The Artist and The Yeti

by James Hemmington

  18

  No sooner had the front door closed behind Toby and Skyla than Albie appeared at Paris’s bedroom doorway. He looked curiously at his sister. “Do you have any other powers?” he asked, hoping Paris was going to do something as equally impressive as predicting cards, “No,” she said firmly, not wanting to even think about it. She had done enough predicting today.

  Albie persisted; he brought the box of superhero toys kindly donated by Toby into Paris’s bedroom

  “If I pick a toy and hide it behind my back, could you guess it?”

  “No way,” said Paris, “how could I?”

  Albie sighed, “But you have special powers, like me,” he said, apparently stating the obvious. He grabbed the tail of his red cape and splayed it into a fan behind him. “We could get you a pink one, just like mine.”

  “Go,” said Paris, getting irritated. “Dr Clark is coming to see me and he won’t want to be interrupted by you.” Albie left as instructed.

  In a flash he was back, leaning on the doorframe, his hands behind his back,

  “Just one guess please.”

  She was even more irritated and shouted “BAT MOBILE.” She guessed right and did so each time Albie tried again to test her. Taking toys randomly from the box, each one he concealed and each one she guessed.

  Realising Albie had drawn her in to doing more scary predicting stuff she suddenly shouted, “STOP, now go away, really!” Albie ran off to tell mum. Paris wondered if she might be going mad. Mum eventually appeared looking slightly concerned, “Come downstairs darling, Dr Clark is here, he’s ready to talk to you.”

  Dr Clark did his best to relax Paris. There was a soft gentle tone to his voice, a surprise as he looked a bit like a nightclub bouncer! He asked Paris to describe the events in as much detail as possible leading up to the accident. He was hoping a slow and gradual build up to the accident might jog some memory. When that failed he tried hypnosis, taking Paris off into a deep sleep; but still no progress. Paris’s last memory was the helicopter spinning out of control and then nothing else until she turned up in Dartmoor. The frustration continued.

  Before bedtime Paris took out her little silver notebook. She pondered briefly on the drawings of Titus and his cave, but still there was not a glimmer of recognition, she just didn’t remember creating those drawings. But tonight she had an image in her head, a strong one. Paris had drawn a large wooden hut. It was very detailed, the grain of the wood was so neatly drawn, the door and the windows, all very intricate. Around the hut was a pine tree wood, and next to it was a large sign that said ‘Hut No. 1’. How strange, she thought!

  19

  Dougie and Fraser finished packing their supplies. They were preparing for a long stay in the

  Swiss Alps in their continuing quest to capture the Yeti. There was no doubt now about its existence. They had not only seen one, but had been rescued by it too. For now they were keeping that story to themselves, no one would believe them, not without real evidence.

  Dougie could not stop thinking about that strange night at the frozen pond. He was so close to capturing the creature. It was certainly not a wild animal, he was with a human, a girl, and he seemed to be protecting her. Maybe she was the missing girl, or maybe she had been lost as a baby and found and raised by Yetis. Maybe she was local and had become a friend of the Yeti; so many possibilities.

  “Fraser, these tranquilliser darts I’m packing are ten times stronger than what we usually use.” Dougie was loading yellow-tailed darts into a silver holder. It was like an expensive and sleek cigar case. Ten darts nestled side by side. He packed them into his trusty hunter’s rucksack.

  Dougie was meticulous about his rucksack. He always packed it himself; there was everything in it that a good hunter should have: binoculars; flares; maps; first aid kit; a notepad; compass; camera, Kendal mint cake; emergency supplies and a tiny micro tent that folded into the space of a drinks can. The rucksack was like Dr Who’s Tardis; it seemed bigger on the inside than on the outside.

  “Is it wise Dougie to keep trying to capture this creature? After all you said yourself, it’s not an animal.” Fraser was worried that Dougie was getting carried away by the thought of capturing the Yeti; and knowing Dougie when he got carried away, it could all go very wrong, very quickly.

  “Fraser, the Yeti has evaded us for so long, we must capture it and show the world its magnificence. That’s what hunters do.”

  Fraser sighed and finished packing. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable trip.

  There was a twinkling sound going off on Paris’s phone; it was the ‘twinkle’ ringtone apparently. It was a sweet sound, but annoying at 7:45 on a Sunday morning during the school holidays. It was all made worse because Paris had had trouble sleeping that night due to a huge thunderstorm. She hated thunder.

  The twinkle ring was Skyla’s personal ring. Why, oh why, was she ringing at this time, Paris thought to herself.

  She answered the phone, irritably.

  “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  Skyla was shouting and talking so fast it almost sounded like she was speaking a foreign language.

  “P, there was an accident at the summer camp last night. Our hut was destroyed in the thunderstorm. A tree was struck by lightning and if fell right onto the hut, smashing it to smithereens. If we’d had been there we would have all died. How did you know that was going to happen? How could you?”

  “I didn’t,” insisted Paris, “I just had a bad feeling about you going.”

  After chatting with Skyla, Paris decided there was no point trying to go back to sleep, even though 9 am was the earliest she would normally rise in the holidays. She drew back her curtains and looked out on to what was shaping up to be a nice bright day after the overnight storm.

  At the bottom of the garden she could see a fox rummaging around the flowerbeds. Two rabbits joined it and a moment later a group of sparrows arrived. It was an unusual group, the fox ignoring the birds and the rabbits and the sparrows following the fox as it meandered around the garden, occasionally stopping for a good sniff. For a brief moment Paris had a memory; she had seen something like this before. Animals all together, it was cold, there was ice, and there was something else too, a stranger. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t pinpoint the memory.

  Then there was a noise in the garden and the animals dispersed in a flash. Mum had opened the back door. Breakfast was in the making and as it was Sunday, the smell of bacon started to float around the house. Paris loved bacon; she wandered down to the kitchen. Her mum, dad and Albie were already there. Albie had started on the cornflakes; on the back of the packet were the details of the art competition for which Paris had failed to be shortlisted. Paris wanted to crush the box and chuck it in the bin. She managed to restrain herself.

  20

  For a while it was a normal family breakfast; lots of chat about not much at all. No difficult questions for Paris, no explanation about anything required, it was all about the day ahead. Then mum seemed to get a little excited. She took a deep breath and mentioned a call from Skyla’s mum just before breakfast, about something terrible happening at the summer camp and how Paris had predicted it.

  “Paris darling, is that true?” said mum taking a gulp from a glass of orange juice with a splash of Prosecco; part of the Sunday breakfast tradition.

  “Mum, I did have a bad feeling about Skyla going away, I didn’t predict anything.”

  “But darling you did, whether you meant to or not. It’s amazing; you really are special, darling. Think about it, the thing you do with the cards, the guessing of Albie’s toys and now this summer camp thing. Let’s face it, it’s pretty spooky, but exciting!”

  Paris was horrified. “Mum,” she said rather sternly, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I am me, I’m not special and I don’t want to be special.”

  “Hang on,” said dad, “let’s calm it down. We should consider this logically. Paris, let’s assume
for the moment that something special happened to you caused by the accident. We can’t explain it, we can do nothing about it, but nonetheless something good has happened. Maybe you are special for a reason, you can predict things now. That’s a wonderful talent to have, surely?”

  No one spoke for a moment; then Albie broke the silence,

  “Dad, why can’t it be me? I’ve been practising and practising.” He was almost in tears.

  Mum gave him a big hug. “Albie, you have many special powers, sweetheart,” his mum reassured him,

  “Yes I do,” he said, “I can move keys. Paris can’t do that.”

  “No I can’t Albie and I’m no superhero like you.”

  Then mum turned to Paris’s dad. “OK Luke, let’s try something. I have an idea, stay here guys.” She instructed the children not to move, while beckoning dad into the hallway. The children could hear some whispering. Dad got his car keys and left.

  Mum returned to the kitchen, poured some more coffee and smiled at her bewildered children.

  “Anymore cornflakes?” Albie nodded and mum filled his bowl. She looked at Paris, who was finishing off her second bacon roll.

  “Paris, I want you to try and guess where your father’s gone. What do you think? I reckon you can do this. Now you have it let’s embrace this gift of yours.”

  Paris was not keen, it all seemed like a test and she wasn’t into tests, and was definitely in no mood for one today. She said nothing to her mum, she just shot her a disapproving look, shook her head in the best disapproving way she could manage and left the kitchen. As she left Paris murmured under her breath. “I don’t want to be special, I just want to be like everyone else.”

  She went to her room and grabbed her little notebook, a doodle would take her away from the real world and all the stuff she could not explain. Paris closed her eyes and suddenly a thought popped into her head. She was seeing a very clear image in her mind, and started to draw a big circle.

  There was a ping in the kitchen; a text message came through on mum’s phone.Dad had arrived at his destination; he’d taken a photo and sent it through. Paris heard a soft knock on her door. “Can I come in, darling?”

  “OK mum,” came the response. Her mum stepped in, a little gingerly and sat down beside Paris on her bed. They sat in silence for a moment holding hands. “Sweetheart, don’t worry, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Paris flipped open her notebook to reveal her latest drawing. It was another detailed image, and unmistakably the London Eye.

  “That’s nice darling, the detail is really good. Can I show you this picture on my phone, just in from your dad?”

  Paris looked down at the picture; she already knew what it was going to be - the London Eye, almost from exactly the same angle as she had drawn it.

  “Mum, I’m scared.” Paris moved in for a cuddle. Her mum held her tightly. They sat looking around at the pictures in Paris’s room, so many wonderful drawings and paintings.

  Paris was already a talent, but maybe now she might be famous for something else.

  “Don’t be scared sweetheart, nothing bad will happen to you. Let’s have a girlie morning together. I’ve got some great new shades. I’ll do you a beautician standard makeover. How about that, ready for an afternoon out with Toby?” Paris managed a tentative smile.

  There was running up the stairs, a rumbling of rapidly moving feet. Dad and Albie burst into the room. “Did she guess?” Dad was breathless with excited anticipation. Paris had indeed predicted something she could have never known, something her dad himself had set up. He almost screamed when he saw the picture in her notebook.

  Dad was now contemplating what would happen next. For him his little experiment confirmed that Paris really did have some kind of extra sensory perception. “It’s called ESP,” he told his family.

  “We need to talk to Dr Clark tomorrow and get some real professional help now.”

  Mum agreed, but she began to wonder whether they should try and keep it quiet for a bit, at least until they’d won some money on the horses perhaps.

  21

  Dr Clark was on it pretty quickly. The experts lined up to test Paris and she was getting increasingly angry about the whole thing. She was starting to feel like a freak.

  Days followed of intense testing and retesting. Paris was made to guess pictures, words, phrases from books she’d never heard of and random objects drawn on a chalkboard she couldn’t see. She got nothing wrong, but found the whole thing extremely exhausting. Everyone, including her parents, seemed to forget about Paris the person; they were absolutely carried away with her abilities and how unique she was. At one point a man from some ‘Ministry’ turned up to speak to her. He was very creepy.

  She had seen so many men and women in white coats, all very specialist in their field, each one very clever and determined to explain the phenomenon of Paris and how she could do what she could. Each one was left amazed by her, convinced she was proof that humans really could have a sixth sense. She was the first of a new generation.

  As the days passed Paris felt more and more unhappy about all the attention, questions and persistent experiments. Her parents were pushing her more and more. Mum wanted to find ways to use Paris’s talent to make some money. There were so many options, predicting the winners of big sporting events, speculating on the stock market and the most obvious one, winning the Lottery.

  Her dad wanted her to be a famous psychic working for the good of everyone, which he was sure would mean making money too.

  It wasn’t long before the media had woken up to the whole story and they descended on the Palmer family like a raging storm. They wanted to interview Paris; they published articles about her and TV companies pestered her and her family to appear on their morning sofas. Increasingly for Paris, she just wanted to get away.

  It was Friday evening and after a busy week with doctors and psychologists, the Palmers decided to go out for a relaxing meal. Down the road was a cosy little pizza restaurant where the owner, Giorgio, knew them well. They sat in a booth tucked away at the back of the restaurant. Albie had brought two superhero figures from the box Toby had given him. He tied serviettes around their necks, to create impressive capes just like his; which of course he was wearing.

  For Paris it was a great relief to do something completely normal. Pizza was her favourite meal out. The conversation was light at first. They talked about other things they might do for what remained of the summer holidays. But it wasn’t long before they got onto the topic of her powers. Mum raised it first.

  “Darling, I know you’ve got frustrated with all the attention and the testing, but we should think about how we can use your talent for the good of the family. Could you predict the Lottery numbers?”

  Paris sighed, sat back and folded her arms, “Can we just leave it, mum?’

  Her dad intervened,

  “OK, let’s stop talking about you know what now. In any case do you think if Paris did predict the Lottery numbers they’d let us win the jackpot. She’s famous now for her predictions.”

  Mum frowned. “I knew we should have done something before people found out. A new house would have been fantastic.”

  At that moment someone came up to their table. It was a man who looked like he’d eaten many pizzas. He seemed in awe of Paris,

  “It’s you isn’t it, that fortune teller girl?”

  Paris’s dad explained they were having a quiet family dinner. That didn’t seem to deter the man; he was star-struck and announced loudly to the whole restaurant that the famous fortune teller girl was in their company.

  In no time there was a crowd of people surrounding the family, shouting out requests for Paris to make all sorts of predictions. It was becoming a frenzy and got so bad, the family was forced to leave and return home.

  22

  Fraser Campbell paid another visit to Conrad the woodman. He and Dougie had spent a number of nights now hunting for the Yeti but to now avail. There was no sign of th
e beast. All they had seen from the days of intensive hunting were footprints of someone’s very large boots, up in the higher slopes. It was probably some local out enjoying the wonderful mountain views.

  They did stumble across wolves several times and Dougie darted a few to show the locals that he could capture the predators that had been invading the villages. Unfortunately for Dougie none of the villagers seemed to be concerned, or even bothered about wolves.

  Conrad was very pleased to see Fraser. It was a bit early for brandy, so Conrad made up a couple of big tankards of rich hot chocolate. The smell of chocolate filled Conrad’s little hut and the taste was something else. Fraser sat back in his chair looking like the cat that had got the cream. He almost forgot why he was here.

  Conrad smiled, glad Fraser appreciated his secret chocolate recipe. Fraser was wearing his blue tartan kilt; there were so few opportunities to wear it on their Yeti expedition. His jet-black moustache looked newly trimmed while his white hair seemed to have a bluish tinge. Conrad thought the kilt was a bit weird, and found himself staring at Fraser’s hairy knobbly knees.

  Fraser finally came up with a question. “Conrad, we’re having no luck in hunting the Yeti. We’ve been to every place you told us to go to and got nowhere. What should we do? Go home?”

  Conrad sat back in his chair and slurped his hot chocolate. He looked out of the window; the sky was so blue, the trees were so green and not surprisingly the snow was so white.

  He turned to Fraser and said, “You mentioned footprints, there’s your clue, follow the footprints. I reckon the Yeti covers its tracks wearing boots; no one visits those high mountain slopes. That’s so clever, the Yeti thinks it can beat you. Don’t let that happen.”