The Misper

by Bea Davenport

  The door swung open and Kerry came out. Her face was still a patchwork of blotches.

  Zoe just shook her head at me. But after school, she brought the torn church leaflet and showed me where she’d poked the compass into it.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘That’s his head. He had a heart attack, right? If it was anything to do with your curse – which it wasn’t – he’d have had something wrong with his head, surely?’

  Zoe pouted. ‘Maybe. It’s a bit of a coincidence, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yep. That’s exactly what it is. Nothing else.’

  Zoe sighed and scrunched up the leaflet.

  ‘You don’t want to have cursed him to death, do you?’ I said. ‘You don’t want it to be your fault?’

  Zoe thought about it. ‘I’d like to be able to do it if I put my mind to it.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, you wouldn’t. You’re just saying that. Promise me you’re not sticking pins in pictures of anyone else.’

  Zoe smirked. ‘Thought you said it had no effect. Just a coincidence, you said.’

  ‘It is. I’m sure it is,’ I said. ‘But you said you were trying to get my mum and dad back together. And suddenly he’s arguing with his lovey-dovey girlfriend, when up to now, she could do no wrong. So come on then. How, exactly, are you doing this?’

  Zoe leaned forward. ‘You promise you’ll be open-minded about this?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Remember the book I bought? I’ve been following it to the letter. It tells you how to call on the spirits of the dead to get them to help you.’

  ‘Help you, how?’

  ‘With things that you need.’

  I shivered a bit. ‘Go on.’

  Zoe paused. ‘The trouble is, when you just say it or try to describe it, it sounds completely daft. But when you’re doing it, it all makes sense and you can sort of feel it working.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  Stop the World by Ghost Dance was playing in the background. Part of me wanted to switch it off.

  ‘You have to make a pact. You have to turn yourself into someone who’s going to communicate with the dead and use their help. You haven’t got to be afraid.’ Zoe showed me where she’d cut a small X-shape onto the back of her left hand. It was a tiny red weal of a letter on her pale skin. ‘Witches’ mark,’ she said.

  ‘Then what?’ I shifted about on the bed, finding it hard to get comfortable in any position.

  ‘And when you’ve done that, spirits sort of attach themselves to you. You can ask them for help. You can do little rituals and they’ll respond.’

  ‘Just like that?’ I gave a little laugh. It was too ridiculous. ‘Like – like ordering a pizza?’

  Zoe pressed her lips together. ‘You said you wouldn’t laugh.’

  I held up my hands. ‘Sorry. It just sounds so...’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Zoe sighed. ‘I think you’d get it, though. If you joined in with me.’

  I made a spluttering sort of a sound and shook my head.

  ‘Come in with me, Anna,’ Zoe urged. She leaned towards me and grabbed both my hands. ‘As soon as I started, I felt really – I don’t know – powerful. I’ve never felt like that in my life, but I do now. And look: if I can get this far, and I don’t care about your mum and dad half as much as you do, just think what would happen if we both put our minds to it.’

  I stared at her long fingers, her row of silver and pewter rings, her pointed nails. My own fingers, stubby and with half-bitten nails, grasping hers. I looked up at her face. Her eyes were shining as if the moon was behind them.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be worth it?’ Zoe said, in a breathy voice. ‘Wouldn’t it be worth trying anything, to get what you want so much? I know I would do it, if it was me.’

  I swallowed. Zoe’s words made me feel as if it was somehow wrong not to try. It wasn’t a bad thing to want, was it – your mum and dad making up with each other? It wasn’t like having someone get hurt. It wasn’t mean or spiteful. It wasn’t greedy, like asking to win the Lottery. It was a good thing to want. A normal thing to want. Me, Mum and Dad, all back together again. Like it was before.

  ‘What would I have to do?’

  Zoe squeezed my fingers. ‘I needed to ask you if I could bring all my things to yours anyway. I mean my witchcraft stuff. If my mum finds it she’ll have a fit and she’ll probably throw it out. So we can have the rituals here. And then if we both put our energies into it, let’s just see what’ll happen.’ She gave me a shivery, wide-eyed smile.

  ‘Did you ever do that vanishing spell you were on about?’ I asked, grinning at her and rolling off the bed to change the music. Just the words ‘spell’ and ‘witch’ sounded daft to me. Childish. Which wasn’t like Zoe.

  Zoe made a downturned mouth. ‘I’m still working on that one.’

  There was a tap on the bedroom door. Mum opened it and put her head around. ‘“Bela Lugosi’s Dead,”’ she said.

  ‘Who’s she?’ I asked.

  Zoe giggled and so did Mum. ‘That’s the name of that song I was on about this morning.’

  ‘“Bela Lugosi’s Dead”. Bauhaus,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s a brilliant track. Have you actually got it?’

  Mum smiled at Zoe. ‘I said it was your sort of thing. No, I hated it.’

  ‘Did the name just come to you in the middle of selling a house, then?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ Mum said. ‘It drove me nuts trying to remember and the office internet was down all morning. In the end, I called your dad and asked him. He knew straight away. He even sang it down the phone. If you can call it singing. I was in stitches.’ She was really smiling.

  When Mum closed the door, Zoe turned to me with a smug sort of face. ‘She so still loves your dad,’ she said. ‘She’d have him back, I bet you.’

  I thought about this. Maybe Zoe was right. Maybe there was a chance. And I would be doing it for Mum, not just for me.

  I turned the conversation round to ask Zoe if she’d heard any more about the band and joining them on some of their gigs. For days afterwards, she’d talked about Tom at every opportunity and it was obvious she was really keen on him. And she was dying to go back to one of the band’s concerts and dance on the stage. But she hadn’t mentioned him for a little while now.

  She picked at some threads on the cushion on my bed. ‘I haven’t had a call from Tom,’ she said. ‘He didn’t actually give me his number. At least, I wrote his number down, but it wasn’t the right one, I must’ve got it wrong. He took my mobile number too, but I just wrote it on the back of his hand. I’m guessing he’s had a wash since then.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a brainwave.’

  Zoe looked up.

  ‘You are going to love me,’ I said, getting up and rummaging in one of my bags.

  ‘I already do,’ said Zoe, with a shrug.

  ‘Even more, then,’ I said, fishing out from the very bottom of my bag a dog-eared old flyer for the band. I handed it to Zoe. ‘Here. It’s got a list of some of the band’s other dates. You could go to the next one and remind him what a brilliant performer you are.’

  Zoe stared at it and a smile spread slowly across her lips. ‘Thanks, Anna. You’re a star.’

  I smiled back and went downstairs to make us a drink and take some biscuits. Mum was doing a word search in her magazine.

  ‘So,’ I said, filling the kettle. ‘Did Dad have much to say? Apart from singing some ancient song down the phone?’

  ‘It may be ancient,’ Mum said, ‘but your friend likes it, doesn’t she? Yes, we had a bit of a chat. He was quite upset about you falling out with him at the weekend.’

  I pouted. ‘He was a complete pain. And then his girlfriend turned up. I wasn’t very happy about it either.’

  Mum passed me a packet of chocolate fingers. ‘She wasn’t supposed to
gatecrash, though. He apologised for that. He wondered if you could give it another go on Saturday.’

  I scowled. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  I looked at Mum in what I hoped was a questioning way.

  She shrugged. ‘I said I’d ask you and that I’d ring him back tomorrow.’

  I spooned chocolate powder into two mugs. ‘You’re getting on very well all of a sudden.’

  Mum chewed the end of her pen. Then she said: ‘Yes, we are, I suppose. It mightn’t last, of course.’

  I carried the mugs upstairs and pushed the bedroom door open with my foot. Zoe was sitting on the chair staring out of the window, apparently at nothing but the grey pavement and the orange glow from the newly-lit street lights.

  The next morning, it was raining again as we walked to school. Every day in June was heavy and cold and horrible. On the news, they were predicting a washout summer. Kerry was wearing the sort of big padded coat that I hadn’t had since primary school. Zoe kept walking behind her and pulling her hood down. Kerry just kept laughing and pulling it back up, and then Zoe would do it again. We slipped and slithered through The Cut, Kerry putting her foot in a deep puddle that soaked her shoe and trousers.

  ‘Trust you,’ said Zoe. ‘Clot.’

  Kerry shrugged. ‘I know, I’m so clumsy. My mum keeps saying that too.’

  She wanted to know what was in the big canvas bag Zoe was lugging over her shoulder. It was bulky and kept making little clanking sounds. Zoe kept shifting it about as she carried it.

  ‘It looks really heavy,’ Kerry kept saying. ‘Go on, what is it?’

  ‘I’m moving house,’ said Zoe, with a dark frown on her face. I could tell Kerry was getting on her nerves again.

  ‘No, but really, what is it?’

  ‘Just some books and stuff I’m giving to Anna.’

  ‘What books?’ Kerry wasn’t letting this go. As usual, she was too dumb to know when she was being really irritating.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘They’re nothing. Just leave it.’

  Kerry slowed up and lagged behind us. Zoe strode ahead. I kept glancing behind. ‘Come on, Kerry, get a move on, I’m freezing and I’m soaking wet. I want to get inside.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me what’s in the bag?’ Kerry’s voice was whiney. ‘You two are always having secrets from me.’

  Zoe stopped dead. Kerry and I were so surprised we stopped walking too. Zoe turned around, slowly. The wind whipped at her hair and rain spat down on her face. She didn’t flinch. Then she dropped the bag down onto the ground, where it landed with a wet slap. She bent down, pulled at the zipper and put her hand inside the bag. And when she stood up she was holding a knife.

  11

  Blade

  I jumped and Kerry put her hand over her mouth. Zoe said nothing. She just held the knife up straight, clutching at the black, twisted handle. It had a vicious-looking double-edged blade. The rain was getting heavier, its huge drops soaking Zoe’s hair and her black coat. For just a second or two, it looked like a scene from a horror movie. In that moment, which passed in a lightening flash, I half expected Zoe to cut Kerry’s throat.

  Then we heard the slapping sound of footsteps running through the slushy lane. Zoe shoved the knife back into her bag and snatched it up from the wet ground. She turned away from us and marched out of The Cut, towards school, as a couple clutching their coats and hoods against the weather ran past us in the other direction. Kerry and I followed Zoe, much more slowly because Kerry couldn’t seem to help slipping and slithering around and I had to grab her arm a few times to stop her from landing face-first in the mud.

  ‘Why does she have a knife?’ Kerry asked in a half-whisper, as we scuttled along.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ I said.

  ‘But she said she was giving that bag to you,’ Kerry argued. ‘You must know –’

  ‘No, I honestly don’t,’ I said, gritting my teeth. ‘I’ll talk to her, all right? But just don’t go on about it or you’ll get on her nerves.’ And mine, I thought, but didn’t say out loud.

  Kerry went quiet. After a minute, I added: ‘And don’t tell anyone else.’

  Kerry said nothing.

  I elbowed her, quite hard. ‘I mean it. Don’t tell a soul. You’ll get Zoe into a load of trouble. She’s only just about forgiven you for dropping her in it with her mum. I wouldn’t do it again if I were you.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Kerry said, but she paused far too long. I wasn’t convinced she meant it.

  We ended up late and missing registration. There was every chance we would’ve got detention. But Kerry told the teacher that she’d made us late, by falling down and getting wet. The teacher had no problem believing that. She waved us away.

  ‘Thanks, Kerry,’ I said.

  Zoe frowned at me. She didn’t see I was trying to keep Kerry on side, in case she felt the urge to blurt out something that would get us all into deep trouble.

  Guess who ended up lugging the bag home after school. Zoe was under instructions to go straight home, she said. She handed me the thing – I couldn’t believe how much it weighed – and told me to put it somewhere my mum wasn’t likely to go. ‘You can look in it, obviously, Anna,’ Zoe said. ‘But no one else, OK?’

  ‘But what is it for?’ Kerry started pestering again.

  Zoe bared her teeth at her. ‘You don’t need to know.’

  I managed to get the bag upstairs before Mum caught me. I shoved it into the bottom of my wardrobe, and put a pile of clothes on top. When I was sure Mum was busy making something to eat, I closed my bedroom door and went to the wardrobe. I ran my fingers across the bag and found the zipper. For some reason, I found my fingers were trembling and clumsy. All of me felt cold, though the radiator in my room was on its top setting. I put my hands inside the bag, slowly and cautiously. I didn’t want to slice my fingers with that knife and I still couldn’t understand what Zoe was doing with the thing – or where she’d got it. I put my fingers round something smooth and lifted it out, expecting some kind of ornament. Then I gave a little squeal and dropped it again. It was a skull. Without really meaning to, I took a jump backwards. The skull grinned at me from the floor. I gave a few deep breaths. No. It couldn’t be real. I picked it up again, although it was like little zaps of electricity were going through my fingers and the rest of my body. I reckoned it had to be a replica of some kind, although it looked and felt pretty convincing. Good job Zoe hadn’t got that thing out of the bag in The Cut this morning. Kerry would probably have wet herself.

  I found the knife again and a collection of other stuff, all a bit random, to be honest. I had no idea why I was quite so jittery. Some sticks of incense and a pottery incense burner. Candles, two white and two black. An old-fashioned cup that looked like the sort of thing priests use in churches, made of pewter. I’d seen those things in Dead Bouquet, although I’d never seen Zoe buy one. Some thick, creamy-coloured paper, in a roll, tied with a black ribbon. And there was an old biscuit tin with sticky tape round the lid. It was really heavy. I gave it a gentle shake, but I couldn’t work out what was in there, except that it was something heavy, fairly solid. I started to pick at the tape with my nails and pulled it all off in a satisfying long strip.

  I was just prizing the lid open when the bedroom door opened and I jumped, dropping the tin on to the floor, where it fell open with a clatter and suddenly my bedroom floor was covered in soil and dirt. Zoe, who’d just come in, gave a little shriek. ‘Careful!’

  ‘What the -?’ I asked her. I pointed at all the soil and earth on the carpet. ‘Look at this! Why the hell are you carrying a tin of soil around?’

  Zoe put her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I should’ve warned you about that.’ She bent down and started scooping the soil up and trying to drop it back into the tin.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said and ran do
wnstairs to grab the hoover. Mum looked dangerously close to asking questions as I started carrying it upstairs. ‘We, er, just spilled some – something,’ I mumbled.

  I pushed open the bedroom door. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘This will be quicker.’

  ‘No,’ Zoe said, her voice a little high-pitched. ‘You can’t hoover this up. It’s special – it’s earth from a graveyard.’

  ‘What?’

  She looked up at me, her hands grubby from picking up handfuls of soil. For a second or two I just stared at her, my mouth open. Then, I don’t know why, I started to laugh. So did Zoe.

  ‘Seriously,’ I said. ‘Why have I got half a graveyard on my bedroom floor?’

  The room smelled of soil. A sad smell.

  ‘Because you’re a klutz,’ said Zoe, still kneeling and scraping the dirt back into her tin.

  I stretched out my leg and nudged her with my toe. ‘Why have you got it in the first place, you mad thing?’

  ‘We need it. For summoning spirits and doing rituals.’

  I squinted at her. ‘Are you serious? Tell me this is a joke.’

  Zoe gave me a look that said she wasn’t kidding. Then my stomach flipped. ‘Oh my god – that skull?’

  Zoe made a spluttering noise. ‘That’s made of resin, stupid. You didn’t think it was real?’

  ‘Well, I –’

  ‘And where would I get a real skull from?’ Zoe sat back on her heels.

  I folded my arms. ‘Digging in a graveyard?’

  Zoe paused for a second and then we both started to giggle again.

  ‘No, but, Zoe, this soil – it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? How did you get it?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Zoe grinned. ‘Digging in a cemetery, like you said. The one round the corner from Scrogg’s Field.’

  Scrogg’s Field was behind the high-rise flats. It was another place no one with any sense went near in the dark.

  ‘How did no one stop you?’ I asked.

  ‘They did.’ Zoe looked shifty. ‘A woman asked me what I was doing. I said I was going to plant a bush on my granny’s grave. I said I needed to see what kind of soil it was. She left me alone after that.’