Crik (6 page)

Dismayed, he fell back in a huddle, panting from his exertion. Lying in a heap, he heard a croaking laugh, buried deep in his friend’s throat.

His motherstood wit
h
her hands on her hips, looking through the broken window. ‘Tell me again how this happened?’

Jack tried to remember the lie he had told to cover up the events of the previous night, however, all he could think of was Bill swallowing the Hatchling. ‘I fenced with Yang, who ducked my blow,’ he said, cringing as his mother’s face darkened.

‘I told you not to go playing with those weapons, didn’t I Jack.’

Jack gave a nod. His mother turned her back on him to finish lining his window frame with seeds from her apron pocket. After counting out twenty, she stood back, and the seeds burst. The stems shot up, blotting out the morning light. The entwining plants filled the entire window.

‘Go down to the garden and pick up the glass,’ she said. ‘You as well Yang, you’re as much to blame as my son.’

With a hung head, Jack left his room; he had never seen his mother so angry. He knew, for the next few days, the plants would act as his prison bars.

‘Use gloves.’ His mother’s shout followed him down the stairs. ‘You’ll find them on the hook on the backdoor.’

At least she bought his lie. If she knew the truth, she would not be so lenient.

He had feared the demon would kill Bill; suffocate him, or worse. Listening to his friend snore deep into the night, he had expected something to happen. Only nothing had. Whatever the Hatchling was doing, it did not want to kill Bill. Jack had hunkered in the dark, waiting for the Ghost Walker to breathe life back into Grandma Poulis. His mind had raced with fears. A Ghost Walker was a woman possessed by a demon. All the stories agreed; a wood demon stole a woman’s soul, leaving her dead body each night in her bed. Was that what had happened to Bill? He never heard of a demon possessing a boy. It was close to dawn when Grandma Poulis at last put down her paintbrush. Blue light slipped through the gap under the door touching him; overcome with calm, he had, for the first time since taking the egg, felt at ease. The tales must be wrong; how could someone so wonderful do him harm. Although fearing discovery, he did not fear her. Then, if not a wood demon, what had slipped into Bill? Plagued by doubts he had crept down the stairs and back through the room with the dolls.

Now, with the sun shining, he wanted to discard everything he had experienced; the Hatchling, the chase to the Poulis house, the Ghost Walker; all of it. Only, how could he? The Hatchling was inside his best friend.

The village awoke like any other morning, innocent to the events that had unfolded a few hours ago. Miss Mistletoe’s cat prowled, holding her tail stiff in the air. Beyond the cat, he spied a few children playing along a beaten track. The Belson twins, having transformed themselves into Grints, chased them. Malcolm wore the lidless eyes and the sharp beak of the night hunter, while Graham waddled around on green mottled legs. Everyone just accepted the twins’ sharing of their Talent. Squealing, Tracey Hulme launched herself into the air, hovering just beyond Malcolm’s grasping fingers. Beth, Tracey’s younger sister, sent blue and red lights into the beaked face, making the boys take after her. She sped down the lane in the direction of the river.

Although the good weather continued, with hardly a cloud to spoil the sky, and the scent of fresh cut grass lingered in the air, Jack could not assuage his foreboding. He spotted Grandma Poulis in her kitchen. Once more age masked her face. Her beautiful golden hair that had spun down her back now fell across her face in a grey web. His longing for her had departed leaving him bereft, as though he had given up a long cherished secret. Silently he wanted Grandpa Poulis to take Wolf for a walk, to show him that everything was normal. Only now, nothing was the same. If he saw the old man, his actions would appear false, an act to deflect any interest in his family. Until he saw Bill, he could not relax.

Nervous sweat greased his palms, making him want to discard the gloves that clung uncomfortably to his skin. When his shoes met the glass shards, he stopped. Anxious, he looked around; positive someone would come and ask about the shallow impression left in the mud. Each bent grass and bruised area of dirt, revealed in stark relief where the Hatchling had landed. Ignoring the glass, he kicked away the tell-tale signs of the demon, first with the toe of his shoe, and then the heel. Hurriedly he obliterated the imprint left by a clawed hand. Stepping back, he noticed, with rising disgust, where the demon had dragged its twisted leg through the grass.

Yang stood off to one side, snatching a fly from the air. Jack neither expected, nor wanted, his shadow’s help. In Bill’s room, when he needed him the most, Yang refused to move; together they might have pulled off the creature. Many of Yang’s recent actions frightened him. How had Yang communicated with the Hatchling? Why had Yang done nothing to help Bill? Although his shadow acted by its own accord, usually against his wishes, he had put that down to a mischievous nature. Last night his shadow went down an unexpected path, and since then he eyed Yang with suspicion.

The sun, glinting off the stacked glass, speared into his eyes. Grimacing, he raised his hand to shield his face. His mind turned reflectively inward. Had the Giant known Grandma Poulis’s secret? Why else would it leave the egg at her doorstep? More kids ran hooting and hollering down the street. Tired to the bone he only glanced at them. Hoping to spy Grandma Poulis, wanting to recapture the feeling of ease her light had instilled in him the night before, he looked at Bill’s house. The empty kitchen window stared back. Doesn’t matter, he thought surly, during the day she was only the old woman who shouted at him for playing ball too close to her house. He ached for that blue light, and part of him hated Bill’s grandmother for not sharing it with him.

Disgust, at his own need for comfort, made him turn away from the house. Peeking, beyond the side of his home, he saw strange drooping branches. Forgetting the glass, he drew closer to discover a strange tree growing where none had ever grown. At odds with the tree’s grey trunk, which stretched up to the roof, were riotous coloured broad leaves. He ran across the garden. Fine hair, ruffled by the passing wind, covered the trunk. Curious, he discarded his gloves and felt the wood warm to his touch. His mother had grown the strange plant she had discovered; she must have planted it here when it outgrew the kitchen. Walking around the tree, he heard a baby cry. Startled, he pressed his ear to the wood, only to jump back in stunned amazement when he began to sink into the soft down. Yang sprang forward, disappearing inside the trunk. Wondering whether a hole existed within the tree, Jack pushed his hand against the wood, to feel it give under the pressure.

Wind passed through his fingertips making him tug back his hand. Shivering like a wet dog, he stumbled back, his legs feeling like hit wickets. He went around the corner of his home, eager to lose sight of the strange tree. Yang stood in front of him, waving, and then the gate crashed against its jam, making Jack jump. Turning he saw Bill with a flushed face at the end of the garden. A jolt of fear swept through him; what had the demon done?

‘You’ll never guess what happened!’ Bill’s chest heaved from running down the road.

The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood on end. Did Bill know about the Hatchling? His friend showed no real sign of distress.

‘I’m no longer a freak.’ Gasping, Bill fell to his knees.

Such a declaration put Jack further on the back foot; what was this all about?

Out of breath, Bill struggled to get out his words. ‘I woke as normal. Tired, but not feeling any different.’ Every fibre in Jack screamed for Bill to end the suspense. Had the demon hurt him? ‘Then I went downstairs,’ continued Bill, oblivious to Jack’s concern. ‘Grandma had flour up to her elbows, beating out pastry for a pie. Wolf was busy sniffing Grandpa’s muddy shoes.’ Bill’s eyes widened with excitement. ‘That’s when I felt it.’

‘Felt what?’ asked Jack, his unease a palpable knot in his throat.

‘It’s hard to explain, my head began to buzz; and then I heard a snap in my ear.’

Jack gripped Bill by the shoulder. ‘What snap?’ The Demon must have hurt him, though he saw no outward sign.

‘I don’t know,’ said Bill, ‘just a snap. Spotting Wolf I knew I could make him do things.’

‘What do you mean, make him do things?’

‘Things,’ said Bill, waving his arms. ‘I called Wolf to me. That old dog won’t come on command, not even to Grandpa, so I almost cried when he came over. My grandparents only noticed when I had Wolf stand on his hind legs. You should’ve seen ol’ Wolf standing like a man.’ He laughed. ‘Grandpa saw him first, dropping his half-filled pipe amongst his tobacco. Grandma turned around to tell him off for messing up the table top when she saw me shaking Wolf’s front paw. Grandpa shot up from the table to shake my hand. If not for Grandma, Wolf would still be walking on his hind legs. She was concerned with his age.’

Yang, having taken the shape of Grandpa Poulis, clapped Bill’s back, knocking off the blue cap that had sat askance on his head.

Too often, Bill, without a Talent, had felt an outsider, but now that Bill had found his, Jack became disquieted. He tried to force a smile, only for his lips to quiver, betraying his uncertainty.

Bill, having spotted Miss Mistletoe’s cat, Gesma, scratching the white fence bordering the garden, failed to notice Jack’s reaction. Settling down with his back to Jack, Bill beckoned the black feline away from her rubbing post. Any other day the cat would have given Bill a long disdainful stare and then shot up a tree. This time when Bill hooked his finger, she came running, her tail straight up in the air. With a pounce, the cat sprang onto the offered arm and coiled herself around his shoulders. Peering behind Bill, she blinked at Jack.

Turning, Bill smiled. ‘What should I make her do? Something special, I want to test myself.’

Troubled by the morning’s turn of events, Jack could think of nothing. Who commanded the animal, his friend, or the demon? Preoccupied by the conundrum he absently watched Bill direct the cat from his shoulder.

‘There’s one more thing,’ said Bill closing his eyes.

‘What are you doing?’

‘When I close my eyes and concentrate I can see through the eyes of the animal.’

‘What do you see?’ asked Jack, intrigued despite his foreboding.

‘Everything that we can,’ answered Bill, ‘only in black and white.’

The long grass rose to Gesma’s face, her emerald eyes rapt on Bill. Twisting her lithe body, the cat flipped backward, clearing the grass to land on her feet in one smooth motion. Bill clapped his hands in delight. Without pause, she jumped from left to right. When Gesma performed her third flip, Bill stood, looking about with an expectant eye. Scratching his hair, he wondered how best to show off his Talent. Disappointment clouded his face as he discarded one idea after the next. Then he spotted his target walking down the street, wearing a yellow blouse and green skirt. Liza Manfry, ignorant of Bill’s interest, wandered down the road, her nose stuck in the air. A crooked grin passed over Bill’s face as he turned to Jack, a "watch this" expression if ever Jack had seen one.

Waiting patiently on the grass, purred Gesma, her flanks flexing from the earlier workout. ‘Gesma, give Liza a kiss,’ laughed Bill. The cat, with her tail swishing behind her, sprang through the fence. In moments a horrified scream shattered the peace of the village, as Gesma, clinging to Liza’s yellow blouse, licked the girl’s face. It took a loud sneeze to stop Liza from screaming. Another two violent sneezes doubled her over. Either the violent sneezes spooked the cat, or Bill, no longer able to see through his tears, ended the connection between them. Bill and Yang both laughed while Gesma rushed off to her favourite tree, and Liza, still sneezing and blotting her weeping eyes, ran for home.

‘This is incredible,’ said Bill, pumping his fists in the air. ‘We should go to the woods. I wonder what animal I can find. There are wolves in the wood! Imagine that Yin, a real wolf, not an old dog pretending to be one.’

Looking back at the plants hiding his room, Jack shook his head. ‘I can’t, I broke my window. I’m grounded.’

Bill, picking up his cap, hit him with it. ‘Don’t wimp out on me Yin. It’s not everyday you discover your Talent. You know the woods better than I do; by myself I’d soon lose my way. Come on,’ he pleaded, ‘imagine the look on everyone’s face when I come back to town riding on the back of a wolf!’

Knowing the Hatchling still lay inside Bill; Jack could not let him go off alone. Who knew what the beast would do to him in the woods. He could not protect Bill from his bedroom. Having already tested his mother’s temper, he hated going against her wishes; she would lock him up and throw away the key. Checking the house, to make sure his mother did not watch from the kitchen, he gave a quick nod.