Move (12 page)

That weekend had been a Bank Holiday and my dad had insisted on taking mum and me off to North Wales. Of course I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with Zed, Tara and Geoffrey, in the hope they could figure something out that would protect me from being taken over by the hungry ghost. What’s more, I had a new worry. The metaverse was growing more ragged around me, and whenever I tried to look deeply into it, I felt impending catastrophe. Or rather, doom. Each time I thought about moving, I experienced a sense of vertigo, and sometimes it felt like I had already fallen from some giant precipice, into a dark endless pit, my feeble light unable to show me the walls rushing past as I descended, forever and ever.

Poor Dad, he spent the whole weekend trying to interest me in castles and mountains. Seeing that had failed to lift my spirits, they even let me go out to the pub on my own, to watch football on the big screens.

Throughout the holiday I consoled myself with the thought that at least by being away from Dublin, I couldn’t harm my friends if the hungry ghost took over. But that still left my parents. It was depressing, being subject to the will of an evil creature. Part of me was fatalistic. I cursed my circumstances, groaned at my bad luck, and generally felt thoroughly sorry for myself. It was ironic really, since only a year earlier I would have said that I was the luckiest person alive, being able to move and all.

Still, learning how to move had taught me one thing at least, which is that there are always alternatives. There’s no such thing as fate, just probability. Even now, there were wonderful happy universes somewhere all around me; I just couldn’t see them.

In any case, I could hardly blame bad luck for my situation. The fact that this ghost was haunting me was clearly related to the fact that I could move. I just needed to figure out what was happening when the ghost took over and how I could stop it.

On our way back from Wales, on the Monday evening, the car ferry was busy with other Irish holidaymakers heading home after the weekend and even more so with English
tourists
coming our way. A hen party had taken over one of the bars, their loud shrieks attracting the single men, but driving
Mum, Dad and me downstairs to a restaurant.

‘Want a plate of chips?’ Dad asked.

‘Sure.’

‘Here, come with me, give me a hand with the trays.’

While Mum kept our table, Dad and I joined the queue. Just as I was reading the prices, I felt dizzy and saw all the writing double up, like the effect you get if you look just over the top of a pair of sunglasses. I was being moved. The universe in which we were settling was one in which the ship’s emergency signal was being blasted out in long blares by the horns. It wasn’t
possible
for me to see what was going to happen after the next few minutes of alarm, but the white face of a crew member and my own sense of foreboding meant I knew I didn’t want to stay in this universe. Something really terrible was going to happen here and, with a shudder, I envisaged our pale bodies floating inside the ferry as it lay on the bottom of the sea.

What to aim for? Just normality. Fast. Any move was
difficult
, though, as I had to dodge around the rips and tears in the metaverse to find a decent alternative. If I made a mistake, I’d fall into those black crevasses and that might be the end of everything. To help quell the sense of panic that had been rising inside my chest, I imagined I was a Buddhist master like the monk in the stories, and it worked. My breathing slowed, my heart ceased pounding.

Having closed my eyes and concentrated really hard,
overcoming
a feeling of nausea, I located a universe in which no one around me showed any sign of consternation. It remained elusive, tantalisingly out of reach no matter how hard I tried to
bring it in to focus. Just as I thought I’d got there, I suddenly felt as though a wrestler had grabbed me from behind and had thrown me through the air. A moment of sickness and confusion came and went. Then we were settled. I’d moved away from the danger, but with little control over the
outcome
. The sensations were exactly like that time in school when, to avoid humiliation with Inextreme, I’d managed to thwart my enemy, only to have been thrown into a universe not of my choosing.

At least the one in which I’d landed seemed fine. For a start there was no alarm signal being played. There was some dismay among the people around us, though, and I began to sweat again. What was troubling them? Dad went up to the front of the queue to see, and then came back with a shrug.

‘The staff have all gone.’

‘Let’s go back to Mum.’ This was really worrying. At least if we sat together, it would be easier for me to keep an eye on them both. I’m not usually the sort of person who notices the emergency signs, like assembly points and so on, but today they caught my complete attention. If the ship sank, we had to be near lifejackets. I couldn’t be sure that I’d be able to get us out of this universe.

It’s odd, the way I was thinking, because, of course,
somewhere
out there was a universe in which the ferry sank. My moving to a different one didn’t do anything to alter that fact. Theoretically, every day there were universes in which versions of me died. I’d even seen a few, like when I was nearly in a car crash on the M50. Of course, I stayed well away from those. But
what I didn’t like the idea of was being moved into a universe in which I could not escape and dying there. The fact that other versions of me would continue to live was not entirely consoling, because they weren’t exactly me. They were more like twins and, deep down, I felt that my own death would really be the end. I did not have multiple consciousnesses, even if I could move. So when this one ended, that would be me done for.

Where were all the staff? Naturally I sought answers from the nearby universes, even though that made me sick.
Everything
was blurry and confused, though. Wherever it was I’d ended up, I would have to stay for a while at least. It was impossible to move into that fog without risking falling through a tear, with whatever horrible consequences would arise from that.

‘Ice cream?’ A smartly dressed woman came past our table, offering plastic cartons of raspberry ripple from out of a large shopping bag. At first, I thought she was doing a promotion.

‘Not for us, thanks,’ Mum replied.

‘Are you sure? They are free.’

‘Free?’ asked Dad.

‘Yes. The staff have walked out, on some sort of dispute, leaving everything behind.’

‘Oh, well in that case, don’t mind if I do.’

Both Dad and Mum took one, but I shook my head. I wasn’t hungry.

‘Seasick, son?’

‘Yeah, a little.’

‘Let’s go for a walk, see if the deck is open. Bring your coat. It’s cold out there.’

‘Mum, will you come too?’

My mum must have sensed something was wrong, because she put down her magazine and came with us. All over the ship the strangest events were happening, but they weren’t in the least bit sinister. In fact, they were rather fun and I began to feel more cheerful. The passengers had realised that there were no staff on duty and were helping themselves at every food area and restaurant. There was plenty to go around, so people were being generous. Except perhaps with regard to cakes. I saw one elderly man with a whole plate of Black Forest gateaux.

There was plenty to drink too and, seeing as there was no question of taking alcohol off the ship and through customs, a lot of the adults were tearing into it as though it were a New Year’s Eve party.

‘Want a turn on deck?’ Dad was as much concerned to have a smoke as to my seasickness, but I obliged him. The fresh air might actually help me gather my thoughts, in case I had to move again.

‘Sure.’

The three of us walked through the extraordinary sights of a ferry abandoned to its passengers. Girls in green cowboy hats from the hen party were singing a medley of chart hits to an appreciative audience. Little kids had picked up on the festival atmosphere and were running wild around the decks, like
some enormous game of chase was going on. Everyone was having a blast, surely not the design of the hungry ghost? This peculiar universe had to be a random outcome of the clash between us.

Out on the windy deck, several people were smoking rapidly, keen to get back inside to the warmth and merriment. Dad took a light from an elderly man, while Mum zipped up her jacket, putting up the hood to keep her ears warm.

‘Mad stuff, eh?’ Dad looked around at his fellow smokers.

‘Best crossing I’ve ever been on.’ The old fella gave a chuckle that turned into a cough.

Then I felt it again, an attempt to move. It was far weaker than it had been on previous occasions, but I realised we didn’t have to make much of a move for catastrophe to engulf us. I could see universes where a sudden lurch of the ship or a freak gust of wind shook us. Then Dad was in the cold grey water, face turned up towards me as he sank beneath the waves.

‘No!’ I shouted aloud and fought back. Though the move was only a minor one, I hadn’t much strength left myself. It was like running so hard you can’t breathe. Your body is still
moving
, but even deep gulps of air are not enough. Your mouth floods with a horrible acrid taste, while you asphyxiate.
Kneeling
, I held on to a nearby rail and threw up. Blackness welled up in my head. But I’d done it, I’d made the smallest of moves to keep Dad beside me.

‘You all right, son?’

I managed a nod.

‘No offence, mate, but your son, well that’s some terrible smell. He’s wrecked the gaff and there’s no one around to clean up is there?’ The elderly man was cross. But I was so happy I just crawled inside, laughing.

As soon as we got home from the trip to Wales, I went to my room early, completely exhausted. Lying in my bed, I felt the universes whirling around me, with the dark tears between them noticeably wider than this morning. Nearly half of the metaverse was completely black; it was a terrible pool, which was spreading out to engulf me, no matter how fast I sought to struggle free.

With my return to the world of human beings came hunger. I was always hungry. At last, though, I had the power to break all whom I met. No longer was I dependent on the flows of energy that came my way from passers-by. Now I could feast on whomever I chose and with that thought came an awareness of a place, not too far away, where I could eat with particular
satisfaction
. After a fifteen-minute run, with barely a pause to draw upon the meagre offerings of the humans I overtook, I was at the house I sought.

The doorbell sang out its two notes for me.

‘Liam! You’re back! You should have rung. I wasn’t
expecting
you.’

At the sound of her voice, I felt a surge from the boy. He loved her and nearly threw me aside. But I forced him back down: down, down in to the realms inhabited only by demons. It would not be long now until I had enough energy to thrust him away forever and seal him there, fully enjoying his body as my own.

Embarrassment is pleasure and nourishment to me. With a slight sneer on my face, I let her see me slowly move my gaze up and down, observing the pink hoody, the pink tracksuit bottoms and a pale line of chubby skin between them. She blushed, and pulled at her top. There was nothing she could do to hide the false foot though, which I stared at for some time.

‘I was just going to take Rascal for a walk. Want to come along?’

‘I do.’

‘Rascal? Walkies!’

The dog feared me. It wanted to be brave and protect her, but fear was winning.

‘Rascal, come on!’

With a whimper, the dog allowed itself to be collared and, staying away from me as far as possible, it slunk from the house.

‘He normally really loves to get out.’

There was a great deal of affection and concern flowing from her in my direction; it was unpalatable, almost poisonous to me and I strove to ignore it. At least the suburbs were good hunting grounds. Already we had passed two young humans in a lane: him, a bonfire of lust and contempt; her, lust and guilt. It was heady and I drew upon it with relish.

‘I’ve been thinking about those stories Geoffrey told us. It would be great if he could find some more. I think we’ve gained a lot, just from those two.’

It wasn’t her eager chat that I was listening to, but her heart and her mind. To feast upon her would not be easy. For a young human she was surprisingly tight, like a clam, but there were cracks through which I could prise my way to her soft insides.

‘You were a fool, playing on the barge like that. It’s not just your life you’ve ruined, but everyone’s, especially your mother’s.’

‘What?’

She stopped. We stared at each other, standing on slabs of broken paving beside a damp grey wall. The dog tried to growl, but when it met my eyes, the growl turned into a whine.

‘Your mother is suffocating you, but it’s your own fault. How could you show ingratitude to her, after all the time and money she has given to making your life as full as possible? Don’t you appreciate all her sacrifices?’

‘It’s you, isn’t it? The ghost.’ She was nearly as afraid as the dog was. ‘Your eyes. It’s true, about the eyes.’

‘Listen to me! You’ll never love or be loved. That’s the cost of your fooling around on the boat. Your bones will grow cold alone. Yes people will display consideration, but they won’t love the girl you really are, because they’ve never seen her and never will see her. All they will see is a plastic foot and a poor injured girl. Forget about children, forget about a husband. Boyfriends, yes, but what kind of sick boy wants a girl like you? Answer: those who can’t get a fully formed girl. The rejects and the helpless, equally deformed in their own way, but on the inside. You could never love them, so you are caught. Be pitied or do the pitying, but never a match.’

At first, I made some progress. She began to open, a tear coming to her eyes, but slowly she composed herself, forcing me out.

‘Come on, Rascal.’

She tugged at the lead and turned back towards her house, moving at a brisk limp.

Very well, if the thin blade had not worked. I would try the hammer.

‘You love your dog.’ It was a statement. ‘Shame that he does not love you enough.’ She could move fast. I had to trot to keep up. A flick of my foot sent the terrier into the wall and I pounced on it, pinning it by the throat, its feet scrabbling for
purchase on the pavement.

‘What are you doing? Let go of him!’

Good, she was terrified.

The dog gave up, no longer even whimpering, limp in my hand, while a stream of urine flowed to the gutter. We looked at each other a long time, the dog and I. The dog could not name its fear, but felt it as a dark shadow, filling its world like a bank of cloud covering the sky. When I stood up the dog was dead.

‘Rascal? Oh my God, you’ve killed him!’

She was crying, bent over the limp body and already I could fill myself on her sorrow and loneliness. Fill myself? Never. It was not possible. But the juice tasted good. Succulent human feelings were far more satisfying than those of animals. Since she was bent down over the dog, it was easy for me to grab her by the throat and press her against the wall. Her legs slipped from under her, and her pink cotton tracksuit bottoms were now soaked and dirty from the last emissions of her pet. Would she wet herself with fear also? A touch of shame would be a pleasant addition to the fear I was consuming. Horror, shame and sorrow. It was a joy to be alive again and what’s more, young.

When I eased the pressure on her throat she broke and ran. Exactly as I had hoped. Eating a human being was not like
eating
a dog. There was a lot more to unravel. Right now I had a hook to her insides, wounded and raw. The more she ran, the more she weakened, me a step or two behind her the slapping of my feet just loud enough to keep spurring her on, in her clanky 
way. The rather pathetic imbalance to her motion made me chuckle.

Across the road we ran, heedless of traffic, past a chip shop. For a moment, she paused. Would she seek out other human beings? Yes. In she went, panting, cold, afraid, heartbeat
already
dangerously erratic.

Four young girls, dressed in loud primary colours, were waiting for their food. They had been laughing and shouting as we came in. Now they fell silent and stared.

Tearstained and in odorous tracksuit bottoms, she was a mess, and she was aware of it from the silver reflections of the counter.

‘Call the police. He’s trying to kill me. He killed my dog,’ she panted.

This immediately made them all afraid too, I was gobbling as fast as I could and there was more coming all the while, especially when I turned my gaze upon them. The smallest and bravest of them got a pink phone out of her pocket.

‘Drop it.’

The phone clattered on the shiny white tiles.

Without looking, I reached behind me and turned the sign in the door window from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. This number of young human beings was good, manageable. Five inexperienced girls and a boy not much older; he was standing behind the counter, mouth open.

‘Turn up the cookers, all of them. All the way.’ He succumbed and moved around the room to obey me.

‘Who has a match?’ This I asked aloud to help them 
understand what lay ahead. Before I left their burnt bodies here, I wanted to have devoured them completely and thus I needed their limited imaginations to anticipate the horror.

‘Help,’ whispered the oldest of the girls, about twelve years I would guess.

‘Stand still,’ I told her and turned back to my real target. ‘See what you’ve done? You’ve destroyed these children too.’

‘Don’t listen to him. Don’t be afraid.’

I laughed aloud, this from a girl whose fear was a palpable wave of energy coming towards me with every erratic beat of her heart.

The windows of the chip shop were all steamed over; the cheeks and foreheads of everyone in the room were shiny. As the sound of the bubbling fat grew louder, a smell of burning filled the room. Did they get it now? Was their initial horror at my presence giving way to a more specific fear: that of dying here, in an inferno of oil and smoke?

‘Let them go!’ she shouted at me, making me laugh again. This really was the best fun I’d had in such a very long time.

It surprised me when she found the will to hurl herself at me. As we struggled, she opened the door and the cold air was a shock.

‘Run. Get out!’

This time they responded. I lost them. O untimely escape! Bring me back my food! For several moments I was gasping for energy and the boy within me moved.

Start all over once more. There was anger and fear to feast on from my pink quarry. Off she went again, with a brisk lopsided 
run across the street. It was easy to keep up.

‘Where are you going?’ I scoffed, all the while drawing her energy out of her. It would take time, but I was confident that eventually, like her dog, she would collapse and be found cold and dead in the gutter.

The chase took us around the back of a community centre, where I was tempted to stop and enjoy the shame and revulsion of a boy being made to eat a worm by his older brother. It seemed as though she were going to head off across the dark field; I decided to follow. There, far from anyone else, in the gathering shadows, we stopped. Her panting was heavy for a moment, and then it became less ragged.

Just before I came up with new taunts, she sat, cross-legged on the damp grass.

‘What’s this? Given up, like your dog did, going all limp on me?’ Annoyingly she was closing up the bright streams of fear that I had been latching on to. Because we were so far from any other food, I shivered a little. Surely it could not be that after such a gamut of emotion, she could find the means to control herself? Not now? Not after all she had just experienced.

‘You hope that Liam can see you properly. Not as a victim, like everyone else sees you, especially your mother, but as you were before the barge snapped your foot off. That laughing,
intelligent
girl, whose mouth turned up at the corners, not down as it does today. You are wrong on so many counts. When it comes to girls, all Liam seeks is the challenge of a new
conquest
. No sooner has he got you than he will want nothing more to do with you. Nor are you that girl any more. You are 
permanently a victim and you know it. Deep down inside you know that you must fail in all that you hope to do. Clumsy girl. Stupid girl.’

It was not working. A slow, steady heartbeat filled my senses. It was not that she was ignoring me, trying not to
listen
to me, for that would be a weakness and a way in. Rather, she was looking at me, appraising me, feeling sorry for me? A burst of energy escaped me in a cry of frustration. This was not a stupid girl. Houses surrounded the field and their distant lights were reminders that close by were rooms with people who could feed me, who, at this very moment, were being hurtful, deceitful, cruel or simply callously
indifferent
to those around them. Where we were, though, was cold and dark. Too far. Everyone was too far away. She must have planned this. When I thought I was chasing her, she was leading me. Inside me the boy was somehow making his way back up. Did he feel me weakening?

‘Your dog is dead.’

Not even a wince. Her spirit was encased with armour which she had managed to conjure for herself. I had not thought such composure possible in one so young.

‘You dog lies cold on the pavement and so will you, when I am done with you.’

How had this happened? There had been so much to feed upon only a few minutes ago. The thought of it tortured me: the fearful children in the chip shop, her own distress, which she had somehow managed to master. I had to feed, but I could not feed here. The longer I stayed, the weaker I was getting and,
although he was getting ready to fight me, I was not ready to surrender the body to the boy.

‘Stay here all night if you like, but I’ll be waiting for you.’

I ran back towards those two brothers. Perhaps the young one had not yet fled to his mother, screaming and gagging.