by Cavan Scott
Something green.
The button.
Kicking off his trousers, Liam pushed himself from the bed and reached down for the button. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell onto his knees. He’d never felt so weak. He needed to sleep.
No! He needed to do something else first. He scooped up the button, hardly feeling it in his sweaty hand. Lurching back to his feet, he stumbled across to the window.
Drawing back his aching arm, Liam threw the button as far as he could. It arced across the garden, disappearing into the bushes beside the shed.
Liam let out a weak laugh.
Bye-bye Billy.
Downstairs, the phone started ringing. It was probably school. He didn’t care. Liam staggered across the room and fell face-down onto his bed.
Tomorrow everything would be sorted. Billy would be gone and life would be back to normal. He just needed to sleep.
CHAPTER 5
Long walk home
The harsh barking of a dog woke Liam with a start. He sat bolt-upright and tumbled from his bed – landing in cold, wet mud.
What? He looked up from where he’d fallen. This couldn’t be right? He wasn’t at home, in his room, surrounded by his usual film and football posters. He hadn’t even rolled from a bed.
Trembling, Liam put a hand out and pushed himself up from the ground. He wasn’t shaking from the bitter wind that stung his face, or the chilly fog that hung heavily in the air. It was the shock of finding himself in the middle of a park.
How had he got here? He remembered getting home, talking to Mum – even flopping into bed. That’s where he should be. Not here. Not sitting on a park bench, staring at a stream of joggers puffing and panting on the other side of the lake.
He hugged himself, trying to rub warmth into his cold limbs. His shirt was wet through.
His shirt? Why was he back in his school uniform? He’d taken that off, hadn’t he? It should be crumpled on his bedroom floor as usual. He looked down at the shirt. Even beneath the mud splatters, it was grubby. Grey, where it had once been white. It looked like it hadn’t been washed for weeks. His trousers were tattered too. And where were his shoes? He flexed his chilly toes, taking in the filthy, threadbare socks.
He looked around for his coat. His phone was in his pocket. He’d call Mum, find out where he was. Then he remembered. His coat was at school. He punched the park bench in frustration.
Rubber soles slapped against paving slabs. Liam looked up. A woman in a dark blue tracksuit was running towards him, blonde hair bobbing in a tight ponytail. She was looking straight ahead, listening to a pair of white, in-ear headphones.
“’Scuse me,” Liam said, pushing himself up despite his stiff knees. Why did everything hurt? “Can you help me? I don’t know where I am.”
The runner didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down.
Liam took a step forwards. “Please. I need help.”
Perhaps she couldn’t hear him over her music. Perhaps she didn’t want to. The woman ran past, not even glancing in his direction.
As if he wasn’t there.
“Thanks a bunch,” he called after her. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Liam trudged towards a large, stone arch. That must lead out of the park. He needed to find a phone box. He’d
phone home, reversing the charges. Mum wouldn’t mind. This was an emergency.
He winced as he stood on a sharp stone. This was officially the worst morning ever.
*
Hobbling out of the park, Liam found a street he recognised. He was nearer to home than he’d thought. So far, so good.
He even found a phone box that hadn’t been vandalised. Maybe luck was on his side after all.
He picked up the phone and dialled 100.
“Operator,” said a bored female voice.
“Hello,” Liam said eagerly. “I need to place a reverse charge call.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“I need to reverse the charges,” he repeated, “call home…”
“Is there anyone there?”
Liam’s knuckles went white around the phone. “Yeah. I’m here. Can you hear me? I need to call my – ”
The line went dead. Liam let out a cry of anger and slammed the phone against the cradle.
“This. Can’t. Be. Happening!”
His rage gave way to despair. He let the phone drop and it knocked against the back of the phone box, dangling from its cord. Liam screwed his eyes tight, willing himself not to cry. A tear splashed down onto the grimy floor before he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. This wasn’t helping. He’d just walk home. It shouldn’t take him long, no more than half an hour. Forty minutes, tops. He might even be able to jump on a bus. If he explained to the driver what had happened, they might give him a free ride home. Mum could send the money to the bus company later.
But no buses would stop for him. It could have been the state of his clothes or the fact that he’d started coughing. Wet, hacking coughs that rattled in his chest. Probably the same reason no one on the street would look at him either, marching by as quickly as they could.
Eventually he made it home, limping as he walked up the front path. He searched his trouser pockets for his key, but instead pulled out a large, green button. The same button he had chucked from his bedroom window. Billy’s button.
Liam tossed it aside as if it was red hot. It rolled across the drive and plopped down the drain. Good riddance!
“Mum,” Liam yelled, banging on the door.
“Mum, it’s me.”
There was no answer and no sign of her as he peered through the kitchen window. She must have gone out. Typical!
He tried next door. Their neighbour, Mr Gibbs, was retired and only went out to collect his pension or get the morning paper. Liam pressed hard on the doorbell. When that didn’t work he called through the letterbox. “Mr Gibbs. It’s Liam. Are you there?”
Nothing.
It was the same at every house in the street. Surely they couldn’t all be out? Trying not to cry, Liam sat on the low wall at the end of his street and stared at the pavement. Billy’s green button was at his feet.
“Leave me alone,” he screamed, standing up and booting the button away. “Leave me alone!”
The button skidded under a large, blue car.
Liam stood there, his chest heaving. He almost expected the button to get tossed back, but nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. This was stupid. All of it.
A curtain twitched in the house behind him. Liam ran up the gate and hammered on the bright red front door. “Mrs Briggs! Mrs Briggs, can you hear me?”
If she could, she was doing a very good job of ignoring him. Billy let his head drop forwards, resting against Mrs Briggs’s door. “Why is no one helping me?”
As if in answer, shouts drifted through the air. Not far away. Excited voices.
School!
He glanced at where his watch should have been. It must be break-time. Instead of snivelling outside his neighbours’ houses, he’d go to school. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He’d find Mr Newman or Miss Granger. Then a smile spread across his face – Chris. Liam would see Chris.
He would know what to do. He’d be able to help. Of course he would. Chris was his friend.
CHAPTER 6
Alone
The children were trooping back inside the school by the time Liam bolted through the gates. His feet were killing him now, huge holes ripped in his already ruined socks – but he didn’t care. He looked around for Chris but couldn’t see him. He wasn’t in any of their usual spots. Never mind. He’d be inside by now.
Liam sprinted through the door, weaving in and out of pupils. He tried to remember what class they had after break. Was it French or History? It was hard to remember anything this morning.
Then he saw a familiar face. Miss Granger. He ran down the corridor, calling out her name.
“Miss Granger! Miss!”
/>
She didn’t stop.
“Miss, please!”
Catching up, he grabbed her arm. She let out a startled cry and span around.
“Who was that?” she snapped, glaring at the pupils behind Liam. “Who grabbed me?”
“It was me, miss,” Liam blurted out, standing right in front of her. The other children shrugged and shook their heads.
“Kids!” Miss Granger muttered, rolling her eyes and turning back the way she’d been heading.
“Miss,” Liam shouted, chasing after her. “It was me. Miss, can’t you hear me?”
He ran past a door, the class inside catching his eye. His class. Giving up on Miss Granger, he grabbed the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.
On the other side of the glass panel, his friends messed around as the lesson began. Mr Newman called for quiet. Slowly, the children settled, slouching in their seats.
There was Beverly, sitting at the back of the class with Chris. They were getting to be a right little couple.
Liam frowned. Chris was talking to the boy sitting beside him, a boy he didn’t recognise. Not at first.
Then he realised who it was. The tall, lanky frame. The lopsided grin. The mop of dark hair.
Only one thing was different. This time his skin wasn’t green.
“Billy,” Liam hissed. His imaginary friend was sitting there, in his seat, joking with his best mate – but looked real. Not a figment of anyone’s imagination. Actual flesh and blood.
Liam tried the handle again. When it still wouldn’t open, he rammed into the door with his shoulder. It flew open, slamming into the wall. Paper fluttered down from the noticeboards as everyone jumped, including Mr Newman. Good. Now they’d have to take notice of him.
“Whatever was that?” the teacher grumbled. He walked behind Liam and checked the door, pushing it shut again. “Must have been the wind…”
“Of course it wasn’t,” Liam shouted. “It was me.
Me!”
But Mr Newman was walking away again, back to the front of the class, as if Liam hadn’t said a thing.
“You can’t see me, can you?” Liam realised. “None of you can.”
He crossed to the first row of desks, slamming his hands on a table. He leaned into the face of the nearest pupil. Kevin Barnes. Class creep. Nervous as hell, usually.
He didn’t even flinch.
“Kevin!” Liam yelled, right in the scrawny kid’s face. “Can you hear me, Kevin? Kevin!”
Nothing. Liam cried out, trying to knock the boy’s books from the table. Anything to cause a scene. Anything to be noticed.
His fingers swept through the books, like a ghost’s.
Liam glared at his fingers as if they’d done it on purpose, and then tried again. He tried grabbing Kevin’s pens, even his glasses. His hand slipped right through Kevin’s smug face.
“I can’t touch anything,” Liam said out loud – not that it made any difference. “Why can’t I touch anything?”
And all the time, Newman droned on at the front of the class.
“Shut up!” Liam screamed at the teacher. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
No reaction. Nothing at all. He turned to face Chris. “Chris, you can hear me, can’t you? You know I’m here, right?”
He clambered around the desks to where Chris sat, tapping a pencil softly against the tabletop.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Chris, this isn’t funny. Don’t do this. Please.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Liam couldn’t breathe, his heart thudding against his chest. He turned on the black-haired boy sitting beside Chris. Billy. Looking so smug.
So safe.
“You did this, didn’t you?” Liam yelled, stabbing a finger at his not-so-imaginary friend. “I don’t know how, but this is all your fault. It’s always your fault.”
Still Billy wouldn’t look at him.
Liam bellowed in his smarmy face. “It was you!”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Billy’s thin lips and he turned, looking Liam straight in the eye. “Of course I did, little Liam. It isn’t nice being forgotten, is it?”
Liam staggered back. “You can see me,” he gasped.
“What was that, Billy?” asked Mr Newman from the front of the class.
Billy turned his attention back to the teacher.
“Sorry sir, just thinking aloud.”
Liam shook his head. “No. Don’t ignore me. Not again. Don’t you dare!”
The smirk continued to play across Billy’s pale face. Sly. Triumphant.
“Don’t. You. Dare.” Liam launched himself at Billy. His hands went to grab Billy’s school shirt, but passed straight through. Liam fell forward, moving too fast. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop himself passing through Billy’s body and into the wall at the back of the class.
He tumbled through plaster and brick, landing in a heap outside the school, the mid-morning sun finally burning through the mist. He couldn’t feel its heat. Couldn’t feel anything at all.
Liam knelt on the ground and howled at the sky.
What had Billy done to him? What had he become?
The howl broke into uncontrollable sobs. He rocked back and forth, staring at his hands.
At his fingers.
They were green.
EPILOGUE
Two years later…
Chris Hussey picked up his bag. This was it. The final day of school. His last exam. Goodbye lessons. Goodbye homework. Goodbye boring old Newman.
Grinning, Chris threw the bag over his shoulder.
“Watch it,” laughed Beverly, whacking him playfully in the arm. “You nearly hit me with that thing.”
“Sorry.” Chris smiled as his girlfriend bumped into a pile of textbooks. They thudded to the floor.
“Now look what you made me do,” she moaned.
“Clumsy,” he said, crouching to help.
Something caught his eye as he picked up the first book.
“What’s wrong?” Beverly asked.
Chris showed her a name scribbled on the first page. “Look at this, Bev. Liam Chase.”
Beverly shrugged. “So what?”
Chris scratched the back of his neck. “Didn’t we use to have a Liam in our class?”
Beverly took the book from Chris’s hands and slipped it back on the bookcase. “Not that I remember.” She flashed him one of her brilliant smiles. “Come on, Face-ache, Billy will be waiting for us.”
Chris grinned and followed her out of the classroom, pausing only as they passed the window.
“What now?” Beverly asked.
Chris shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, but he was lying. There had been something, there in the window. A face he seemed to recognise – there one minute, gone the next. Glaring at him.
Chris shook his head. Just his eyes playing tricks on him. Besides, the face in the window had been green.
How stupid was that?
THE END
Billy Button ISBN 978-1-78464-189-4
Text © Cavan Scott 2014
Complete work © Badger Publishing Limited 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in any form or by any means mechanical,
electronic, recording or otherwise without the prior permission
of the publisher.
The right of Cavan Scott to be identified as author of this Work has
been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988.
Publisher: Susan Ross
Senior Editor: Danny Pearson
Publishing Assistant: Claire Morgan
Copyeditor: Cheryl Lanyon
Designer: Bigtop Design Ltd
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