Ghost, Running

by Richard Jenkins

CHAPTER 4

  The next few days were a dream-like blur. He was left alone, and no one seemed annoyed by him. At Oswald’s house, he braved the monsters, creatures and things, to find the pantry full of delicious treats, which appeared like magic every single day. But then, from nowhere, his body collapsed. He woke one morning barely able to move, as frightened and as ill he had ever felt. His whole body felt crushed. His cough stabbed his chest with a horrible pain. The air that he had to force into his lungs barely seemed to work. This, he imagined, was drowning. Had Mark cursed him from the grave? The blur was now a nightmare, one that swayed in and out of black. Vague images played in his mind: a doctor and other nameless people all standing over him, leering down from above. It made him think of church, of solemn faced people, their heads all bowed.

  None of them noticed the mould. Ben feared it. It fed on him. Every time he opened his eyes it had gobbled more space, projecting towards its target, him. Ugly black, darker than night, never hidden, always seen by Ben.

  Time seemed irrelevant, all he felt was worse. Then, one night, his Aunt entered his bedroom. Perfume filled the air. It smelt to him like colour, like sunlight giving life to the gloom. She stood by the door, he could not see, but she wore her smartest clothes.

  ‘I’m going out,' she told him dispassionately. 'I’ve an appointment, planned weeks ago…You’ll have to manage alone….I know you’re unwell, but what I can do? What would my presence solve? Anyway, it’s not like I’m leaving you out for the wolves, is it?...

  He heard her walk towards him. He had not the will to open his eyes.

  'You should have this. Let me say I'm returning it to you.'

  He felt his hand touched, heard her walk away.

  'I should be back by eleven,' she continued, now back at the door.' I'll leave the landing light on. You should sleep. Really, you should let yourself go to sleep. It would be the best thing for you to do now, to sleep’

  He heard a car pull up outside. She vanished into footsteps; the bedroom door she left ajar so that cold, uninterested light, alone, could watch him sleep. The front door was opened then closed. He felt abandoned, as far away from the world as it was possible to be - beyond the stars, dimmer and colder. The Moon, seen through his window, was the only sign that he remained on Earth, alive.

  All his many thoughts drew to a close. His mind fell silent, it harbored no fear nor curiosity. His eyes drifted shut, but then, when all seemed empty and still, they snapped back open with a terrified rush. A shadow given form rushed towards him, its blacked-out face lunging towards his own but slowed to a stop by a thin grey membrane - like balloon rubber stretched transparent, ready to burst. An inch from Ben's face, the black became flesh. Ben looked at himself - a face that screamed in terror. His body locked still; his eyes had no means to close. In a moment, the screaming face had vanished.

  Ben sprung upright, alive with a sense of panic. His stare caught, he looked at his hand. The pendant and chain dangled from his wrist. His Aunt, she had cursed him. He slashed his wrist through the air to propel the curse to the floor. The crash of metal against wood startled him. His instinct screamed something was ready to pounce. Twisting to look behind, he saw it, himself, lying on the bed in a deep unmovable sleep. Before his thoughts could settle and an expression of his terror form, a noise forced him to turn and look towards a sight that would wrench the sanity from all but the strongest, or youngest, of minds – a wolf, called Wilf, illuminated with a slight, ghostly, glow appeared through the wall and raced through the air towards him.

  ‘Hide me! Save me! Hide me!’ cried Wilf at Ben who, numb with shock, had lost the ability to think, let alone speak.

  ‘You haven’t seen me! If you can, and of course you can't, mere boy, forget me!’ continued Wilf, before he dived under the bed to hide.

  All fell silent. Ben remained numb, but as the fog of fear and disbelief ebbed clear, he started to consider these extraordinary moments. In the background, the stark, lonely sound of a church bell chiming ten cut through the silence. He slapped his right hand against the left side of his chest. Usually, when frightened, his heart would race and pound rapidly, but now he felt and heard nothing. He looked at his hand pressed flat against his dressing gown, it seemed embedded, submerged an inch beneath the skin. He banged his hands onto the mattress.

  ‘Hey! I’m hiding down here!’ Wilf whispered loudly.

  Ben could touch and feel the mattress, but his hands somehow went inside, like hands that had fallen into an inch snow, until stopped by something solid.

  ‘I think I’m dead,’ Ben whispered.

  ‘Then your troubles have just begun!’ Wilf replied, with a knowing, resentful tone.

  Ben scrambled to the edge of the bed then jumped high into the air, but instead of falling solidly to the floor like any living boy would, he fell as a balloon would fall to the ground on a still, windless day.

  ‘What’s happening? I don’t understand,’ he said.

  Wilf pounced, he flew through the bed, and in an instant, was nose-to-nose with Ben.

  'Know one thing, you have my permission. Yes, you, a mere boy! You have my permission to pretend to be me, a fearsome, majestic wolf! I tell no lie - for what need do the great and powerful have to lie, especially to those so far below them? This is the truth, you will be crushed beyond all pain and space! But as a just reward you will have taken my, my place and earned my, my full respect! When they take you, you may scold them with the pride you so burn with! Now, confirm you comply!'

  Ben knew the words he wanted to say, but fear had stolen his voice.

  ‘Speak!' Wilf demanded.

  ‘I’m scared!’ Ben replied.

  ‘As you should be!’

  ‘Are you a ghost?’

  ‘A wolf!' He reared-up and puffed out his rather puny chest, 'Proud and fearsome!' he proclaimed.

  However, Ben noticed that Wilf looked more the scrappy, underfed and underloved mongrel dog than the prime, wild wolf of legend.

  'See these,’ Wilf continued. His mouth snapped open to display his, genuinely, savage looking teeth. 'Feared throughout time!' He lunged back down to Ben. 'Great in a smile but best when crunched into flesh and bone!’

  ‘You can’t eat me, I’m already dead.’

  ‘You're dead?! Dead?’ Terror filled Wilf's face. 'You're a ghost?’

  All of a sudden he was gone, back under the bed to hide. Another voice, rapid and nervous, came rushing into the room.

  ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no.'

  Ben looked, it was a monster, The Moof: a bumbling, podgy, round, blush red furry thing with two large flappy noses; two small mouths, which took it in turn to speak; and two bumps at the rear, which could only mean he was the owner of two bums. His arms, of which there were two, stuck out stiffly from his chest and seemed rather too short. He wobbled frantically to move slowly through the air.

  ‘Who are you?’ Ben asked.

  Before answering, The Moof raised his puffy hands to cover his face, ‘Don’t look!' spoke one mouth, 'Don’t look at me!' continued the other, which was the way he always talked. 'Anything but me. Don't look at me. Not me. Not here. Or there.'

  ‘You can’t do nothing to me, I’m already dead!’ Ben warned him.

  ‘Dead?’ The Moof suddenly stopped and looked at Ben. His big, bulging eyes wobbled like two raspberry jellies. As he moved his head, they sloshed around to such a degree that Ben thought they might pop free of their sockets. The Moof continued to speak, his two mouths taking turns, as if in conversation with themselves.

  ‘Dead, oh no. Not dead? You’re dead? I’m dead. Used to be so simple, dead. Good old fashioned dead. Properly dead. Pleasantly dead. Now the best we. Me. You. And I can hope for is to die young, for a second time. Can I hide under your bed? Will you let me? I’m going to hide under your bed. I won't leave a mess. Not now, I'm dead. Some smells, but nothing solid. Or sticky. For you. Or me. To frown upon.’

  ‘You’re a ghost, wh
y do you need to hide?’ Ben asked.

  ‘A ghost. I know. A ghost, look at me, a ghost. But look, listen, can I tell you this? I want you to know. Know it. I’m not a freak. There's no freak in this room. This is how my species is. We have two, yes two. Two where one would often do: mouth, nose, stomach, brain, and two of those. Yes those. Two of those. Those things behind. Bums. Can you tell me why? Tell me. Give me a reason. Solve the mystery! Two brains, for what? For answers? Rarely. For questions? Always! And bums? Too many. Too many. It's tiresome. Can I tell you an answer? A truth. A fact. Believe me. I do. I’m not this fat. I died twice. Apt really. Once from life. And twice cos I died looking like this. Fat. Bloated! You know the truth! The feast of Foog. The biggest that month. Two days later, I died. I'd put on weight. Who hadn't. Would you? I would. I did. Look at me. I died like this, about to diet. But death waits for no fat Moof planning a diet for a week the next Tuesday. A painless death, or so I thought. Do you know. I know. Lost all appetite. No need for food. But still, the wobble remains. I look for answers. None come. Can you tell me why?’

  ‘I don't know anything. Not now. All that I thought I knew, has gone.’

  ‘Well, it's a different day, death. That and losing everything you thought you knew. You'll never forget it. Can I hide under your bed?’

  ‘There’s a wolf already there.’

  ‘Wilf! He’s still ghost dead! Oh, the joy of it!’

  Wilf stuck his head up through the bed and spoke to The Moof.

  ‘Don't mention my name! You stupid moof! Get here! Quickly! Where's your guile? Learn from me! Take the opportunity to advance yourself! Even your fleas pity you!’

  'I ate my fleas. Shouldn't have left home without a sandwich. Tasted awful. Filled an hole though,' The Moof replied as he dived through the bed to take up his hiding place next to Wilf, although as his two bums stuck out through the mattress his hiding place was exposed for all to see.

  Ben looked on utterly bewildered, and yet there was more to come. Third through the wall was something just as strange as the two that had already arrived. With a presence felt, Ben turned to look behind, and saw something the like of which he had never seen before, a matt grey figure of a man, three foot tall and completely smooth. The head showed no facial features, no mouth, eyes, nose or ears, the limbs no joints, elbows, wrists, ankles or knees. It stood silent and still.

  ‘What are you?’ Asked Ben.

  ‘I’m AID,’ it answered in a soft, ever so polite voice. ‘Which stands for Artificially Intelligent Dummy. That much I know. For everything else, I will have to consult my computer.’

  ‘Your what?’ asked a ever so confused Ben.

  ‘My computer. Aren’t computers great? Just like their human masters. Humans, aren't they great, too? Humans used to invent everything.'

  ‘What’s a computer?’

  ‘My computer allows me to aid you. Can I aid you? Is there anything I can do for you. Maybe a question. Do you have a question my computer can answer with absolute certainty?’

  ‘Am I dead?’

  ‘Yes, very nearly. I repeat, you are very nearly dead. Does that answer satisfy you?’

  ‘What do you mean, nearly? Can I still be alive?’

  ‘My computer has noticed you still have weight. You are not yet fully a ghost. There is still some life left in you.’

  ‘So I can still be alive? I can live?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you are a coward!’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘All ghosts are cowards! You can only become a ghost if you led a cowardly life.

  'I'm not dead! I'm not!'

  'You're not. Not yet. But soon, you will be. As dead as dead can be. Life has given up on you, it has bowed to death because death is inevitable. A stronger, braver boy would fight the cause, the illness for example, but a coward, like yourself, has no fight, and is sure to give up. Hence why life, quite rightly, has given up on you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘That is your right. You are entitled to believe whatever you want. You are, after all, superior to me in every way. I will always defer to a human, even a well trained monkey. Although, for the record, I will never defer to a dog, or any of their breed, for they are very lowly indeed.'

  Wilf stuck his head through the bed and delivered an angry reply.

  ‘Lies!! How can something that wasn’t even born be superior to something that was?! Even worms are born! You furless son of a no-mother! In the dog world you are one below a lamp post!’

  ‘Correct, oh, no, my mistake! My computer says correct. Wilf, you are correct! Cause no trouble. It is not my place to cause conflict. Are we hiding again?'

  ‘Ask your computer!’ Wilf said sarcastically.

  ‘We are. Of course, we’re cowards!’ proclaimed AID before turning to Ben to ask,

  ‘Since you have some weight, could I possibly hide inside your head?’

  ‘No!’ Replied Ben, firmly.

  ‘I shall make myself small. I shall not be a nuisance.’

  ‘You’re not hiding inside my head!’

  'Then somewhere else about your person?'

  'No!'

  ‘Then I shall take to the wardrobe.' He floated towards the wardrobe. 'Of course, I always follow the crowd, well herd, but as my computer tells me, us hiding is both mindless and futile. We simply cannot escape. An eternity of pain and torment really is the only possible outcome.’

  Two sharp bursts of wind erupted from The Moof's behinds.

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ The Moof lied.

  ‘Oh my, ghost fart. That will linger for decades. It’ll probably finish you off.’ Said AID, as he glanced at Ben's body lying lifeless on the bed.

  ‘Silence! Hide!’ Demanded Wilf.

  ‘What are you fools doing?!’ Despaired a fourth voice.

  Ben recoiled, shocked and even disgusted, for the accent of the voice was German. He looked towards the source. A man, Albert, stood by the wall. He was about thirty years old. An oversized, full length, grey trench coat cloaked his hunched body. Its raised collar helped conceal the lower part of his face.

  ‘You. Who are you?’ Albert asked Ben.

  ‘You’re a German, aren’t you! Your accent, it’s German!’

  replied Ben with an accusing tone.

  ‘Even in death, the English! Will you ever forget?’ Asked Albert, softly.

  ‘Never!’ Ben snapped back.

  ‘Yes, I am German, forever German! Though that, is not my crime.’ As he said this he looked away from Ben, as if ashamed to look him directly in the eye. Ben could see he was a sad, tormented soul, and wondered if he had fought in the War. He looked young enough, and although his trench coat showed no military insignia, it was military in style and looked similar to those worn by German solders.

  ‘My name is Albert, and you?’ he asked, as he once again looked at Ben, with a soft, gentle stare. Ben hesitated, his instinct demanded hostility. 'Come. You think we fight each other now? Us, mere people? Tell me your name.'

  ‘Ben.’ he spoke, reluctantly.

  'Hello, Ben.'

  ‘Right, finally, finished!' Exclaimed Wilf, 'Introduction over! People and their lumpy words. You should learn to sniff arse like civilized beasts! Now, listen to me!' He insisted, with his stare fixed on Albert.

  'Again?' asked, AID. 'Surely once a day is more than polite.'

  Wilf ignored him and continued his rant.

  'You are a man of no mental significance! To think that I could ever be foolish!'

  'I was once called beyond foolish,' interposed The Moof. 'Confused me. Greatly. Beyond foolish? Does that mean clever?' he asked.

  'No! It does not!' snapped Wilf.

  'Good. Cos I couldn't live with the pressure,' replied The Moof.

  'We're cowards, we're fools, bound together!' said Albert.

  'I am not a fool!! A coward, yes!' said Wilf. 'Gutless to the very last! But let it be known, my cowardice is simply a
consequence of my unique high intelligence! As one of the greats, as a beacon of hope to all wolfkind, it was vital for me to self-preserve!'

  ‘Like a pickled onion?' The Moof asked.

  ‘Again, again, again!' Shouted Wilf, now close to fury. 'Pickled onions don’t self- preserve, they are preserved!’

  'The futility of these arguments! Whenever we are still. Come, for sanity, let us go!' Albert demanded.

  ‘Best thing the human’s ever done the pickled onion.' Said The Moof. 'Better than fire and I love fire. It's how I died. My love of fire. I gassed myself. Methane. I got it from cows, they fart it. I inhaled it, greatly. Made me feel right giddy. In a bad way. Plan was simple. Set fire to the gas in both my stomachs. Burn off the calories. Properly. Didn’t work though. Killed me. Put me to sleep, then killed me. Not a bad way to go. I was dreaming of pickled onions. And ice cream. Then me, I died. I should have listened to them cows, they were right. Thing is, who takes cows seriously? I also admire humans for their work with potatoes. Roast, Chipped, Crisped. Baked. Boiled.’

  ‘My computer says, if the plan was to hide, we are failing,’ said AID

  ‘Hide? How many times, there is no point!’ said Albert, his patience nearly lost.‘There is never any point! They weren’t there anyway.’

  ‘I felt the chill and I smelt them,’ said Wilf.

  ‘How can you smell them?’ Albert asked.

  ‘With this!’ Wilf answered as he pointed to his nose. ‘Compare it to your puny snozzle! So proud of your thumbs, aren't you! Oh what a wonder the thumb of man is! Well no! Not compared to this true mark of greatness!’

  ‘I’d prefer thumbs. I do a lot of itching. Got two bums. Makes sense then.’ said Moof.

  ‘You were mistaken.’ Albert told Wilf.

  ‘For what, a poodle?’ The Moof joked.

  ‘How dare you! I will call you a freak!’ Wilf answered back. The Moof looked mortified.

  ‘No! Not freak, unique!' he begged.

  ‘Stop this, please. We have to go!’ Albert demanded.

  ‘Yes,' said AID 'My computer has told you three hundred and eighty one times hiding is pointless. How fortunate it is that my computer never tires of telling you the truth!'

  ‘You should never hide!' Albert warned Ben with the utmost of seriousness. 'You must always run! You must always run away!’

  From what, Ben wondered. What could they be talking about? He was about to ask, but then another ghost, a teenage girl, appeared through the wall.

  ‘Ah, Victoria,' said AID. 'Meet Ben. He has weight. He has yet to properly die.'

  She glanced at Ben. A shiver plucked his spine. He felt haunted, choked by the stench of the grave. Her sunken, colourless eyes, seemed almost to touch him, to pull from his heart the final, clinging, murmurs of hope. He wondered if ghosts could cry, for her eyes seemed desperate for tears, cracked and arid, like sun bleached earth, not alive, and neither, now, human. She wore a plain, black hooded habit that was fastened around her body. Her thin blonde hair was cut short in a crude, careless fashion. Her age, he thought meant nothing, she may have lived to be around fourteen years old, but time, another time, one beyond all he had ever known, had given her an endless space in which to flee, chased screaming from the grave.

  As she looked away she pulled up a hood and withdrew into black.

  ‘We must go,' reiterated Albert. 'We must try. Ben, you are free to join us, or you can wonder alone. It is your decision.’

  ‘Go where? I can’t leave. This is where I live,’ he replied.

  ‘No, You don’t. I’m sorry, but not anymore. If you want to stay, then do, but for what? To watch your family mourn, to watch them fall apart?'

  ‘They won’t fall apart,’ said Ben.

  ‘You’ll be taken if you stay!’ said The Moof.

  ‘Yes, as will we all! So, we go! Now! There maybe a place.’ said Albert.

  'A place?' asked Ben.

  ‘But because he’s got weight, he won’t be able to move through solids, not like us, the properly dead,’ said AID with a high, snobby air.

  ‘He’ll slow us down,’ Wilf warned.

  ‘He’ll be two-dimensional. He won’t have the ability to go up or down. I repeat, not like the properly dead,' said AID.

  ‘He can follow. He can do his best,’ said Albert.

  ‘They’ll get him first. He can be a decoy. He can save us!' exclaimed Wilf. 'Finally, a human with value!’

  ‘Ignore them,' Albert said to Ben. 'But come quickly, you’ll have to jump out of the window.’

  ‘What? No!’ said Ben, sacred at the thought.

  ‘You cannot go through the wall, you’ll have to jump.’

  ‘I can’t jump out of the window!’

  ‘You’re dead. What do you have to fear? Nothing, nothing that the living need fear! But what you must fear, what you will fear, I promise you, is hunting you this very second!’

  ‘Now and throughout all time,’ added AID.

  ‘Yes, we are only here, but they are everywhere, behind us, ahead of us, everywhere. We must, must go!' continued Albert. 'We must, must keep moving! Go, jump, follow us!’

  Albert walked towards a wall. Wilf, The Moof, AID and Victoria all followed. Albert stopped to Look back at Ben. The others continued on and disappeared through the wall.

  ‘We cannot not wait for you,’ Albert told Ben, but Ben just stood, utterly bewildered, unable to make a decision. A second later, Albert was gone.

  Ben looked at his body lying lifeless on the bed. It was dead to the world and all it contained, and yet he felt so very much alive. He felt scared, excited and intrigued. What sadness could he feel when he knew there was no one left to feel sad for him, to mourn, to fall apart.

  He began to walk towards the window. He felt much lighter, the wooden floor beneath his feet felt soft and springy. He bounced along with every step. It was as if there was less gravity to pull him down.

  At the window, he grabbed the handle. It felt barely there, not cold and hard like metal usually did. With the window open, a sadness took him, as he felt no wind against his face, no wave of nighttime cold. Was this numbness now the norm? Had the full Moon, which once again governed the night, finally revealed its curse? Would he ever race the wind again or feel fuelled and tuned by the warmth of the sun? But then, in an instant, he felt the coldest he had ever felt, brutally cold, as if held below the coldest, darkest swells. He lunged for the light switch - a means to repel the cursed light of the Moon - but as the bulb began to glow, a presence felt forced him to look behind. From the centre of the room, a ring, a shockwave, of something black - expanded from nothing out towards the walls and Ben.

  Before Ben could duck, it passed through him at head height and dealt him a terrible, hideous pain. It then went through the walls and vanished.

  An urge to flee, to race away, consumed him. He knew with certainty that some horror was here upon him. But before he could climb up to reach the window, tiny black particles, as fine as coal dust, each one vibrating and humming as if fizzing with a charge of energy, flooded through the walls into the room. Swirling and swarming and merging into one they quickly took the form of a sleek and shrouded figure - a demonic presence, it possessed the room with a sense of menace. This was not just death; this was something worse, far beyond the grave. Its otherwise featureless head was dominated by what seemed to be two large eyes - oval and mirrored and dead they stared coldly down at Ben. The shadow given form had returned, but now nothing stood between it and Ben.

  Ben thought of jumping out of the window, pictured it in his mind, but his body stood still.

  The Shadow swept towards him. Its face morphed into that of Ben’s, and once again Ben’s own stolen image showed him the fear that he knew and felt inside.

  Ben, like a leaf released into a violent wind, jumped up to the window and launched himself out. As he drifted, too slowly, down to the ground, he turned and looked up. The lighted window flashed black; the Shadow, the hunter, pursued him. B
en recoiled, his body turned and twisted in a desperate attempt to somehow get out of the way, and here it happened, here he moved, but not through space, not backwards or forwards or up or down, or left or right, but into and through a different dimension, into and through the dimension of time. Wherever he looked rotating bubbles of time were crammed into space - like spinning tops, the decorative pictures actual moments of time and each touchable, reachable, although something of a blur. Not that Ben understood any of this; it was another fright from which he recoiled.

  He landed, lightly. A car had appeared outside the cottage, the engine was running and the headlights were on. The Shadow given form had gone, left behind in another time. The front door of the cottage opened and out walked his Aunt, dressed in her very best clothes. A frightened boy had only one instinct, to call out loudly for adult help.

  ‘Aunt!’ he shouted. Startled, she stopped and looked, but her stare went straight through him. He knew he was invisible, gone, a ghost now forever. She looked up at his bedroom window. He followed her stare. The window was closed, the room in darkness. Somehow, he knew he had travelled through time.

  Panicked, his Aunt hurried towards the car. What was he to think? What could he think? Was he still alive, in his bedroom still alive. He scrambled to his feet and ran. His Aunt, hearing the footsteps, turned and looked.

  ‘Who’s there?!..What?..Who’s there?!’ her trembling voice demanded to know.

  ‘Me!’ Ben shouted back. ‘And forever more haunting you!’

  She screamed, utterly petrified. Ben continued to run, heading for the back door, which he knew would be unlocked.

  Inside the bedroom, he turned on the light. By the bed, he stared at his living self, listened to the short, shallow bursts of breath. The eyelids opened slowly and revealed what little of life remained.

  These two, the same, stared at themselves. The living Ben looked scared and weak, a sickly boy about to meet his natural end. Could Ben the ghost, the soul, jump back inside his body? Could he travel back in time and save himself? Or was this all his life was meant to be - a sickly, failing boy?

  Unable to look, to know himself, any more, he reached for the light switch and plunged the room back into darkness.

  ‘You’ll be alright,' he said to the boy on the bed. 'At least, you’ll be thinking.’

  And with that came a violent blast of cold. Ben ran to the window, jumped up and out. As he fell to the ground, he twisted and turned, and once again moved back through time. Fear drove him on, a desperate need to get far, far away. He looked through centuries with a turn of the head. It all became a maddening blur that filled his senses to overload. Finally, his fear found its voice. He stopped, landed, submerged in the void of space. His scream, made silent, offered no relief. No Earth, or Sun, could be seen or felt. The nighttime sky surrounded him. Stars shone many times brighter than any he had seen from Earth. It should have been a glorious sight, but against the vastness how small he felt, how pointless and nothing, as if shrunk to the smallest dot, and the cold continued to clamp him. Were they here, hidden in the black? Was he lost forever, trapped, alone at the end of the world? Panicked, he twisted and turned, and fled back to a more familiar time. A moment later, and Earth once again held him, cocooned beneath the canopy of an ancient forest, he drifted down towards the ground.

  He ran as fast as he could, and the faster he went, the closer to the ground he remained. Speed, it seemed, gave him weight, and what a speed he reached. As fast and as agile as the deadliest forest monster, one guided through the dense vegetation by the spirits of the forest and the trees themselves.

  A mass of black particles raced towards him. Nothing solid blocked them; the straightest, shortest route was always theirs to take. They moved like a flock of birds, tuned together as one, possessed with winning this pursuit to the deadly end.

  Ben accelerated hard. The particles, however, always loomed and inched teasingly towards their prey. They took a form: the shrouded, limbless figure with Ben's face twisting and screaming terror. They came so close, close enough to touch. Ben kicked against a tree trunk and changed direction with a fly-like certainly. The shadow sped onwards. Out-maneuvered, the particles thinned ready to whip back and strike at Ben again. The advantage, however, was won. Ben turned and twisted and jumped to another time.

  White, raging water snatched him and threw him fast towards a giant, horizon-wide waterfall, the immense noise of which could have been used as a bomb. The water, pounding against him, felt dry and more like wind. He shot over the edge into the white of spray. Visibility fell to less than his reach. The Shadow appeared, as quick as thought, but somehow, Ben, moved fast enough to escape back into time.

  He landed, fell to his knees onto damp, bare earth. Before him, an iron age village bustled with people. A group of men worked and smelted iron. Women weaved cloth. A group of boys played with sling-shots. Smoke leaked from the cone shaped roofs of roundhouses. Near-by, two tethered horses became restless, spooked by something unseen. Dogs began to bark, sheep to bleat. People began to look, to feel a trespassing presence. He felt the cold; it had never left him. In the sky, two Shadows with form speeded towards him; behind him, a third quickly loomed. He began to run; commotion erupted around him. Some villagers could see him, others could not. To his side, the scariest man he had ever seen – a warrior, as wild as the wolves he could tame with a look - sprinted towards him, a sword in hand poised ready to attack, his bare upper-body packed with muscle and adorned with scars and blue tattoos. Ben twisted to move through time, the Warrior’s scream followed him closely until replaced with his own agonized wail.

  Pitch black surrounded him. His left foot felt trapped and crushed. Pain flooded his fallen body, beneath which lay a hard, stone floor. He tried to twist away but remained clamped and hurting. With all his strength summoned, he pulled to free his foot, reluctantly it started to come.

  The sound of clanging metal, a heavy key turning in a lock, made him stop and look. A door was pulled open. Orange fire-born light flickered in. Two medieval knights, one of them holding a flaming torch, manhandled a broken, barely living, rag-strewn man into what Ben could now see was a dungeon. He could also see his leg was embedded, ankle deep, into the dungeon wall. The Knights pushed the prisoner to the floor, his body fell limp. The Knights recoiled, their chainmail armor clattered as they drew their swords with an instinctive rush. Ben knew he had been seen.

  ‘In the name of God!’ cried one Knight.

  ‘Begone, this demon!’ proclaimed the other.

  They lunged at him, trusting sword and flame towards him. Without thinking, Ben moved his hands to block each stab of their weapons. Did he need to? Could they hurt him? Fear drove him on, gave him the will to force his leg free and then, just as the cold returned, twist and turn away through time.

  Running, so glad to be running, his body trapped only in space. The terrain was a mountainous, ice covered land. Above him, two sets of particles burst into the clear blue sky. Their first act was to lash out at each other - a pecking order scuffle, like two birds competing for scraps. Behind him, entered a third. He jumped into time and fled far away.

  Through space he fell, towards a naked, bleeding Earth; one stripped to its barest heart, a ball of molten rock skinned with a cracked, blackened crust. He felt the heat radiating out, the first warmth to touch him since living dead. The Blitz he thought was barely a tale, a war of mere people, not like this, a war of worlds. Rocks - colossal splinters from smashed and broken planets - poured down from the Moonless sky and bombed the Earth with a nuclear frenzy. How dead the Earth looked, how attacked and under siege, but time shall give it life he thought, time can make her breathe.

  Before he could land, and test the crust beneath his feet, he twisted and turned and sped away.

  The ancient forest, blooming with life and mystery, sparkled beneath a summer haze. Ben landed, running, knowing the cold would soon return to bite.

  In a pool of clear, crisp water, a fla
me-haired young woman bathed, clothed in a plain white dress. On seeing her, all Ben could do was stop and stare, dazzled by her beauty, this princess of the forest, whose crown was one made of white flowers woven into her hair. How calm she looked, how unafraid, alone in the forest. Her eyes closed to see a dream more clearly. She was a jewel set amongst a crown of flowers. She moved as if in a dance, a tribute to the forest, as her cupped hands ladled water over her head and body. She seemed unreal, a mirage.

  The instant chill, the dark swooping cloud of particles raced towards him. He ran, bounced from tree to tree, like a pinball in an endless game, desperately seeking an exit. The particles took form - the sleek, predatory shadow.

  Could he run forever? With no illness to slow him or breath to catch, was this now his eternity? They could hunt him through time and pursue him through space. What choice did he have, other than submission?

  Two more waves of particles appeared and joined the chase, casting particles far and wide, snare-like, contracting around Ben to limit the space he could use, to make ever smaller the pitch of play. Beneath him, the Princess stood in the lake spinning round and round, getting faster and faster, as a whirlpool formed in her wake.

  Ben had no choice; space offered no escape. He leapt through time but went back only months, back to the forest in the dead of winter. All life had been iced by frost, except for the princess who remained in the pond exactly as before, spinning round and round, trance-like, beneath him. Ben drifted down towards her. The briefest pause before the cold snapped back, too quickly for Ben to flee through space or time. He knew he was trapped. The shadow's face - his own screaming the terror he felt inside. But then, a torrent, a vortex of water rose up from the pond and enclosed him. The walls, pure white rapids, shielded him and somehow kept the shadow out.

  The Princess looked up; a great strain showed in her face. Her arms were outstretched; her hands extended through the vortex walls as if she alone bore the water's weight.

  ‘Quick! Your hand!’ she said. ‘You are marked! Destroy it! Go! Trust yourself, as we must now trust you!’

  And with that, she summoned a strength beyond her body and launched the vortex ever higher. Ben was thrust up in its wake. He turned and twisted and moved blindly through time into the roar of a Spitfire plane ripping through the air.

  A mass of black ripples burst into the sky above him. He looked at his hands; a single black particle hovered a just above the skin on his left hand palm. He tried to shake it off, but it remained in place. The ripples became shadows as they dive bombed towards him.

  ‘Destroy it. Trust yourself.’ He heard her words, and he took them with him as he sped back into time.

  Again, he fell towards the bleeding, molten Earth, so far from life. He could feel the heat, but could it hurt him, that tread of life he still retained? Could he thrust his hand into the seething liquid rock, could he and the particle survive?

  The thin, brittle crust took his weight. The heat smothered him. He ran to the nearest crack. Shadows raced down towards him. He plunged his hand into the molten rock. A scolding pain rose, sucked-up, through him, and pooled in his head, wanting to burst.

  With the Shadows about to strike, he turned and twisted away moving only minutes back through time. Once landed, he jumped as high as he could. The future Earth had swelled in size, this rock of liquid fire was only the beginning. If he travelled back to the future at ground level, or not high enough, he would land trapped beneath all that had piled on top.

  He jumped through time, a leap of faith. He landed, safely, on all fours, above a patch of freshly raked soil. The sound of someone whistling flitted through the air. He scoured his hand, the right one too. The particle was gone, destroyed.

  He looked up, his Aunt’s cottage filled the view. It appeared exactly the same; however, the garden looked cared for and maximised for the cultivation of vegetables. The whistling got louder, a lively tune he had never heard before. He stood and quickly scanned the sky. Had they followed? The whistling stopped. Ben looked back towards the cottage. In front of him, there standing just metres away, was his Dad. He looked young, barely twenty, and carried a pair of mud soaked football boots. Their stares became locked. His Dad looked fascinated and showed no sign of fear.

  ‘What are you? What can you be? his Dad asked, before slowly stepping forward to get a closer look.

  Ben could find no words.

  ‘Little man like you, you’d do me no harm,’ his Dad continued.

  ‘Dad.’ said Ben.

  A pained, disturbed look flooded his Dad's face.

  ‘No. No. Not so young, son?

  ‘Dad.’

  The cold, the instant chill. Ben turned to locate the attack but saw only black. With no time to twist away, he felt himself grabbed then violently thrown. Black remained the only view, but still, fear drove his eyes shut. He could feel his body accelerating, falling down, down, faster and faster. He forced his eyes open. Spiraling through the blackness towards a tiny point in the far distance were an seemingly infinite number of him: Bens of every previous age, from every moment of his time alive, from the fetus to the bed on which his dying body laid. Whether ghosts, impressions or real solid flesh, all hurtled towards the same tiny point, and all fed the space with horror.

  He tried to turn to escape through time but was powerless to move. Ahead of him, his many selves were being stretched before vanishing into the black hole. And then: blind; unable to speak, think; grub-like; compressed by an unimaginable weight; crushed to the point of infinite pain.

  He woke in his bed, sprung upright with a scream that told little of the horror he had felt. He glanced behind; the shell that was his body remained. He was still a ghost but felt desperate to breathe, as if just plucked from deep, drowning, water into thin, depleted air. He tried to compose himself, to think of something, anything, clearly, to anchor his self from the swell of panic and fear. A noise startled him and made him look; Wilf raced towards him.

  ‘Hide me! Save me! Hide me!’ Wilf screamed in panic, just as he had before. ‘You haven’t seen me! If you can, and of course you can't, mere boy, forget me!’ he continued, as he dived under the bed to hide.

  Ben's thoughts became clear. Time and place settled. The ghosts would come, as would the shadow. He raced to the edge of the bed; cast the pendant to the floor.

  ‘I 've seen you before; you’re Wilf!’ he said, as he jumped to the floor. ‘And behind you is The Moof, AID, Albert and Victoria!’

  Wilf shot out from under the bed, ran to the far wall then turned to face Ben.

  ‘How do you know that?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s happened before, this time has happened before. I’ve been here before!’

  ‘How?’ asked Wilf, he body half turned towards the wall as if about to run away.

  ‘I travelled through time. They chased me. I bet what’s chasing you!’

  ‘The...?, he said with a nervous, shivering stutter.

  'The?'

  'Sshhhh! Don't speak their name.'

  'What is their name?'

  'They have no name.'

  'Then how can you not speak it?'

  'Fear! We dare not speak their name.'

  'The one you haven't given them?'

  'Yes.'

  'But you do speak their name, The...'

  'Oh please! Who isn't a the? You're a the! Not the, the. Not like me. I am, the! The one and only, the!'

  'Right, fine, but it came out of the air from nowhere and in this very room.'

  ‘And you moved through time?’

  ‘Yes! But they caught me.’

  ‘Then released you!’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘The first time they catch you, they always release you,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So you know the pain. The horror! So you feel the fear for ever more,' he replied, almost tearful.

  ‘What happens if they catch you a second time?’

  ‘T
hey never let you go!’

  'I felt what they want.'

  'Stillness.'

  'Emptiness.'

  'All space and matter gone.'

  'A dead, empty peace.'

  'For one of their kin! Only one will remain. The pack will turn cannibal. They will hunt and feast on themselves until one is crowned, everything.'

  'Everything?'

  'Oh, give them a name! Wilf tip, four: always know the name of your enemy then, when you're begging for mercy, you can use the name and you won't seem rude!'

  ‘It’s coming back! We must tell the others!’

  ‘Coming back, and forwards, and sideways, and up and down! They come from everywhere! They are always coming from everywhere!’

  ‘Then we must tell the others! We must leave!’

  ‘The others? But what about me?’ He rushed up close to Ben. ‘I am the prize! The honor, the legend to stuff? But together, me and you could flee through time. Hold me! Hold me!' He tried to embrace Ben, but Ben twisted away.

  'Oh no, oh no.' The Moof appeared through the wall. Ben stepped towards him and told him,

  ‘You’re The Moof. This, us meeting here, has happened before!

  ‘Aaarrrggggg!’ cried The Moof, as he covered his face with his hands.

  Ben continued.

  ‘AID, Albert and Victoria are following you. A The... will soon be here. You must go and tell the others! We must leave!’

  ‘Go? Leave? Here? Me? Now? I only just got here. I's not a rudey. Especially not to meself. Are you trying to trip me up?’ said The Moof.

  ‘I’m trying to help you!’

  'Then command him!' said Wilf to Ben. 'Two brains, both faulty. Two brains and yet still, he can only count to one!'

  ‘To help me, don't look at me,' continued The Moof. 'Not so directly. Blink a lot. Or use one eye. Yes, I said, use one eye. We need to meet first. Feast a few times. Then get familiar.’

  ‘We have met. This time has happened before. We spoke, you told me you died after swallowing gas.’

  ‘I know. It was foolish. But it's not in The Moof's nature to dwell. Or learn from their mistakes.'

  ‘Go and tell the others! I command you!' said Wilf to The Moof.

  ‘Oh, right then. Order taken as charged.' said The Moof before looking at Ben and continuing. 'Always listen to an angry Wolf. Better they chitty chat words. Than eat you fresh and whole.’

  ‘He can’t eat you, you’re dead!’ said Ben.

  ‘Oh, he’s a right agitator this one,’ said the Moof to Wilf. ‘He’ll be putting ideas in my head next. That'll hurt me. Right, a lot.’

  ‘Humans are agitators, born agitators. They come from chimps, and we all know how mischievous the common chimp is.’ said Wilf.

  ‘Moofs come from rattlefillers. They’s not known for nothing. Except for doing nothing. And they don’t hurry to do that. Right lazy buggers. Were the first animals to go on holiday though. So I’d bake them a cake and a half. Half's for me but then I's done the work, ain't I?'

  ‘The wolf comes from no other animal. The wolf is an original. The wolf was forged by Wolfo, the god of all gods! The wolf was a gift to all that lives, a beacon of hope and aspiration. The wolf is known for intelligence, wit, cunning, guile, style, a perky sense of humor,’

  ‘Can’t you two concentrate?' Ben interrupted. 'We're in danger! We must go and tell the others!’

  ‘Alright. I's goin'. I is!’ said the Moof. He then thrust a hand deep into the fur that covered his belly and pulled out another Moof, one that looked identical to the original, only a fifth of the size, and with a keener more energised manner.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ben asked.

  ‘It’s me. You’s a right thick ‘un, you.’ The Moof replied, amused. He then drop-kicked the Little Moof towards and beyond the wall. A fury cord, attached to the Little Moof’s back, unraveled from inside the Moof’s belly fur.

  ‘Oh, that hurt me, that did. Not properly, I'm dead. That's a memory hurt, that is. Like smells. I's always got memory smells comin' to me. One of death's great pleasures. Not always savory. Oh no. Oh,' he said, squirming, 'there it hurts again.'

  ‘If that’s you, then haven’t you actually got four noses, and four of other things?’ asked Ben.

  The Moof looked at him, distraught.

  ‘Oh. Oh. No. Why'd you need to crush me so? Take the fur off a man. He's still a beast,’ said The Moof.

  ‘But four is better than two.’ said Ben trying to make amends.

  ‘Only for legs!’ boasted Wilf. ‘Not when it comes to noses and bums. One, is the optimum number when it comes to noses and bums! Fact! Even brains. Exhibit A, the wolf: one nose, one bum, one brain, one perfect specimen. Copied throughout nature and time!’

  ‘I’m going to the window. We haven’t got time for this. I need to get ready; I need to jump out. It’s coming back!’ said Ben as he rushed towards the window.

  ‘But you can take us through time.’ said Wilf

  ‘He? This one 'ere? He can move through time?’ asked The Moof.

  ‘Can’t all ghosts?’ asked Ben as he opened the window.

  ‘No! So what makes you so special?' said Wilf.

  'Some can. None of us though. No. Not us though, no.' added The Moof.

  'My legend moves through time for it is timeless! It is historical!' said Wilf.

  The Little Moof flew back into the room and went straight into The Moof's belly fur.

  ‘There. Warned! Well, that's tired me!’ said the Moof.

  AID, Albert and Victoria flew in through the wall.

  ‘Him. That one there. Can travel through time. We've met him before,’ said The Moof.

  ‘You didn’t take to him then; you won't take to him now,’ added Wilf.

  ‘I, too, travelled through time, just once. Taken by another ghost who also had the power’ said AID. ‘Hence my presence here, in the primitive past, with countryside animals,’ he continued with a disapproving glance towards Wilf and The Moof.

  'But how is it possible?' asked Ben.

  'All time exists at all time. Just another dimension which some, you, can access.'

  ‘What do you mean, countryside animal?’ asked Wilf, offended.

  ‘Nothing. No opinion. I speak only the words of my computer. I, this,' he pointed to his body, 'is merely packaging. That’s all I am. Without my computer, I’m only good for the recycler.’

  ‘I’m going!' said Ben. 'We haven’t got time to bicker!’

  He jumped through the window. As he drifted down, he turned to look at the window. The others, he hoped, would follow, which they did, they flew to the ground and waited for him to land.

  ‘Come on. All hold hands,’ said Albert as Ben took his place amongst them.

  ‘Paws!’ replied Wilf.

  ‘Why? We’s in a rush! I's ready to roll,' said the Moof.

  'Paws! You two-bummed oaf!'

  ‘Hold on to each other!’ demanded Albert. ‘You must take us through time, Ben.’

  ‘Why? They can follow us. What difference will it make?’ said Ben.

  'We must cling to any advantage, however slight. It may give us seconds. At least, somewhere else to run.’

  ‘Can we touch?’

  ‘Not like we once could.’

  Albert reached a hand towards Victoria, who reciprocated. Their hands blended into one, like two clouds drifting into each other. The Moof, AID and Wilf all followed and joined their hands, and paws, together. Albert offered his other hand to Ben. He took it but felt no touch as it merged with his own.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Albert asked Ben, who nodded his head in reply.

  ‘My computer speaks, it says we mustn’t go back too far. We must not confuse the search.’ said AID.

  ‘Yes, of course. Back only days, and to daylight,’ said Albert.

  ‘The search?’ asked Ben.

  ‘For The Place. The special place,’ answered The Moof.

  'A means to another realm, one of safety,' added Albert.


  'A place of hope.'

  ‘The great wolf den in the sky!’ added Wilf.

  'It could be anywhere! Anywhere!' said Albert impatiently.

  ‘You, I. Me too. Free. And, I think, waited on,’ said The Moof.

  'By servile men wearing furry gloves!' added Wilf, triumphantly.

  ‘From fear! Free from fear,’ interrupted Albert, as he saw that Ben was about to question The Moof. ‘What else can we ask for? Now go, please!’

  Ben moved through time effortlessly pulling the others through with him. When he stopped, it was daytime, and the land was white with snow.

  ‘Quickly, now. Keep low. Ben, follow us!’ instructed Albert.

  Albert, Wilf, The Moof, Victoria and AID all sped off at quite a speed in a loose arrow shaped formation scouring the land as they went. Ben rushed to join them and quickly caught up with Albert.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Ben asked him.

  ‘We search,’ Albert answered.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Everywhere. What else is there to do? We have no other hope.’

  They reached a small clump of trees, Albert flew up and over, Ben weaved his way through. Wilf was ahead of him. Ben watched him as he searched inbetween the trees like he was playing hide and seek, looking for the one who was hidden.

  Several cottages came into view. Ben watched as the other ghosts flew into every one. He waited, alone, in the garden of Mrs Beese. From inside her cottage a woman screamed with fright.

  AID appeared through a wall, as he flew away, Ben called out to him.

  ‘You look inside houses?'

  AID stopped, turned and looked at Ben.

  ‘Yes.'

  'Why?' asked Ben bewildered.

  'We look everywhere? As my computer says, we have no idea what we are looking for, or where The Place may be, so why reject any possibility.’

  ‘No idea at all?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then how can you hope to find it?’

  ‘Because we have eternity to look for it.’

  ‘You could be looking forever?’

  ‘Theoretically, yes, but as my computer says, even when you factor in the possibility of us having eternity to find The Place, the chances of us actually succeeding are miniscule. The... also have the power of eternity, as they do the power to travel through time. The result of this, of course, means the chances of us avoiding the fate they wish to impose on us, one of endless pain and torment, are actually very, very, very small. Still, one has to have a point to the day.'

  ‘Don’t listen to it!’ shouted Wilf as he rushed towards them. ‘It was never alive! A mere machine. A faceless vomiter of useless facts! What instinct does it have? Not those born of wild creation! Not an instinct for survival, for hunches or ideas? Oh no! Not like a wolf or any truly living thing!’

  ‘No, no. Not I. I am simply a messenger,’ replied AID before he turned and flew away.

  ‘This nose won't let us down!' Wilf said pointing to his own large snozzle. 'It's bigger than my brain and far more useful. The brain asks a question; the nose gives an answer. One whiff of instinct and everything is known. Now, onward! The Place exists and we will find it!' he sniffed the air, 'To The Place and safety!'

  Wilf turned and raced away. Ben hesitated but soon, somewhat reluctantly, followed.

  The group covered the land where Ben had once played. They passed the lake, but Ben gave no thought to the monster or to Mark or to the warrior asleep beneath the hill. He followed silently, behind and outside the pack.

  At the top of the hill, the Hospital came into view. Ben stopped and watched as the other ghosts honed in on it, like hungry birds in a race to scavenge a meal.

  ‘No!’ he shouted at them. ‘No! You mustn’t!’

  He ran as fast as he could, desperate to catch them up, but their speed and headstart enforced their lead. They passed through the hospital's boundary wall. Ben followed, leaping over it. As he knew he would not reach them, he turned and moved through time - a brief slip back into the past.

  Back in the present, the others approached him.

  ‘Where’s he come from? That one there,’ asked The Moof, as he and the others slowed to a stop.

  ‘Through time.’ answered Albert.

  ‘You can’t go in there!' Ben demanded. 'It’s a hospital! There are people in there too ill to be scared!’

  ‘I’m too scared to be ill! I know what happens!’ said The Moof.

  ‘Most of the patients won’t see us,’ Albert tried to reassure.

  ‘But some will!’ countered Ben.

  ‘If I was ill and I saw a ghost I’d make sure I got better. It would scared me to life. And back again,’ added The Moof.

  ‘I don’t think they’re ill in that way. It’s not their bodies that hurt,’ said Ben.

  ‘You do it. You go inside. Who can be scared of a puny boy, dead or alive?’ said Wilf.

  ‘No. I can’t!’ replied Ben.

  ‘You can. With my genius and guile, I’ll get you inside.’

  ‘That's not the point! It's wrong!’

  ‘We all need to go in. We must look properly. We must look everywhere.’ said Albert.

  ‘It's cruel! You’re a cruel people!’ Ben shouted at Albert.

  ‘We have to!' Albert snapped back. 'It’s for the good of everyone, not just us, or you! It’s our only hope! We must look everywhere!’

  Albert flew away straight through a wall and into the hospital.

  ‘It’s our only hope? Our only hope! Why remind me of that? It’s our only hope! If only I was born a moose, I wouldn't have the brains to care!’ screamed Wilf, before he rushed away to join Albert.

  ‘It is our only hope. My computer has done the maths.’ said AID, before he, too, flew off to join the search. Ben looked at The Moof.

  'I's a herd animal; I follow the crowd,' said The Moof, as he sneaked away towards the hospital. ‘I’ll say this though, there’s wisdom in crowds. All those brains. Takes the pressure off. You's hardly have to think at all.’

  He accelerated quickly, went through the wall and vanished. Ben looked at Victoria, her face hidden beneath her hood.

  ‘I’m not staying.’ Ben told her. ‘Not to hear them scream.’

  He started to back away. Victoria seemed hesitant. She moved forward as if about to follow him but then pulled back. She glanced at the hospital then back towards Ben, who stood watching her, waiting for her to come.

  ‘I’m going! I can’t stay!’ he said.

  She gently bowed and shook her head. Ben turned and sped away, desperate to put distance between himself and the Hospital. As he neared the boundary wall, he turned and looked behind, Victoria had gone.

  With a graceful ease, he jumped on to then over the wall. His slow decent to the ground fuelled his anxiety such was his need to run further away. Finally, his feet crunched into a pristine layer of snow. He glanced behind, but no ghost followed. He looked forward and instantly recoiled, startled with fright. From out of thin air, indeed from out of thin time, a man appeared just several metres away, who immediately began to limp towards Ben. Every step he took caused him strain. It was as if his bruised and dirt blackened body hauled an invisible leaden weight. Folds of sagging skin, that fat would have once made solid, hung off him head-to-toe like thick dripping flem and flapped as he shuffled along. A pair of threadbare sackcloth trousers, the only clothes which covered him, did nothing to hide this revolting, hideous mess. His head was bald and ridden with boils and yet still he beamed a toothless smile as if all happiness was his to share. He threw his hands aloft as if to offer Ben a long lost embrace.

  ‘Who are you?’ Ben asked, about to flee through time.

  'I have no name. I want no name. I seek never to be known. Pass me no credit. Give me no fame.' The Man proclaimed with the zeal of a preacher rallying before a hostile crowd, and without hardly moving his mouth or face. It was as if his face was worn as a mask, although his eyes did sparkle with expression.
<
br />   ‘A tear of recognition, a mere morsel. Silent recognition in the eyes of the people I save. Those that I liberate from fear, from the endless horror shackled to their souls! And not just Man, but all citizens of our ghostly world! The monsters, creatures and things. You know what I speak of, Ben, you, know what I speak of!'

  Ben backed into the boundary wall; his body moved through it an inch before coming to a stop. The Man, seeing this, speeded up.

  ‘Recognition, that I have saved yet another poor shivering soul!’ he continued.

  Ben felt smothered, unable to speak, as the man loomed and leered over him.

  ‘Are you afraid of me, small, helpless boy?’ The Man asked.

  Ben lunged away from the wall then turned and twisted through time, several minutes into the past. Once still in the present, he paused to think: should he find the others or continue alone? But then,

  ‘Boo!’ said The Man with no name, as he appeared before Ben's eyes. ‘Ha! Come, join us. A fellowship, the fellowship of Those Who Can!’ he wailed through laughter.

  ‘You can move through time?’ asked Ben as he stepped hurriedly away.

  ‘Of course. I am blessed. Your mind is clogged,' he dropped to his knees, his arms held aloft. 'I see it! Clogged with fear? Yes! I see it, fear! Use it! Plot! Conspire! But never, never must you fear sweet me!’

  Ben stopped and stood. The distance between them was just enough to make him feel nearly safe.

  ‘Who are you? Name or no name, you must be someone,’ he asked.

  ‘Me? Here? Now? In this world where smoke takes our form? I am the man who can. I am he man who knows. A simple man, honest in nature. A good man, who was once so very, very bad. The worst! Despicable! Afraid even to trust his own shadow, who believed it stalked him, dagger in hand! Alas, I heard it vomit, such was its disgust at my very being! See, see how I died.' He stood. 'Witness the fate I brought upon myself.’

  His body spilt into eight separate pieces: his head, torso, lower and upper legs and lower and upper arms, then fell to the ground.

  ‘Hung drawn and quartered then quartered again. Oh the privilege, the rarity! Each organ then cut from my body and burnt such was the witchery needed to guard against the horror of my return! Quite an effort. You must agree. And all for a mere bureaucrat. Yes, no Prince was I!’

  His body parts jumped back together to form his body whole, and once again he stood in front of Ben.

  ‘My only defense and I seek no excuse, but alas, I was born one below the cesspit end of life. In the filthy pigsty, yes, that was where my stock was bred! The son of peasants – both witless and deformed – some would say part toad, both in body and in mind. Lucky for them they past, dead, before I had the power.' He laughed, an unpleasant little laugh that seemed to burst involuntary from him, although he checked himself quickly and continued. 'So, I say, for me to climb from the swamp, my only choice was to serve. I had to have heart, one as hard and as bloody as the men whose company I sought. And each and every one of them a very, very bad man.’

  ‘So? What do you want with me?’ Asked Ben.

  ‘With you? You, of my kin.’ He began to walk towards Ben. ‘Able to navigate time itself. Oh, if only such a privilege was mine when alive. Think, the women I could have saved, the men I could have retired before their time, peacefully and forever.' He smiled, pleased at the thought. 'But you, what do I want with you? With you, as with everyone, I have but one oath!’ he stopped a step or two away from Ben then continued. ‘To serve, to lead all those who wish to follow me to the safety of The Place.’

  ‘You know of The Place, where it is?’

  ‘The exact location. Where and when the flower does bloom.’

  ‘You can take us?’

  ‘All the way and beyond. But listen, how cruel my honesty must be. Your father,’

  ‘What about him? Is he there?’ interrupted Ben.

  ‘No. The brave rest in peace and always will. Some, foolishly, believe The Place reunites us all, but alas, it does not and cannot.’

  ‘I didn’t believe it would.’

  ‘You hoped for it! Pray, do not sour. All is not lost. I have so much to reveal!’ He held a hand out towards Ben and took the final step towards him. ‘Come, we must tell your friends, the news is good!’

  Ben hesitated. He considered taking his hand but instead,

  'I can find them myself,' he said.

  'You will' Replied The Man, knowingly.

  Ben turned and went back through time, to meet the others as they flew towards the hospital. When he stopped, they stood gathered round The Man, whose finger was raised and pointing directly at Ben.

  ‘You see,’ said The Man, somewhat smugly. ‘The vision I possess!’

  ‘He says he can take us to The Place,’ Ben told the others.

  ‘So he says,’ replied Albert, far from convinced.

  ‘Just moments away! A stroll through time and a leap through space,’ said The Man.

  'My computer says, approach with caution,' said Aid.

  'I knows nothing of any significance. Ar. Right. True that. But would I go for a pie with him right there? No. I's wouldn't. Sweet or savory,' said The Moof.

  ‘My nose has the whiff of something rotten!' added Wilf.

  'And it's not me. This time.' asked The Moof.

  The Man vanished then reappeared a second later. He looked at Ben with a wink and a smile.

  ‘You see? Yes! We must go! You must take us!’ said Albert to The Man.

  ‘We must hurry! Wolf speed!’ added Wilf

  ‘Too rights!’ spoke both The Moof's mouths.

  ‘A cautious approach is still an approach and of course I must defer to man,’ said AID

  Ben looked on, alarmed at the collective change of mind. Even Victoria nodded her head enthusiastically. The Man moved towards them, arms outstretched.

  ‘Hold each other. Then into and beyond our dreams,’ he said.

  They gathered around him and all touched hands. Ben stood back, hesitating. They all looked at him. Albert spoke,

  ‘Ben, you must come too!’

  ‘No!' said The Man. ‘No one must! Each must decide willingly. He has the power of time; he can take as long as he wants to decide.'

  ‘When all is danger, what risk is there to take?’ pleaded Albert.

  ‘The cold! Quickly! The cold!’ cried The Man.

  ‘I smell it!’ added Wilf, panicking.

  ‘Me and I, too! Right fur buster’ said The Moof.

  Ben, who felt no chill, conceded to the crowd. He rushed towards them and joined their huddle.

  The Man took them through time. When they stopped, a vast horizon-wide salt pan surrounded them - a repetitive, featureless landscape of brilliant white salt, cracked and baked beneath a brutal Sun.

  ‘You must follow me! No time to think! How cruel to lose now when so close to sanctuary!’ said The Man.

  The Man led them away at a frantic pace. Miles rolled quickly by.

  The Man came to a sudden stop.

  ‘It is here!’ The Man called out. ‘Hold me!’

  They others rushed around him and quickly joined hands. Ben shuffled in, trapped in the current of the crowd.

  'Close together, stand close together,' The man continued, 'So little space will greet us.'

  The Man pulled them through time. When they stopped, darkness smothered the view. The only light was the faint luminous haze that incased each and every ghost. The only sound, the slow drip of water echoing against the damp, ragged rock.

  ‘It's a cave. Is this a cave?’ said Albert.

  ‘Deep beneath a mountain of solid, protecting rock. Here, in her open empty veins.’ replied The Man.

  ‘Have we arrived? Shouldn’t I be announced?’ asked Wilf.

  ‘Shouldn't there be cake?’ asked The Moof.

  ‘Shut up and follow! Let the human lead. Promises will be made good.’ said AID.

  ‘We must venture further, deeper down into the belly of the Earth,' said The
Man, 'Alas, where else but the belly of our mother, sweet protecting Mother Earth. We must travel beyond all that you know for The Place must be hidden, this door to another realm.’

  ‘Then take us,’ urged Albert.

  ‘What’s that?!’ asked Ben, having heard something that unsettled him. ‘A scream. Someone screamed!’

  ‘There are many here who scream for such is the pain they have to release,’ replied The Man.

  A chorus of screams and agonised shouts oozed from the rock into the squat, claustrophobic space that surrounded them.

  ‘There, you must have heard it! You must!’ demanded Ben to blank and denying stares.

  ‘Screams? Constant echoes to me.’ said The Man through a slight, sinister laugh. ‘Tortured souls, unprepared for peace! How sweet can love taste to a man starved of it? Sour I should say; enough for him to gag and spit it out. I have seen it. Consider the time it takes for a broken man twisted with pain to grow straight and true once he has been freed from all that has damaged him. It takes a strength to free oneself! There are men, weak willed men, who desire only to be a victim! Is that us? Are we to be the lost, pitiful victims of our own imaginary fears?’

  ‘No. Go, take us there!’ said Albert. The others all agreed.

  ‘Then come.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m going back!’ said Ben.

  ‘Going?'

  'Yes!'

  'Navigate alone, with all this rock to trap you? Pray caution, young boy. Your tomb would be one of such excruciating pain,' advised The Man.

  ‘Come back with me!’ Ben pleaded to the others.

  ‘Go, or follow!’ demanded The Man.

  ‘I stay!’ said Albert.

  ‘This nose knows trouble, and none is sniffed here!’ said Wilf.

  ‘I’s not farted once. Job's a good 'un.’ added The Moof.

  ‘You are indeed human, but a mere whisp of a boy. I, let me say proudly, have been programmed to follow men,' explained AID before turning to Victoria to add, ' and the occasional woman.'

  ‘Then go! All of you!’ said Ben.

  Before his echo fell silent, he was gone, alone in the bubble - the eye of the storm of time.

  He looked for a way back to the salt pan. A vague sense of the distance through time The Man had taken him helped him locate the correct era from the seemingly infinite spinning pockets of time that dizzyingly and maddeningly surrounded him.

  Which way to run he thought, when all direction looked the same? Which moment in the billions of years open to him should he glance fleetingly? Back to the cottage, back to his Dad whistling a tune to serenade the calm of a beautiful summers day. No thoughts of war, or life other than lived, his only task, to clean a pair of football boots.

  To help find his way, Ben went back into time and travelled as far forwards as he could, which he discovered was no further forward then the time he had lived as boy and died as a ghost.

  Soon he was back in familiar surroundings. Behind him stood the Stiperstones, a range of hills he would once stare at from his bedroom window and dream of crossing to find adventures in far away lands but which now called him back to his home.

  He went as quickly and as urgently as was possible, back to the cottage. But not to be seen, not to sadden his Dad, only to watch him for real and outside his dreams. However, before he could fulfill this need, as he once again passed the hospital, The Man appeared before him.

  ‘Stop! Stop!' The Man cried, 'Your friends are in grave danger!’

  ‘My friends? I have only just met them!’ said Ben as he slowed to stop.

  ‘Straight to the truth this boy! See it, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How they used you! You, as a decoy.’

  ‘A decoy for what?’

  ‘The... The power! What else is there for you to fear here? Just them.’

  ‘They wanted my help; I gave it to them.’

  ‘I call them the power because that it what they are - pure, merciless power, who covet us more than any other!'

  ‘Us?’

  ‘You, me! The brothers, those of the same kin, who are blessed with the advantage of time. We, Ben, we are the most desired, by far the most valuable!’

  ‘We are, why?’

  ‘We challenge them, nothing more. We provide them better sport. We can flee through time. It makes us faster, fitter. We are the best of our kind.’

  ‘So The... would have chased me first?’

  ‘Allowing your friends to escape. Oh, so feeble, of course! But what to expect of cowards?'

  ‘Cold!’ said Ben, as an instant, all-embracing chill smothered him.

  ‘Come, quickly! There are secrets to tell.’

  He held his hand out for Ben to take, who hesitated, unsure whether to oblige.

  ‘You have the power to vanish from my company at any time. I am but you. What damage can I exact?’

  Ben took The Man’s hand, who pulled him from the present into their exclusive den.

  ‘Secret!' The Man continued. 'We cannot be taken from here! The blur of time keeps us safe, fortified in our own bubble.’

  ‘Completely safe?’

  ‘For as long as we dare stay protected!’

  'As long as we dare?'

  ‘To dwell here for long, let alone for eternity, will drive even a dead man insane. Time can make demons grow in all of us.'

  'How long is too long?'

  ‘A man completely sane can survive for several minutes. But a man, or boy, teetering on the brink of any kind of madness may survive for only one. Poor thing. But alas, it is our advantage and here we have our corridors of power. Here we talk, plot and plan! It can be ours, Ben, it can all be ours!’

  ‘What can?’

  ‘We have hope; the others have none!’

  ‘Why are they in danger?’

  ‘I have put them there!’

  ‘The Place?’

  ‘There is no Place.’

  ‘You lied? I knew it!’

  ‘Hope and desperation how they bow to the creators of opportunity.’

  ‘You tricked them!’

  ‘The Place is nothing more than a cruel, squalid rumour. I cannot claim the credit for it, but I must confess, I did help and encourage it to grow.'

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To trap the weak! To accumulate stock and resources. Do you think The Power takes cash or gold?' he laughed, 'What do they want, Ben? What do they desire?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Everything! Not just our world, but all worlds, all space! Everything black and empty. The void of space for every dimension, for every single time. No matter - solids, gasses, liquids - nothing that you can see and nothing that you can’t. All matter and all life crushed, screaming!'

  ‘But why?’

  ‘They have no reason. You cannot conspire as they conspire. They, anti-matter, anti-life! They have no will to build, to dream, to procreate. They desire only destruction. At the beginning of time, many came into to being, but then in an instant all but one vanished, destroyed, smashed to nothing by matter itself. The one that remained was trapped in a single, locked dimension, kept beyond what we know to be time.'

  ‘And beyond all sense to me.’

  'The Universe, all we live in, continues to expand and has done so ever since it came into being. I have learnt this. As it grew, the dimension that imprisoned The... contracted, got smaller and smaller until it got so close to nothing as to barely exist at all. But then, creation! From nothing came fire and rage. The... their shadow dimension erupted and forged the last remaining The... into something other and propelled it back into the time we know, into the world of the ghost where it replicated and divided into many and began to hunt us down. At first, it is said, all was instinctive, all action was carried out machine-like without thought or reason, but then, something changed, they began to enjoy the chase, the power they had and the fear they caused in us, their prey. They started to compete with each other. A selfishness was born, a viciousness! T
hey became as cannibals, hunting their own!'

  'Why?'

  'For only one can remain, the best, the strongest! It is why we, us with the power to move though time, are so highly prized; we test them; we make them stronger.’

  ‘Why ghosts? Why in this world?’

  ‘We are merely the first stick thin wall that they must break and smash right through. Once we, the ghosts, are taken, The... will be free to enter the space of the living where the hunt for all matter will continue.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘They will hunt each other. The end. All matter will vanish, all time, too. All space will be flattened. One The..., one Power, will be left to lord it over infinite space and emptiness, and the only other dimension, will be that which crushes all life and other matter!'

  ‘We may be cowards but what about those who still live. People from my time, stood brave against the worst. They will fight! They won't run away!’

  ‘War against man is child's play. People are doomed! Who will be left to save us? When a ghost is captured a life is removed from time: one man gone, his children gone, their children gone and so on. True, others will be born and others who died will live again but not enough to stop life thinning so very much.’

  ‘Others who died will live?’

  ‘Your father.’

  ‘My Dad?’

  ‘If you were taken.’

  ‘He would live! I wouldn’t be born. He wouldn’t have come to visit me and wouldn’t have had the accident.’

  ‘He would be left for the War and brave and honest men, in war, are always a breath from death.’

  ‘No, he'd live.'

  'It makes no difference.'

  'What about the ghosts who aren’t cowards?’

  ‘There are none. I told you. All such men, women and beasts are gone.’

  ‘So what can we do?’

  ‘Join them!’

  ‘The...?’

  ‘Become them!’

  ‘Be traitors!’

  ‘Work for them, serve them. Give them all they want and in return request one small reward, to become as they are.’

  ‘They're going to fight each other!’

  ‘And I, as one of them, plan to be victorious. Although, that honour may well be yours.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Help me! Together we can thrive! Beneath that mountain I have trapped thousands of ghosts, convinced them all that they reside in The Place when in fact they are locked in a prison.’

  ‘How can you trap a ghost when they can fly through walls?’

  ‘Walls not mountains. Five yards maybe, but then whatever we are becomes trapped, frozen in the solid mass. Oh, the pain! Oh, the screams of agony! Another means to be crushed forever.’

  ‘But The..,’

  ‘The Power!’

  ‘Can still get to them!’

  ‘Alas, that may be so. But we have speed, time, decisiveness!’

  ‘They don’t need you! And they can still put you to the crush!’

  ‘Opportunity, I give myself a chance! I have ingratiated myself with the hardest, coldest men! Conspired power from those men born bloody with it and lusting for more! At my birth, I sealed an oath to give The Power all they desire! And if The..., the power, desire competition let them dare compete against me! If they desire to see fear and horror rot our eyes, and they do, let them come to my stage, the cave. Let them thrill at the epic I have created. Let them feast on the mass horror and fear I gladly provide. Let them come! Let them watch! Let them pay for the pleasure!'

  ‘Let you give them us, people!’

  ‘Learn from me. Together, think of the ghosts we could ensnare. The weight of our bargaining power. See, how easy it is; see the weakness of all that lives.’

  He pushed Ben back out into the present they had previously left. Albert and The Man stood huddled together locked in discussion with their backs turned to Ben.

  ‘But be warned,' The Man told Albert, 'The Place is no easy, instant heaven. Of course, all guilt and remorse is hacked clean away, all shame is lost forever. But your art, the books inside you, those that you desire to write, these can only exist if you work and toil.'

  ‘Don’t listen to him!' Ben cried. 'It's a lie!’ Albert and the Man turned to look at him. Albert looked shocked.

  'It is! Lies! All horrible lies!' The Man confessed to Albert, 'But listen to me?' He snarled at Ben. 'Of course he will listen to me!’

  ‘No!’ Ben pleaded, but in an instant The Man and Albert had vanished.

  ‘A place of endless feasting?’ Spoke the voice of The Moof. Ben turned to find the source. Behind him, The Moof and The Man stood huddled together with their backs turned to face Ben.

  ‘Feasts to celebrate feasts. Training feasts to prepare the belly for monumental feasts. A place where the professional feaster is worshiped as an athletic god.’ replied The Man.

  ‘Oh my furry bums. Finally. Somethin' worth sweatin' for! But I's dead.’

  ‘In The Place, all is flesh.’

  ‘Flesh? Mmmm. My favorite!’

  Ben wanted to speak but struggled to find words he thought would convince.

  ‘Simple pleasures for simple Moofs, all of whom will look as they do in their dreams.’

  ‘No? Just like me. But less in the belly and bum?'’

  ‘Your dreams reflected into reality.’

  ‘He’s lying!’ cried Ben, finally unable to keep silent.

  The Moof and The Man turned to look at him.

  ‘Lying?' asked The Moof.

  'Me? This face? Could this face lie to you? Tell me, which of us do you trust?’ The Man asked The Moof.

  ‘You!’ answered The Moof.

  'We've met before,' The Man said to Ben, 'A fleeting moment of kindness, just enough to embed my trustworthy face in his mind. They don’t remember all, but enough to help my lies.'

  ‘What lies?’ asked The Moof.

  ‘I’m twenty one, and beautiful,’ answered The Man.

  ‘You’s not. You’s a right puddle of shock!’

  They vanished. Ben instantly turned to look behind, where Wilf and The Man were huddled together.

  ‘Alas, you must not tell the others! Not until we arrive, and are safe!' said The Man.

  ‘Built by wolves; run by wolves!’ said Wilf.

  ‘Creative, intelligent wolves. Not quite up with you, but genius enough!’

  ‘It’s the natural order of things, the wolf on top. You can accept this, other humans can not!’

  ‘Hence our silence, to protect them! They are the dogs now.’

  Wilf vanished. The Man turned and looked at Ben with a smug, self-satisfied grin then continued to speak.

  ‘There is no Place, Victoria. There is only, the end: peace, nothingness, your final resting place. That is the truth, Victoria. Hard, certain, final. Not one I can sell to the others, but you may agree, this peaceful final end is the kindest of options. Only follow my lead if you wish to be at no more, only and truly at peace.’

  ‘You’re a liar! Some sort of rotten are you!’

  ‘Who better in this world for you to follow in oath?’

  ‘I’ll save them! I’ll go back and tell them!’

  'Oh your heart, your once bleeding heart, so soft and tender! Have them! Postpone their fate! You think me cruel, but I am the kindest soul here for you to meet! The only one who can offer you hope!'

  ‘I don’t want your hope!’

  ‘Then run away! Your eternity is suffering! You weak, runt of a boy!’ he spat the words with contempt.

  ‘I will. I can. It’s easy to suffer alone! But there are men who will fight!’

  ‘As do I!’

  The chill returned. The Man vanished into time. Ben continued to stand, to wait. There was hope, he believed, one true, final hope.

  ‘You’ll save us Dad, you’ll save us all! Don't worry about me. It's one pain for another that's all. If I don't exist, how can I miss you like now I do?' he whispered, utterly scared, but utt
erly convinced. His eyes fell shut, as tight as they could go.

  He did not run; he stood his ground. The... came and took him without a fight.

  He felt himself thrown. He braced himself to take the pain, but before the all consuming crush, a human hand reached into the void, grabbed him and snatched him away.