by Martyn Ford
I ran to the end of the branch, which tilted and swayed in the breeze. Then, lining myself up, I leapt and grabbed the windowsill. Scrabbling up with my hind legs, I could hear my claws scratching the bricks until, with a final jump, I was inside. I waved my tail, stared at Amy and tried to smile. But I don’t think squirrels can smile, so I probably just showed my teeth. Might have even hissed. It must have looked scary because Amy stepped back and grabbed a book to defend herself – not sure what she thought might happen.
‘Chester, it’s in the room.’
Squirrel me leapt down on to the carpet then up on to her bed, clambering through the warm, glowing fairy lights. Finally, I jumped on to her desk, ran around in a few circles, stood up straight and made a squeaky chirping noise – I was trying to say ‘Ta-da’, but squirrels’ vocal chords are weak.
‘Uh, Amy.’ A posh voice echoed from her laptop. The sound startled me and, with a twitch, I was back in my body. In a panic the grey squirrel darted across the desk, knocking over a pot of pens, then dived for the window and was gone.
Amy stared at me as she approached her computer. She clicked her video call open and a man appeared in the centre of the screen. He was wearing a suit and a pearly white smile.
‘Yah, OK,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to say, you didn’t disconnect the call.’
‘Did you hear all that?’ I asked.
‘Every word. Chester, come forward so I can get a look at you,’ the man said. I stood in front of the screen. Me and Amy side by side in one window, the suited man in the other. ‘Yah, OK. Handsome. Good teeth. Nice face. My name’s Brian Lipton, pleased to meet you.’
‘Uh, hi,’ I said. This man had seen the entire squirrel stunt through Amy’s webcam. For some reason I felt embarrassed.
‘How’s your schedule looking today? Can we do lunch?’
*
This Brian Lipton guy was a TV producer, as Amy had said. Which, for people not involved in showbiz, is basically someone who makes TV shows. An hour later he was ringing our doorbell and shaking hands with Mum in the hallway.
‘Mrs Parsons,’ he said. ‘And Amy, darling.’ He greeted her too. ‘And the man of the house, Chest-o.’ Brian held his fists like a boxer and pretended to punch me on the chin. Then he yelled with laughter and rubbed my shoulder. ‘I’m just playing,’ he shouted.
I liked him – he was clearly … not quite stupid, but simple, dim, in a fun way. Plus he had sort of orange skin from fake tan which made him easy to laugh at. Mum said he was ‘charming’.
Before he arrived, we had to explain everything to her as well. At first I think she didn’t really get it – like when I show her something on her laptop and she nods and says, ‘Oh yes, I understand.’ Although obviously she doesn’t.
Once we looked at our house on Google Street View and she asked if it was a live feed. I just stared at her and slowly shook my head.
We all sat at the kitchen table. Mum started to make coffee and Brian removed a pen from his top pocket, then clicked open his briefcase.
‘Yah, riiiight, yah, OK,’ he said. ‘You two, Chester and Amy, Amy and Chester.’ He framed us with his fingers and thumbs. ‘A reality show, both your talents, Amy bringing that charisma we love online, presenting Chester’s abilities, maybe some aerobatics – get a performing squirrel and— Is it just squirrels, or …?’
‘I dunno really, this is quite new,’ I said. ‘People, dogs, squirrels so far. Not sure of the risks so …’
‘Yah, yah, yah, no, no. Great. Just great. Whatever you did, whether that’s a magic trick, or CGI, or whatever, it was fantastic. Studio will love it. This will sell. It will sell big.’
‘How big?’ Amy asked.
‘Hard to say, hard to say. How’s fifty K each sound? Right off the bat. As a sign of goodwill, an advance for the contract?’
‘You mean fifty thousand pounds?’ Amy said, making double sure, looking at me with wide eyes.
‘Right, this is nice and all,’ I said. ‘But I’m not really sure I want to be the star of a reality show. Don’t know if Amy mentioned, but I’m actually an actor and—’
‘Oh, Chest-o, OK, yah, I’m reading you loud and clear. It will be tasteful, classy. Who’s your agent?’
‘David Brenden.’
‘Davey B?! Lovely chap.’
‘Also, it might conflict with a film I’ve got coming up,’ I said.
‘Riiight. Yah. Sure. Put the acting on the back burner for now. Get your name in lights, then the world is your oyster.’ He pointed at me with his finger, winked and clicked it as though it was a gun. ‘Shall I tell the studio we’re greenlighting this?’
‘I mean … this is all happening so quickly. Maybe you should just stick with the original plan, get Amy to do a show and leave me out of it.’
‘Chester,’ Amy whispered through clenched teeth. ‘Can I have a word?’
She dragged me into the hall.
‘I don’t want to be famous for this – I don’t even know what this is,’ I said.
‘Listen to me,’ Amy said. ‘We need the money. You’re too young to understand, but why do you think Mum has been so quiet and sad recently? Work has made her redundant. She has no job. If we don’t get some cash soon we’re going to have to sell the house.’
I actually did understand this. Mum tried her best to keep our money issues a secret, but it’s fairly obvious. I know what those red bank letters in the post mean. This was another reason why Sword of Steel and Stone was so exciting. Sure, I have earned quite a lot of money from adverts – Puff Puff Wheat Puffs was well paid – but a main part in a big blockbuster movie like that? It would sort everything.
‘I’m not too young to understand,’ I said.
‘Please, do the show. They won’t hire me without you. Don’t ruin this.’
‘Amy,’ I whispered, ‘I am going to be in the Sword of Steel and Stone movie. I am an actor. Not a freak. Not a famous … squirrel charmer. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.’
*
After the meeting, Brian seemed disappointed – he said we should give it some thought and call him with a final answer. But when I visited Vladovski, I felt sure I had already done the right thing.
‘Ah, Chester,’ the doctor said as I arrived. ‘Sit, sit.’
‘I need to tell you something.’ I went to the sofa. He sat on the red chair opposite. ‘Last week, when you hypnotised me …’
I told him the whole story so far. He frowned and nodded.
‘I know it sounds insane,’ I added.
‘My job is not to judge, but you need to be aware of the risks.’
‘Hang on. You … believe me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh.’ This was not the response I was expecting. I’d just told a therapist I could control people and wildlife with my mind. You’d think men in white coats would arrive. Maybe they were on their way. Maybe he had a secret button?
‘You,’ Vladovski said, ‘are a Daahsuti …’
‘A what?’
‘In your language you’d say you’re a mind jumper.’
‘Sounds like a fancy hat.’
‘You … you do something that takes others many years. You ever hear expression old soul? Well, you, my friend, are one of the oldest. But I … I mustn’t … I cannot tell you more.’
‘OK? So how does this … this mind jumping work?’ I was relieved to hear it was a real thing – I wasn’t crazy. Phew.
He hesitated for a few seconds. ‘My … my teacher, guru, back in old country, he taught that it is like swimming in underwater cave,’ he said. ‘Along ceiling of the cave, there are holes, places where you can come up and breathe. Conscious beings are like these air holes. When you leave your own body, you swim in pure consciousness, then arrive in new mind. You understand?’
‘Not really. But, I mean, can other people do this?’
‘Yes.’ Vladovski stroked his beard and tried to hide a smile.
‘You can do it?’
He nodd
ed. ‘But you must understand, Chester, this is no game. You play with fire, you get burned.’ He lifted his hook hand – whoa, I forgot about that thing.
‘Wait. The bear – that’s how you did your circus show?’
Vladovski nodded again. ‘During Cold War, Russian KGB has mystic training camps – you know KGB?’
‘Maybe … um …’
‘KGB was Russian intelligence. You know, spies. With them, I learn this art. I lose myself. I learn who I am. But I leave KGB. Work for circus. But what I did – controlling the animals, making them perform, it can get you in a lot of trouble.’
‘I’m not going near any bears.’
‘Bear is dangerous, yes – it pull off head like piece of soft bread no problem. But this is not trouble I speak of. For real trouble, you must look to the ancient order – the star swimmers.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It …’ Vladovski seemed like he didn’t want to explain. ‘I can’t …’
‘Tell me,’ I said.
‘It … it is an organisation, many hundreds of years old. They meditate in cave, in snow. You know men in robes who say, “Ommm, ommm, ding, ding, ding, ommm”. They police the ancient practices, they keep it secret.’
‘Are they … cool? I mean, they sound cool.’
‘No,’ Vladovski said, shocked that I would even ask. ‘They are more dangerous than most angry bear you ever see. This is why you must resist urge to jump from mind to mind. Do not take this path. You concentrate only on being best actor.’
‘Not a problem. I’m done with it. Acting all the way.’
‘This is good. I know men who leave themselves too long, get lost, you see? You wander too far from home and you might forget way back …’
*
The morning of the final Sword of Steel and Stone audition was a beautiful one. The sun was shining, birds were chirping in the trees, butterflies were in the air – it looked like a movie. Me, I was calm, I was collected. I was Chester Parsons, the best actor of his generation. Confident, filled with all the strength and power Dr Vladovski had taught me. Nervous? Ha. Not even slightly.
The casting people were sitting behind a table when I read my lines. The script they’d given me to perform was a really big scene from the film. I knew what they wanted. They wanted emotion. And man did I deliver.
At the end of the scene I fell to my knees. ‘Ah!’ I yelled, clutching my heart (in this part of the script I had just been shot with an arrow). I rolled on to my back on the floor and pretended I was dying. My performance was incredible. ‘Tell them what happened here,’ I whispered. ‘Tell them that … tell them … tell them that I tried …’ And then, with a final breath, I was dead.
My eyes were closed but I could hear the applause. When I looked, all the casting people, the director, the producer, even the woman who was just there making coffee, were on their feet, clapping. One of them wiped away a tear.
The feeling I had when I left that studio was probably the best in my life. I felt I might fly. I saw Amy’s lovely little car waiting for me – I actually danced across the car park, shuffling, clicking my fingers, pointing at her as I approached.
‘Well, good afternoon there,’ I said, my face aching from my smile. ‘How are you on this fine day?’
‘Go well?’
‘I aced it. I think it was the best acting I’ve ever done. I got a standing ovation.’
‘So the part’s yours?’
‘I’ve never been so sure of anything.’ I tilted my head back and sighed. If Amy wasn’t looking at me, I might have even cried tears of joy. ‘Dave will call later with the details.’
Mum was over the moon when I told her how well it went. She hugged me and said I was talented. I was actually excited about going back to school – in fact, I was excited about everything.
That evening I was in the living room, my feet were on the coffee table and my heart was still warm and fuzzy. Then, with a loud buzz, my phone moved across the sofa cushion by my side. It was Dave, my agent, who got me the audition in the first place.
Here we go, I thought, fingers and toes wiggling in excitement. I pressed answer. ‘Dave!’ I said.
‘You all right, Chester?’
‘Best day of my life probably.’
‘Ah … well, that’s why I was calling. They gave the part to the other guy. Sorry, kid.’
‘That’s great news, man,’ I said, still smiling. ‘Did they say when filming would— Wait, what?’
‘Couple of notes here. You seemed too calm – they said you were almost too good. You’d lost your vulnerability.’
‘Too good? What? No. No.’
‘You can’t win ’em all, bud.’
‘But … but …’ It felt like the world was falling. I could have been sick. ‘But … I’ve told everyone at school I’ve got the part.’
‘Well, September’s going to suck for you then.’
‘I … I was so sure.’
‘Listen, Chester, it’s not a big deal. Take it on the chin. Look, I’ve got to go. Speak soon.’
The phone went silent against my ear.
Mum and Amy burst into the living room. They had a cake. Amy set off a party popper.
I had died and gone to hell.
‘I … I didn’t get the part,’ I said, staring at the wall.
Mum tutted and looked sad as she set the cake on the table. It had a sword made of icing sticking out the top.
But Amy? She frowned and then grinned. ‘So … that means … we can do the show?’ She dived on to the sofa and hugged me. ‘This is the best bad news of all time. I’ll call Brian. Remember, Chester, everything happens for a reason.’
I suppose I should tell you when everything went wrong. Things were quite bad already and, at the time, I honestly thought they couldn’t get any worse. Which is hilarious now I think about it. But, seriously, this next part of the story includes probably the worst thing that could ever happen. If I had to score it on the Amy Scale, it’d get minus a million.
It happened at the zoo.
A week after my brutal, crushing rejection, we started filming Amy and Chester. I still wasn’t at all keen on the idea, but Amy was right – we needed the money.
‘As you grow older,’ Vladovski had said during our last session, ‘you will find it astonishing what people are willing to do for money.’
I decided not to tell him that I hadn’t got the Sword of Steel and Stone part and, for obvious reasons, didn’t mention that I was, instead, starring in a TV show all about my mind-jumping abilities. Somehow, I thought he wouldn’t approve. I did try and explain his warnings to Brian and Amy – about the risks, about that ‘ancient order’ of mystic mind jumpers. But they just laughed – right in my face. It did sound pretty far-fetched when I said it out loud.
Yeah, sure, I thought, it’ll probably be fine. (There’s that voice again.)
Brian and a cameraman came to the house and, once Mum had signed a couple of contracts and listened to some boring legal chat, they hit record and we were rolling. They also gave me and Amy a small handheld camera each to film diary pieces in our spare time. There was no real plan at first – it was, as Brian said, a reality show.
‘Just be your wonderful selves,’ he explained. ‘Try and act as though the camera isn’t even here.’
But, pretty quickly, Brian was telling us what to do. Apparently, sitting around watching TV and being normal isn’t actually that interesting. Soon enough, the show was just me doing funny things to people and animals.
Even though I was the star, Amy loved every minute of it.
Obviously she’s my sister, so I would be sad if she died probably, but I do sort of feel like she’s a loser. Lots of people think she’s cool because she acts cool on her videos and has nice hair and wears expensive clothes or whatever, but she’s just … I don’t know. It’s like she cares way too much what other people think. Like, she would do literally anything to make people like her. Anything. If eating live kittens becam
e fashionable, she’d grab the nearest one and take a massive furry bite out of it. She wouldn’t even hesitate.
Also, she starts all her videos with the words ‘Hey guys’ and a wave. Gah. That annoys me so much. Because she’s just copying other people. It’s like she’s acting.
When she was younger and we used to play together, she was Just Amy. I knew her. Hey, look, that’s Amy – she’s all right. But as she got older and started filming herself and taking pictures of her lunch and basically posting everything online, she changed. Her personality split in two.
So there would be the real Amy (Just Amy), and the Amy that she becomes on camera (Loser Amy). One is my sister and she’s fairly cool. The other is embarrassing and I hate her and I hope she falls down some stone stairs. Maybe that’s a bit much but you get my point.
The reason I bring all this up is because that chirpy ‘Hey guys’ had found its way into this stupid, pointless show we were making. Every scene would start with Amy looking at the camera and presenting the situation.
‘Hey guys, we’re here at the park today …’
Hey guys, look, wow, Chester can be a dog. Hey look, wow, he can be a badger. Hey look, wow, he can be a horse. Hey look, wow, his soul is dead. Hey look, wow, he’s the saddest person of all time.
They posted a couple of videos on YouTube straight away – one where Amy explained that I was a mind jumper – and then I leapt into the body of various animals they brought to the house especially. A dog, a mouse, a bat for some reason. The video was edited to a cool song and, within hours, Brian said it was ‘Trending worldwide, darlings.’ Because that’s the kind of stuff he says.
You might think all this would be awesome, but you’d be wrong. It wasn’t fun any more. It was ridiculous. I felt like a clown. Dancing about in the body of animals just for a few million YouTube hits and a bit (all right, a lot) of money. Amazing, really, how something as incredible as mind jumping gets boring once you turn it into a cheap trick.
At least when I was controlling animals I was distracted. This is the strange thing about mind jumping. When you’re in a person, it’s quite straightforward – it feels pretty much the same as normal, except obviously you’re looking through different eyes, listening through different ears and so on. But with an animal, you get a mix of feelings. Like, when I was a mouse, I had this intense fear of cats, which didn’t wear off for ages after I returned to my body. Imagine a cat the size of a house, like a T-Rex, hunting you and toying with you and trying to rip you to pieces and stuff – for fun. If that doesn’t scare you then you’re not imagining it properly.
