by Claire Davis
“I’ve never been the object of anyone’s obsession before.” His voice glowed with amusement and perhaps a touch of pride.
“Makes you?” The ghost laughed.
“Oh, that reminds me. He says tonight—when it’s dark—we have to go in the shed and watch that guy next door. Me and Finn.” Johnny hugged his knees, enjoying saying the name out loud. “You know, the one with the orange shed? He’s always out there sawing and making stuff.”
“Why?”
“According to Finn, he has a dead body in the shed.” Huffs of air burst out and then it turned into almost-laughing.
“You like him.”
Johnny hid his face in his knees. “No point, though, is there? He won’t be here long. No-one except me ever is.” He breathed deeply.
Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, photos of Granddad.
“So how’s it going?” Greg smiled. Behind, yellow walls crept and crept along the carpet—also yellow—towards Johnny’s socks. If they’d only let him wear shoes inside, he was convinced the yellow wouldn’t be able to get in. Almost convinced.
Shit. They made us do rugby in the rain today. I let the other side get the ball and I missed three goals. If it weren’t for Finn, they’d have beat me to a pulp. It’s going SHIT.SHIT.SHIT.
“Good? That’s good.” Greg nodded vigorously. “I’m glad things are going well. You seem a lot more helpful this week. Except the time you hid under the stairs.” He tapped with one pen. “And—remember our chat? About you making more effort and growing up? Still. You do seem more positive.”
I’m not a battery. NO.
Johnny managed to keep looking up, but from the side he watched the yellow making a surge forward. Any minute now its long fingers would be clawing at his socks.
“Doctor Moore says you’re really making an effort.”
I turn up, yeah.
“So, cool. I expected you to be talking again by now, I won’t lie. Hmm? It would make my Christmas. What do you say? Can you do that for me? Do we have a deal? ” Greg beamed, and that meant he was just getting to it. “Oh, I was forgetting! You don’t say anything.”
The icy yellow fingers reached Johnny’s feet. He wriggled his toes in defiance.
“Anyway. School.” Greg picked up a pen and began tapping it on the desk. “School today. Anything happen?” He barked. Johnny shrugged. “You’re not in trouble! No, no. I’m just getting your side of the story.”
Yellow misery made its way up Johnny’s legs. These meetings got him down. They just got him down, down, down. He leaned his head on one fist so there was something to lean on if the worst happened and the dreaded words ‘we’ve found you foster carers’ were uttered.
The door opened suddenly. It flung back against the wall with a crash and Finn jumped in. “It wasn’t his fault! Don’t you blame Johnny.” He launched himself, and landed in a heap of long limbs and sticky hands, like a pile of Labradors, at Johnny’s feet. “I am here, my seeker!” All the air left the room. Finn’s eyes gazing up were shiny like conkers.
“Finn! This is a private conversation which you weren’t invited to. At Windybank, we don’t walk into rooms without knocking. Kindly take yourself back out.” Greg bristled. “And apologise to Johnny for interrupting his chat time.”
Finn ignored Greg. “Are you OK?” He pawed at Johnny’s knees, forehead crinkling with worry. “I heard you calling and I came. For I am your wizard! Look—I’ve found us a Marsupial worm.”
“Finn! I really cannot—”
Johnny laughed. He didn’t mean to but he did anyway. It burst out along with the worm wriggling free from Finn’s pocket. He sniggered and then it turned into more, not quite a laugh but not far off. Something that had been seized shut flowed through the tightness around his head. Finn laughed too. The yellow receded, and Greg leaned back in his chair.
I’m OK. He’s about to start on about the rugby.
Finn nodded once. He turned to face Greg and sat up straight on a chair. “Oh, sir, I’m so very sorry about rugby. Please let me explain. I apologise for barging in here, but I was only trying to help. Profusely.” He pushed back his fringe. Greg looked from Johnny to Finn. “I request to stay and assist your enquiries.”
“Well, if it’s OK with Johnny?”
Johnny nodded. He even smiled. Trouble was coming, but Finn was here. Shockingly, Finn took his hand and held it. With the other, he poked the worm back into his pocket. “Sir—”
“Greg. It’s Greg—” smiling now like a human being. “Don’t call me sir, please? It makes me feel ancient.” Greg’s eyes went to the hands and then back up.
“Righto. Well, what happened at rugby—they were attacking Johnny! I know I shouldn’t have threatened them sir—Greg—Sir Greg—but what else could I do?”
Threatened them with the walking stick. Just as the group found Johnny in the changing rooms and started the barrage, Finn had appeared brandishing his stick and a whole lot of swear words. The kids had laughed at first but then moved away, scared of such ferociousness.
“I never touched anyone, I swear, and if they say I did, they’re lying. I won’t stand back and watch them hurt him. Never.” Finn waggled a finger. “I will not condone bullying and nor should you, for we are not living within the Nazi era.” The heat from Finn’s hand went up Johnny’s arm and across his chest.
Greg frowned and began to make notes. “What do you mean, they were attacking? Is this true?”
Johnny nodded.
“Can you give me names?”
The yellow began moving forward again. If Greg got names, he’d be up the school and so would Johnny. They’d ask questions and look—right at him—and not even Finn would be able to intervene.
Should I?
Finn shook his head slightly. “Greg, there were so many of them, I doubt Johnny could see, and it’s really dark in the changing rooms.”
“Boys. If I’m to deal with this, I have to know who it was.”
“No, Greg, I don’t agree. Had the teacher been there doing their job then this wouldn’t happen. Would it? Both Johnny and I are vulnerable children. Youths.” As he said youths, Finn’s face went poker-faced. The word came out slow and ponderous. “Youths.” Johnny covered his face to stop the gigantic laugh building up.
Greg put his head to one side. “Well, no, I don’t suppose it would. But still—”
“And now you’re treating Johnny—and me—like perpetrators, whereas in fact, we are not only innocent, but victims.” Finn flung his head down on the desk and howled like a dog. Various papers and pens crashed to the floor. Greg exchanged a terrified look with Johnny.
“Finn? Hey now, come on, son. It’s not that bad, is it?”
The yellow swept back where it belonged. Finn sobbed and sobbed. Awful noises as bad as the wind in a storm poured from his thin body. It was majestic and fabulous. Johnny all but cheered.
Greg patted Finn’s arm and made sympathetic sounds. “It’s OK.” He came around the desk, knelt down and took Finn’s dirty hands. “Do you need a hug?” he asked seriously. “What do you need?”
Finally, Finn looked up and stopped crying. “What I need, Greg,” he said quietly, “is for you to allow me and my good friend Johnny to live and grow. You know?” Greg nodded mutely. “Allow us to make mistakes and errors, for this is how we shall evolve into fine young men who can be productive members of society. Put our pasts behind us and pioneer forward.” His brown eyes, running with tears, looked into Greg’s. Johnny doubted anyone could have resisted. “The rugger incident is closed. You have spoken to us and can now call school and tell them it is all over. OK?” He smiled and waved his hand, like a Jedi.
Jedi mind trick.
“Well, OK. If that’s what you both want?” Greg looked from Finn to Johnny. “But you must tell me if anything else happens.”
“You have my word.” Finn oozed. He stood up and beckoned Johnny to follow.
“Johnny?” Greg said in his serious voice. “Is that OK? I
wish you’d answer instead of all the dramatics.”
Johnny nodded.
“Thank you, Greg, for this talk. I’m sure we all feel very much better. Now, you must excuse us for we have a lot of evolving to do,” Finn said grandly and led Johnny away.
Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, photos of Granddad, Granddad’s china dog.
“That was brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Johnny breathed. “How did you do it?” He sat down in the corner of the shed where Finn had made seats from a set of old drums. “Maybe you really are a wizard.”
“Of course I am!” Finn chuckled. “Shall we have a feast?” He pulled out a bag full of stolen food. “I’m starving. Greg’s a wanker. Why does he pick on you?”
All the other kids loved Greg. Johnny inhaled sharply, rich with the knowledge someone else agreed. “No arguments from me. How can you be starving? We just had tea.” Watching Finn eat was riveting. First, he gathered all the food in front of his bony knees and hoarded it like a squirrel. Next, he opened all the packets and carefully took out various biscuits, pies and a loaf of bread.
“You’re not going to eat all that, are you?”
He lined the items according to some system not obviously apparent, choosing which tasty morsel went to the front of the queue. Finn finally looked up. For the first time ever, his face flooded red. He looked down at the food and then back up, not quite to Johnny.
“No. Course not,” he said, but something made Johnny think he would have eaten the lot if alone. His shame made the dripping walls begin a slow descent, leading inevitably to Johnny’s feet.
“Go on. Eat,” he urged. “I don’t care. I’m still flummoxed by you getting Greg round your little finger.”
“Flummoxed.” Finn giggled. “I love that word.” He took a few biscuits and crammed them in, casting sly peeps sideways. “Almost as good as youths.”
“Go on. Eat up. Please?”
Johnny was often ashamed, so often it was, in fact, always. The trick cyclist tried to talk about it but even he had grown tired at the lack of progress. When much younger and still with hope, they drew pictures of what shame meant. The best was a bleeding circle with a small boy inside, surrounded by other kids, jeering. The blood was breaking free of the circle edges, moving closer and closer. The trick cyclist had made a lot of fuss about it. He glanced up at the dripping walls. “Where did you learn to do that? Greg just crumbled.”
Finn swallowed. Biscuit crumbs scattered his face and top, showing he was no longer ashamed. This would keep the dripping walls back for a while, but then Finn went one further and burped loudly—“’Scuse me”—and wiped his mouth with one sleeve. The crumby mess on his cheek made Johnny insanely happy. “From watching detectives and courts.” He moved nearer. “It’s amazing what you can learn about human behaviour and stuff! I must have seen thousands and thousands.”
“What’s your favourite?”
Finn considered. “Maybe the old ones. Cracker and Frost. One day, I wanna do that.”
“Be a detective?”
“Yeah. Mother of god!” Finn unpeeled a block of cheese. “Here we have the lottery win of today, my friend! Mature cheddar with—” he sniffed the yellow block “—a hint of cream.” He chewed thoughtfully. “You can survive a long time off cheese.”
Not wanting to shame him again, but feeling slightly sick, Johnny concentrated hard on Finn’s knee so he wouldn’t have to look without seeming averse and stuck up. “Lovely,” he said. “You’d be a really good detective.” Finn broke off huge lumps and began sucking them like ice cream.
“You want some? So delish.”
“No, thanks. Maybe later. So how did you do it? I’ve never seen Greg give way like that.”
“Well,” Finn settled in close, “first, you gotta work out their motive and ultimate aim. Like Greg—his is to do his job—social worker—so he has to be seen to be telling us off—but also, he chose this job, right?” He stopped with eyebrows high, so Johnny dutifully nodded. “So he cares, or he did once. He likes kids. Sees their potential. Sees a lot of fuckers too, though. Am I right?”
“Definitely,” Johnny said with feeling. “Loads of fuckers at Windybank.” He scratched his nose. “Oh! Did you mean the kids or the staff?”
“Either one. So we have to appeal to that.” Finn stopped and grinned, as if the explanation was over. “No excuse for the way he goes for you, though.”
“Oh. Yeah. You’re really clever. How come you got to see all that TV? We’re only allowed an hour at night here.”
“Didn’t have nothing else to do.” Finn shrugged. “Wasn’t allowed out the room.”
“You mean you weren’t allowed to play out?” Johnny said, after a pause. The kids at Windybank could play outside, but only after school until it grew dark.
“Nope. I mean I wasn’t allowed out the room.” Finn stood up suddenly and stared out the window. “Come see! That guy will be out soon. Every day, he comes down his garden to the shed and mucks about. Have you noticed that smell?” He pulled Johnny up. “It’s disgusting rotting corpses.” Across the low fence, next door’s shed was dark except for a pale light from the kitchen.
“How do you know?” Johnny whispered. As he leaned forward to look, Finn’s arm slipped around his shoulders. Rather than being weird, it seemed right, comrades in arms. They peered out the tiny window together. Johnny tried to find words to thank him for dealing with Greg. Instead, he leaned further into Finn’s embrace.
“Because I’ve seen him from my bedroom. I’m keeping a diary of movements. Somehow we have to get in there.”
“Greg would kill us. Last year, that bloke came round and complained kids were stealing apples from his trees. He shouted and threatened to hurt us. He’s a nutter. We should just leave him well alone.”
“That’s what I’m saying! But it’s more than that. My wizard senses tell me he plays with the delicate balance between life and death.” Breath tickled Johnny’s ear.
“Is it like spidey sense?”
“Here he is!” Finn squeezed Johnny’s shoulders tight. They were safe enough in the shed. It was only a short distance from the house, near enough that someone would hear if they called for help. The man next door wouldn’t be able to see them, but still the hair on the back of Johnny’s neck went rigid as metal wire.
The man strolled down the garden, wearing a long coat and hat. He unlocked the shed, stepped inside and almost immediately came back out carrying something. As he turned to walk back, the moon cast light and so Johnny saw that what he held was a rifle.
Finn gripped Johnny tightly. “Shit,” he breathed. The man disappeared through his gate that led into the woods. “Come on!” Finn jumped up and down. “We might not have long.” He took Johnny’s hand and pulled him outside, into the dark garden.
“What? What are you doing?” Johnny tugged back.
“Follow me. I’ll protect you.” Casual as anything, Finn climbed over the hedge into the next-door garden.
“No!” Johnny whispered urgently. “Come back.” But he wrestled with the hedge and after a bit of tussling, clambered over. “Finn!” His hand gripped, Johnny was led across the grass to the shed. The few steps seemed miles and miles. His heart hammered with panic and maybe the onset of tears. “Let’s go back! It’s too dangerous.”
“Just a few minutes. We have to catch him out. If we don’t, no-one will. I’ve got a torch somewhere.” He rummaged through his clothes while Johnny died of horror and fear.
“No!”
“Here. It’s here.” A bright light flashed as Finn waved the torch at the shed door. “Shit! Locked.” The light revealed a padlock, thankfully clasped shut.
“Let’s go. Nothing to look at,” Johnny gabbled.
“Oh my god! Do you see that?” He held the torch still. The oval of light showed a battered door. “I knew it.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“It’s blood. Look—there—and there. Spots of blood and a hand print!
”
Johnny stepped forward to take a closer look. The door suddenly shook with a force from inside. Terror made him stumble against the door. He heard a shout, and then he was up and scrabbling with Finn back across the hedge and through the garden.
Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, photos of Granddad, Granddad’s china dog.
“I don’t know,” he told the ghost. “It could have been blood.” Or mud, or juice, or any number of things. “I didn’t get a very good look.” He shuddered. “That noise from inside the shed was horrible.”
“You should tell the pet shop owners. You must.”
“Then we’d have to explain what we were doing in his garden,” Johnny pointed out. Plus, he didn’t feel very inclined to be helpful.
“You could say you heard something in the shed and went to investigate. It’s not a crime. They couldn’t send Finn away for something that daft.” But the ghost sounded less sure. “Could they?”
Johnny didn’t need to answer, because they both knew Greg, Anna, and the gaggle of social workers could pretty much do anything they saw fit. He leaned back against the wall and sighed. “I think Finn was held hostage before he came to Windybank.”
“What?” The ghost was shocked.
“He says they locked him up in one room with no food and nothing to do except TV. It’s why he knows so much stuff but can hardly write. I suppose it’s why he’s a bit strange. Oh!” He remembered what Finn had said while sitting on the tree. “And he said he can’t get used to being outside—to the wind and rain, because he’s not used to it.”
“They locked him up? He said that?”
Johnny hesitated and thought back. “No, not exactly. He implied it. And don’t you think he’s too thin? I saw Greg with a food chart and weighing scales.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“He gets all flustered when I ask about the food. I…I made him ashamed and sad.” Johnny cringed. “I don’t want him to feel bad. He stood up for me. Twice. Once in rugby, and then with Greg. That’s more than anyone ever did.”
“Not since Nan and then Granddad.”