by Tim O'Rourke
Michael tightened his school tie about his neck, put on his trousers, socks, and navy-blue sweater. He bent over the pile of school books on his bedroom floor and sorted through them. The school timetable buzzed around inside his head as he tried hard to remember the lessons he had for that day. But being so tired and weak feeling, it was hard for him to remember. Once he was sure he had collected the books he needed, he stuffed them under his arm. He straightened his messy black hair with his fingers. He looked up at the glossy poster of Marilyn, her head tilted to one side, thick red lips smiling down at him. She was wearing a one-piece swimsuit. One of her legs was slightly bent at the knee, both hands rested against her thighs. He thought she looked beautiful in that particular pose.
Michael took a step closer to the poster, and with a smile, he whispered, “See you later, Marilyn.”
He turned for the door, and as he did, he was sure that he heard...heard what? Maybe it was just the wind blowing outside. Michael jerked his head back towards the poster. Marilyn stood just as she had only moments before. Had she spoken to him? He couldn’t be sure.
Am I really going mad? He wondered to himself.
Am I really that lonely – that desperate for a friend of my own that I’m imagining that I am hearing the voice of a movie star long dead?
Confused, Michael shook his head and set off for school.
Michael hurried down the street, his coat fastened up to his neck, stooped forward to protect himself against the bitter wind. Tree branches moved gracefully back and forth in the early autumn storm like the arms of ballerinas. Leaves whisked along the gutter, getting caught in the storm drains. Silver drops of rain started to fall and they almost seemed to dance in the glare of the streetlights. Cars drove slowly past, the tyres hissing against the wet road, the windscreen wipers squeaking.
Michael hurried on, clutching school books to his chest, protecting them from the rain. He tugged on his hood, which swung behind him. The school building loomed ahead and I hated the sight of it. Other children hurried past towards the school, eager to get there. Michael dashed across the puddled schoolyard and towards the bike sheds. Other boys took shelter in there. Some were talking, sharing jokes, and laughing. Others hid in the corners and secretly smoked. Michael found himself a quiet corner. Some of the other kids turned their heads and stared at him. Others made remarks loud enough for him to overhear.
“Hey, Ribs!” one of them shouted and the others laughed.
Ribs had been his nickname for as long as he could remember.
A tall boy who looked more like a man than a school kid shouted, “It’s time you beefed yourself up, Blake.”
Another hollered, “Be careful of the wind, Blake, you might just blow away!”
The crowd in the bike shed laughed and cheered the others on. There was a sense of cruel excitement building. The boy who looked almost a man, his name was Steve Edwards, came forward. He leaned into Michael’s face and said, “Why are you so fucking weird?”
More laughter from the crowd.
Michael stood silently and made no reply. He held onto his books like a drowning man might cling to an inflatable. Edwards loomed over Michael and the crowd fell silent. Then, taking his huge club-like hands from his pockets, he shoved Michael hard in the chest, sending his books spilling from his arms. Again, Michael refused to look up at his tormentor. Instead he crouched down and started to gather them up. Seeing this, Edwards kicked them away, out of reach.
“Why are you so fucking weird?” Edwards said. “No one gives a shit about school books.”
“Because you probably can’t read them,” Michael said under his breath. But he didn’t say it quietly enough.
“Say what?” Edwards said, looking back over his shoulder at his friends and winking slyly at them.
“Nothing,” Michael whispered.
“What did you say?” Edwards pushed him in the chest again, sending Michael staggering backwards.
Michael stayed silent – hoping Edwards would soon get bored and go away. He had bullied Michael ever since the first grade.
“How is that pissed-up old man of yours?” Edwards teased and the crowd sniggered. “I heard he lost his job.”
Michael said nothing.
“You’re so much like him,” Edwards came again. “Nothing but a freaking loser. No wonder your mother fucked off with that other guy.”
“My mother died of cancer,” Michael said.
“Whatever,” Edwards spat. “We all know that’s the bullshit excuse your father put around town because he was too embarrassed to admit that his wife was being slipped a length by some other guy.”
Michael clenched his fists by his sides and stayed looking at the ground.
“So if your mum really is dead, why hasn’t your dad got himself another bit of skirt?” Edwards sneered. “Maybe it’s because he’s like you and couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse?”
This time, Michael did raise his head and looked at Edwards with his sunken eyes.
“God, you’re so freaking creepy,” Edwards said. “No wonder you don’t have any friends, standing there like some freaking skeleton.”
“I do have a friend,” Michael said, staring hard into Edwards’s eyes.
“Do you?” Edwards mocked, looking all around him. “I don’t see him.”
“My friend’s not a he – they’re a she,” Michael said, brushing past Edwards in an attempt to get away. He knew that he had said enough already.
Edwards stuck his hand into Michael’s chest and pinned him back into the corner of the shed. The crowd fell silent. “Are you taking the piss?” he asked, leaning into Michael. “Is she by any chance imaginary?”
“No!” Michael snapped.
Why shouldn’t I tell him? Why shouldn’t I tell all of them about my friend? He thought to himself. But he knew why.
“What’s her name?” Edwards sneered, but there was something in his voice that suggested that he wasn’t sure if Michael was telling the truth or not.
“Marilyn Mon...” The words had slipped from Michael’s mouth before he had even realised what he had said. Then he was gone, shoving his way past Edwards and racing away across the schoolyard. As he fled, he heard someone shout from the crowd “Roe!” and they all fell about laughing.
But Edwards stared after Michael and he thought he had seen something in those eyes – it was like he had been telling the truth somehow. Pushing those thoughts from his head, Edwards sneered to himself and said “Marilyn Monroe, what a load of old bollocks!”
Michael ran through the pouring rain and didn’t stop until he got home. He would skip school today. It wasn’t as if his father would even notice. As he ran, rain washed away the tears that streaked down his cheeks. He pushed against the front door and slipped inside. At the foot of the stairs, he glanced into the living room to see his father lying unconscious on the sofa, congealed vomit down the front of his vest. Michael headed up the stairs. Entering his room, he closed the door behind him. He was never seen again.
There was a police investigation into Michael’s disappearance, but he was never found. It was eventually believed he had run away to London, lost amongst the other thousands of homeless people there. Michael’s room was searched, but all they found was his filthy clothes, tattered school books, and a torn up poster of Marilyn Monroe.
Nobody had seen or heard from Michael since his disappearance – until today.
Steve Edwards picked up the postcard off the doormat and carried it up to his bedroom. Sitting on the edge of his blue quilted bed, he looked at it. There wasn’t a message written on the back, just his name and address, which looked slightly smudged. When he turned the postcard over in his hands, he knew who had sent it and his blood froze.
It was a postcard of Marilyn Monroe standing over a subway grating from the movie ‘The Seven Year Itch’ which had been made in 1955. Her white flowing dress was flowing up around her thighs as she stood in front of several hundred screaming fans.
Steve looked at the postcard and felt ill. Standing amongst the adoring fans, contented and happy-looking at last, was Michael.
Chapter Eighteen
Isidor
I took my notes, folded them in half, and put them back in my trouser pocket. Melody didn’t say anything and I guessed she hated it – that she thought it was a stupid story.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, I peeked at her and said, “It was dreadful, wasn’t it?”
Holding out her hand, she said, “Give me your notes.”
I took them from my pocket, as the leaves surrounding our camp rustled in the wind. Not knowing why she wanted them, I handed her the crinkled scraps of paper.
Melody took them, and placing them into the pocket of her apron, she looked at me and said, “Isidor, that was wonderful.”
“Get out of here,” I said, feeling embarrassed, “You’re just saying that.”
“The ending was magical,” she said. “Just imagine if you could go someplace else – to a place where you could be happy. That would be magical, right?”
“I guess,” I said thoughtfully.
“You know it would be magical or you wouldn’t have written that story,” she said. Melody sat quietly for a moment, then added, “I was Michael, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” I said, slowly nodding my head.
“The only difference is that I don’t have anyone to take me someplace else,” she whispered.
To hear her say this made me want to take her back to The Hollows with me, but could I? Would she really want to live beneath ground for the rest of her life? What would the Vampyrus think? We were meant to live in secret. Humans weren’t meant to know about us. I’d also heard the stories about the Vampyrus who were unable to fight their cravings for human blood. It could be dangerous for her. Pushing away the thoughts of taking her home with me, I changed the subject and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Some days you don’t show up at the lake at all. Where do you go and what do you do?” I asked her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, looking away.
“Why won’t you tell me?” I pushed gently.
“You know you said that just for today, we should be us,” she reminded me.
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Today I can’t be me,” Melody said, and pulled the hem of her dress down. “But one day soon.”
“Why not today?”
But before she had a chance to answer me, there was a noise from just outside our camp. Looking at each other, we got up and made our way out. With my wings hidden again, I clambered from the bushes and stumbled straight into the path of Ray Baines. Barry, the bucktooth donkey and Lucy were with him.
“For God’s sake,” I moaned to myself, hoping that I would never have had to see Ray and his friends again.
“You got me in the shit good and proper the other day with that cop!” Ray scowled at me, and gone was the scared-looking kid I had seen cowering in front of his father. “It was you who stole that book, and you weren’t even man enough to own up to it.”
“You shouldn’t have stolen my coat,” I said back.
Donkey-boy sniggered and Ray glared at him. Lucy was staring at my arms again. What freaks.
Then, Melody stumbled from the bushes behind me.
“Whoa! Who have we got here?” Ray said upon seeing Melody.
“They’ve been getting it on in the bushes!” donkey-boy screeched excitedly.
“With her?” Lucy said in disbelief. “But she’s, like, some kinda nun or something.”
“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,” Ray said, reaching forward, trying to lift up the hem of Melody’s dress. Melody slapped his hand away. “I just want to see your titties.”
“Fuck off!” Melody hissed.
“Whoo-hoo!” donkey-boy laughed and clapped his hands feverishly together. “The nun swears!”
“What will your freak mother say about that?” Lucy asked.
I positioned myself in front of Melody. “Why don’t you three just go away?” I said, trying to stay calm.
“Why should you get all the fun?” Ray glared at me. “How about the nun gives me and my friend Barry over here a hand job each and we won’t tell her mum what she’s been up to in the bushes with you.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said, staring back at him.
“What? She’s not going to give us a hand job, or we’re not going to tell her mum that she’s been screwing you?” Ray said, taking a step closer towards me.
“Neither is gonna happen,” I told him as I stood in front of Melody.
“And you’re gonna stop me, I guess?” Ray said, raising his fists.
I had no intention of fighting Ray. So I stepped forward and said, “What are you gonna do, Ray, whoop my arse? Beat me? Shoot me with one of your dad’s big fuck-off guns? Then what are ya gonna do? Get Melody to whack you off? Then what? Beat her, too?” I taunted him.
He narrowed the gap even more, shoving his shirtsleeves up his forearms.
Melody tugged at my arm and whispered, “C’mon, Isidor, let’s just get outer here.”
“What, and spend the rest of our lives running from bullies like him?” I said, staring into Ray’s eyes.
“You should listen to your girlfriend and run while you still can,” Ray threatened.
Even though my heart was slamming against my chest plate, I stood my ground. “Do what you have to do then. Beat me, kill me! But I promise you, even if I have to crawl on my hands and fucking knees, I’m gonna tell every last motherfucker in this town that really, you’re just a scared little boy.” I looked in the direction of donkey-boy and Lucy, who were standing just a few feet behind Ray. They looked at each other as if not knowing what I was talking about.
Ray looked momentarily shocked by what I had said, and sensing this, I continued. “Would daddy be proud of his son if he knew that he bullied girls, tried to get them to whack him off? I reckon he’ll be bursting with so much pride, he’ll award you the ‘Jerk-off of the year award’!”
As soon as I mentioned Ray’s father, he physically flinched backwards away from me. It was then that it finally dawned on me what Ray’s true weakness was.
“I get it, I get it! So who’s scared of their daddy then?” I taunted him.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” he groaned.
Once I knew his weakness, I said, “So daddy doesn’t love you? Is that it?”
“Shut-up!” Ray screeched.
“Or is it that daddy loves you too much? The bad kinda love that he says is perfectly okay, but just don’t tell your momma about it!”
“Shut-up! Shut-up! Shut-up!” he wailed, placing his hands over his ears.
I felt awful and spiteful all at the same time, but I knew I had him and this was my chance to lay down a few of my own ground rules before I went back to The Hollows and left Melody above ground on her own.
“I’ll shut-up if you promise you’ll leave Melody alone, and that goes for donkey-boy and Lucy.”
“I promise,” he whispered.
“I can’t hear you!” I shouted.
“I promise!” he cried.
“I think at last we’ve come to an understanding, and we got there without the use of any violence. A first for you, I suspect,” I said dryly. “Now get out of here!”
Ray turned and fled up the shore, donkey-boy and Lucy following him.
“Isidor, you did it,” Melody said in amazement. “You’ve got him off my back.”
“I hope so,” I replied wistfully. “I’m not sure, though.”
“How come?”
“Ray has problems, serious problems with his dad. I just hope I haven’t gone and made them a whole lot worse,” I said, as I stood and watched him and his friends disappear into the distance.
Melody collected her bonnet from where it lay in the sand. She tucked her hair beneath it and retied the strings. Taking her in my arms, I released my wings and carri
ed her up into the sky. It was getting dark as we raced silently through the clouds together.
We hovered momentarily above her home, then I swooped her down out of the sky. I helped Melody back through her bedroom window.
“When will I see you again?” she asked me. But before I’d the chance to answer, she placed a finger against my lips and said, “Just be at the town swimming pool, in three days’ time.”
“Why?” I asked with a frown, floating just outside her window.
“There is going to be a swimming tournament,” she explained. “It’s to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of my school and they are throwing this big swimming gala for the town. I’m doing something special. I doubt I’ll be very good.”
“So why do you want me to be there?” I asked.
“Just be there,” she said and closed the window.
Chapter Nineteen
Isidor
I returned to The Hollows and spent the next three days there. I didn’t go out once. I spent the days and most of the nights writing. I couldn’t stop. My head was full of so many stories. Some were better than others, but most of them, I guessed, were dreadful. My mother didn’t seem too concerned that I spent so much of my time alone. I think she was just pleased I had come home.