Alex and The Gruff (A Tale of Horror)

by C. Sean McGee

CHAPTER ONE

  It was barely a skip and a jump before they had rounded the corner to the block of flats. The complex was large with seven four story buildings with each floor housing seventeen small apartments and each apartment decorated with families and strangers from all walks of life and all corners of the globe. And they were all so colorful and so strange and so different than anyone that Alex had ever seen before.

  Next to his father, though, they didn’t at all seem as big, giant and menacing as they did when he was alone. Like everything; when his father was beside him, the whole world seemed fractional and hardly a threat.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I found Alex outside the gates this afternoon.”

  Alex looked up at his father. He was chewing on a plastic wrapper with his teeth, trying to gnaw it off and his eyes looked so crazed and focused as he clenched and he pulled and he yanked and he gnawed, stretching it out so that it weakened and tore and he took a small bite of the chocolate before handing it to Alex to devour.

  “I thought you said they can’t leave unchaperoned?” his father said, speaking while chewing on thick caramel.

  “Well, the older kids can. Just Alex. He finishes earlier. The others are fine.”

  “So what happened then?”

  Alex bit off large chunks of the chocolate, more than he could chew and he sounded like a grazing cow as he slopped about the large chunk from one side of his mouth to the other and he watched his brother and his sisters up ahead, running around and chasing each other as they walked past the rows and rows of apartments and though normally he would have fought to be just like them, wanting to act out their games and to fit inside their shoes, this evening, he was more settled in his own, chewing on cheap chocolate and seeing the world so small and finite between his mother’s and father’s swinging hands.

  “His teacher said he was sad or scared or something and that she turned for a second to talk to one of the other mum’s and he when she turned back he was gone.”

  “Sad? Sad about what? Bloody new age teachers. Where’d he go?”

  His father had a chunk of chocolate stuck in his teeth and he was unhinging it with his tongue as he spoke and it sounded like the kind of conversations you have on a dentist’s chair. He didn’t sound angry though and so Alex worked a chunk of chocolate from between his own teeth with his tongue and he feigned the same focus and interest as his father.

  “He was around the corner.”

  “But how did he escape? Don’t they have a guard or something? And what is the teacher doing during all of this?”

  “Well, that’s what I said. I mean, I asked her, I said what the hell are we paying these high fees for? You’re supposed to be protecting our kids not letting them bloody run off down the street.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She gave me this snooty look.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Well, I told her how pissed off I was and that it was their fault. I made her apologize and I told her, if it happened again, we’d pull all of the kids out in a jiffy, no questions.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She was all nervous and apologetic. She knew she screwed up.”

  Up ahead, there was an old man sitting on a garden chair under the window of his apartment. He was wearing a long robe that was open and underneath he had on some tennis clothes. He was wearing some dirty flip flops and his toe nails were long and jagged and the ends were black and his toes were stained yellow, like the ends of a cigarette.

  The old man was drinking something from a brown bag and he was mumbling to himself as they got closer. He raised a pointing finger and shook it at Alex’s siblings as they jokingly past him; sniggering and biting their tongues as they fought to behave themselves. Then, as Alex passed the old man with his mother and father, he gripped his father’s hand, squeezing tight and as they past, he looked straight at the old man and he saw the old man looking straight back at him.

  His eyes spoke to Alex.

  They said, “I know where you hide at night.”

  He quickly turned away and looked at his own feet as his parents politely avoided eye contact and continued along the path towards the stairs at the far side.

  “I hate this place. I really do” said his mother.

  “It’s only for a month or two. Until I find something to buy. For now, it’s close to work and school for the kids and well… there’s nothing we can do so just suck it up and deal with it. I don’t wanna be here either but for the time being, we don’t have much choice, now do we?” he said.

  His father leant over and picked Alex up so that he sat high on his shoulders. Alex felt like The Lone Ranger, that up here, nobody could touch him; that his horse could trample anyone that even tried.

  “That’s dangerous. Put him down.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. You’re alright buddy?”

  It wasn’t really a question, but that was ok because Alex, he was more than alright. He was ecstatic. This was the greatest feeling on earth. He felt so tall, so big and like a grown-up; bigger than his brother. And it was good as well when his father wasn’t unhappy.

  “See he’s fine,” said his father.

  “Whatever.”

  Alex turned his head smiling and he looked back along the corridor and he could see the old man with his chin rested against his chest and the bottle; still in the brown paper bag, slowly slipping from his sleeping hands as a light above him flickered on and off. And every time it flickered off, Alex could see; in the window above the old man, the reflection of someone standing in the room; peering out through the blinds.

  Alex swung around.

  He shut his eyes.

  And he said, in a faint cry.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  And as he clung to his father, he believed that if there was such a thing and if he said it out loud enough then they could never get him, not as long as his father was near. He wouldn’t let that happen because he was stronger than strong and he was tougher than tough and he was braver that the scariest things that existed and even the ones that he said weren’t true. And if he needed, he could be meaner that all the meanest things put together. And he knew everything and he had been everywhere and if he had a question, you could bet that he knew the answer because there was nobody smarter than him, nobody in the whole wide world, in the galaxy even; maybe even the universe.

  So a stupid ghost wouldn’t stand a single chance, neither would the old man with the yellow toes nor the person peeking through the blinds, fogging up their stupid window.

  The cafeteria was full. It always was at this time. It always full, all the time, even when they weren’t serving food. But at this time, just after dinner had been served, it was almost impossible to find anywhere to sit and the echo of all the grown-ups laughing with one another and shouting at their kids in different languages, that, mixed with all the kids shouting at one another and then laughing back at their parents, it made Alex feel dizzy when he entered, the same kind of dizzy he used to feel when he entered the swimming pool and the sound of kids playing and shouting melded with the smell of chlorine and made his head feel light and tinny.

  The one thing that struck Alex was how foreign the foreign faces seemed. Everything about this place and the people inhabiting felt like some kind of a zoo. The people were of all types and Alex hadn’t really seen that before and they all wore these incredibly big smiles on their faces and their eyes were like buzzing stage lights and as he took his tray of food, he couldn’t help but feel everyone staring at him with fascinated and prostrating eyes.

  Alex hated when people stared at him. Even when they weren’t, it always felt like they were. And so he kept his eyes focused on the tray which was loaded with a big plate of mashed potatoes, peas and casserole and next to the plate was a cup of orange juice that was spilling over its side as his hands shook nervously and next to the cup was a little round plastic cup of jelly and next to i
t, a small set of plastic cutlery. And all of them together took up the whole tray.

  For his dad and his brother, it was nothing. Of course, they could carry all of this and the world on their shoulders. And for his sisters even, it was nothing. They held their trays without any bother at all, like they were carrying a small cushion or their favorite magazine.

  They were joking with each other about a boy who was sitting with his grandparents in the middle of the cafeteria. The boy had funny looking hair and funny looking teeth that stuck out from his mouth like a rabbit and his sisters sniggered while they held their trays and walked across the front of the cafeteria, laughing at the oddly looking boy whose grandparents were casting an indignant sneer back at them and that just made the girls turn to each other and snigger more and their orange juice didn’t spill, it didn’t even wobble or anything.

  It was like a still lake. No matter what they did, no matter how many stones they threw in, it always stayed still as if being taller was like being an anchor and made things not move as much.

  His brother passed him hurriedly and brushed his shoulder when he did, barging through the two girls as he rushed to get one of the last grouped seats by the far side of the hall. He was always so smart, just like his father. Older brothers were always like that. They had nearly all the answers. Not as many as a dad would have. But they knew all of the other stuff, all of the cool things; the things that dads forgot.

  Alex always looked at his brother like a student of imitation, learning and change. He always wanted to be whatever his brother was at every moment and growing up seemed so incredible watching it happen behind his brother’s back. It was like watching a tidal wave, from out at sea, always imagining how big it really was but never getting to see its true face.

  And Alex celebrated every one of his brother’s conquests as if they were his own. And his mother and his father, they celebrated them too and his older sisters; younger than his brother, they celebrated also, but they didn’t do it with as much applause as Alex.

  Alex loved his brother. He worshipped him. He hoped that when he grew up that he’d be exactly like him. He hoped he would look like him and grow to think and feel like him so that one day, he could speak like him and know stuff, like the way that he knew stuff. But it was hard in a way because every day his brother learned that little bit more and always seemed to be getting bigger and better and smarter and older and poor Alex just couldn’t keep up.

  Just when he had gained another day himself, his brother had gained another week and he was always being older than him and Alex felt, in the midst of his idolatry, sad in a way, that every celebration he lived had been lived three times before and nobody ever celebrated his conquests with the same wonder than they did for his brother or even his sisters and every time he looked at his brother, he wanted to be just like him; in age or in humor or in wit or in just knowing as many skateboard tricks as he did.

  When his brother got braces, he thought they were cool and he wanted braces too. When his brother did his homework, it looked so hard and so important and his mother and father were so proud when his brother got it done that he wanted homework too. But he never got homework, not in in his grade, even when he did ask the teachers. They always told him, “Maybe when you’re older.”

  And when his brother started playing sport, he wanted to play too but his brother was older and bigger, so in his sport he got to push and he got to tackle and it looked like so much fun but for Alex; at his age, they weren’t allowed to tackle or bump or push or nothing. They weren’t allowed to do anything fun because grown-ups were scared that they’d get hurt so they had to play safe because they were little and they were children.

  And then, when his brother started listening to rock n roll and heavy metal, he wanted to listen to it too so he’d sit outside his brother’s door and tap his head along to the music and he’d pretend that he knew what the singers were singing. He even copied his brother and asked his mum for a Hashem bag for school and she even got him one.

  He did just like his brother and wrote all the names of the bands that his brother liked on the bag in a thick black marker and it felt so dangerous and wrong when he did it. He felt really nervous at first though when his brother saw him with the bag but when he nodded, as if to say, “that’s cool”, Alex didn’t feel worried anymore, he felt cool like he mattered.

  And at his old school, he would walk around with his bag on his shoulder and feel so tough and cool and he would tell all the kids in his class, especially the ones he didn’t like, the names of the bands and he would draw their logos on pieces of paper like they were on the covers of the albums that he stared at and memorized every time his brother left his room.

  And when his brother got a crew cut, he wanted a crew cut too.

  And when his bother learned to surf, he wanted to learn too.

  And when his brother liked girls, he pretended to like them too.

  And when he did something wrong when he’d done something to make his brother was angry, he was always real sorry; sorrier than when his mother and father were angry, sorrier than that time he made his grandma cry.

  He loved his brother and he wanted to be just like him; a big brother. And every now and then, in the wake of his worship, he would feel that what he wanted was always six years ahead of him, that he would never be one himself. Never. Not unless his mother and father had another baby.

  Because you couldn’t overtake people, not like you could on a bicycle. You had to just sit behind them, watching them grow, wishing you were like them, wanting to do everything that they’re doing and not seeing anything that you’d already done. It wasn’t fair, always having to watch everyone else growing up and always seeing them as older and then having them always looking at you as being younger.

  Always wanting to be older was never much fun.

  Alex watched his brother weave through and around his sisters and walk with the tray in one hand. He was so smart. He looked really cool as well and Alex watched, not just him, but at all the other kids in the cafeteria who were watching his brother zip about and he watched his mother and father too as they looked at his brother with a proud smile as if it were something that they had taught him, something that made him different and better than all of the other kids.

  Alex watched and he wanted to be just like him; in the adoration of others.

  And his first step could not have been any worse. He lowered one hand and the tray teetered and tottered nervously on his tiny little hand and his orange juice, which had already spilled over the sides of the cup onto his mashed potato, wobbled like a staggering drunk. And it all played out so slow and so obvious that everyone knew to watch and as he lifted his foot and leaned forward to walk, he slipped on a wet piece of floor and sent the tray toppling over itself through the air and smashing on the ground.

  And he fell to the ground too.

  And he hit his chin hard.

  And he hit his hand too.

  And it really hurt.

  And everyone started to laugh.

  And he stayed down on the ground, wishing he didn’t have to get up.

  Alex lay on the ground with bits of potato on his cheek and the spilled orange juice now pooling under his belly and between his fingers. His face and his hands stung from hitting the ground. But the real insult was in everyone laughing so loud.

  They were all so mean.

  His father rushed over with two trays in his hands and rested them on his bent knee and he kneeled down and helped Alex up with one hand. He brushed off the potato that was stuck to his chin and wiped away the orange juice on his arms, his neck and his hands with a rough napkin.

  Alex was in tears. He felt so stupid and hopeless. He wanted his daddy to pick him up, to lift him high on his shoulders again and tell him that everything would be ok. And he wanted him to turn around to all the laughing idiots and to shout at them and to growl like a big angry bear. He wanted his daddy to show his teeth and to scream, “Shut up.”
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  But he didn’t.

  Instead, Alex wept and his father made huffing sounds as he wiped away the juice from his hands, his neck and his arms and he gave Alex the same look that he did that time when those people turned around and shushed him and his sisters when they were playing around in church. It was the same face his father wore when he couldn’t find his bank card when he was at the checkout trying to pay for his shopping and there were loads of people behind him, all waiting impatiently with their arms folded and looking at their watches every couple of seconds. His dad looked the same way now as he did those other times. And Alex felt stupid and to blame.

  And he felt stupid not because all the people saw and they were pointing and laughing. But because his brother saw and the people were probably laughing at him and maybe he felt stupid too.

  “But what about my food?” asked Alex, seated at the table with his family, all of them bowing their heads in obvious shun.

  His father looked at him sternly.

  “We can’t get anymore. You spilled yours. You’re gonna have to share mine” he said, infantile.

  Alex hated to disappoint his dad.

  He looked angry and kind of sad and a little bit silly.

  They all did.

  Everyone bowed their heads and ate in discretion.

  They all looked embarrassed.

  Even his brother.