Crik (2 page)

When morning brok
e
, it found Crik bathed in sunlight, the storm of the previous night had passed, leaving behind a few scattered clouds. Still wet from the downpour, the ground glistened with the reflective sun, making it hard not to squint against the glare. The curved roofs, benefiting from the first rays, were more than half-dried, and the once overflowing gutters ran empty.

A shaft of light caught Jack’s face. Trying to hold onto the wisps of his dream, he found it too hard to hold onto the elusive imagery. Missing the darkness, he lifted his hand as though warding off an attack.

Disoriented, he found himself sprawled across his desk, with one arm tucked under him. Memory of the previous night crashed back, snapping him awake. The encounter with the Giant seemed unreal in the dawn, though he did not doubt his recollection. Once the Giant had left, he remained by the window, making sure that it did not return; or try to enter the house. After the Giant had spotted him, he feared he would never again close his eyes, so it was with surprise that he had fallen asleep. It took until the early hours before he had grown weary of his vigil.

His thoughts turned away from the appearance of the Giant, to what it had hidden. Looking outside, he saw the rain had washed away the dirt the Giant had thrown onto the road, together with all other tell-tale signs of its work. Dwayne Blizzard stood close to Bill’s house talking with Liza Manfry. Dwayne’s Talent allowed him to see things others would miss. Leaning closer to the glass, Jack willed them to move down the street away from the buried secret. Come on, his lips serving action to his will. Liza said something, making Dwayne blush, and skipped down the road. Remaining by the bush, the boy looked down at his boots abashed. A torn flower lay under Dwayne’s heel. Frantic, Jack feared Dwayne would see the tell-tale sign and discover whatever lay under the bush. Shouting over her shoulder, Liza called for the blushing boy. Reminding Jack of a yo-yo, Dwayne leapt forward, and followed her down the street. Jack eased his grip on the desk.

Sparing only a fleeting glance at the other children running toward the cemetery, he swung himself off his chair. Already dressed, he dashed across the room. Caught by surprise, his shadow stopped fiddling with a toy catapult, and followed. Opening the door, he heard his mother humming in the kitchen. She busied herself with frying his eggs and making his toast, burning the bread black, the way he liked it.

His bedroom, once being the family attic, led out onto a narrow stair, with not much of a landing. A board, nailed into the post and wall, fenced off the drop to the first floor. He almost crashed into the ornament case his mother had placed on the landing the day before. She had put it there to alleviate the gloom; like painting the walls white or hanging a few paintings, it did nothing to brighten the upper stairwell. Jack approved of the darkness. At least she gave up with filling the space with potted plants. Deprived of sunlight they died, and Yang took them to add to his collection of dead things.

The wood creaked as he took the stairs two steps at a time. He passed his mother’s room, the door open wide enough for him to see the large double bed, with the turned down top sheet. Flowers lined the bedroom wall, filling the house with their sweet scent. A thick blue carpet masked his second descent.

The living room was both the largest and the most often changed in the house. Only a week ago, he helped his mother move the high backed chairs away from the window to stand closer to the fireplace, and with far more difficulty the sideboard and two more of her display cases to take their place. Bright sunshine lit up the ornaments wonderfully in their new home, though no doubt his mother already had plans where to place them next. Beside the kitchen rested a long black wooden table, a silver candelabrum stood on elaborate crochet at its centre, with four newly placed candles.

Pushing through to the kitchen he almost collided with his mother.

‘I heard you coming,’ she said, blowing a curl of black hair from her face. ‘Here are your toast and eggs.’

How his mother could look so smart first thing in the morning never ceased to amaze him. Other mothers still wore nightclothes at midday, with their hair in disarray, complaining all the while that they were not morning people. Here his mother stood, wearing a purple dress, frills on the hem and arms, with white birds spreading their wings as they took flight up the sides. A pink apron, sprinkled with crumbs from his toast, wrapped her waist. She had brushed her long hair into waves that nestled her shoulders and cascaded down her back. She put plenty of powder on her face, in an attempt to hide the burns that disfigured her.

A glass of fresh juice sat next to a plate on a yellow tablecloth. Behind him, his mother had placed a second plate for Yang, filled with sliced apple and pears. Despite not having to eat, Yang attacked his plate, leaving the dropped fruit for his mother to pick up.

‘You’re in a hurry this morning.’ His mother watched him devour his toast, with a generous helping of egg.

‘Got things to do,’ he mumbled around the food.

‘Can’t say that I blame you, all this rain we’ve had, must be torture not being able to leave the house.’

Eating, he gave a shrug.

He dismissed the idea of asking whether she had heard or seen anything last night. If she knew about the Giant, she would have mentioned it by now, besides he did not want to upset her. The woodland folk never entered the village; if she knew any different, she would keep a tighter rein on him.

‘I grew a new plant this morning.’ His mother pointed to a pot near the sink.

Most members of Crik had a Talent; his mother’s was the ability to grow things. She only needed to concentrate on a seed to make it grow in moments. The sight of a flower blooming in seconds never ceased to amaze Jack. All the flowers in the house grew that way. Every new flower, or plant, made his mother happy. He liked it when she smiled. This morning she beamed with pride as he moved closer to the pot.

The pot, no larger than a coffee mug, held a small purple tree. It looked different to other plants. Spear shaped leaves filled its branches, each etched with dark red veins, like blood. Moist wood yielded at his slightest touch.

‘Careful,’ his mother warned, ‘I don’t think that’s wood.’

He agreed, it felt warm, almost as though he ran his finger down the spine of a rabbit.

‘Where’d you find this?’

‘I found the seed resting on the windowsill this morning.’ She moved to the oval window, laying her hand on the dark wood outside. ‘Being of an odd shape and colour I had to see what it grew into.’

His heart quickened. ‘You took it from outside.’ He rushed past his mother to poke his head out the window. Studiously he scanned the grass bordering the house for any sign of the Giant. The wet ground yielded no evidence of the Giant having left the seed. Someone of his size surely would have left behind a footprint in the damp soil. Remembering how the Giant used its hands to dig, he hunted for soil on the sill, but saw none.

‘You’re very pale, are you unwell?’

He ducked beneath his mother’s hand as she tried to feel his forehead, mumbling that he felt fine. With a hurried promise to be back in time for dinner, he headed for the door.

An appreciative gust of wind welcomed him as he left the warm kitchen. Ignoring his tingling nerves, he paused. Trapped in the house for days had him draw in a long breath. Satisfied he allowed his impatience to resurface. He trotted along the garden path watchful for any sign that the Giant had revisited his home after he had fallen asleep. Did the Giant leave that seed for his mother to find? If not it was a strange coincidence that she should find it this morning.

At the end of his garden, he clenched his hands in excitement when he saw the deserted street. He wanted to run up the cobbles to the rosebush, but before he could take another step, he spotted Dwayne and Liza. Hoping neither would see him, he carefully opened his gate, with the intention of cutting across Miss Mistletoe’s backyard. Having pointed his boots in that direction, Yang slammed the gate, alerting them to his presence.

Dwayne’s huge eyes swivelled around, catching Jack in a glare. A rash of gooseflesh always coursed up Jack’s arms when Dwayne focused on him, and again he felt the accustomed roughening of his skin. The boy’s stare reminded him of painted eyes that followed you around a room. Uncomfortable, he turned his attention to Liza. With her upturned chin, she looked down at him with suspicion. Yang liked nothing more than to lift her skirt and hear her wail. Fearing his wayward shadow, Liza clasped her hands tight against her thighs.

‘I suppose, like everyone else, you want to run off to the river and gawp at the body.’ Disgust laced her remark.

Following a storm the bloated Tristle River tended to break its bank, flooding Long Sleep. The loose soil gave up graves easier than an old man coughing up a clod of phlegm. Only the tombs set high up on the hill were safe from the water. Yang would be eager to see the body and anything else the rain had disturbed. His shadow had a knack for finding some artefact to add to his collection; Mr Bane’s canteen, half filled with whiskey, being his favourite. Where the other half of the drink had gone, following Mr Bane’s burial to his untimely excavation, remained a mystery. A shiver ran down his spine.

‘I won’t bother.’ Noticing a suspicious glance between them, Jack added, ‘Seeing the body will only excite Yang. If we went to the river he’d cause trouble.’

‘We all know you control your shadow Yin,’ said Dwayne, ‘so stop trying to pretend otherwise.’

‘Crows eat your eyes.’

Although Dwayne took a step closer, he was bigger than Jack and liked to use his fists, the sight of Yang extending himself from the fence made him take two hasty steps back. One advantage of having a living shadow was he never fought alone.

‘The body isn’t from one of the riverside graves,’ Liza interjected. ‘Someone opened one of the tombs.’

This declaration sent ice fingers playing a discordant rhythm up along Jack’s spine. The memory of the Giant’s huge hands, filled with gnarled roots, made his breath rattle in his throat.

Dwayne scratched his red hair. ‘I bet it was a grave robber from Grenville. They must’ve used a sledgehammer to knock in the stone door.’

‘What tomb?’

‘The one overlooking the deep well; you know, the cloaked figure holding the noose.’

‘We saw it earlier.’ Liza gave him a smile as though she had a slice of a birthday cake that had all gone by the time he had gotten to the table. ‘We decided it would be bad taste to go looking at the body.’

‘Besides, the adults kept us away from the river,’ said Dwayne.

This remark drew an agitated glance from Liza. ‘Be that as it may Dwayne,’ she said, ‘I would not have liked to ogle some poor soul floating in the muddy waters of Tristle River.’

The plant Jack’s mother found must have absorbed her attention, or she would have mentioned the commotion to him. Bill and he often went to the well beside the statue holding the hangman’s noose. The other statues were all animals, foxes, wolves, a few birds; their favourite was the cloaked figure with the skeletal hand. They always shared an uncomfortable feeling in the waning light, as the hangman’s shadow lengthened over them, as though it judged them as they played, which only added to its attraction.

‘I can see you’re like all the rest,’ said Liza. ‘No doubt that freak, you hang around with, is already up at Long Sleep. With his head always in a book, he acts innocent. Give him a chance however, and the freak,’ her emphasis on the epithet made her teeth click together, ‘would gawp at the body like everyone else.’

Taking a step closer, Jack said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with Bill. Just because he can’t annoy people like you, doesn’t make him any different.’

‘Liza has another Talent too,’ said Dwayne, oblivious to the scornful look the girl gave him.

‘You should run and hide Liza, before I have my shadow do something - unpleasant.’ This time Jack smiled, as the self-satisfied smirk left Liza’s face.

‘Why don’t you and your shadow run along with the rest of the rubberneckers? Come Dwayne, I do not fancy wasting the first dry day in a week on the muddy slopes of the Tristle. Let’s go to the meadow.’ She snapped her fingers, and with a haughty twirl of her skirt left.

Jack spotted the look of disappointment in Dwayne’s large eyes and could not stop from grinning. It was his own fault, why would Dwayne want to hang around with a girl. They were never fun. Why head for the meadow when he could explore the woods, or, now that no one else was around, use the swing tied to the Hangman’s Tree.