostly under the table. I have therefore wedged the old Hotpoint up against the coal bunker shovel hole. That should keep any animals out.

  I told Mum that I have to prove that I can survive like this in the wild so that I can get my Cub Scouts Survival Badge. This is actually a lie and there is no such thing as a Cub Scouts Survival Badge, as far as I know. I do feel guilty about lying but I know this is the only way Mum would let me sleep in the coal bunker and she has even agreed to me having a small campfire to keep me warm and to cook food over. And she has bought me a whole packet of Wall’s pork sausages from the Co-op and I can have as many potatoes as I want.

  I am going to make things as primitive as possible because in the wild I would only be able to carry the barest minimum of equipment. So I am therefore allowing myself one blanket, my penknife, and some string.

  I have not told Mum that this is all part of my secret plan to learn how to live in the wild. I need to make another attempt at running away from home and never return. I have had enough of Margueretta beating me every day but I am also very worried that something terrible will happen to me if I continue to sleep in our house with that thing that wants to kill someone. So I’m hoping that I can prove that I can survive out here. Then maybe Mum will let me build a full underground shelter that I will live in permanently but that will just be another lie because I will actually be living in the wild and will never be seen again. But she will think I am in my underground shelter in the backyard and she won’t worry about me being missing for the rest of her life.

  Akanni wants to join me because he is now three years old and he wants to copy everything I do. But he’s too young to sleep outside in our coal bunker.

  Danny also wants to join me but his dad said he is not letting him sleep in a fucking coal bunker.

  “That’s the first fucking time my fucking dad has cared what I fucking do. But like he always fucking says…you’ve got to move up in this world or else you’re fucking moving down. Sleeping in a coal bunker is not moving up. And he should fucking know.”

  So I’m sleeping on my own in the coal bunker. It’s quite chilly and the sky is very dark tonight but my campfire is keeping me warm and the orange glow from the burning wood is lighting the little area I’ve cleared behind the bunker. I put two potatoes in the bottom of the fire and they’ll be ready soon. But best of all, I made a point on the end of a stick with my penknife and used it to roast a sausage over the flames.

  There’s plenty of wood for the fire because we have an old broken wooden fence that’s at the end of our garden. And it was easy to start the fire because I poured paraffin on it from the can in the scullery. Mum said I was not to use paraffin under any circumstances as I could set myself on fire. So I waited until she was watching the telly. She worries too much.

  I’ve put a candle inside the coal bunker for later because it’s very dark in there. It’s also quite cold in there. But for now, I’m sitting by my campfire, leaning against the coal bunker, and eating another sausage. I’ve hooked one of the potatoes out of the fire, and it’s cooling beside me. The potatoes are so hot; I could keep one for later and use it to warm my hands inside the cold coal bunker. Living in the wild is better than anything I’ve ever known. Even better than that time I saw a dead man.

  I’m getting into the coal bunker and I’m taking my potato with me. The candle is good but it’s so cold in here. I’m trying to sleep in my blanket but I can fe
el the concrete base under my back slowly freezing me. If I could have my campfire in here, that would work.

  It feels like I haven’t slept at all but I think I just woke up. I’m sure I just woke up. I’m so cold. I’m getting out and maybe my campfire will still be alight. It is. A few more bits of wood will get it stoked up again and my hands will thaw out slowly.

  I can see Joan Housecoat’s kitchen window, all steamed up and glowing. They’ve got a coal bunker too but they use theirs for coal, which I suppose we would do if we had any coal. Their garden isn’t overgrown like ours but they hang their washing out on a line like we do. Joan’s bloomers are huge, flapping away on the washing line. She has more than two pairs.

  The potato tastes good. The skin is burned into a crispy black and it tastes like charcoal. I’m wiping some of the charcoal on my face for camouflage like they do in war films. I don’t want anyone to see me. I think I’ve covered most of my face so now I’m sure no one can see me.

  But it does feel like someone is watching me even though I’m all alone by my campfire, beside the coal bunker. I wish Danny was here. He should have told his dad the same lie about the survival badge. But he doesn’t go to Cub Scouts. He could still have come up with something convincing because he’s a really good liar. I just don’t think he wanted to sleep in a coal bunker.

  When I run away from home again I am going to ask Danny to go with me, same as before. Being in the wild on your own isn’t such a great feeling even though I love my campfire and my potato.

  It’s strange how the reflection from the campfire makes it look like there is the ghost of a woman in a long, white gown standing beside Joan Housecoat’s coal bunker. And it makes the woman who is not there look like she has a yellow face and long, gray hair. If she was there, she wouldn’t be able to see me because of my clever camouflage. It looks like she’s watching the sparks from the campfire as they float up into the dark night sky—if she was there.

  And she looks like she is floating towards me and she’s staring at me. And now she’s reaching out her arms and howling like a ghost as she comes up to the low fence that separates our gardens. If she was there, she wouldn’t be able to get over that fence even though it is very low.