by Create50
By G P Eynon
From the kitchen window, high up on the second floor of his Victorian townhouse, Jamie could just about see over the car park, away through the trees and down into a small playground. He’d always found this place a little eerie at night with those two lonely swings hanging under the orange glow of a street lamp, and as far as he could remember, it had been over two years since he saw any kids playing there. But that had just changed, as what appeared to be a young boy was currently sitting on one of those swings. Hunched over with his face covered by the hood of a grey duffle coat, he looked about ten years old.
Jamie glanced at the clock. 11:06pm. Who lets a child out at this time?
“What you looking at?”
Jamie nearly banged his head on the window as his wife, Megan, who wasn’t there a second ago, spoke from behind his ear.
“Jesus Christ! You made me jump.”
“Sorry. But like I said, what you looking at?”
Jamie nodded to the playground. “That.”
“What?”
“On the swing.”
“There’s nothing there.”
She was right. The swing was empty.
“Well, there definitely was something there. Someone there. I think it was a young lad.”
“At this time of night? You’re sure? In that playground?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. You know some parents out there couldn’t give a toss where their kids are, no matter what time of night.”
“I know. But that playground? I haven’t seen anyone playing there since… well… you know,” said Megan. “Plus there’s those stories.”
“You believe them?”
“There’s nothing to disbelieve, Jay, it was all over the news. Those boys were taken from that playground, and not a child has played there since.”
“Strictly speaking, those boys were last seen in that playground. But that’s not what you mean, is it? You’re talking about the appearances, aren’t you? The ghosts.” Jamie made a ‘spooky’ gesture with his hands. “You don’t believe that crap, do you?”
“Hey, I’m not the one seeing kids playing in an abandoned playground at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Touché.”
“Come on. Let’s go watch Game of Thrones.”
“Good call.”
Jamie took another look at the swing. It was unoccupied.
Don’t come here. You mustn’t come here.
From that evening on, Jamie couldn’t help but glance towards the park whenever he was in the kitchen, especially at night. If he saw that kid again he’d make sure Megan saw it too – even if just to confirm he wasn’t mad – then he’d call social services.
Those stupid rumours about ghostly sightings in the playground were a load of old nonsense. They’d no doubt been fabricated by concerned parents to keep their children away, given the place’s infamous reputation.
Jamie placed his empty mug down by the sink and looked out of the window, more from habit than anything else.
A solitary figure was rocking on the swing, staring at the ground.
Jamie wanted to call his wife, but was too transfixed on that child in the hooded jacket. He reached across and turned out the kitchen light.
The child looked up, directly into the eyes of Jamie, who jerked back from the window.
“Megan.” He ran out of the kitchen. “Megan!”
Don’t look at me. DON’T LOOK AT ME!
This outburst was directed at the person staring out the window. But he couldn’t hear this long-dead voice. Nobody could.
The pair returned to the kitchen a few seconds later.
The swing was empty.
The playground lifeless.
In the morning, Jamie wandered the hundred feet or so down the hill and into the park. He’d never actually set foot there before and was struck by how cold and isolated the place felt. Admittedly, it was an overcast, classically British autumnal day… but still, this wasn’t a happy place. A shabby old Ford transit van sat in the small adjacent car park, while a row of graffiti-covered recycling bins marked the entrance to a leafy alleyway leading to the council flats. Other than this, there was no sign of activity; nobody had been here for a long time. He also noted that his was the only house looking onto the place; the rest were shrouded by tall trees.
Go away.
Jamie felt something. Something… oppressive.
Leave.
He moved toward the swing.
Leave!
Footsteps shuffled up close behind him.
“Yah!”
“Bloody Hell!”
“Gotcha!” said Megan. “Don’t believe in ghosts, eh? I reckon you must’ve…”
She stopped talking and stared over Jamie’s shoulder.
“What’s up?”
“Someone’s over there.”
“Where?” said Jamie, glancing in the same direction as his wife.
“In those bushes by the sandpit.”
Jamie went and had a look. There was nothing there.
“Who do you think you saw?” Jaime turned back to face Megan.
“A child, I swear it.” Megan had gone pale. “Just like you described on the swing. And I felt…”
“What?”
“I felt anger.”
“Really?”
I’m not angry.
“Let’s go home,” said Megan. “I don’t like this place.”
I’m afraid.
“You go.”
“Jamie, please…”
“Alright, but I’m gonna come back.”
Don’t come back. Nobody must come here.
“Jay, it’s ten in the evening,” said Megan, surprised to see her husband wearing his coat, “where you going?”
“To the playground. I’m gonna see if that kid turns up and I’m gonna take him home. You felt it today. It’s not safe down there. It even had you spooked.”
“I know, but right now? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll get yourself arrested, you know.” Megan smiled as her husband closed the front door. He had a good heart.
Once in the park, Jamie didn’t know where to sit. Did he sit on the swings? The bench? Or that springy dinosaur thing that rocked back and forth? He chose the bench. The dinosaur was too small, and should the boy appear, he didn’t want to scare him away by sitting on his swing.
Leave. Leave. LEAVE!
Jamie was glancing around the tops of the trees surrounding the small playground and contemplating just how isolated this place was when he heard the unmistakable metallic squeak of a moving swing. The other hung motionless.
You mustn’t be here. Nobody must be here. Leave. Now!
Jamie sat dead still, a touch disturbed by this solitary moving swing, but he refused to give in to any kind of childish fear. There was no such thing as ghosts.
The swing stopped.
Leave!
Jamie felt a pressure in his back, like something was trying to get him up from the bench. That was rather more unsettling. He got up and went back home, taking one more nervous look around the place as he left.
Megan was standing at the kitchen window when he came back.
“And…?” she said.
“And what?”
“Did he say anything?”
“Who?”
“The kid.”
Jamie stared at his wife.
“You passed right in front of him. He was sitting on the bloody swing.”
“I didn’t see him, and nobody said anything to me.”
“For Christ’s sake, Jamie, he was right in front of you. You walked right past him.” Megan folded her arms. “You really didn’t see anyone?”
“I’m serious, Sweetie. There was nobody there.”
Jamie went to the window. He looked out briefly before grabbing a handful of crisps from the packet on the counter. “Will you come back with me tomorrow?”
“I – ”
“Just one more
time. During the day. I’ll take the camera, see what turns up.”
“What exactly you expecting, Jay? This isn’t Ringu you know.”
“Yeah, thank God.” Jamie finished his mouthful of crisps. “Look, I don’t know what I’m expecting, maybe some kind of prank…” He looked directly at his wife. “Please?”
“Alright.”
“Thanks.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Last time, Jamie.”
“Okay.”
It was cold the next day. The pair went down to the park where Jamie took out his camera and started snapping: the old van, the bins, the swings, the trees, the bushes, the sandpit. Megan stood next to him, shivering.
Stop it. STOP IT! Go away.
Jamie turned the camera around to check the rear display.
“Megan.”
She heard the fear in his voice,
“Megan. Look at this.”
She glanced at the camera.
“Oh fuck.”
They both looked toward the empty sandpit, then back to the camera. On the display was the blurred image of a hooded child standing in the sand.
Go! Leave! NOW!
“Jamie, let’s go.”
“Wait. Look.”
A small stick began to move in the sandpit, only a quiver at first, but as the pair watched, the stick began to scrape lines in the sand.
Jamie sounded them out as they appeared…
“L”
“E”
“A”
“V”
“E”
“LEAVE.”
“Jaime, let’s go. Please.”
“Wait. I want to see if – ”
The stick flew up and hit Jamie in the face.
Get away from here.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Jamie and Megan didn’t go back to the playground after that day. Choosing not to tell anyone about their experience, they fitted curtains to the kitchen window and religiously drew them at night.
Following a month of normality, they’d almost put the place out of their minds when, like a ray of light, two young girls from the new next-door neighbours brought life to the playground once again. But, not forgetting their experiences, Jamie and Megan remained a little edgy…
“Bloody hell!” said Jamie as he heard screams coming from the playground.
“What?” said Megan.
“I wish they wouldn't scream like that. It makes me nervous.”
“The neighbours’ girls?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re only having a laugh, Jay.”
“I know, but…”
“At least someone’s using that playground again. They’ve been there pretty much every day since moving in last week, and they’re obviously fine.” Megan smiled. “That’s a good thing, Jamie.”
“I guess.”
Jamie looked over to the playground.
The boy on the swing was looking right at him.
They have to leave. Make them leave.
“Oh shit.”
“What?”
“He’s back.”
“In the daytime?” Megan looked out the window. “Oh my God. So he is.”
He’s coming.
“Let’s go.”
Please, quickly, he’s coming.
The pair ran out the house in an attempt to finally get to the bottom of this mysterious child, hoping the neighbours’ daughters would keep him there long enough to do so. Turning into the small car park, however, they had to jump aside as the shabby Ford Transit van drove right at them, its rear wheels mounting the kerb as it screeched out the carpark.
“Jeeeesus Christ,” said Jamie as the van’s wing mirror skimmed his left cheek,
“Bloody maniac.”
You’re too late, Mister. He got them.
“Where are the girls?”
I know what he’s going to do to them.
Jamie could hear the van’s engine gunning up the hill.
Those poor, poor girls.
Megan followed her husband into the deserted playground.
I tried to warn you. I’m so sorry…
The swing creaked slowly to a halt.
Jewby Morrie and the Freakshow Angel
By JT Billeter
Morrie Lowenstein was 12 years old in 1951, the year his family moved from Manhattan to Dallas, Texas. Mr Lowenstein’s employer sent him to supervise the development of a tract of land 20 miles outside of the city. He was told that while he had the freedom to refuse he would also be choosing to “move on” to other opportunities.
Morrie didn’t think of himself as a “New Yorker” but he learned quickly that he damn sure wasn’t a Texan. He had liked to play basketball and chess, but Dallas was a football and hunting town. Adding to his separation was the fact that the family lived on the undeveloped tract of land in the only house that had yet been built. Morrie didn’t ride the bus like his classmates. His father was not a part of the “businessman’s community”. He worked at home in the den that was one of the selling points of the place.
All this made it difficult for the family to meet people, but Morrie had made some tentative friendships, one of whom was named Cutter Dunphy. Cutter’s father had decided that the best gift for his son’s 12th birthday was to take the boys in Cutter’s class quail hunting. This was on a Saturday in mid-June, just before school ended. The boys and Mr Dunphy’s dog, Audie Murphy, all piled into the back of his pickup. It was an organized-release hunt, but Cutter’s dad had brought his dog so it could practice pointing.
Morrie had never held a gun before, but Cutter’s father assured him he’d get a turn.
“If I can’t teach a Jewboy to shoot,” he said, “I ain’t the Texan I think I am.”
When Morrie’s turn came, he was handed a shotgun. It immediately went off and struck Audie Murphy. Fortunately, the shot that the gun was loaded with was a low gauge and while it could rip a quail to pieces, it lodged shallowly in Audie Murphy’s haunch. Cutter’s dad checked the wound, announced that the hound was going to live, but they had to get him to the vet right away.
“Let’s go. The Jewboy ruined it for everybody.”
Mr Dunphy drove the group back to his house and made the kids walk home. Morrie tried to apologize. Cutter’s father told Morrie, “We probably might as well put him down. He ain’t going to want to hunt no more. He’s useless. Thanks a lot, Jewboy”.
After that, Morrie was known as “The Jewboy”, and the phrase “the Jewboy ruined it for everybody” became a catch-phrase among the children. There were two weeks of school left. Morrie hoped those comments would be out of fashion by the end of the summer.
Traditionally, in July, the entire town’s attention and loose cash was consumed by “Captain Jack’s Carnival and Museum of Oddities”, which would set up shop outside of town for the entire month.
The empty tract of land on which Morrie lived had been the traditional home of the Carnival. Due to the construction, the Carnival had to move further out. This was annoying to people who didn’t like changes. When the relocation became known, the phrase “the Jewboy ruined it for everybody” spread from the schoolchildren to the adults and became even more popular.
The carnival had been the highlight of the summer for many years. There were rides, games, a late-night kootchie show for the men and not much in particular for the women. But best of all, there was the Freak Show, or ‘Museum’ for those who wished to cast a bit of dignity on things.
But despite the location change, the excitement was more acute than ever, because the ‘museum’ was said to be displaying the most unique and impressive ‘oddities’ that had ever been made available.
Rumour had it the Freak Show had an actual angel of the Lord God as part of the show. The news had been travelling all over the South while the show was making its way east from Georgia. Everyone seemed to have talked to someone who had personally “SEEN IT WITH MY OWN EYES”.
How an angel had come to join a carnival Freak Sho
w depended on who told the story. The most popular was that the caravan had come across the angel lying in a road, his wings broken, his head wounded. Without any thought as to the cost, Captain Jack had allowed the angel to recuperate in his personal trailer. It was not known how an angel of the Lord could end up injured, lying on a lonely road in the South, but those things, apparently, were beyond human understanding anyway and couldn’t be explained. Or so the promotional materials said.
The one thing that was clear to Bible-minded humans (of which Captain Jack was one, of course) was “God’s Law”. As explained by Captain Jack, this was why the angel stayed with the carnival instead of returning to God’s kingdom. To show God’s people the importance of helping others, the angel was staying with the carnival so that Captain Jack could have worldly success. Wealth, as everyone knew, was God’s way of revealing the chosen. Thus the reason for Captain Jack’s success; he was a man of God.
That was the story most people in Dallas believed. It explained why the price to view the Freak Show would be doubled from the previous year. In addition, the angel could read minds, heal the sick, and would do both for a nominal extra charge. It could fly and was brought out on stage in a wooden cage with a solid roof to show that there were no strings.
Despite his nickname, the kids in Morrie’s class, except for Cutter, were still basically friendly to him. But Morrie had decided that if he was ever going to truly redeem himself, he’d have to learn to shoot. His parents didn’t understand. They would only allow Morrie a BB gun. But he used that gun every day to practice his aim. He knew there would be a shooting game at the carnival, and that would be an opportunity to show his new skills
The closest friend Morrie had was Clem Toobin, and he was able to get a ride out to the carnival with Clem’s family. Morrie brought his BB gun, thinking the shooting games were a bring your own affair.
At first glance the carnival was a bit disappointing. It had poorly maintained and carelessly assembled rides. It had games which were fixed (until the carnies would let someone win to show that it wasn’t).
They came to the rifle shooting game. Morrie was excited to demonstrate his skills. Morrie was disappointed to learn that the game was played with the carnival’s guns only. Before he shot, Cutter Dunphy came walking up. Cutter was there with Audie Murphy, who still had a limp and a white neck cone fastened over his head.