James Munkers

by Lindsey Little

  ‘I’m operating under the radar, you mean?’

  ‘If you like, yes. It’s only the results of the magic we can see, like the lights on the football field the other night. You’ll be quite safe.’ Pippa raises an eyebrow at me as we reach the door to my room. ‘Just don’t set the house on fire.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I smirk, my hand on the door handle. ‘As if I’m going to do that.’

  Chapter Ten: Oops

  I wake up twitchy.

  It’s still fairly gloomy outside, meaning it’s far too early to be up on a Saturday, but there’s a tingle in my nose that won’t let me go back to sleep. And when “Deck the Halls” starts blaring from another part of the house, I know it’s useless.

  Muttering curses, I kick the blankets off, pull on a jumper and stumble towards the kitchen. Mum and Peter are already up, pulling boxes out of the study.

  ‘Didn’t we just pack those away?’ I ask.

  ‘Christmas decorations,’ Peter says, lifting an angel made out of a shuttlecock from one of the boxes. ‘We’re putting them up today. Going to help?’

  I groan, and shuffle to the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee.

  ‘It was your idea,’ Mum says. ‘Anyway, it’s about time they were up. Christmas is only a week away.’

  ‘A week? When did that happen?’

  ‘Progressively over the last fifty-one weeks, probably,’ Peter says, throwing a plastic bauble at my head. ‘Is Pippa coming around today?’

  ‘God, I hope not,’ I mutter, pushing the toaster down. Mum gives me a worried look. Oh, right. That probably wasn’t the kind of thing a boyfriend should say. ‘She said something about us studying together. I just want one day off.’

  Mum smiles. ‘Poor Jimmy. It’s been a big week.’

  She can say that again.

  Garth and Winifred descend as I’m spreading my toast with peanut butter. Garth throws tinsel everywhere. Winifred sings carols loudly. The buzz in my nose upgrades to an ache in my temples.

  Soon Claire comes down the stairs, looking as fed up as I’m feeling. ‘Oh, God,’ she says when she sees the glittering mess. ‘Really?’

  ‘And we’re all helping,’ Mum says forcefully.

  ‘Can’t I just go shopping?’ Claire says. ‘That’s festive.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what: you help us decorate today, and tomorrow I’ll drive you into York. Much better shopping there.’

  Claire sniffs, pretending not to be mollified. ‘You’ve forgotten the box with the tree in it,’ she says.

  ‘The box with the tree in it?’ Michael booms, charging into the room with a beanie and a saw. ‘We live in the countryside now. Trees don’t come from boxes. They come from outside. Come on, men!’

  Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of this. ‘Come on where?’

  ‘Out into the great beyond to cut down a Christmas tree. Let us charge out into the forest and claim us a bit of nature.’ He pulls me out of my chair. ‘Hurry up, get your boots on.’

  ‘Look, can’t I sit this one out?’

  ‘No. This is male bonding time. My father and I did this every year – it’s tradition. Garth, get your coat.’ Michael thumps me on the arm. ‘Come on, Jimbo. This’ll be a new experience for you.’

  ‘But I don’t want any more new experiences,’ I moan. I’m at the point of tears at the very thought. ‘I’m not going.’

  Five minutes later I’m trudging moodily behind the others as they head across the back lawn and into the woods. ‘It’s cold,’ I grump.

  ‘It’s winter. It’s supposed to be cold.’

  ‘I have a headache.’

  ‘Fresh air will cure that. Come on, Jim, keep up.’

  I hate Christmas. All the inane activities, now doubled because of the outdoors element. What else is Michael going to make us do? Hug a holly bush? Scale trees for mistletoe? I swear, if he produces a reindeer at any point, I’m out of here.

  Wait – isn’t that the track that leads to Will’s place?

  ‘Not down that way,’ I call.

  Michael, Peter and Garth look back at me. ‘Why not?’ Peter says.

  Because a morally questionable man lives down there and I don’t want him telling you that he’s a friend and I’m a freak.

  ‘Well, um, this track here seems to be heading deeper into the forest. There’d be more trees in there, right?’

  Okay, not the best excuse I’ve ever come up with, but I’m desperate. Michael beams. ‘That’s the spirit, Jimmy,’ he says, and walks back to the other path with Garth in tow. Peter gives me an odd look, but follows.

  As soon as I step onto the new path, though, a shiver runs right through me. Is this the track I nearly went down last night?

  ‘Is it just me, or is it colder down here?’ I say.

  ‘I’m hot,’ Garth says, just to be annoying. As if anyone would be hot in the dead of winter.

  ‘Just keep moving,’ Michael calls from up ahead. ‘You’ll warm up.’

  I stomp after them. The shivering gets worse.

  The trees we’re passing are way too big to fit in the house, but we eventually come to a clearing with some smaller trees scattered about.

  ‘Ooh,’ Michael gushes, running up to a middle-sized one, ‘this one right here. Oh, it’s perfect. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ He grins at us. ‘Let’s chop it down and decorate it with plastic things.’

  Michael and Peter start sawing away at the poor thing. Garth tries to climb one of the bigger trees. I lean against a third.

  ‘Is this legal?’ I ask. ‘Are we going to get done for deforestation or something?’

  ‘It’s tradition,’ Michael says. I think that’s going to be his answer to everything today.

  I can’t feel my toes, they’re so cold. I suppose that’s traditional, too.

  I watch the destruction of nature for a while, but a strange feeling that I should keep moving overtakes me. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ I say.

  ‘This won’t take too much longer,’ Peter says, looking up.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll be frozen solid if I don’t move soon. I won’t go far.’

  I wander further down the track and soon forget my frozen feet. The further I go, the stronger I get the feeling that this path is leading somewhere – somewhere important. I walk faster and faster, my heart thumping in my chest. I’m practically jogging when suddenly the path swerves, the trees thin and I find myself on a hill looking down at the school.

  The school? That’s the important thing this track leads to? What a disappointment.

  I crouch down next to a pine tree, looking out over the view. There’s nobody down in the yard, being Saturday, but you can see everything from here: the classrooms, the yard, the sports field. I look down at the place this all started, where I first used the power inside me, and remember the queasiness of it ripping out of me so fast. I hope Pippa’s right, and it’s not always going to feel like that.

  Control and concentration, she said. I remember the ease with which she floated that handkerchief that same night. Calm and steady.

  There’s a pinecone at my feet. I pick it up and hold it in front of me. I was floating me last night – a pinecone shouldn’t be too difficult. I lean my back against the big tree’s trunk and take a deep breath.

  Up, I think. Up.

  Nothing happens.

  Lift.

  Still nothing. Oh, come on.

  Rise. Float! Elevate thyself, you stupid piece of –

  The pinecone shoots off my hand in a dark haze of energy and almost pokes me in the eye. I lift a hand to my temple, to make sure I’m not bleeding. Then I pick the pinecone up from where it landed on the ground and examine it. Well, that wasn’t very calm of me, but at least something happened. I don’t feel drained either – I feel wired, like I’ve tapped into an electrical current. My pulse is racing and I’m now shivering from excitement, not the cold. Is Pippa sure she’s got this the right way around?

  I’m staring at the pinecone, wonderi
ng what to do with it next, when there’s a sound behind me. Thinking it’s Peter, I look around.

  Martin Hacker is stumbling down the track towards me. He hasn’t seen me yet because he’s scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. And when his arm does come down he gets a speeding pinecone right in the kisser. His hands fly up to his face and he turns away in pain. I look down and find that the pinecone is no longer in my hand.

  Martin whips back around. Usually I’d be scarpering right about now, but something about him fascinates me. I stand up slowly and examine him. Bleeding lip. Bloodshot eyes. Mottled cheeks where he’s been rubbing at tears that haven’t quite dried. Words flicker through my mind as his expression changes from surprise to anger, and then to fear. Weak. Pathetic.

  Victim.

  I feel my mouth pull up into a sneer.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  That’s Peter’s voice. He’s standing down the track a few yards behind Martin, looking at me. My mind clicks back from the nasty place it was delving into; the energy that was building in me, ready to burst forth, shudders through me like an earthquake. Peter watches as I stumble backwards into the trunk of the tree, shaking. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Nothing’s going on.’

  Martin gives me a hateful look, ready to punch my lights out now I’ve gone all weak and wobbly again, but he obviously doesn’t dare with Peter here. Peter’s pretty big. Instead he mutters something and pushes past me, hurrying down the track towards the school.

  Peter is now staring at the pinecone, lying innocently on the side of the path. Oh God. How much did he see?

  ‘Jim?’ he says slowly. ‘Did you throw…’ He can’t even finish the sentence. I get the feeling he didn’t see me “throw” anything.

  ‘It was an accident,’ I mutter, walking past Peter and back towards the others. ‘He startled me.’

  ‘Jim, he was bleeding. Did you do that?’

  ‘What are you so worried about him for?’ I snap. ‘The guy’s a dickhead.’

  ‘You can’t go around attacking people just because you don’t like them, for God’s sake. What’s got into you?’

  I stop and round on him. ‘So I’m just supposed to stand there quietly while he beats the crap out of me, am I?’ I yell. ‘You want them to kill me, is that it? You want me dead? Will that make me a brother worth having?’

  There’s a great cracking noise, and a branch above us plummets to the ground, narrowly missing Peter’s head. We stand there staring at it. Then Peter looks back at me, and there’s fear in his eyes.

  Oh God, I can’t take this. I run back up the path, away from that look. When I reach the clearing I stop to catch my breath, and almost have a heart attack when a whole tree comes crashing down at my feet.

  ‘That’s got it,’ Michael says, appearing from the other side. ‘Now let’s get this beauty home.’

  So I figure I didn’t actually do anything really bad.

  I mean, I did hurl a small piece of nature at Martin Hacker’s head, but he’s done a lot worse to me. As far as vengeance goes, that’s pretty lame.

  And all those other things I was thinking about doing to him? The scorched flesh, the crushed-in skull… I didn’t actually do them. I don’t even know if I could. And everyone has bad thoughts sometimes, right?

  And the branch? Branches just fall sometimes. I’m sure of it. I think I saw a documentary once. Chances are I had nothing to do with it.

  So why can’t I stop shaking?

  There’s a knock at the door, and I almost fall off the seat of the loo. ‘Jimmy, honey?’ It’s Mum. ‘Are you done in there?’

  I sigh and pull the chain, to make it seem like I was in here for toilet purposes. I’ve got to remember that it’s no good hiding in a bathroom, not with a family of seven.

  Mum smiles at me when I emerge. ‘I bought mince pies,’ she says. ‘They’re in the kitchen.’

  That sounds nice and normal, so I wander down the hall and out into the family area. Claire and Winifred are putting lights and tinsel on the tree, and Peter is gluing a broken ceramic ornament back together. He doesn’t look up when I come in. Claire does, though.

  ‘Thanks for all the help today,’ she says sarcastically.

  ‘I went and got the tree,’ I say, walking to the kitchen bench and breaking off a bit of pie crust. The sweet, buttery taste turns sour in my mouth. Maybe I’m not hungry after all.

  ‘Ten quid says you didn’t help at all. Peter, did James do anything at all while you guys were in the woods?’

  Peter’s hands freeze, the two sides of the ornament hanging in limbo. He licks his lips. ‘James didn’t do anything in the woods,’ he says quietly, and goes back to fitting the pieces together.

  ‘There, you see?’ Claire says triumphantly. ‘Not even Peter can back you up on this one, and Peter always takes your side.’

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  ‘Well, you can come and help now,’ Claire continues, ‘since you were so useless earlier. Now, we want an even scattering of the round baubles and the teardrop ones, and don’t bunch all the same colours together. No, don’t put that one there. I just put the exact same one right next to it. Put it higher. No, on that branch. Jeez, you really are useless.’

  I swallow down an urge to hit her, and carry on helping in silence.

  ‘Hang on,’ Winifred says after ten minutes. ‘We haven’t put the angel on top.’

  ‘We’ll do it right at the end,’ Claire says.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Winifred says, stomping her foot. ‘It has to go on first, otherwise all the other ornaments get bumped. It’s tradition.’

  I wonder where she got that phrase from.

  ‘Fine,’ Claire says, ‘we’ll put it on now.’ She reaches as high as she can, but can’t get anywhere near the top. She tries bending one of the top branches down towards her but Win screams in warning as the other decorations threaten to fall off. ‘Here, hold this,’ she says, handing me the angel. ‘I’m getting a chair.’

  I look up at the top of the tree, picturing the angel up there. Then I startle myself with a sudden hiccup, and watch in distress as the decoration in my hand floats up past my nose to settle itself on high.

  Winifred’s mouth drops open and her eyes light up. ‘It’s flying!’ she screeches. ‘The angel’s flying!’

  Peter’s head snaps around.

  ‘What are you…’ Claire starts saying, in the middle of dragging a chair over, then her own jaw drops as she sees the angel perched on the highest limb. ‘How did that get up there?’ she demands.

  ‘It flew up,’ Winifred repeats, dancing around the boxes. ‘It’s a Christmas miracle!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Win,’ I say, and try for an indulgent laugh. ‘I just reached up really high.’

  ‘You couldn’t have reached up there,’ Claire says.

  ‘Just because you couldn’t. I’m taller than you.’

  ‘You’re not taller than me,’ Peter says, walking up to us, ‘and it’s higher than I can reach.’

  ‘Well, I threw it, then!’ I cry desperately, backing up towards the tree as the others surround me.

  ‘There’s no way you could have.’

  ‘Yeah, you can’t throw to save your life.’

  ‘He didn’t throw it at all,’ Win says, laughing. ‘It flew up by itself. It’s magic!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I snap. ‘Magic doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Don’t talk to Win like that.’

  ‘Oh, Claire, shut it!’

  SMASH!

  I jump away from the tree as shards of a glass bauble fly in every direction. We all stare at it, wondering if it’s done, but a tinny buzzing starts up all around the tree. Dark light plays along the branches.

  Oh no.

  ‘Don’t!’ I scream at it.

  SMASH!

  ‘Stop it!’

  SMASH! SMASH!

  Decorations start exploding all over the damn thing. Win and Claire scream and run around to the other side of
the table for protection. Peter and I shield our faces with our hands and watch through our fingers as balls and angels and reindeer explode in front of us. Then the fairy lights start shattering, sending sparks flying every which way until – whomp! – the tinsel catches fire. The whole tree is alight in seconds.

  Peter dashes to the kitchen while I stand there staring at the flaming disaster I just created. ‘Move it,’ Peter yells, as he charges back with a fire extinguisher. I step numbly to one side and he douses the flames. Then Michael runs into the room with Garth in tow, and starts coughing at the acrid smoke filling the room.

  ‘What happened?’ he splutters, but nobody answers. Mum comes in, takes one look at the mess, grabs Claire and Win and pulls them towards the front door.

  Once the flames are well and truly put out, the rest of us retreat outside into the cold fresh air, the thick smoke billowing out behind us. The road is filling up with villagers, watching us splutter our way along the front drive.

  ‘Peter, what happened?’ Michael says again once he’s got his breath back.

  Peter shakes his head helplessly, and looks to me for answers. But I’m not paying attention to him just at the moment. I’m paying attention to the crowd of villagers watching our every move. Pippa’s voice comes back to me: there is a higher number of Hoarders in this village… at least fifty, I’d say.

  How many are watching us now?

  ‘Jim?’ Michael’s saying. ‘How did the fire start?’

  I straighten my shoulders. ‘It was the fairy lights,’ I say firmly. ‘They sparked and the tinsel caught. Must have been faulty, I suppose.’

  Michael looks blankly up at the house, scratching his head. ‘I suppose so…’

  ‘Same thing happened somewhere in Kent last week,’ I continue loudly. ‘Anyway, we should clean up the mess in there. I’ll go get the wheelbarrow from round the back.’ And I turn on my heel and walk calmly round the side of the house.

  As soon as I’m out of sight of the road, I sprint like hell across the back garden and down the track in the woods. Ten minutes later I’m hammering on Will’s door.