Alex and The Gruff (A Tale of Horror)

by C. Sean McGee

CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Alex woke up he was feeling sick. His head was spinning really fast and he could feel his belly creeping up towards his mouth. He’d felt like this once before. Years ago, when they went to Adventure Land, Alex’s brother had dared everyone to go on one of the rides over and over to see who was the strongest. It was one of those rides that went round in circles and got faster every time. Alex only lasted about two times round before he was yelling over the sides for the man who let them on to put on the brakes and stop the ride.

  It’s funny how that day he knew how to say no.

  When he got off that ride, his head was spinning like it was now and he felt sick and then he got sick, all over the place; on the ground and in a bin and even on some lady’s shoe. She was busy telling someone how revolting it was that he was being sick in public and she didn’t notice him turning in her direction.

  Alex felt now, exactly like he did that day except it felt like he had gone round maybe a hundred or a thousand times, maybe even a billion. His brother went around seventy two times. The man who started and stopped the machine, he said it was some kind of a record that nobody had ever gone round that many times before. Alex was really proud of his brother that day, everyone was. His mother and father didn’t get it, though. They said it was stupid, going around so many times and then feeling sick.

  “Now you’re gonna be sick the rest of the day. That was stupid” his father said.

  His mother just shook her head.

  Mums and dads had obviously never been kids before or else they wouldn’t say something like that. If they had, they would have known that most kids gave up after thirty times round but seventy two... that was incredible.

  And they wouldn’t have used the word stupid. They would have said the word heroic or awesome or ace or something like that, but not stupid. Having no fright was having no fun and going around once and getting off was just that. Who cared if the rest of the day was ruined, he beat a record, and he was famous now.

  Apparently some kid from Spain had heard about the record and wanted to beat it. Everyone says he went round like two hundred times, maybe even more. He got real sick though when he got off. He had no balance or something. He was really dizzy and he tripped and fell into the lake. He wasn’t under the water for long. The man who started and stopped the machine, he went running in and pulled the boy out but he wasn’t breathing and that’s why they closed the park down.

  There was a lot of noise coming from wherever he was. He didn’t know where he was, that was the thing. His mind felt all blurry and rememberless. That probably wasn’t even a real word or nothing, but how do you describe feeling that what you feel isn’t real and the things you can’t remember, that they don’t feel real and not knowing if you were still under your covers at home or if you were locked in the boot of a car. And that didn’t feel real, thinking that it might be the latter and not knowing, how you got here. It’s only fair then when you find yourself drugged and bound in the boot of a car, that you be allowed to make up a word.

  Rememberless.

  Alex knew he was in the boot of a car. It was really dark and he couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t see the hinges that opened and shut the latch. He couldn’t see the small keyhole that would have normally let a tiny bit of light in, mainly because somebody had blocked it up with wet tissue and black tape. He didn’t know that though because they had done it from the outside before they stuffed him in.

  But Alex knew he was in a car boot. He knew the feeling of the shifting wooden panel below his side. It was like the floor was moving; that someone had forgotten to glue it to the earth. And if he rolled back and forth on his side, the floor would kind of tilt from one side to the other. Not a lot, just enough so he could tell that he wasn’t on his springy bed, or any bed for that matter.

  And he wasn’t on the floor of anything.

  He knew it was a car though for some other reason. It must have been a smell or a sound or something. But even though he was rememberless, all of a sudden, like a fright in a movie, he recalled a time that he played a game with his brother where he saw how long he could stay in the boot of his father’s car without crying or having to get out for air.

  That time, it felt like he was in there for hours or even days maybe. And he was really brave at the start cause his brother had the idea for the game and he even asked Alex if he wanted to go first.

  He never did stuff like that.

  Alex jumped at the opportunity. Actually he jumped into the opportunity. But it was really dark and he was sacred. Everything felt like it was tying itself around him. He imagined all sorts of spiders and insects and creepy crawly worms; the one’s that his father said would crawl into your ears and live near your brain unless you washed your ears before you went to bed.

  Those were just some of the things that Alex was sure lived inside the darkness and he hadn’t washed behind his ears that day and he wouldn’t be able to see them crawling through the darkness to slide into his ear.

  He also imagined the car catching on fire and then blowing up and he imagined a truck driving down the road really fast but the truck had no driver and it was out of control and there was nobody to hit the brakes and it was swerving to the left and to the right but it was driving right at him now and it was gonna smash into the car and then the car would explode and it would catch on fire and then he wouldn’t be able to breathe and then the worms and the spiders, they wouldn’t be able to breathe either and they would crawl inside his ears and his mouth so that they didn’t get burned and he wouldn’t be able to yell for anyone to open the latch because his mouth would be full of spiders and nobody would know that he was there.

  For Alex, it felt like he was in that boot for hours and days, a lifetime even. When you’re staring death in the face, everything feels like forever; the time it takes for death to appear, the time it takes for death to extend its hand, the time it takes for your heart to say no, the time it takes for your mouth to stay still and the time it takes for death’s hand to take yours and to walk you through a dark parking lot towards a rattling old car and to put something over your face and then, the time it takes for you to fall asleep and wake up sick and demented, in the boot of a car.

  His stomach felt really sick now and his mouth was really dry. He wanted a glass of water. If he was in his bed, he could just moan really loud for a minute or two. He wouldn’t have to say anything, he would just have to moan and hold his belly and maybe rock back and forth to feel a bit better until his mother arrived with a wet cloth to put on his forehead and a glass of water to make the sick go back down and her hand on his back, patting him and rubbing gently so that he would know that even though she might not have been able to stop him being sick, at least he wouldn’t have to go through this all alone.

  And it wasn’t nice, feeling this kind of sick. It was the type of sick that was different to bad food sick or eating too much candy sick. This was way worse. And he was feeling this kind of sick alone. He didn’t have his mother to put a cloth on his face and to tell him that everything would be ok and to rub and to pat his back so that he could fall asleep again.

  And he didn’t have the shadow of his brother and his heavy snoring just beside him that said that “no bad guys would ever be able to do anything because I’m right here beside you.”

  He rolled back and forth and he held his hands close to his belly. His head was spinning and his throat was warm and dry. It felt like he was about to throw up hot quick sand cause his sick was coming up real slow and it kind of hurt his throat as it did.

  He rolled back and forth, though, like all those times he did when he was sick at home. Every time, I mean every single time, when this happened, his mother would come running after one minute or two, every time, guaranteed. All he needed to do then was to rock back and forth.

  Batman had his signal. Whenever Gotham was in trouble, they would shine a light into the sky with his symbol on it and no matter where Batman was, even when he was undergr
ound in his cave where he spent all his time; even when he was in the bathroom and there were no windows and he was reading a book or doing a poo or something, he would still be able to see the signal or he would be able to sense it or something. He would know that Gotham was in danger and he would flush the toilet and then go and save the day. And he’d wash his hands before he left.

  That’s what mums and dads were like. Or at least, that’s what kids imagined they were like. Most of the time they were grumpy and complained a lot and spoke to you only about the stuff that you couldn’t do and the things you couldn’t touch and the movies you weren’t allowed to watch. Sometimes, though, they could get you stuff like ice-cream or a computer game and if you shouted enough times, especially in front of people they didn’t know, then they would get you whatever you wanted.

  But when you needed them, when you felt scared or sick or when the monsters were just about to creep under your sheets, you could call out to them and they would come running in a second; like Batman.

  And the monsters would run away and for that night they’d never come back and even though dads looked kind of angry for getting out of bed in the middle of the night, they only looked that way cause they had to fight monsters. And dads came running when you screamed, always, every single time. And mums, they always came running when you moaned and rolled about on your side holding your belly, every single time.

  Alex rolled back and forth. He held his hands to his belly and he moaned. He did just like all the other times and he kept his eyes shut, just like all the other times. And he kept his nose shut too and he tried to pretend that he was in his bed and it just felt a little funny, but it was his bed and not the boot of some strange man’s car. And he tried to pretend that there wasn’t any rope around his hands. And he tried to pretend that if he wanted to scratch the itch on his nose, that he would have been able to and that the ropes that bound his hands and his feet, that they were just a game he played with his brother the night before, only, he must have fallen asleep before the game was over.

  He pretended all of those things in his head as he rolled back and forth and he moaned louder and louder. The moaning seemed to settle his stomach a little bit. It was like he was taking part of a medicine and it was starting to work, but he needed his mother there for the rest. He needed the wet cloth and he needed her hand gently patting and rubbing his back.

  He moaned and he moaned and he hoped and he hoped and he really did expect his mother to just open the boot and to take him in her arms. And why shouldn’t he?

  That’s what mums and dads did.

  And the worst thing that should ever happen to a kid is that maybe they should, for a second or two, find themselves feeling this way or thinking this way. But mums and dads should always come running, always, without fail.

  They should always find him. They should always take him in their arms. And the feeling should always go away. He should feel safe again. That’s what happens at the end of the scary movie. That’s what happens at the end of the news. That’s what happens when kids are scared. Mums and dads, they stop it. They stop the fear before it becomes real.

  No kid should ever have to feel this bad. No kid should ever have to feel this scared. No kid should ever have to guess where they are. And no kid should have to assume that they’re in the boot of someone’s car.

  Wasn’t there a rule that this kind of thing shouldn’t happen?

  His mother didn’t come running. Neither did his father. He felt something scratching against this back, but it wasn’t his mother’s long nails. It was a hook, for tying down a spare tire. It must have come loose or something and it was sticking up and it was poking through the wood that kept tilting back and forth every time that Alex rolled. There was probably no spare tire. That’s why the hook wasn’t tied down properly. That would explain why the wooden board was moving so much as well.

  There was no denying it.

  There was no pretending.

  He was definitely in the boot of a car.