A Spectre in the Stones

by John Kitchen

  “Yes, but I didn’t think university was right for me,” said Justin.

  “So you left, just like that?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Lloyd frowned. “What did your dad say?”

  “He wasn’t too pleased, neither was Mum.”

  “Is that why you don’t live at home?”

  Justin leaned forward and gave a guilty laugh, as though he’d been caught out. “Partly, I suppose. I wanted to be free to do what I liked, but – I guess there was a bit of tension with me dropping out and everything – and I hate that kind of thing.”

  “Me too,” Lloyd said.

  “That’s tough then, isn’t it?” said Justin. “I mean, this place is nothing but tension.”

  “I’ll get my head around it,” said Lloyd. “That’s the way I deal with stuff, getting my head round it.”

  But then he got up. He’d said enough. He looked at the fair-haired boy and said, “I got to go. It’s getting cold and I haven’t got no coat.”

  Justin nodded and he got up too. “Yes, and it’s getting dark,” he said. “I’ve got stuff to sort before I’m finished.”

  He headed back to the shrubs, and Lloyd watched him pick up his shears and disappear into the gloom.

  For the rest of the evening Lloyd braved the television lounge.

  Craig was in charge. He had football on, and that was okay.

  But there was an evil tension. Caitlin Jamieson kept flinging magazines around and rows erupted until she was taken off by one of the carers.

  Martin went to bed early and by the time Rudi and Lloyd got back he was asleep.

  Lloyd couldn’t understand how he managed that, because the noise in the corridor and the other bedrooms was horrendous. Kids were shouting, running from room to room. A couple of bedrooms seemed to be on a permanent war footing, with boys from one raiding the other, hijacking pillows and bedclothes. There were windows being banged and, judging by the shouts, a gang from one bedroom had chucked their adversaries’ bedclothes out of the window. Carers were yelling and kids were screaming back.

  He shifted his still-packed cases off the bed, found his toilet bag and then braved it to the bathroom. But he wished he’d brought his wellies, because there’d been some kind of water fight down there. A couple of kids still in their underclothes, were wrestling in the shower, pushing each other – and all this would have been okay, but there was no goodwill in any of it.

  He and Rudi talked when he finally got to bed. It was inconsequential talk – about school and football – and about Justin. Neither of them probed each other’s lives and Lloyd thought it prudent not to mention curses and smells.

  Eventually the stampedes died down. The carers screamed their final threats, Dave’s voice shrieked abuse from the foot of the stairs for the last time, and Sarson Hall sank into some sort of restless repose.

  For some time Lloyd grasped at sleep, but his senses were wide-awake. Now he and Rudi had stopped talking, the smell seemed to intensify in his nostrils. It hung over him like a repulsive gas, clogging his lungs and making his stomach lurch.

  Neither Rudi nor Martin had fallen into a deep sleep. They were constantly sighing and groaning – especially Martin. Occasionally he shouted out and there seemed to be a repressed fear in his voice.

  Lloyd tried pulling his pillow over his head, but, as the night got deeper, nothing could shield him from what was going on outside his bed.

  Sometimes, when Martin turned over, his cries sounded more like sobbing.

  It wasn’t just Martin’s cries that disturbed him either.

  He knew all old houses made noises… but it was hard to believe they made noises like this. Floorboards groaned. The door creaked so that he shot up in bed for fear that someone was coming in. There was running water, like a spring, gurgling under the floorboards. He distinctly heard a chair scraping across the room, but when he peered into the blackness there was nothing. Outside, a window banged, and then the window in their room began to rattle.

  He told himself it could be the wind, or his imagination. Everything could be his imagination – the smell – the natural groanings of an old house, magnified in his head.

  He turned over and pulled the pillow tighter around him. That was it. An old house groaning under the burden of the night. He squeezed his eyes shut. Then, with his pillow over him, he curled tightly into the foetal position and, because his brain couldn’t take any more, he drifted into a shallow sleep. But, like Rudi and Martin, his sleep was restless, deprived of any real peace.

  When he woke up, it was full daylight.

  The other two were still sleeping and he decided now would be a good time to unpack his cases.

  Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he sat up… then he breathed in sharply, because both his cases were gone.

  There were clothes strewn around the floor, and his eyes widened. For a while he couldn’t take anything in. Objects were there, registering on his retina, but not getting through to his brain.

  During the night someone had nicked his travel case.

  Then his eyes took in the wider compass of the room and he saw his cases dumped on top of the wardrobes, his old suitcase in the far corner, the travel case just above his head, and they were both open, with clothes spilling out, draping over the edges.

  He was confused, because he couldn’t think how it had happened Rudi wouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t in Rudi’s nature… and then red fury welled in his head, swirling simultaneously with a launch from his bed – and he was shaking at Martin’s shoulders like a dog with a rat.

  “You’re dead meat, man,” he hissed.

  It took a few seconds for Martin to emerge from the grip of sleep and he muttered, “Get off, you loon. What you playing at?”

  “You’ve been messing with my cases. You’ve been through my stuff and I’m going to punch your lights out.”

  He pulled back a clenched fist, but Martin grabbed it and sat up. He was still disorientated. “You some kind of a nut case or something?” he mumbled.

  “It’s not me that’s a nut case,” Lloyd said. “You look at that.” He pointed to the wardrobes. “Them cases didn’t get up there on their own, and no way did Rudi do it.”

  Martin looked, but his face didn’t register surprise. It was more a resigned glazing of the eyes, and he shook his head. “That hasn’t got nothing to do with me. It’s what we told you yesterday. Dave said about it. There’s some sick guy in here that winds kids up. It’s always happening.”

  Rudi was awake too now, and he was looking at the spilling suitcases. “Yes, we told you,” he said. “Someone must have snuck in when we were asleep.”

  Lloyd extricated his fist from Martin’s grasp and stared.

  “Well, I’m telling Dave,” he said, but that just brought an ironic sniff from Martin.

  “You’re wasting your time. Dave won’t do nothing. He’ll just say what we said.”

  “‘Don’t dignify this joker’s pranks by making a fuss.’ That’s what he’ll say,” Rudi said. “‘The less reaction you give, the less likely he is to try it again.’ He always says that.”

  Martin nodded and flopped back on his bed. “Yeah, so, quit the threats and let me get back to sleep.” Then, as if nothing had happened, he rolled over, pulling his duvet around his shoulders, closing his eyes in an attempt to grab a few last moments of repose.

  Chapter 3

  Rudi clambered out of bed. “Seeing as someone’s started the job, we may as well finish it,” he said. “I’ll help you unpack.”

  But Lloyd shook his head. All this talk about some kid doing stuff to everyone was nothing but a cover-up. He knew no one had come into the room last night. The only explanation for the suitcases was lying in bed just across the room.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m leaving it like it is, and I’m going to see Dave.”

  “We told you what Dave will say,” Rudi said.

  “Yeah, well, Dave don’t know me, do he? He may give yo
u all that rubbish – but I don’t believe none of it. Martin done this and that’s what I’m telling him.”

  “You reckon?” A voice came from under the duvet. “You tell him what you like. He’ll only say what we told you.”

  “Yeah, right. And don’t touch my stuff neither, because I want him to see just what kind of mess you made of it,” Lloyd said.

  There was a resigned sigh from beneath the duvet and Martin’s voice said. “It wasn’t me, and it won’t make no difference.”

  He was only wearing his underpants when he headed for Dave’s office, and there were a couple of girls in the corridor who gave a few whoops and shouted “Streaker” – to which he made an appropriate gesture.

  He only held back at Dave’s door long enough to knock – certainly not long enough for any summons from within.

  Dave was sitting at his desk labouring over some paperwork and he looked up. Then he sat back, making an arch out of his fingers, pressing the tips together, and said: “Three things, Lloyd Lewis. One, no one ever barges in here – not until I’ve invited them. Two, do you think it’s appropriate to parade around the house in that state? There are young girls and ladies out there, you know, and I’m sure they don’t want to see you running around half-naked. And three, you never come into my office unless you’re fully clothed, is that understood?”

  “Yeah, right,” said Lloyd. “I only just got out of bed, didn’t I? And someone’s been messing with my stuff.”

  Dave leaned further back, maintaining the pose with pursed lips and fingertips. “What do you mean, messing with your stuff?”

  “When I went to bed last night, I was tired, right? I didn’t unpack. I left my case and my travel bag at the bottom of the bed. When I woke up this morning they’d been shoved up on the wardrobes and someone had been through my stuff. It was hanging out all over the place.”

  “And that’s such a big issue, is it?” Dave said. “So big you’ve got to come storming in here semi-naked. Have they taken anything?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I came straight down here, didn’t I? And it don’t matter if they took stuff or not. It’s mucking around with my property. That’s the thing. No one’s got the right to mess with my stuff and I reckon it’s Martin. You’ve got to sort him out.”

  Dave’s eyes were closed now. “It is not Martin, Lloyd,” he said. “It’s some joker. It’s always happening.” And that made Lloyd start. He hadn’t believed Rudi – but Dave had said exactly the same as Rudi.

  “What do you mean, some joker? If someone’s always doing it, then you should sort him. He might have nicked stuff for all you know.”

  Dave radiated a tired boredom. “Do you really want to make a fuss about it?” he said. “Do you honestly want to dignify his pranks by making it an issue?”

  Rudi had said that too, and Lloyd was beginning to wonder about what had gone on last night.

  He wasn’t going to be driven off course though. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?” he said.

  “It’ll just give him the satisfaction of knowing his stupid japes have had some effect. Whoever it is, he’s just doing it for attention, believe me.”

  “So?” Lloyd said.

  Dave opened his eyes and wove the fingers of his two hands into a gesture of prayer. “If we acknowledge he’s made some sort of an impact, it’ll give him the positive feedback he’s looking for. He’ll do it again.”

  “Well he is doing it again. You said so yourself. He’s always doing it,” Lloyd said. He was getting really mad with this guy. Dave was supposed to be in charge of the place. “Ignoring him isn’t working is it? So this time, you sort him, okay? I don’t have people messing with my stuff and it’s your job to stop them.”

  Dave sat up at that, and his face was red.

  “I’ll deal with it my way, if you don’t mind, Lloyd Lewis,” he snapped. “When you’re old enough and mature enough to sit where I’m sitting, then you can dictate the strategies, but no thirteen year old is coming in here telling me how to do my job – is that understood?”

  “But you don’t do your job. That’s the trouble.”

  Immediately Dave leapt to his feet. “Right. You’ve said enough,” he barked. “Now go and get showered. Then put some clothes on and, after breakfast you come back here ready for school. And I’ll have some respect from you in future. Do you understand?”

  “You get respect when you done something to deserve it,” Lloyd said, and he scurried for the door. He didn’t care what he said to this guy, but he was in no hurry to be around for his response.

  He heard a bellow of, “Get out,” but he was out already, and now he had the bit between his teeth.

  If no one else was going to sort all this – then he would.

  Nobody messed with his stuff and the quicker they realised that, the better.

  Normally he would have gone to school with the others in the minibuses, but today he had to go with Dave in the car because he had to be registered, and the journey was grim. After droning on about how he expected him to behave, and uphold the reputation of Sarson Hall, Dave completed the journey to Brookley in stifling silence and Lloyd thought he must be a couple of studs short of the full football boot to think the kids in Sarson Hall had any kind of a reputation to uphold. The guy was totally spaced out.

  There was a bog-standard feel about Brookley school; random redbrick buildings, metal-framed windows and flat-roofed prefabricated slabs, sprawling across the playground, making irregular incursions into the school field and nudging towards the requisite pair of football pitches.

  They went through to the entrance hall where the walls were lined with notice boards and some arty display tables. There were teachers standing around, like members of the politburo, watching the movements of the kids, and their faces were grim.

  Dave steered him to the secretary’s office and she ushered them into the head – a florid woman with short, dark hair that curled out at the ends. She had a brown mole protruding from under her left eye, and she was a lady who clearly had no taste for exercise or calorie counting.

  Judging by the colour of her face Lloyd assessed that she was suffering from hypertension and a bad reaction to heat, and when Dave introduced her as Mrs Cherry, he nearly laughed out loud.

  Even at the best of times he wouldn’t have warmed to her – and these weren’t the best of times. He had no difficulty being surly and answering with insubordinate monosyllables.

  He could see Dave trying to catch his eye – but that egged him on. He was careful not to say anything that could be pinned down as rude, but he did just enough to unveil his contempt.

  Mrs Cherry assigned him to a tutor group and instructed one of the secretaries to take him to his class.

  There were two other kids from Sarson Hall in his tutor group, Rudi – he was glad of that, and Caitlin – which didn’t please him quite so much. And it didn’t take long to see that Caitlin had as much attitude in school as she had at the home. She scowled when she saw him and, while he was being shown to his desk, she managed to tear a page out of her book and make a paper dart, which she scudded across the room. Her brown hair was dishevelled and she had an unwashed look about her. Her eyes were filmed with lethargy and they looked heavy.

  As he passed she muttered: “Baa baa black sheep,” and he reckoned that was being racist. But the teacher ignored it.

  “I’ll put you next to Rudi,” the teacher said. “He’s from Sarson Hall. It’ll be someone familiar to help you settle.”

  He grunted and sat down.

  “What we doing then?” he asked, deliberately bypassing her and addressing his question to Rudi.

  “Maths,” Rudi muttered and Lloyd thrust his hand in the air and shouted:

  “Can I have a book to do my calculations in, please, teacher?”

  The teacher was delving in a cupboard and she said, “I’m getting one, Lloyd. Just be patient. And it’s Miss Webb – not ‘teacher.’”

  He splayed himself wearily over the desk in
a gesture of premeditated insolence and said, “Whatever.”

  Miss Webb swung around and gave him a warning glance. But she didn’t say anything. She just fetched a maths notebook.

  “Do you have writing implements and a geometry kit?” she said.

  “Yeah, in here somewhere.” He poured the contents of his bag across the table.

  He was beginning to suspect that Miss Webb ran her class by avoiding confrontation and that took some of the velocity out of his strategy. When she didn’t retaliate and went back to her interactive white board, he just gathered his stuff and settled.

  He felt tired and his equilibrium had been disrupted. Someone back at the home was messing with his stuff, and Dave wasn’t doing anything about it. What with that and the weird noises and the bangs and crashes through the night; he was irritable and he was spoiling for a fight.

  Miss Webb was directing them to a page in the workbook now so he shouted, “I can’t turn to that page, teacher, because I haven’t got no workbook.”

  He saw her flash him another look, but he didn’t flinch.

  “It’s Miss Webb, Lloyd, and you can share with Rudi for the time being. I’ll get you a workbook at the end of the lesson.”

  He pulled Rudi’s workbook across so he could see it, and said, as loudly as he dared, “Sorry mate. I know this book’s your property and all that, but teacher said you was to share. Is that okay with you?”

  Rudi winced and looked at him with a sideways glance. It was clear he wasn’t into baiting teachers and Lloyd didn’t want to embarrass him, so he settled and scanned the page.

  He worked quickly, and when he’d finished he looked over at the scrawled calculations on Rudi’s page. Then he shoved him with his elbow. “Done it, look,” he said, pushing his own book across the desk.

  Rudi whispered, “Shshsh,” and Lloyd began to figure Miss Webb might deserve a bit more respect. It was really quiet – apart from some heavy breathing from across the aisle. Caitlin, he noticed, was splayed over her books. She was completely out of it.