by Gary Fry
“Be careful,” Larry instructed as Anthony stepped outside. The man’s warning seemed to conceal more than it revealed, Anthony thought while examining the moors encircling the village.
“I will,” he replied, already on the pavement, and when the door closed behind him, he began running.
TEN
Mummy had told him to go to the spare room and read his book while she tidied the bungalow, but Carl wasn’t in the mood. Time seemed to be dragging today and he was really bored. The clock on the bedside table read one o’clock. Maybe when Daddy got home from wherever he’d gone, they could drive to McDonald’s or somewhere else exciting, but Carl doubted it. His parents had been in funny moods lately, and he wondered why.
Lying on the mattress, he returned his attention to The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Real life was never as thrilling as what happened in stories, but he was unable to concentrate on reading. He closed the book and stood to cross for the big wardrobe, which looked older than either of his grandparents had been. Using one thumb to tug at a circular bronze handle, he opened one of the doors, hoping something would be behind it other than dull old clothes.
But there was nothing of much interest, just a rack of shirts and dresses, which made him feel sad when he remembered Grandma and Granddad wearing them. Stooping to look elsewhere, however, he noticed a loose shelf, and then intrigue replaced his sorrow. Prising up the shelf, he found underneath, lodged in a tight cavity, a wallet and a purse. After handling these items, he realised both had cash inside. They must have belonged to his grandparents, but although neither needed money now they were in heaven, Carl wouldn’t steal. He returned the two items and replaced the shelf, leaving it slightly askew. At the back of the wardrobe was just a solid panel, dark and shadowy. He was so disappointed by the absence of anything to entertain him he thought he might cry.
He shut the wardrobe door, crept out of the bedroom, and then walked along the hall passage for the kitchen. Lucy was sleeping on the bed his parents were using at the moment, but the dog failed to detect Carl tiptoeing past. Then Carl heard Mummy in the kitchen clattering plates and clinking cutlery, and so decided not to enter. Sometimes in their city apartment she asked him to help with washing up, and that was even more boring than how he felt now. Perhaps he could find something interesting to do outside.
He’d never needed permission to play out in busy Leeds, and it was much safer here in Deepvale. Even though his parents had behaved strangely since arrival, they surely wouldn’t mind if he explored the neighbourhood a bit. Daddy hadn’t seemed to like him making a new friend, but Carl needn’t speak to Suman if the boy showed up.
He reached the front door, and despite knowing he was doing nothing wrong, he opened it quietly to creep outside, shut the door behind him, and then hurried down the path for the grove.
The atmosphere there proved deader than inside the bungalow. He glanced around, trying to locate something to excite him. But all the houses were silent, their owners hiding from cold weather coming down from the moors. Carl thought he saw movement near the junction, but after staring harder, he noticed only a blackish bush stirring in a stiff breeze that threatened to become an angry wind.
He sighed and strolled across the road, noticing the faded chalked sketch of a hopscotch grid at the centre. With the exception of Suman, no other children lived here, did they? All the neighbours were old, like Grandma and Granddad had been. Carl wondered whether this grid had been made years ago, when Daddy had lived in the grove at Carl’s age. But surely things didn’t survive that long. Time wore things away, didn’t it? The past—all the events he’d learned about in history lessons at his horrid Leeds school—could never return because time travel was impossible. Mummy had told him so.
Drawing closer to the spot where he’d seen the shaggy bush, Carl thought about magic and other weird things. Not everything could be as dull as the way Daddy always explained it. What about crazy music and exciting films and bizarre drawings? Carl loved all this stuff because it spoke of monsters and amazing events and even the possibility of living forever…Carl didn’t like the idea of dying. Despite realising he’d never visit the past, he’d love to know what the future held in store for everyone. What new inventions would be made? Would scientists find out what lay beyond the stars? Despite Daddy’s certainty about many matters, there surely wasn’t an answer for everything.
Carl had surprised himself with these thoughts. Perhaps the influence of the dizzying landscape on one side of the dark old house at the junction was messing with his mind. He shook his head, and after it settled, he refused to look at the dirty lake in which he was certain he’d seen something moving this morning. His stomach grumbled; it was time to turn back and go back for food. And he was about to do so when someone called him from the broken building’s messy front garden.
“Hello again,” said the voice that was neither a child’s nor an adult’s, but somewhere in between. The speaker didn’t look much older than he was, however, having just stepped into view, still as pale as moonlight. His clothes were black, Carl noticed, as if he’d also been to a funeral recently. Maybe someone in his own family had died. If that was true, Carl ought not to run away. The boy might be upset.
“Hello,” Carl replied, and took a pace towards the low wall separating the gloomy property from the rest of the grove. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you,” Suman replied, screwing up his face and producing wrinkles, as if he was far older than he appeared. “Hey, do you want to see my house?”
If he lived here, Carl would make his excuses. The property looked scary, all buckled glass and filthy brick.
“I shouldn’t really,” he said, edging back a little, but reluctant to flee. The prospect of something interesting to do forced him to stay. The building could be exciting; there might be ancient treasures hidden inside. “My mummy doesn’t want me to go out of sight.”
This was true, of course; it was what he’d been told the previous evening. But Suman didn’t seem impressed.
“And what about your daddy?” he asked, stressing the final word as if, for some reason, he was bitter about it.
“He…isn’t sure about you,” Carl explained. He hadn’t planned to reveal this; it had just popped out. Maybe he should change the subject. “Hey, what about your daddy? Where’s he today?”
The boy smiled, a horrible expression. His teeth were a dirty yellow, as if he wasn’t told to brush them often enough. “He’ll be along soon.”
Carl frowned, wondering what the boy meant. “Has he gone out? Mine has.”
“Oh yes, he’s been away for a long time.” Suman had stressed another particular word, and then he did it again: “But he’ll be back soon. He’s gaining strength by the day…or rather, by night.”
“Has he been poorly?” Carl asked, now even more puzzled by the boy’s comments.
But Suman’s reply bore no relation to the question. “He’s my new daddy. But he’s also a very old daddy.” And before Carl could ask for an explanation, the boy added, “Do you want to come into my garden?”
Carl glanced quickly behind him—the grove remained deserted—and then looked forwards again. The boy was hiding behind a cluster of trees. Carl guessed it wouldn’t harm to step inside the garden; he needn’t go into the house. Then he paced through a gap in the wall, which might once have possessed a gate. As he walked towards his new friend, the grass felt moist underfoot, even though it hadn’t been raining today. Stepping within a few paces of Suman, Carl began to feel uncomfortable. He thought for a moment he’d heard sweet music, but that must have been only in his mind. And the noise ceased altogether when the boy asked another question.
“Do you want to know where I’ve been?”
“Well…okay.”
If Suman planned to talk about his summer holidays, it might help Carl feel less cold. Either the breeze had stepped up its quiet campaign in the area or Suman was as chill as he appeared and was passing this across.
<
br /> “I’ve been to a place that’s millions of years from here.”
The boy must be confused; distance was measured in miles, and not time. Perhaps his daddy wasn’t as clever as Carl’s. And if Suman had meant Australia—the farthest place from England Carl could think of—he should say so. Even if his facts were wrong, however, he might have some exciting stories to tell.
“Was it good?” Carl asked with sudden excitement.
“Brilliant!” the boy replied, grinning so widely his lips looked in danger of tearing. “I saw some amazing creatures.”
Carl loved the zoo; he’d recently gone on a school trip to one in Chester, and had been captivated by some of the animals on display; they were all amazing. He was certainly keen to hear more.
“What kind? Did you see elephants?”
At that moment, however, they both heard footsteps hurrying towards the junction.
Carl turned to stare through the trees shielding the grounds of the old house and noticed his daddy jogging up the opposite pavement. He looked worried and didn’t glance around as he moved. And Carl was about to shout out a greeting when a hand, its thumb incredibly strong, was clapped over his mouth. He mumbled something—he couldn’t help it—and when his daddy slowed, the face that darted in beside Carl’s—its flesh ice-cold—seemed to concentrate really hard.
A second later, Carl had the alarming impression that a much older person was holding him, because the features in one eye-corner had twisted up again, like a nasty old man’s. But his attention was shifted back to his daddy when a stream of whitish objects—at a distance they looked like flies, but the wrong colour—rose out of his head. Then Daddy shrugged, and without looking back, hurried on.
The field of fly-things surged in a shaggy wave towards Carl, and after cutting through branches to reach him, they headed for one side of his face…and directly into Suman’s.
The boy started nodding, releasing Carl just as his daddy reached the bungalow, out of earshot. Carl was flung away, as if the boy didn’t care whether he’d be hurt, but after regaining balance Carl turned to watch.
Suman was smiling, a few of those white flies still buzzing around his mouth. He looked as if he’d eaten them. Surely Carl was daydreaming; such an act was horrible…Nevertheless, the boy now appeared satisfied, as if he’d just learned something he’d needed to know. And that was when he spoke again.
“Wait there.”
“What for?” said Carl, desperate to return to his family.
The boy was backing away for his house, whose entrance didn’t even have a door. Before vanishing inside, he said, “I can’t show you any photos of the many things I’ve seen—my daddy doesn’t like cameras—but I do have a likeness…”
Then he was gone, inside that deserted-looking building.
Carl felt like fleeing. What stopped him, however, was curiosity about what the boy planned to show him. Surely it wouldn’t hurt if he waited just a bit longer…
Strange noises came from inside the property. These sounded like echoes bouncing around in too much space, and nothing like the wonderful tunes he’d imagined earlier. But then, only a minute later, Suman reemerged, carrying something. Had he been to the building’s top floor? Although time had strained while Carl had waited, it wasn’t long before the boy was upon him again, thrusting the object his way.
“What is it?” Carl asked, accepting the thing, which looked like a model someone had made out of the clay he and other children sometimes worked with at school.
“Give it to your daddy,” Suman replied, again smiling unpleasantly. “You said he wasn’t sure about me, didn’t you?” That smile broadened, the black spot stretching on the upper lip. “Now he will be.”
And then, with no further commentary, the boy rushed back inside the house.
Carl found himself holding a small grey model of some kind of wild beast. It resembled an elephant that had lost its trunk and was so angry about the fact it had taken to blundering about on its hind legs. The face was huge, a smeared mass of flesh whose eyes and nose were too wide and long. Its mouth was a large black cavity, and its limbs stunted and yet powerful, certainly capable of tearing off chunks of other creatures’ bodies.
Where did such animals live? Carl thought his daddy would know, just as Suman had suggested. He decided to take the model back to the bungalow at once. He thought it might even make him and Mummy happy enough to stay in the village forever.
ELEVEN
After reaching the high street, Anthony spotted a gang of youths standing outside a bus shelter. He wondered if any of these had been the ones who’d…But he refused to let these thoughts take grip; his mind should be focused elsewhere.
Nearing the junction, he noticed one of the thugs carrying a can of either alcohol or spray paint. Whether innocent or guilty of serious misdemeanours, the gang was surely up to no good. Noticing him looking, one of them swivelled in big boots and offered a hand signal not unlike a Nazi salute. For an uneasy moment, Anthony thought only fingers were visible and no thumb…but then sunlight illuminated the digit tucked into his palm as the lad returned to his cronies, undoubtedly plotting some kind of mayhem.
But Anthony now had more important matters to deal with. He’d leave official investigations to Derek Gardiner.
He stole towards the grove, his head full of thoughts about Peter Suman and what to do with his new knowledge. He reflected again on the notion of a God’s-eye view, on what he’d been trying to teach his students. Time prevented anyone from viewing an event from all perspectives, while multiple accounts from many people were also inadequate, because it was impossible to know what they were thinking or if they were being truthful…
But what about close friends? What about people one could trust?
He was now skirting the grounds of The Conjurer’s House, but didn’t glance at the building. His mind was too restless to add this to its burdens, but while advancing along the pavement, he thought he heard someone call out to him. After slowing, however, he was unable to identify the source of the sound. A few whitish flies flitting around hindered his attempt to marshal his thoughts. And then moments later, he hurried on, feeling docile, as if all his concerns had been lifted for a spell. He’d also forgotten what he’d been thinking about just before this strange episode.
After reaching the bungalow, he was relieved to find the front door unlocked. After stepping inside, he hung his jacket in the hall, hearing the keys the policeman had returned rattling in one pocket. Then he paced along the corridor to the kitchen, believing he heard activity in that room—his wife and son, he hoped.
He shunted open the door…and was only half-relieved to see Melanie doing housework he himself ought to have tackled that morning. But now he had more pressing issues to address. Anthony stepped across to embrace his wife before pulling away to speak, all his earlier concerns returning with cold vengeance.
“Where’s Carl?”
Melanie frowned. “In the spare room reading.” Her voice conceded a little of the tension he’d clearly conveyed by his body language. “Why?”
But then he strode along the hallway to the bedrooms, calling loudly, “Carl! Son!”
His wife followed. “Ant, what’s the matter? Why so…tense?”
When he turned to stare from the doorway of their son’s temporary bedroom, however, she grew as anxious as he was.
“He’s not here,” Anthony said, as if she was to blame.
“What?”
She rushed forwards to look inside the room. The only indication that Carl had occupied the place was an indentation in the bedsheets where he’d laid overnight, as well as one wardrobe door hanging open. Then inspiration struck her.
“Maybe he’s hiding,” she said, hurrying inside to tug open one wardrobe door. “Carl, what are you up to?”
When she looked inside, however, she saw only old-fashioned clothes hanging on hooks and a loose shelf at the bottom. She prised this up with taut fingertips, and from underneath produc
ed two items, each filled with coins and banknotes: a wallet and purse.
“That’s odd,” she said, hoisting the objects for her husband to observe. But then Anthony paced forwards to snatch them from her, a dark expression on his face. “Ant, what is it” Melanie asked, but believed she could read his thoughts.
These belonged to my parents. And so if the thugs that killed them weren’t after cash…what were they after?
Anthony shook his head. “Never mind that now,” he said, as if he could sense his wife grappling for his thoughts. “Where is our son?”
From the master bedroom, Lucy had been roused by the commotion and stood in the doorway, licking her lips. But moments later, perhaps drawing on a sentience beyond the ken of its new masters, she turned away and ran back to the bed, cowering with her tail down.
What is wrong with her? Melanie wondered, but this thought was driven immediately from her mind.
The bungalow’s front door had opened and footsteps had shuffled within.
Anthony and Melanie raced into the lounge, where Carl had already ventured, smiling broadly. He was clearly holding something behind his back.
After flinging the wallet and the purse onto the couch, Anthony loomed over the boy. “Where have you been?” he asked far too severely.
Melanie was unsettled, despite recalling all her strange impressions during the walk earlier.
“Ant, don’t be so strict,” she protested, her volume equal to her husband’s. “You’ll frighten him.”
“I’m not frightened, Mummy,” Carl replied, as if he had a secret that would make everything okay. And that was when he revealed what he held: a small model made out of what resembled the clay they’d found earlier in the lake’s banking.
Melanie was impressed, even if the art’s subject was rather rudimentary. But Carl was only seven years old and had made a sterling effort at crafting…an elephant, was it? He’d got the posture wrong and the trunk hadn’t been developed properly, but this was surely what the animal was supposed to be. Nevertheless, two questions troubled her. If her son had just made this model, why weren’t his hands dirty? And how had he got it to set so quickly?