Mosi's War

by Cathy MacPhail

  There was no chance of escaping from his granny’s clutches. He was staying in whether he liked it or not . . . and he didn’t like it. It was so annoying. Because this was one night he wanted to go out. Needed to. There was an excitement in the air. Patrick could feel it. He wanted to be part of it. But he’d never get away from his granny.

  ‘Do you think that vampire might have come back, Granny? It’s all they’re talking about at school.’

  She flicked her fingers against his head. Honest, between his granny and his mother, it was a miracle he wasn’t brain damaged. ‘That was only a story, Patrick. I believed it then. I was nine. We were all caught up in it. But I would never believe it now. Vampires don’t exist. And let me tell you, son. Real life is a lot scarier than any vampire story.’

  Chapter 27

  By morning, the identity of the dead man was known.

  Mosi heard it as soon as he got into the school. Hakim and Cody, for once standing together, were clearly talking about it. Hakim called out to him, ‘Have you heard who it was?’

  Mosi shook his head. He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

  It was Hakim who shouted the answer, pushing through his friends till he was standing in front of Mosi.

  ‘It was Grady McManus.’

  Mosi felt himself go weak. Grady McManus. Mosi could see him again in the underpass, his machete raised high, ready to attack Papa Blood.

  Now Grady was dead.

  ‘Remember him?’

  ‘I remember him.’

  ‘The night you left poor Mr Okafor to be chopped to pieces.’ Hakim stepped closer. Too close. He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t trust you, Mosi, but I am warning you about this. We’ve all decided.’ He waved his arms taking in not only his own friends, but Cody’s too. ‘We’ve all talked about it, and we’ve decided that we don’t mention the old man. Or what we saw in the underpass. That never happened. He’s a nice old man, everyone says so. Even Cody thinks it would be unfair to link him with McManus.’

  Cody came across then. ‘McManus had loads of enemies. There’ll be a queue of suspects as long as your arm. We’re not going to get that old guy into trouble.’

  There was a murmur of agreement.

  Hakim turned to Cody. ‘You know, that old man wouldn’t bring any charges against McManus. He just wanted it forgotten. So . . .’ He turned his cold eyes on Mosi, as if he was the enemy. ‘It never happened.’

  Mosi only nodded his head.

  ‘If that old man is questioned by the police . . . I will blame you.’

  He threatened him because he could. He thought Mosi a coward, who would say nothing back to him.

  Mosi said nothing back to him.

  They drifted away from him, still talking. Grady’s death seemed to have drawn them together. Mosi stood alone, his mind in a whirl. McManus had attacked Okafor. And now McManus was dead.

  Papa Blood hadn’t changed. He was the same monster he had always been. He had come after McManus, Mosi had no doubt of it.

  But what could he do about it?

  Chapter 28

  There was a fire on the estate that night. Mosi watched it from his bedroom window. Long tongues of flame reaching into the dark sky. Sparks of light rising like fireflies into the night. He could hear the sirens as they roared towards the blaze. His mother came into the room to watch with him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s on the other end of the estate. Far from us.’

  ‘I wonder who started it.’

  ‘Everyone hated this man, everyone was afraid of him. Yet, now he has become a victim.’

  Mosi wondered what was on fire. It wasn’t one of the tower blocks. It looked more like one of the boarded-up shops.

  If the asylum seekers were now in danger because of Grady McManus’s death, then it would all be Papa Blood’s fault. He had brought this on them. Mosi had no doubt about Papa Blood’s guilt.

  And his guilt too.

  This would never have happened if he had told the authorities who Mr Okafor really was. He would have been arrested. McManus would still be alive. Papa Blood would have been gone from here.

  But what if he had found out it was Mosi who had exposed him? And he could find out anything. The man had magic in him. He would know, hadn’t he always known? He would find Mosi. He would come back for him.

  Yet he had to tell someone, but who? And how could he tell and keep himself and his parents safe?

  There was no way out of this. None that he could see.

  Mosi wasn’t the only one who felt guilty. Three floors up, Patrick was also watching the fire from his balcony. He was so dying to get out there, to get closer. But of course, his granny wouldn’t let him out of the door. He felt sorry for his mother too. She’d been grounded as well. His granny had his mother slaving over a hot iron, getting his uniform ready for the next day. Meanwhile, she was in the kitchen, clearing out the cupboards, chucking out mouldy bread, and milk that had passed its sell-by date.

  One thing about his granny, when she was here she got things done.

  He looked across at his mum. ‘She’s driving me potty, Patrick,’ she mouthed to him.

  He nodded his agreement. They were definitely going to have to come up with a plan to get rid of her.

  Then Patrick turned back to the balcony. He watched the flames rise to the sky. And even though his common sense told him how crazy it was, he could not get the picture of the vampire, lurking somewhere in the shadows, out of his head.

  Mosi’s mother walked with him to school next morning. He noticed that hardly any of the pupils walked alone.

  There was still the smell of burning in the air. More fires had sprung up as the night progressed.

  At the school gates, Patrick and his granny approached them. Patrick’s granny was gripping him as if he was under arrest. She smiled at Mosi’s mother. ‘Would you mind if I walked back with you, dear? We live in the same block, don’t we?’

  She turned to Patrick. ‘Away you go. I’ll see you at finishing time.’

  Patrick’s face turned the same colour as his hair. ‘I can walk home on my own.’ He grabbed at Mosi’s arm. ‘Me and Mosi’ll walk home together.’

  Patrick’s granny hesitated.

  Patrick was determined. ‘Aw, Granny, we’ll be fine. There’ll be a whole gang of us.’

  His granny laughed. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Then she smiled at Mosi’s mother. ‘You worry about them that much, don’t you, hen. But don’t worry. This’ll all pass. That Grady guy had that many enemies they’ll be able to fill two buses with the suspects.’ And when she laughed, Mosi saw the beginnings of a smile on his mother’s face too.

  ‘Your granny is really kind,’ Mosi said to Patrick as they watched them walk away. He saw that his mother was being chaperoned, protected, in a quiet way by Patrick’s granny.

  Patrick blew out his cheeks. ‘You like her? You can have her. For nothing.’ Then he pulled Mosi into a corner. ‘Mosi, I’ve been thinking about this all night. I know you’re scared of Mr Okafor. I saw how scared you were. You’ve got to tell me why.’

  Mosi stepped back from him. He so much wanted someone to confide in, someone who might understand. Patrick had seen his fear of Papa Blood. He would not let this go until he knew at least a little bit of the truth.

  ‘After school, Patrick. We will talk after school.’

  Chapter 29

  Mrs Telford stood in front of them in class during registration, her face set like stone. The room was silent. ‘There have been a lot of things going on in the area,’ she began. ‘These things have nothing to do with you. You did not cause them. And I want you all to know . . .’ She paused, and her eyes passed round the classroom, taking them all in, one by one, ‘and I mean all of you, that here, in this school, you have a place where you will be safe. There will be no tension here. No fighting. No discrimination. Here, we are all the same. If there is anything worrying you, come to me. Talk to me, talk to your teachers. We are all here for you.’

&
nbsp; She meant it, Mosi thought as he listened. She meant every word. Yet when her eyes paused at his face, he was sure she meant her words for him alone. She knew his secret. And he could tell her about Papa Blood, and it would be all right.

  If only.

  Mrs Telford could try to make sure there was no tension in the school, but she couldn’t stop the rumours, the whispers, about the fires, about Grady’s death, whispers that grew more sinister with every telling.

  There was a serial killer on the estate.

  Grady’s heart had been torn out.

  It was voodoo.

  But the whisper that grew louder as it passed was the same one. That it was the vampire, back again. That rumour seemed to grow with every passing moment.

  Cody helped it along. ‘My granda was there the last time it came. He went to the cemetery. He says he saw the vampire. Actually saw it.’

  Patrick didn’t believe a word of that. Cody was worse than Patrick for telling stories.

  ‘This is just how it started before, my granda says. People dying in weird ways, or going missing.’ Cody held up his phone at break time. ‘I’ve just had a text from my mate at Park Green School. He says Grady’s body was drained of blood. They think it was the vampire as well.’

  Murmurs of horrified agreement.

  ‘Everyone said the vampire would come back,’ Patrick said. Caught up in it too.

  Even Bliss began to be convinced, despite her common sense. ‘My dad says there are no such things as vampires.’ But she was trying to make herself believe that.

  The weather too seemed to add to the mood. A leaden sky, and rain dripping from the railings. A mist hovering above the roof of the school. The day growing dark again before it had a chance to be light.

  Murmurs of vampires wound through the school all day. It was all they seemed to talk about.

  Chapter 30

  Patrick was waiting for Mosi when the school day ended. Mosi had almost hoped he had forgotten. His eyes darted round, looking for his mother. Patrick held out his phone. ‘Called my granny, told her you and I were walking home together, there would be a whole crowd of us.’

  ‘Do you always lie to your granny?’

  Patrick shrugged. ‘One of them white ones.’

  Mosi fell in beside him. No choice. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Somewhere we can talk and not get disturbed.’

  ‘Is there such a place?’

  Patrick laughed. ‘You bet there is, and I’ve found it.’

  Buildings still smouldered. ‘Look at that,’ Patrick tutted his disapproval. ‘Pure vandalism.’

  He began walking backwards, talking to Mosi as he went. ‘Have you been listening to the rumours, Mosi?’

  Mosi didn’t answer him. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts to care what others were saying. They came to an old deserted garage with a broken door.

  ‘In here, come on. Nobody’ll see us talking in here.’ Patrick pulled a steel panel open, and squeezed inside. Patrick lowered his voice. ‘He’s been here before, you know.’

  Mosi’s head began to swim. What was Patrick talking about?

  Patrick closed his eyes in a look of exasperation. ‘The vampire . . . the whole school’s been talking about it.’

  Mosi shook his head. ‘I didn’t listen.’

  ‘You’re always in your own wee world, aren’t you, Mosi?’ He paused, waiting for Mosi to say something. But Mosi stayed silent. ‘Why are you so scared of Mr Okafor? Who is he? You called him a monster. Tell me the truth, Mosi.’

  How much could he tell Patrick? Where would he begin?

  But there was no time for Mosi to think how to answer. There were footsteps behind them. Both boys turned at the sound. A group of boys were pushing their way through the broken door, one by one, sending their long shadows along the floor. Mosi recognised Cody, almost the last to come through. The other boys were older and in an instant Mosi knew who they were. The other boys who had been in the underpass that night. Grady McManus’s gang.

  ‘Hey, Cody, what’s this?’ Patrick called out. His voice was full of bravado, but it shook just a little.

  The old garage seemed to grow even darker. Mosi looked around for an escape. There was only one exit, that broken door, and those boys were blocking it.

  Patrick hoped his voice didn’t shake when he called out. He recognised Cody, and Cody’s brother, JD. He’d only seen the others around the estate. Rough and hard. Friends of Grady’s. And that was what made Patrick afraid. Afraid for himself, but afraid for Mosi too.

  He shouted to Cody’s brother. He wanted them all to know he knew them. ‘Hey, JD, how’s it going?’ JD was usually a laugh. He wasn’t laughing now. None of them were. Even Cody looked scared.

  JD called back to him, ‘Get out of the way, Patrick.’

  The boy at the front suddenly produced a machete. Patrick felt his skin crawl. Now he saw what they intended. They were out for Mosi. He began to sweat. ‘I didn’t know they’d come after us.’ He said it softly, to Mosi, didn’t want him to think he had led him here, that he’d lured him into an ambush.

  Mosi’s voice was soft. ‘I know you didn’t, Patrick.’

  Patrick took a step closer to Mosi. To let him know he was on his side. ‘Leave him be,’ he shouted now and he didn’t care if his voice did shake, because even Cody was shaking, as if this had gone further than he had expected or wanted. ‘He’s on his own. He’s never done anybody any harm.’

  Mosi was saying nothing. He looked tense. Patrick shouted now. ‘JD, tell them not to touch him. Just let us go.’

  But JD rushed at Patrick, took him completely by surprise. He grabbed him like a rag doll and threw him aside. Patrick landed against the wall and crumpled to the ground. He saw one of his best drawings on this wall. He remembered the night he’d done it, with Cody, remembered them laughing as they sprayed the paint on the walls. He didn’t want it spattered now with blood. Mosi’s blood, or his.

  The boys were all circling around Mosi. He didn’t stand a chance . . .

  Chapter 31

  There was hate on their faces, so much viciousness. Mosi watched the machete, its long curved blade, its edge honed sharp. The boy waved it around. It gave the others courage. One of them giggled nervously.

  ‘Look at the wee guy,’ the boy with the machete said. ‘Nearly wetting himself.’

  ‘My wee brother said he was a coward. Even his own kind hate him,’ another boy said.

  This must be Cody’s brother. Mosi could see him jumping from one foot to the other. Though his words were harsh, his voice trembled. He looked scared.

  Mosi’s eyes darted round for an escape route. He imagined himself ducking under their arms, leaping over their heads, darting one way, then another, till he was behind them. And then he would run like the wind and they would never catch him because no one could run as fast as he could. All these thoughts whirled through his mind like a tornado.

  He had to get away, because he couldn’t fight them. He wouldn’t fight them.

  But they were blocking the only escape route from this old garage. Mosi stepped back, and felt the wall behind him. He could go no further.

  The boy with the machete drew in a deep breath. His voice was a snarl. ‘It was your kind that killed Grady. With your voodoo.’

  Patrick shouted out. His voice shaking. ‘No . . . it wasn’t him. Leave him!’

  They weren’t listening. Mosi recognised what was happening. He had seen it often before. Once the bloodlust was up, nothing could stop them from what they planned to do.

  ‘Come on, let’s get him.’ Mosi didn’t even know which one said it.

  And they moved in.

  This couldn’t be happening. Patrick’s legs were like jelly. He lost sight of Mosi as the pack closed in on him. Cody stood beside him; he was trembling. ‘We’ve got to do something, Cody.’

  But Cody was almost close to tears. He couldn’t handle it. He shook his head, put his hands over his ears to blot out the s
ounds, and then he was running, out of the garage.

  Patrick wanted to cry too. Mosi was darting one way, then another. The boys were laughing. In a moment they would strike.

  He couldn’t let this happen, but what could he do? He was only one boy. And then, it was as if some primal instinct took over. He didn’t even know what he was doing. He began to yell, like some ancient Celtic warrior. He was roaring, ‘Leave him be!’ And he began to run.

  He leapt on the boy with the machete. He jumped on his back just as the blade was lifted again. The boy yelled, ‘Get him off me!’ He tried to shake him off, but Patrick wasn’t letting go.

  The others grabbed at Patrick. He kicked out at them, sent one of them stumbling back and knocking into another. One of them grabbed at his hair and pulled. The boy with the machete twisted, reached back for him, tried to grab for him with his free hand, but Patrick dug his fingers into the boy’s eyes. He let out a yell, but still he could not topple Patrick. But Patrick knew he couldn’t keep this up for much longer. He shouted, ‘Run, Mosi! Run!’

  Mosi began to move, leaping behind the boys. The boy with the machete was swearing. He reached back again and grabbed Patrick by the hair. Someone else grabbed his leg. Patrick kicked out, and his foot hit someone’s face, but he was still held fast. Patrick’s eyes nipped with tears as his scalp was pulled hard. But he could see at least he had given Mosi the chance to run past them. Patrick couldn’t see him, but he hoped by now he was out of the garage. Then he could run. And he had never seen anyone run as fast as Mosi. They would never catch him.

  He felt a punch to his side that took his breath away, then the boy with the machete lifted him up and over his shoulder and threw him against the wall.

  He cracked against the ground, looked up and realised that now they had no Mosi, they had turned all their attention on him.

  ‘You’re gonny be sorry you did that, Patrick Cleary.’ The boy with the machete swung it in the air. There was a glint of steel and something seemed to click in Patrick’s head, something he should know, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The boys around him all became dark shadows, he couldn’t make out any of their faces. All he could see was the machete as it was lifted high above him.