A Place Called Perfect

by Helena Duggan

  The frames were made of wood and she’d never seen wooden frames before. The lenses were oval and the arms of the glasses were flexible to bend round the ear. They looked as if they came from another world. A label, browned by time, sat centre inside the lid. It read Optical Prescription Spectacle Makers, 135 Wickham Terrace. She’d never heard of Wickham Terrace. She took off her specs and fitted the new pair. It was strange, she could see. The lenses suited her perfectly. She was just scanning past the curtains when a figure caught her eye.

  “Ah!” she screamed, throwing the glasses from her face.

  The room went blurry and she scrambled for her normal specs.

  “You saw me?” a voice shouted.

  Violet grabbed her duvet and pulled it quickly up over her head. The duvet flew from her grasp and fell to the floor.

  “You saw me?” the voice shouted again.

  “I didn’t. I didn’t,” Violet shivered, “I didn’t see anything. I’m not talking to anyone.”

  “You did! You saw me,” the voice sounded ecstatic, “You saw me standing by the curtains. Wohoo!”

  Violet bobbed from side to side as if someone was jumping on her bed.

  “The glasses, it has to be the glasses,” the voice said again.

  There was a scramble through the room.

  “Here put them back on.”

  Her hand was pulled open and the glasses were shoved back into her grip.

  “Please put them on,” the voice said, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  He sounded sincere and Violet had heard this boy’s voice before. Slowly she moved the glasses towards her face and pulled the arms around her ears once more. She kept her eyes shut.

  “Please,” the voice said again.

  Wind swished past her face as if someone moved their hands back and forth in front of her. Slowly she opened her eyes.

  There at the edge of the bed stood a boy.

  He looked straight at her. Twelve maybe thirteen and dressed head to toe in black, he looked like the teenagers her friend Emma talked about. They called themselves Moths or something like that. He had jet black hair that flopped round his ears and his white face was dappled in tiny freckles mostly gathered round his nose. His eyes were deep navy almost black like the sky at night. Something about them unsettled her.

  “You do, you see me,” he said, jumping into the air.

  A smile filled the boy’s face and Violet couldn’t help but laugh, he had the most contagious smile she’d ever seen. They stared silently at each other and a little awkwardness flooded the room. Violet tried hard not to blush as she racked her bed brain for something to say.

  “I’m Boy,” the stranger said, breaking silence.

  “I’m Violet,” Violet replied, shaking his extended hand, “Is your name really boy?”

  “Yes,” Boy nodded.

  “But that’s not a name.”

  “Yes it is. I’ve always been called Boy. It’s my name like yours is Violet.”

  “But do your parents call you Boy? They must call you something like Paul or Brian. I knew a few boys from home and none of them were called Boy. They all had names.”

  “I don’t have parents,” he smiled.

  “Oh!”

  There was a little silence and unsure of what to say next Violet copied what adults said at funerals.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I didn’t lose them,” Boy laughed, “I never had parents!”

  “You can’t never have had parents,” Violet replied, “Everybody has parents!”

  “Well I don’t and as far as I’m concerned I’m better off. Look how yours treat you!”

  “Hey,” Violet said annoyed, “don’t say that about my parents. They’re the best anyone could ever have.”

  “Then why have you been crying for the last few hours. Don’t deny it, I saw you.”

  She fell silent and looked away.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you Violet,” Boy said, “It’s just I’ve been watching you for a while and I know your parents are changing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re changing. It’s this place, it does that to people. I’ve watched every new person that came here and it’s happened to them all. After a while they all change. Except you.”

  “What do you mean change?” Violet asked, though she knew what he meant.

  “Well everyone is normal when they get here,” Boy replied, “they can see me. I’ve even had conversations with some newcomers then after a day or two, they start to change. First I’m ignored, then they begin to change their clothes, their hair, the way they talk, even the way they walk and all of a sudden they become like everyone else in this town.”

  “I know,” Violet whispered, “My mam has changed since we’ve moved here. She was never like this at home. I can’t talk to her anymore.”

  “It’s the glasses,” Boy said bluntly.

  “What do you mean? Without the glasses I can’t see.”

  “But without them you can see,” Boy replied, “you can see reality, it’s just a little fuzzy. Haven’t you noticed all the times you’ve heard my voice it’s when you’re not wearing them. Then when you put them on I disappear.

  I bet you thought you were going mad!”

  “But how can I see you now?”

  “I don’t know I think it has something to do with those,” he said, pointing to the new specs perched on her face. “I don’t know how they work but they work and that’s all I care about. It’s not easy being invisible.”

  “I knew it,” Violet said sitting upright, “it’s my Dad! He must have left them here.”

  “But why would he do that?” Boy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Violet shrugged, “maybe it’s a message. I think he’s in some sort of trouble. I have to help him. Maybe he’s trying to tell me something.”

  “I think you’re a little dramatic,” Boy laughed, grabbing her hand. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”

  “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “No it can’t it has to be at night. They patrol in the day.”

  “Who patrols?”

  “You’ll see,” Boy winked as he threw Violet’s clothes at her and ran out the door.

  CHAPTER 12

  No Mans Land

  “Come on they’ll be coming on duty soon and if they catch us we’re in trouble.” Boy said, when Violet joined him downstairs.

  “Who are they? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me, especially if they’re as scary as you’re saying.”

  “Ssh keep your voice down Violet,” Boy said, gently opening the main door, “they’re the Watchers of Perfect. They make sure people like me don’t turn up places we shouldn’t be.”

  “Are there more like you?”

  “Lots more,” Boy smiled slipping outside.

  Violet followed him out onto the dark doorstep.

  “But it wouldn’t matter, we can’t see you anyway,” she whispered.

  “What if someone’s glasses fell off in the middle of the day and suddenly they could hear all these invisible people talking?”

  “Well maybe they’d just think they were going mad. I think everyone in this town is mad.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s mad,” Boy smiled crossing the gravel to take a short cut through the lawn.

  “I’m not mad.” Violet snapped.

  “That’s what all mad people say!”

  Violet shoved her elbow into Boy’s side.

  “Hey what’s that for?”

  “For all the mad people,” she laughed and ran ahead.

  Boy gave chase and before long they found themselves on the edge of town. Suddenly he grabbed Violet’s hand and yanked her back.

  “You have to be careful,” he whispered, looking around, “we can’t get caught.”

  Violet was scared but not wanting Boy to think she was a girly girl she followed him silently into the town. Perfect was eerie in the darkness and
not half as neat as it looked in the daylight. Paint was chipped and worn from buildings, hanging baskets weren’t as full or colourful and rubbish even whistled past her feet down the empty street.

  “It doesn’t look like the same place,” she whispered, sticking closely to Boy’s side.

  “It’s not the same place really. Well it is and it isn’t,” he replied.

  A chill ran up her spine as they passed through the town square and onto one of the smaller side roads. She stopped suddenly. A figure moved on the ground just up ahead.

  “Don’t be such a chicken,” Boy laughed.

  Nobody would call her a coward! She moved shoulder to shoulder with Boy.

  “You know you can’t be out this far Paddy,” Boy said gently nudging the feet of the slumped figure.

  An ancient man looked up and into Violet’s eyes. He had a long beard, which was matted and black with dirt. His clothes fell loosely from his scrawny frame and a battered hat clung awkwardly to the side of his head.

  “I don’t care ‘bout them Boy,” he said waving a dismissive hand at the pair, “what more can they do.

  Now be gone with ye and don’t be hasslin me.”

  “He’s always like that,” Boy whispered, as he nodded and walked past, “doesn’t ever obey rules. That’s the thing with my people, rules don’t really exist.”

  “What do you mean your people?” Violet asked.

  “The outcasts. The exiles. The unwanted, we’ve lots of names,” Boy smiled, “we’re the mayhem of Perfect. You’ll see.”

  As they walked further down people began to fill up the lane. They were carrying all sorts, rushing this way and that as if it were the middle of the day and not the dead of night. Violet clung to Boy’s sleeve afraid she’d lose him in the crowd.

  “What are they doing?” she whispered.

  “Working of course.”

  “But at night?”

  “Your night is our day. It’s the only time we can walk through Perfect. Once daylight arrives the Watchers are on strict patrol. Then no one is safe.”

  “What do you do then?”

  “Me? Well I follow you.”

  “What do you mean you follow me?” Violet snapped.

  “Ssh,” he laughed, pointing ahead.

  Violet followed his finger until her eyes landed on the strangest gates she’d ever seen. They were huge, in both height and width. Made from barbed wire, which was twisted and wrapped to form the enormous pillars, they looked angry. The steel was rusted in places so hints of orange and gold decorated the grey metal. The words: No Man’s Land made from more twisted wire rested proudly above the pillars forming the gateway.

  Bits and bobs of everything were skewered to the barbed teeth. Paper, material, flowers and ribbons wrapped the gates in colour taking the edge off their scary image. Some of the items were worn and torn like they’d hung on the pillars forever, while others looked shiny and new. A faded red ribbon caught Violet’s eye fluttering in the gentle night breeze. Words were delicately sewn into the material. For the memories I lost to Perfect. I will never forget you Mam. Your loving daughter Pip.

  “Pippa Moody,” Boy whispered.

  “Mrs. Moody?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, “Pip was your teacher’s daughter. We call these the Rag Gates. The people of No Man’s Land leave messages on them for the ones they’ve lost. I think they hope that some day their families might come looking for them. I think it’s stupid. Nobody’s coming for us.”

  “But?”

  “There are lots more like Pippa. She’s not the only one lost to Perfect.”

  “What age was she?”

  “I think she was twelve when they brought her here. She’s a lot older now, like twenty or something.”

  “But why do they take children?” Violet asked, “what about their parents? Don’t they notice they’re gone?”

  “No. Like you said it’s almost as if they’re not their parents anymore. Something happens to them in Perfect. I don’t know what but I think it has something to do with the glasses.”

  “What happened to Pippa?”

  “She was disobeying the rules. Nothing serious, but you know small things are big in Perfect. One night they came to her house and took her. She went back loads of times to see if her family would help but she was invisible to them. Soon they forgot all about her.”

  “But what if that happens to me?” Violet stammered, “Is it only children they take? Maybe they took my Dad.”

  “It won’t happen to you, well not yet,” Boy smiled, “I don’t think your Dad is here anyway, there are adults too but most were taken as children. Adults fall under Perfect’s spell a lot easier. They seem to like the rules.”

  “Why?” Violet asked, as they walked through the gates.

  Boy shrugged and sprinted ahead.

  “Too many questions Violet. Let’s have some fun. Come on there’s lots to do here and not very much time to do it.”

  Violet looked around. She’d passed through the gates into a different world, a circus world.

  Straight in front of her was an overgrown park, the grass was about knee high and full of daisies and dandelions. Surrounding the park was a jumble of odd houses, some tall and wobbly, others short and squat. Made mostly of wood and cardboard, they crowded each other out so windows sat against neighbours walls and rooftops touched off rooftops. Large nails dotted the houses like rusty patterns holding whole streets together. Around the base of the tightly packed buildings ran poky laneways.

  Violet’s foot hit off something solid. A man sprawled unconscious on the road in front of her was blocking the path. His shirt had no buttons and hung loose exposing his hairy bare belly. As she was jumping over him, another man pushed by her in a hurry. He was dressed in a top hat and tails over a pair of red and white striped pyjamas. He held a cane in one hand and an enormous branch of a tree in the other. Just behind him a lady wearing a bright blue ball gown puffed and panted as she pedalled a tricycle over the pot holed road.

  “Excuse me, late for the theatre,” she roared, as she raced past.

  Violet jumped out of the way and hit off the side of one of the houses. It wobbled above her. Quickly she darted down a nearby laneway after Boy hoping that the building wouldn’t fall. They spent the rest of the night exploring the madness of No Mans Land.

  It was definitely madness. Every turn they took something was happening. Some streets were lined with rundown shops, the glass so cracked and dirty that Violet couldn’t see what they were selling. Others were packed with stalls where dodgy men and women gathered to sell all sorts. Winks and nods passed between the stall owners like their own silent language. Dirty children ran barefoot through the crowds without any adults to mind them. Some were in gangs while others hung round on their own. A thin girl stole an apple from a stall in front of them. When the owner spotted it, he gave chase through the lane knocking over everything in his path.

  “What will happen to her?”

  Violet pointed pulling on Boy’s shirt sleeve.

  “There are some rules here, they’re street rules. They’re not written down or anything but everybody knows them. If he catches her, she’ll get what she deserves.”

  “He won’t kill her will he?”

  Boy laughed sprinting ahead. He skimmed his hand over the stalls as he passed and when they rounded the corner up ahead he stopped and picked two buns from his pocket.

  “Let’s hope they don’t kill thieves,” he laughed, scoffing down one as he handed the other to Violet.

  “But that’s stealing Boy. You can’t steal from people!”

  “You sound like a Perfect girl,” Boy mumbled.

  “I am not!”

  “Well eat it then,” he laughed.

  She looked at the bun then back at her friend. Wiping the smile from his face she bit deep into the spongy core.

  “No one’s gonna take care of you here Violet,” Boy said, “You have to look out for yourself. Come on. I’ll bring you home
. The Watchers will be out soon and if they catch you here there’ll be real trouble.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The Watchers

  Violet grabbed Boy’s hand and they raced back through the narrow streets in the direction they had come. The sun was just rising over the dilapidated rooftops when they reached the gates. Everyone was making their way back into No Man’s Land. Boy stopped at the edge of the street that led into Perfect and signalled Violet to stay back while he peered round the corner. Then he put his finger to his lips and called her forward.

  “You have to be quiet,” he whispered, “We’re a little late.”

  Violet tiptoed after her friend. She’d never seen a Watcher but if Boy’s stories were anything to go by she definitely didn’t want to. As quietly as possible, they slipped through the morning shadows up the narrow laneway and out onto the main street of Perfect. All was quiet and Violet’s thumping heart relaxed as they reached the edges of the town. They were just passing the Archers when suddenly Boy wrestled her into the nearby bushes.

  “Blasted early mornings,” a gruff voice said, “he’s always late. Expects me to be waiting around for ‘im!”

  It came from the direction of the Archers. A man paced back and forth outside the front door of the brothers shop. He blew air into his giant, cupped hands to warm them against the morning cold. He was average height and wore black, from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. He was wide and square and not at all perfect.

  “Ah what took you so long? You’re the last one in!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Another man walked towards the shop from the direction of Violet’s house. This man was solid like a brick, very short and was also dressed head to toe in black. He was weighed down by a strange machine strapped tightly to his back and carried a leather notebook under his arm. He looked worried and shook his head from side to side as he handed over the book.