by J W Cotter
Chapter 3hree:
Blackberries and a Storm
The best way to describe it was strange, the way time went by so quickly yet so slowly after his Mom’s funeral. Some times James felt that it was only yesterday he was looking through watery eyes as a man poured dirt into a hole where his mother was placed. In truth it was almost an entire six months since that horrible, dreadful, outrageously cruel day. Time really did ease most of the pain of his mother’s passing but every so often James would find himself suddenly and uncontrollably bursting out in floods of tears. It was for that reason, well mainly that reason, that he had become even more withdrawn from the world since the tragedy. The compassionate leave that James was granted from the school lasted only a fortnight; he thought the limit most uncompassionate, as if there was a clock on his grief. But as his father kept drilling into him, loudly and aggressively, life would have to go on and that no good could come of moping about the house.
Reluctantly James returned to the halls of Saint Boniface college and mainly just to the halls, roaming them quietly avoiding as many classes as he could, sneaking out when roll-call was done and spending his time in the tree across the road or wandering the streets with his barriers in place. Most of the teachers gave James a wide berth and for a few weeks the bullies relaxed and found a proxy. Oddly it would have been better for them to continue their hounding, because without the fear of an attack James found less and less reasons to join forces with William and Sebastian and before long they were, somewhat like his happiness, becoming a fading memory.
Another day was done and sadly for James it was the last day where many a blind eye would be turned. Sitting on the bus home as darkness fell all around he held tightly a letter in his hand debating whether or not to hand it over to his father. The contents he knew relayed his behaviour, or lack of it, and his numerous early exits from the school. In fact the only reason he had the letter was when he attempted an early exit today, the Black Friar was waiting for him. He attempted to start a conversation but James was having none of it, he could barely remember the last time he had a proper conversation with anyone and for some reason he certainly didn’t want to have one with him. So he took the letter and promptly left the school, early. The lateness of the hour of course wasn’t down to school but the fact that James nestled in the tree across the road for many an hour before boarding the bus. Folding the letter and unfolding it again, he tucked it in to the back of the bus-seat and pulled it out just as fast. It was no use, he would have to give the letter, a phone-call would be made either way. So James decided it was better just to get it over with, so when the bus came to a screeching halt he disembarked and braced himself for a screeching match. But not yet!
Night had followed him to Hamlet and in the cover of darkness and with his barriers in place he headed not for home but for the village. Most of the businesses were closed and most of the lights turned off except of course for the pub. That horrid pub with that horrid landlady and just by walking pass and not even looking James could feel a deep hatred longing for the place and its proprietor. She had moved in now as well to the house, she was living where his mother lived. She sleeps now where his mother slept, she cooks where his mother cooked, she annoyingly laughs where his mother laughed and worse of all she tries to mother where his mother never did. There was no doubt about it, he hated her and he hated his father for bringing her in to his life and his home and he was not subtle about his feelings towards either of them which was why he rarely spoke to them and luckily rarely saw them.
A handful of people were standing outside the doors of the pub smoking and chatting loudly but with his eyes to the ground and the music blaring James kept moving, not even attempting to return the salute from one of the older gentleman he narrowly saw out of the corner of his eye. The further down he went the darker it got as the buildings stopped and only an empty green space that housed a little playground and a park with a few picnic benches was left and there were no lights there. Finally he reached his destination and as the familiar creak was carried off in the light breeze he made his way around the various standing stones until he came to the only home he had now. Taking out the headphones he was greeted with the strongest of sounds, silence. Kneeling down and brushing back his hair he greeted the only person he ever truly loved.
“Hi Mom” he whispered softly as he ran his fingers across the scribe on the headstone. A couple of weeds had sprung up since the last time he was there and plucking them from the ground he rather insensitively tossed them upon another grave. For hours James sat on the grave of his mother and just spoke to her, telling her about how the Black Friar had cornered him at school and how Miriam was getting increasingly on his nerves and how he begged for a life elsewhere. He explained how he felt his life was ripping apart and there was no stitch to save it, it was then he started to sob quietly and stopped talking. The tears would not cease to fall and his sleeve was soaking wet from his runny nose and so James thought it best to say goodnight and with a lovingly kiss to the top of the headstone he placed the headphones back in and made his way for the exit.
As he closed the gate behind him James suddenly felt a sudden rush of cold, almost terror-induced, run through him and after a glance around proved nothing there, James shrugged it off as tiredness and carried on for the village. Unfortunately he had to pass the pub again and so stepping up the pace continued but not without noticing that Miriam’s car was parked along side the building. She was working, and he remembered that so was his Dad which meant the house was empty and the screech-inducing letter wouldn’t be opened until tomorrow. Not exactly happy and not exactly smiling James still was grateful of the good fortune and was somewhat at ease at going to the house. With his hood up, his fringe down and the music blaring James made his way along the dark small road before taking the swift turn for the darker smaller road that led to home. As he walked he suddenly felt very cold, and the night got darker. The moon that had so generously been providing the light home had been inconsiderately engulfed by dark clouds. And with those dark clouds came rain, lots and lots of rain that seemed to not just fall from the sky but plummet, forcing James to take shelter among the blackberry brambles and thorns of the ditches. Tying his hood tighter and turning off the music James listened as the rain, almost white in its intensity, slap off the ground and soak everything within seconds of appearing. His shelter was doing a fine job of keeping him dry and when he thought of the many people who wanted them trimmed to near nothing he was glad none of them had the follow-through to do it. A massive bang of thunder rolled from beyond the forest, and then there was the lightning, a dazzling display of blue and white patterns that filled the sky almost like fireworks. He started to count, something his mother taught him as a young child whenever a bad storm would descend over the countryside. Another flash of lightning and he started to count,
“One one thousand, two one thousa” before he could finish the thunder yelled and James was fearful, it was close, very close. Now he was worried as he didn’t know what to do, stay in the midst of the brambles and hopefully not get struck by lightning or instead run for home where he surely wouldn’t get struck by lightning but the run was the risk. A moving target was still a target. Another flash and another bang of thunder and James’ mind was made, he would have to make a dash for home. Bracing himself for the heavy onslaught of rain and wind he closed his eyes and took a deep breath letting the sounds of the wind and rain fill his ears. Then there was a sound that did not belong, a low snarling sound. James opened his eyes and although shrouded in darkness he could sense something close by, he could feel a presence. Another snarl, louder than the first but James wasn’t entirely certain it was a snarl, or if it was anything, the wind was getting louder and the rain harder. Perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him. Fisting his hands and taking a small step forward he definitely heard something, something moving along the field side of the ditch. A neighbour’s dog c
aught out in the rain, or a fox or badger desperately seeking refuge from the deluge, James was sure that was all it was and so he took another step further, away from the ditch. Only a step or two away from being on the small road that led to home something long and scaly coiled itself around James’ waist and yanked him backwards violently through the brambles and thorns, ripping cuts into both his clothes and skin. It released him and he found himself lying face down on the soaking wet grass and as he tried to garner his bearings, the rain ceased to fall, the wind fell flat and the lighting struck no more. Picking his head up he noticed that the clouds had quickly parted and once again the moon made some vision possible. James wished it hadn’t as when he turned over he saw a sight that belonged more in a nightmare than a field in the English countryside.
Not sure of the colour, it was either a vibrantly dark blue or a terrifying black, either way it was real. Standing over eight feet tall the only thing it reminded James of was a gargoyle from a cartoon programme he used to enjoy years ago. The thing was not unlike a man, albeit a tall man with wings and ears that perked up like a fox. A nose like any other person’s was opening and closing; it was the only part of him that was moving. Sniffing the night air, or possibly James’ terror, its amber eyes remained focused entirely on James and James met him stare for stare. What felt like a decade passed and James was waiting for his body to stop trembling so that he could attempt to run, if he was going to die tonight he at least would like to have experienced some fragment of bravery in his life before he did. Finally a chance came for him to run when the thing’s attention was drawn elsewhere and like the lightning that was flashing minutes earlier James jumped to his feet in a flash and ran, ran as fast as he could along the ditch looking for the part that had the thinning gap. The wet grass made the run far more difficult and the barriers that were so important to him were turning on him, his fringe made it very difficult to see and the hood was starting to choke him, digging mercilessly into his neck. Thankfully at last they didn’t matter and with one swift athletic moment he leapt through the ditch and was on the road to home and his feet were moving faster than they ever had before. It was a wonder what adrenaline did for the body. Cries for help went seemingly unheard as none of his neighbours ventured outside their doors to see what was afoot, so James continued running until he eventually was at his house and running up the gravelled drive he stopped dead in his tracks. Looking up at the house just over the front door was the thing, crouched quietly watching him again. Panicked and gasping for breath, his heart was beating so fast he could nearly feel it protruding out his chest; he put his hand in his pocket for his keys. It was only one more sprint to the door and once inside he might have some chance of survival, he was sure his Dad’s gun was in its usual place. Once the keys were in hand he faked a fast move and the thing jerked, just about to soar down from its perch and attack. He faked another fast move and the thing jerked once more and then the next one wasn’t fake and the jerk was more of a spectacular bound and with great force James was knocked to the ground, subdued beneath the weight of the beast. Lying on the ground helpless James could barely breathe with the pressure that thing was plying on him and his lungs were emptying rapidly when eventually the thing moved ever so slightly as it lowered its head over James and with its flaring nostrils inhaled a deep smell of James. Unfortunately James too took in a deep breath and with it came the putrid smell of rotten flesh from the thing’s mouth. A flicker of a long tongue, quite like a snake, across his face and he closed his eyes not wanting to witness the terror on top of him, it was tasting him.
A roar of agony erupted from the trapped boy as one of the razor claws that adorned the beast’s hands sliced a sliver of skin from his neck. Even without opening his eyes he knew exactly what was happening, the sound of chewing was familiar when anything did it. If the first roar went unheard then the second and third certainly did as the thunder slowly rolled back into Hamlet, oddly coinciding with every new slice shaved. Upon swallowing the fourth piece the thing bent down closer to the neck and then James could feel its cold hard lips on the wound sucking the trickles of blood that he caused. It was now or never. Even if the thoughts of wanting to be reunited with his mother were so inviting, the thought of being slowly and painfully devoured was not. Sorting through the keys in search of the one for the garage padlock, the one that was long and old and most importantly sharp, he finally had it wrapped tightly in his fist and without even flinching he stabbed furiously and manically at the thing. Screeches were so loud it was doubtful that the thunder could drown them out and so much blood poured over James and the gravel that it was equally doubtful the returned heavy rain would wash away. It turned over and lay out on the ground its wings outstretched and his hands trying to block the holes that James had caused, but there were too many. On his feet as fast as he could James stood still for a moment staring at the bizarre thing lying in his driveway when all of a sudden it looked like it was getting up so James sprinted for the front door and somehow with his trembling hands managed to unlock it and once inside bang it shut. He slumped to the hall floor and started to cry and cry and cry and it was the first time he had done so that didn’t relate to his mother’s passing and continued to do so until he heard the parting of gravel. It wasn’t over. Darting to the sitting room he fell over the coffee table in the rush.
“Stupid Miriam” he groaned in the darkness at Miriam’s constant rearrangement of the furniture. The fireplace was where his father hid the emergency gun and luckily James was taught how to use it and the combination for the lock and so kneeling down and reaching up in to the chimney he felt around for the metal box and sure enough it was there. He fumbled in the dark to turn the numbers but he somehow managed it but the sound of a lock unlocking did not come. The combination had been changed and James realised he was doomed; it was only a matter of time before the thing would get into the house. So he put the box back where he found it and sat down on the couch ripping off a cushion-cover and pressing it to his neck in a bid to stop the bleeding. And then he waited, and waited, and waited until unexpectedly he fell fast asleep.
A churning motion deep within awoke him quickly and he found himself vomiting on to the living room carpet. It wasn’t just vomit, there was blood there too and when he made an attempt to move, he couldn’t. Paralysis. Luckily he had fallen asleep on his side so the vomit did not choke him but now he had no idea what to do. The lights had come back on and they were utterly blinding, either they were or he was slowly going blind. Everything seemed to have a hazy frame as his eyes shot from the television to the fireplace to the door. He was helpless and he was alone, his Dad was working a night-shift and Miriam had obviously decided to spend the night in the pub due to the bad weather. The fight he put up against the beast was pointless, the bite was venomous and the truth of it was that he just put off death by a couple of hours. James took some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t going to die by leisurely ingestion. He took a deep breath while he still could and waited, not for the beast but for death.
Unless death sounded like someone tapping on a window and footsteps rushing around on the pavement, it wasn’t it outside.
“I can see him on the couch, check the doors” called a young female voice. “He doesn’t look too healthy” she added as her voice faded away. James opened his eyes but by now the blindness had all but engulfed his vision. A thick white fog was the best way to describe what his eyes could see. His ears meanwhile must have actually pricked up like a dog; he could hear everything and more. The ticking of the clock was far louder than he recalled, the sounds of branches rustling outside told him the weather still had not died down and the turning of a lock indicated that whoever was outside, well they wouldn’t be so for much longer.
“Do you think we’re too late?” the female voiced asked as James made out a blur of redness by the fireplace. It was either her or the venom was worsening his vision.
“He’s still breathing, so no, no we’re not”
another voice, a male one, answered.
“Well give him the antidote then, be quick about it” And he was just that, James was aware of something being pressed against his lips, something cold and hard, metal he guessed. He tried to open his mouth but he was unable, the paralysis would not allow it. “Open his mouth and pour it in, gees do you need instructions for everything” she shrieked in seemingly both anticipation and trepidation and then there were fingers prying his mouth open, a trickle of liquid followed by a lot and since swallowing was difficult, the person massaged his neck careful as to not aggravate the wounds. “Did he take it all, make sure he’s taken it all?” she said. There was no doubt about the duo who was the boss, ever since James first heard her she’d been barking orders yet still there was something about the way she barked that made the orders less orderly.
“He’s taken it all, the paralysis should start subsiding soon” he said.
“Two mouthfuls” she quipped with a giggle, referring to the man’s alliteration and James medicine. James lay perfectly still on the couch, his eyes were closed and his body still not his own and he had no idea what agenda the two strangers in his living room had. So he remained silent and still in the hope they would divulge some nugget of an explanation and fortunately they did.
“He was very lucky” the man suddenly said.
“Luck has nothing to do with it, we were charged with his welfare and look what happened, it’s a bloody miracle he’s breathing. If he doesn’t wake up I’m changing my name to Kathleen and moving to Venezuela” she replied.
“You don’t look like a Kathleen, maybe more a Rita”
“I could live with Rita” and then there was silence once more and James felt their eyes on him, waiting for a sign their interjection was successful. Moving an arm slightly and then blinking in rapid succession caused the girl to clap her hands.
“Oh thank the heavens, I really didn’t want to go to South America, the humidity would wreck my hair” she sighed with relief. “Take him up to his room; I’ll sort the mess out down here” and with that order James was hoisted in to the arms of the man and carried slowly out of the living room and as they ascended the stairs he heard the girl empty-retching and complaining of how she hates the sight of vomit. Gently he was placed on his unmade bed and keeping his eyes closed he tried to give the impression he had fallen asleep, although it soon would no longer be an impression as he could feel the tiredness begin to clamber through his healing body. The carrier left and he was once again alone in a dark room and opening his still partially blinded eyes he glanced to the closed door. He wanted it open; he wanted to hear what, if anything, the two were saying. Alas he still did not have total control of his body but he could move slightly and rather aimlessly and so edging to the edge of the bed he reached out his numb arm and attempted to open the door. With mere inches to go from actually managing to pull the thing quietly open the predictable happened and with a crash he fell to the floor. Thankfully it didn’t hurt, the numbness and paralysis had its advantages, albeit rather limited ones. Expectedly he heard the feet upon the steps and once again he was no longer alone and in darkness.
“I thought he should be asleep by now!” the woman queried as she entered the room behind her companion.
“He should, I don’t know what’s taking so long” James knew what was taking so long, his fighting the sleep.
“I know what’s wrong. Someone is a little curious and too nosey to fall asleep” she said as if she were talking to a toddler, and then she pinched James’ nose which caused him to open his eyes in fright. It was no good, her face was a blur and the bright ceiling light was more of a hindrance.
“All will be explained soon darling, just get some sleep” she said lifting the blanket over James and turning off the light. “Are you sure that concoction of yours is working? He still cannot see”
“It’s working, he’s breathing isn’t he” the man snarled. The two were like an old married couple.
“I still cannot believe there is one here” she said softly as he closed the door.
“One? Who knows how many Neseedjas are around, there’s a battle coming and we have no idea who the enemy is” he replied, his voice trying to hide remnants of fear.
“Calm down, calm down, he still might be awake. Come on lets go back, she’ll be waiting for news” the woman said and she was right. James was still awake but unable to fight the sleep anymore, he succumbed but not before fearing his sleep was going to be decorated with nightmares of wars, battles and that thing that almost killed him.
The contrary happened, it was one of the best nights sleep he ever had and waking up utterly refreshed and rejuvenated he felt his neck and still the skin was flayed but thankfully it didn’t hurt as much. Then he noticed the room was still dark and it wasn’t his eyes, they were working again, it was outside. Night had failed to go away, or so he childishly thought. Checking his mobile that was still in his pocket, morning was still another couple of hours away. Sitting up and switching on the lamp on his bedside locker his stomach rumbled, he hadn’t eaten in a long time and the events of the night had only made him more ravenous. Moving his legs, the paralysis finally gone, he sat on the edge of the bed when he noticed something on his locker that did not belong. There was a bracelet wrapped around a smooth slate coloured stone. Naturally assuming that it was left by the two who broke into the house he picked them up and examined them. The stone was just like any other, plain, hard and to him pointless. The bracelet was made of vines and stems and what felt like hair, it seemed very weak, but nevertheless he slowly rolled it down over his hand and onto his wrist. It was stupid, he didn’t like it, he didn’t really like any sort of jewellery and so he took it off, or at least he tried to take it off. As he pulled it back toward his hand the thing began to warm, and then boil and finally sear until James yelled in agony as a little flame danced around his wrist. Then the burning was gone, the smell of burning lingered but the flame and pain were gone and in their place, a tattoo. An exact replica of the bracelet. James’ immediate thought was how he was going to hide it from his Dad; he would kill him if he found he had a tattoo. Scratching scrapped that thought and James’ attention was drawn to the stone on the locker; letters were steadily etching themselves upon the stone’s surface. Words followed letters until finally he was looking at a message.
“Greetings Malyn, you have been awoken. Come tonight to where the lights burn brightest”
Chapter 4our:
Chains and a Cup of Tea