by Simon Clark
"But all I can see is me."
"Keep looking."
"Why can't we… wait. Emm, I can see him!"
John jumped, startled by the sudden piercing screams. The muscle spasm sent his finger deep into the sluice gate cogs nipping the end painfully. Sam jumped to his feet, barking. The girls had startled him, too.
Withdrawing his hand to shake the stinging finger, John watched the girls running away from the lake. Their screams were so high-pitched it felt like spikes being driven into his ears. He glanced at the dog. Sam watched them with a baffled curiosity. Then the dog looked up at John.
"Don't ask," John said answering that questioning glance. "Like God, kids move in mysterious ways." He grimaced. "Remind me to buy us a set of ear plugs."
Despite his tingling finger, he smiled. The girls ran shrieking, round and round in circles on the lawn in a self-induced ecstasy of make-believe terror. Elizabeth's bandage had unraveled yet further to flutter out behind her like a pennant.
In a moment they'd changed direction. Now they tore toward the millrace, still shrieking giddily while shooting looks back at the lake.
Almost blindly, they ran straight at the fast flowing stream. John scrambled to his feet, holding up his grease-blackened hands. "Whoa! Careful, you two. You'll end up in the stream."
"We saw his face in the water!" Emm squealed.
Elizabeth jumped up and down. "And now he's chasing us!"
"Oh," John nodded, understanding. "The water dragon."
"No!"
"Who then?"
The two girls yelled in harmony. "Baby Bones!"
Then, still giddy with excitement, they raced off down the hill. John wiped his hands on a rag. The dog looked up at him, ears pointing.
"Baby Bones, Sam?" John shrugged. "Who the hell's Baby Bones?"
2
Round about six-ish Paul rolled up. John noticed his face was a near cherry red. What's more, he grinned to himself when he thought no one was looking.
"Done much today?" John asked as he returned tools to the shed.
"No." Paul shrugged.
"Where did you get to?"
"Town."
"Anything exciting happen?"
Paul shook his head.
"What did you think of that video last night?"
"OK."
John rolled his eyes skyward. At seventeen Paul was still in the one-word conversation phase of adolescence. To drag a full sentence out of him took time as well as a full-blooded determination.
"You look happy with yourself, Paul," John said as Paul hung around in the shed doorway. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
"But you keep smiling to yourself. Something funny must have happened. Aren't you going to share it with your old man?"
"I'm not smiling."
"You are."
"How can you tell when I've got my back to you?"
"I can tell, number one son."
"How?"
"Your ears go up and down."
Paul rubbed his ears. Then added, "It's hot today."
Result! John thought. Without it being levered from him, Paul had spoken a three word conversational sentence.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Can you pass me the rake? Thanks, son."
"I'm boiling."
"Great barbecue weather, eh?"
"Can I have a beer?"
John glanced across at where Val piled the nettles she'd massacred.
"You know your mother isn't keen on you drinking beer around the house."
"Go on, Dad. I'm dying of thirst."
"On three conditions."
"What are those?" Paul sounded suspicious.
"One. You drink it from your old mouse cup."
"What? It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse on it. I haven't used it in years."
"I know, but it's colored plastic."
"You can't be serious?"
"Deadly serious. If you use that your mother can't see that you're drinking beer."
"If I drink from a bottle across here she won't see either."
"Believe me, she will. And we'll both spend tonight in hell."
"All right," he relented grudgingly.
"Condition number two. You give me a hand with the boat."
"What's wrong with it?"
"I sunk it in the lake."
"Christ, Dad. What did you do that for?"
"Because it's built out of wooden planks."
"Sounds mad to me."
"If a boat's made out of wood and it's been left to dry out, you need to immerse it in water so the planks tighten up again."
"Otherwise it'll leak?"
"Got it in one."
"OK, deal."
"Are you sure nothing happened to you today?" There I go fussing like a mother hen again, John told himself. But wasn't that the natural way of the parent? "You look hot and bothered. Has someone chased you?"
"No."
Paul turned away as if nonchalantly watching his mother.
John shook his head. "Paul, your ears are bobbing up and down again."
Well, at least the kid had something to grin about. Better that then looking miserable.
"See you later, Pa."
"Paul. You forgot condition three."
Paul's face turned sullen.
John shot him a smile. "Bring a beer for me, too."
Paul smiled back. It was one of those moments of empathy when John realized that the pair of them were two chips from the same Newton block. There were times John could almost read his son's mind. And he guessed that it worked the other way, too. More than once they'd watched an attractive woman sashay her way along a street. Father and son had then caught one another's eye. They'd known full well what had been sizzling through the other's mind right at that moment.
3
Emm stayed for sandwiches and ice cream. John helped Val finish heaping nettles into a mound in the orchard. On more than one occasion John caught Paul grinning his secret grin while staring dreamily into space. Sam flopped into a patch of shade. He lay there with his tongue hanging like a piece of pink ribbon.
Once Elizabeth and Emm had finished their ice cream they took to kicking a ball about the lawn.
"Keep it away from the roses," Val called. "It'll burst if it catches a thorn."
Elizabeth carefully took the ball out of harm's way into the middle of the lawn. It was a favorite of hers. A Man In The Moon ball she'd bought on a shopping trip with her grandparents a few weeks ago. John had thought at the time it was a bizarre looking thing. Supposedly a replica of a fairy tale moon it wore the Man In The Moon face with his characteristic look of wide-eyed surprise, the mouth open into a big black O. To continue the fairy tale theme it was even supposed to smell like green cheese. John had watched Paul sniff it warily then announce it smelt like puke. At least the stink repelled the dog who'd enthusiastically burst so many balls with his canines that John had lost count.
As the girls played with the ball, John went to the lake. There, the boat lay on the lakebed where the water was shallowest. Taking off his shoes and socks, John waded out to the boat. With Paul's help he turned it, tipping out the water, then he tied it by a line to a tree at the water's edge.
"Wouldn't it be best to leave the boat upside down to drain?" Paul asked.
"If we did that the planks would dry out; they'd start to shrink and we'd spring a leak. This way will keep the wood nice and tight."
"Uh, this mud stinks."
"Don't worry. Wipe your feet on the grass."
Then Paul did one of those things that he was apt to do once in a while. After wiping the mud from his feet by moonwalking backwards, he suddenly took off to where the girls were playing. Maybe there was still a good chunk of child-like mischief in him. He wove around Emm, tapping the ball from her with the side of one bare foot.
"And the crowd goes wild," he shouted. "He's taken control of the ball… outstanding footwork by Newton. Will the boy score?"
Elizabeth wasn't impressed. "Paul-Pa
u… ullll! Give it back. It's not yours."
Paul dribbled the ball round the girls, his arms out at his sides, while all the time keeping up a commentary. "The opposition don't know what's hit them… this boy's so good."
"Paul!" Elizabeth folded her arms. She scowled through her bandages. "Give that ball back to me. You'll burst it." When that didn't work Elizabeth appealed to a higher authority. "Mum… Mum! Paul won't give me my ball back. Tell him."
Paul was, by this time, heading hell for leather toward the rose bushes.
John frowned. Paul sometimes took real gratification from winding his sister up. The trouble was, she then took some winding down.
"Paul," he called. "Give your sister her ball back."
"I was just about to," he replied, grinning. "Here, Bizzy Lizzie."
He gave the ball a sharp kick. It went sailing over Elizabeth's head.
"Paul, you kicked it too hard."
The ball hit the lawn. It kept on bouncing. Elizabeth chased after it.
Val called across to Paul in her best tone of disapproval. "Paul, that wasn't fair."
"She should have jumped up to catch it."
The ball rolled now, but John saw disaster on its way.
Elizabeth shouted in anger. "It's going into the stream… quick, get it!"
"Go get the ball, Paul, please," John called.
John walked down toward the stream to check that Paul would make an effort to retrieve the ball. Paul ran toward the stream in a slow lope. By the time he was even halfway there the ball rolled down the bank into the stream.
"Dad!" Elizabeth stamped her foot. "Dad! It's gone in the water."
"Don't worry, hon. Paul will get it."
"He'll get it off me if it's ruined."
The current was faster than Paul anticipated. It whisked the yellow moon ball away downhill to the house.
"Get it, you idiot," Elizabeth told him.
"I'm trying, I'm trying."
John watched Paul run after the ball as it bobbed downstream. If anything he and the two girls were enjoying the chase. All three now ran after the ball, shouting advice to each other on how best to rescue it.
"Get a stick!" Emm shouted.
"No, he can go in for it," Elizabeth countered. "He's not got his shoes on, so he's OK."
"I hope he falls in."
Elizabeth sang out with glee, "So do I."
John walked briskly along the stream, following them.
"Paul, you're going to be too late," Emm squealed.
"It's going to get swallowed up."
"I'm trying my best," Paul protested.
John watched as the yellow ball swung out on the current then back again, as if teasing the three into following. There the stream wasn't at all wide. In fact, at a pinch (and with a slight risk of crotch strain) John could span the stream by standing with one foot on either bank. Only as the channel narrowed the water's speed quickened. So, it didn't come as any real surprise to John that the ball moved even faster. In no time at all it approached the stone arch in the side of the house. There the millrace ran under the building before it would strike the blades of the waterwheel.
Elizabeth squealed "Paul… geddittt!"
But he was too late; the ball plunged into the mouth of the tunnel. A second later it vanished into darkness beneath the house.
"Paul!" Both girls were outraged by his failure.
"It was too quick for me," he protested. "I couldn't keep up with it."
"You can buy me another one, Paul."
"Don't worry," John told them walking up. "The stream comes out at the other side of the house. We'll be able to find the ball there."
Emm shook her head. "That ball's gone forever now."
"You'll get it back, Liz." John smiled. "The stream runs under the house just for a few yards, that's all."
"No." Emm spoke with certainty, her eyes large and solemn looking. "The ball's gone forever now. Lost."
With an angry walk Elizabeth marched round the house to the other side. John followed along with Paul and Emm. The channel broadened again after the stream disgorged from the house, slowing the water right down to a gentle flow.
"I don't see it," Paul said.
"Neither do I," Elizabeth added bitterly. "My moon ball. They only had one left in the supermarket and now it's gone."
"Wait a minute," John suggested. "It might still be working its way through under the house."
All four stared at the archway where the waters tumbled out, after travelling the few yards of inky darkness beneath the house.
Val appeared. "Any joy?"
Paul shrugged.
Elizabeth scowled at the water then at Paul.
Emm said, "Lost."
John tried to sound optimistic. "Give it a little while. It might appear yet."
"It won't." Emm folded her arms. "I knew it wouldn't come out again."
"Why not?" Paul asked with a touch of irritation.
"Because," she said in a low voice, "Baby Bones has got it now."
Val raised a questioning eye at John.
"Baby Bones?"
John replied with a shrug that said Don't ask me.
"Did you hear that, stupid?" Elizabeth shot a savage look at Paul. "Baby Bones has got it, and he never gives anything back."
"Who the hell's Baby Bones?"
Val shot him a withering look that was a pure clone of Elizabeth's. "Paul? Language."
"Paul, you can buy me another ball." With that Elizabeth marched away. Emm followed.
Val nodded toward the front door, mentioning to Paul that there was a sink full of dirty dishes. He accepted that he was in the doghouse and headed off to wash up. Meanwhile, John squatted at the edge of the stream so he could look into the black maw of the tunnel. From its depths he could hear the roar of the water as it ran whatever mysterious course it followed beneath the house. He shielded his eyes, stared harder, but there was nothing to see but complete and utter darkness.
CHAPTER 7
1
Stan Price stared out of the window. In his mind he was a boy again.
Yet he didn't ask himself why an old man's reflection stared back at him.
Although nighttime, the moon was bright enough to reveal the cemetery. Amid the trees, gravestones stood like a battalion of soldiers waiting for the order to attack. He tapped the window. His fingernails, longer than a woman's, but twisted, misshapen and a bloodless gray color, clicked against the glass. When he spoke his voice was hoarse from the day' shouting. "Harry… Harry? It's Stan Price. Find Mr. Kelly… tell him it's started again. Harry? Why don't you come and see me anymore?" He rapped the glass. "Harry. I want to talk to you. I'm frightened."
He stared out, his filmy blue eyes expectant, as if the answering call would come at any moment. Then, shaking his head, he went downstairs where his daughter and son-in-law sat watching television.
"Cynthia. Is it suppertime?"
"Oh, Dad. You've only just had your supper."
"I'm hungry."
Robert Gregory gave the old man a bright smile. "You can't be hungry again so soon."
"I am hungry. I haven't had anything to eat all day."
"Dad," Cynthia sighed. "Robert brought some sandwiches up to your room just twenty minutes ago."
"Have you polished them off already, Dad?" Robert beamed. "You must have hollow legs."
"But I feel like I-"
"Now, you get yourself off to bed, Dad." Robert then turned to his wife. "Right, I'm just popping down to the Swan for a swift one."
"All right, dear. I'll get Dad back to bed. Then I'm going to turn in, too. I'm shattered."
"You do that love." Turning on the hearty voice again, he said, "Good night, Dad."
"I-I just wondered if it was suppertime yet?"
"Suppertime's been and gone, Dad."
Cynthia looked uncertainly at the thin old man. "Maybe I should get him a slice of toast or something?"
Under his breath Robert said, "Best not." He ru
bbed his own stomach, imitating someone with indigestion. "Might keep him awake if he over does it. Get him off to bed." Then he boomed, "Sleep well, Dad."
As Robert Gregory left the house he pulled the carrier bag from under a bush. In it were sandwiches and a wedge of cake. When he reached the trash can at the end of the street he dropped in the bag, pushed it well down out of sight, dusted his hands, then strolled toward the pub lights that shone brightly across the village green.
2
Mary Thorp had been sat on a chair for an hour. She wasn't crying. She didn't speak. Once she had looked at the framed photograph of the blonde haired child on the wall, then shuddered. That was all.
The policewoman assigned to sit with her said gently, "Would you like a drink, Mary, or do you think you might like to sleep now?"
Mary Thorp shook her head.
The policewoman glanced at a clock. It bore the image of Homer Simpson's face. The comic image jarred with the grim atmosphere of the room. And not yet ten. It was going to be a long night.
In the kitchen sat a policeman. "Any joy?" he asked as the policewoman walked in.
"No. She's clamed up."
"I don't suppose it matters now we've got Sonny Jim in custody. Did you see what happened to the chocolate chip cookies?"
"Believe it or not, Keith, I've got other things on my mind. You'll want another coffee, I suppose?"
"Three sugars."
"Fill the kettle for me, will you?"
"My God, a poor cop's work is never done." He scratched his stomach. "You know, I bet it was that fat hog from forensics that took the last one. That's why he looked so damn smug after he'd finished bagging up the kid. Christ, the pig must have an iron gut. Y'know, he had to use the kid's toy spade to scrape the brains off the window. They'd dried hard as concrete. He also said they found an eyeball in the kid's potty, but if you ask me-"
"Keith." The policewoman caught his eye. Mary Thorp stood in the kitchen doorway.
The policeman wiped a crumb from his chin. "Uh. I'll check if forensics have finished in the garage. Give me a call if you need me, Susan.
The policewoman glared at him. "I'll do that." Then she turned to Mary Thorp, who stood there somehow detached from the rest of the universe. "Mary, the coffee will be a minute yet. Can I get you anything to eat?" Pray God, did she hear that insensitive idiot's verbal diarrhea? she thought. But if Keith Spivey gets decked for unprofessional conduct I'll wind up hitting the deck with him.