by James Erith
Isabella thought for a moment. ‘Sue had had a similar dream, too. I suppose I wanted to try something—anything—to prove or disprove the dreams, scientifically.’
‘So, four of us have had the same dream,’ Archie said. ‘Perhaps there’s some kind of storm demon out there, hurling dreams at us, and we just happened to catch them?’
‘But Sue had the dreams, and she lives miles away,’ Daisy added.
Archie guffawed. ‘She does sleep over a lot.’
‘Don’t be silly, Archie,’ Isabella sneered. ‘Of course sleep demons don’t exist.’
Daisy suddenly piped up. ‘The Fitzroy storm glass! Where is it?’
Isabella stood up, plucked the glass out of the fire grate, and placed it on top of the mantelpiece.
The children stared at it, as though it held the answers to all their problems. ‘It’s still cloudy with little stars,’ Archie said, mischievously.
Daisy focused more intently. ‘Actually,’ she whispered, entranced, ‘those little stars are belting around? What does it mean?’
Isabella sighed, ‘I don’t know what it means or what it’s supposed to show. It’s not my finest work.’
Daisy wasn’t convinced. ‘Just out of interest,’ she said, ‘for simple-minded people like me, who never saw it before, what was the glass like when you began this mad project?’
‘Cloudy,’ Archie said, ‘just like it is now.’
‘Thanks, Archie, very helpful,’ Daisy said. ‘Well, it’s like a game of pinball in there,’ she said. ‘There’s way more going on than simply cloudy little particles shooting all over the place.’
Isabella strode over and squinted. ‘There’s nothing here but a foggy substrate,’ she announced. ‘You’re wasting your time, Daisy. Come on you two, get your things. You’ve got this big match to play today, or had you forgotten?’
Daisy frowned. ‘You think we should just ignore it all; the dreams, the cave, the Ancient Woman, everything?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she replied.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. One hundred percent. I believe it’s purely a coincidence, that’s all. These dreams are parasites of fear.’
The twins grabbed their sports bags, Daisy stealing a last glance at the storm glass before Isabella popped it into her bag.
‘We need to get a move on,’ Isabella said. ‘My guess is that, somehow, this big cloud sitting above us has made our brain patterns react oddly in advance of a storm breaking. With my scientific hat on, I’d say we ignore the whole thing. Yorkshire storms are never that bad.’
The twins shrugged. Isabella was the school boffin and, much as they hated to admit it, she was generally correct.
‘I realise I’m pretty rubbish in Chemistry, or whatever science category the glass belongs in,’ Daisy said, earnestly. ‘But I’d keep a really close eye on that Fitzroy storm thing-a-me-thing if I were you.’
The children had barely stepped out of the door when Old Man Wood’s deep voice stopped them short.
‘Wait!’ he yelled from the doorway. ‘Did any of you leave this coat? I found it in the corridor.’ A large overcoat dangled over his arm. ‘Nice one too, with an unusual pattern on the lining. Sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.’
Archie missed a step and stumbled, righting himself before his nose split the floor.
Old Man Wood noticed. ‘Yours, is it, Archie? Looks a touch big for you, mind.’
Archie doubled back, his body trembling. Without looking at Old Man Wood, he inspected the coat and shoved a hand inside one of the pockets. The hairs on his back shot up.
‘Back in a second,’ he yelled, as he flew up the stairs.
Archie sprinted into the attic room where he spied the cup of water, tinged slightly blue, exactly as he’d left it. In one movement, he drained the glass.
‘Everything all right, Archie?’ Old Man Wood asked.
‘Fine,’ Archie answered.
‘Right-oh,’ Old Man Wood said. ‘Your coat?’
‘Oh, yeah, it’s a friend’s. Must have grabbed it by mistake, in a rush.’
‘Big fella, is he?’
‘Yeah. I suppose,’ Archie said, as casually as he could.
Old Man Wood handed him the coat. But as he did so a knife slipped out of the pocket and tinkled onto the paving slabs.
‘A knife, Archie? You know you shouldn’t carry one of those at school.’
Archie’s heart skipped a beat. ‘It’s only plastic. A stage knife, you know... drama stuff.’ He smiled, bending down to pick up the knife, just beating Old Man Wood to it. ‘The bloke who owns the coat is the lead part in the play.’
‘He certainly has an interesting taste in knives,’ Old Man Wood commented, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, on you go, young Archie, and remember to save those footballs.’
Archie set off to catch up with the girls. As he ran, his heart was thumping like a huge bass drum, and his head buzzed with a mixture of dread and excitement.
Old Man Wood knew it was a beauty; a knife worthy of a powerful man. From the clinking noise it made when it dropped on the floor, he would have bet a coin or two that it was made from silver and steel. From the way the light reflected through the stones on the handle, he’d have taken another wager that its jewels were unique; most likely rubies and pink diamonds.
It wasn’t a plastic knife. Not in a million years.
He couldn’t remember how he could tell a cheap knife from a proper knife, but he had been the one to show Archie how to master a knife all those years ago: how to test the balance and weight that would determine the revolutions and power of the throw.
Old Man Wood mulled this over, wondering what light his brain might shed on the subject. No, nothing there, just a deep penetrating pain in his mind, like toothache.
And why did that funny old coat stir his curiosity? The lining had taken his breath away. Was it the pattern?
He’d seen thousands of patterns of snakes and trees, or snakes slithering around poles, all the way through his long life.
Why did this one make him feel nervous and thrilled at the same time?
He replayed the moment he glimpsed the lining for the first time. That odd feeling again, as if the snake had actually moved, as if it had slithered up into the tree right there on the fabric itself.
Old Man Wood paced around the room.
He’d noted the buttons too. A matching crest of a snake winding through branches.
Nothing I can do about it now, he told himself, whatever it might mean.
Suddenly, a thought smashed into his head, electrifying his entire body.
He sat down in his large, worn armchair, cupping his face in his big, leathery, old hands.
What if the material of that jacket wasn’t from Earth?
He’d never seen a fabric that had the ability to change shape here on Earth before, but, if he remembered correctly, the marks of the snake and the tree were from... the Garden of Eden?
A surge of energy rushed through his body, making him feel strong for a second or two.
Time to research those old carvings, he thought, and shed light on that overcoat’s true home.
Twenty-Six
The Journey To School
Assured by Isabella’s dream diagnosis, the girls had a spring in their step as they headed down the track. From the top of the hill, the banks on either side of the road gradually increased in height, as if a giant digger had gouged the lane out of the hillside. The lane acted as a drain taking the water off the hill, and even in the driest summer a constant trickle dribbled from the moors to the river below.
Branches of oak, ash, maple, wild cherry, crab-apple, blackthorn and hawthorn made a thick canopy high above the road and today, it was coloured in a mat of rust, red and gold autumnal colours.
On a clear day it looked as if glitter had been sprinkled on the track as the sunlight flickered through the trees. Today it was almost pitch black, and the tree roots supporting the bank twisted through the rock and so
il, reaching out like the arms and legs of decaying corpses. Sue still called it ‘the big graveyard ditch’, but the children were used to it; it was their daily walk to school. The idea of it being scary had long gone.
Nonchalantly, Archie told the girls that the coat was Kemp’s dad’s, and they must have got muddled up in the cloakroom. But although he slumped along quietly, his heart was thudding in his chest, and his brain worked overtime as he tried desperately to remember what had happened during the night.
The girls didn’t bother to question him further.
For someone as disorganised as Archie, mistaking a coat was as common as being late for a lesson.
Half way down, they stopped by a large oak with a huge bough that leaned over the road. Daisy climbed nimbly up the steep, tall bank, using the roots as handgrips. At the top, she uncoiled a rope wrapped around the branch and tossed down the slack end.
Archie went first. He took off, climbing the rope until his feet settled on a large knot at the bottom. Swinging backwards and forwards, the warm wind rushed through his hair.
As the line slowed, he jumped down, running to a stop.
‘Pathetic, Arch,’ Daisy said. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Nerves,’ he replied. ‘Not really in the mood.’
Isabella went next. She sat on the knot and swung backwards and forwards at a leisurely speed, as she always did. Finally, Daisy mounted the rope and asked Archie to pull her up the hill as far as he could.
‘Watch this,’ she said, her eyes glimmering.
Archie let go, and Daisy soared forwards, hair flying, until she was horizontal with the bank, touching the canopy. She swung back, screaming in delight, and bashed into the bank on the other side.
‘Daisy! Enough. We’ve got to go to school,’ Isabella said, trying to catch the rope. ‘Kill yourself on the way back, but we’re running late as it is.’
‘Oh sure,’ Daisy said, coming to a stop and tucking the rope around a protruding root system. ‘I bet we’ll be too tired, or it’ll be too dark, or some other rubbish excuse as always.’
‘Daisy,’ Isabella replied, ‘after today, you have all of half term to swing yourself into hospital.’
At last the steep track levelled out and the height of the bank lowered, like the end of a playground slide. At the old wooden bridge, the children peered over the handrail at the water running beneath and looked for fish gliding in the pools next to the chunky oak uprights.
Isabella noted how, in the strange light, the school tower to their left looked enormous compared to the tiny boathouse by the river. She wondered if the old rowing boat they’d once played around in was still fit for purpose.
The children arrived at the lush, velvety green football pitch. White posts all the way round balanced safety ropes to keep the spectators at bay. Set back from each corner, the moveable floodlight towers dominated the pitch like metallic giants standing guard.
Daisy ran across the bold, alternating stripes with its tattoo-like, fresh white markings. She practised kicks, flicks, and tricks and commentated loudly on the goals she was going to score later.
Before long, they were across the playing field, and heading up the steps to their form rooms.
Twenty-Seven
Genesis Considers
Genesis drew her legs together, taking comfort from the warm glow of her electrical current.
She soothed the burns from where the boy’s eyes had scalded her, and wondered whether Asgard was right.
Had nature, the universe, got it wrong?
Could the Heirs of Eden, mere children, survive nature’s fury, and nature’s power, and go on to find the tablet of creation?
This undertaking had never been designed for children of mankind. But nature’s wishes cannot be resisted. Not at any cost.
What about the old man, too? Time had taken its toll. He was old, but was he now, in a curious twist of fate, a liability?
One by one, she dipped her slender legs into her maghole.
She would make sure a dream was given to Old Man Wood every night that would somehow, somehow, stir him into action.
Genesis stretched out another leg, dipped it in her maghole and watched as the blue light swirled in and around it like threads spinning on a stick.
With these thoughts, she dipped her head, and inverted through her maghole, vanishing into thin air.
Twenty-Eight
Kemp Tries To Make Up
Archie noticed Kemp sitting quietly at his desk, reading a book.
Let sleeping dogs lie, he thought, especially unpredictable dogs.
Without any fuss, Archie made his way to the other side of the room, draped the coat over the back of his chair, sat down, and put his head in his hands. He desperately tried to remember what the ghost had said. A meeting, something about a lion and a horse? After writing down a couple of variations, Archie realised that it might be something to do with strength and courage.
He remembered that he would be saved, but from what exactly?
Hadn’t he agreed on something as well, such as joining the ghost in some form of partnership? It didn’t make any sense but, and it was a huge BUT, the ghost’s coat and dagger were right here in this room. So it couldn’t be a false memory, regardless of Isabella’s certainty that their recent experiences were figments of their imaginations.
Archie teased the nicks on each side of his chin. Another reminder.
He pulled out a piece of paper, and nibbled the end of a pencil.
"Possible meeting place", he wrote.
He racked his brain. Was it down by the boatyard, or up by one of the big willow trees? He wrote both down, but shook his head. No. Neither option rang true. He wondered if it was the alley above the football pitch, and he wrote that down as well.
He underlined it twice and leaned back in his chair. Yes, that one rang a bell.
His thoughts were interrupted by a friendly, slightly painful, wallop on his shoulders. It was Gus Williams who had bounced into the room. ‘Morning Archie. You’re not by any chance writing a "to-do" list, are you?’ he said sarcastically.
Archie smiled. If Kemp was an otter with big lips, Gus was a laughing donkey. ‘No, don’t be ridiculous,’ he said.
Gus read the list. ‘Lost something?’
‘Nah. Just trying to remember a dream.’
‘Oh, well that’s okay,’ Williams said, cheerily. ‘So long as it wasn’t a big and complicated one?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, it was.’ Archie smiled. ‘Now, go away and leave me to think.’
‘News alert!’ Williams announced to the room, his grin almost completely covering his face. ‘Archie de Lowe is thinking! Give him plenty of room, oxygen at the ready.’ Gus leant down again. ‘Next, you’ll be telling me Daisy’s caught the same bug,’ he whispered. ‘Good luck!’
He smiled and sprang off like a big, energetic puppy to his desk at the back of the room.
Kemp had listened in to Archie’s conversation with Gus. He’d bet money Archie had forgotten something again and by the looks of it this time the object was more important than usual.
Kemp stood up quietly. ‘Morning, Archie, everything cool?’
Archie groaned. First Gus, now Kemp.
‘Not really, Kemp,’ he replied.
‘Lost something?’
‘No,’ he started. ‘Well, kind of.’ Archie groaned. ‘Actually, I had another dreadful nightmare. I’m trying to remember it.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Kemp replied.
‘Yeah,’ Archie said. ‘A couple of really strange experiences, but, poof, gone for ever.’
Kemp laughed. ‘Want to talk about it?’
Archie stared at Kemp. ‘I told you, I’m not talking to you after what you did yesterday.’
‘Really?’ Kemp sighed. ‘Look, I had a think and last night I decided that I’m going to change. No more jokes, no more pranks. I promise—’
‘You said that before, and let me down. In fact, you lied to me. Christ! Kemp,
I had to own up for your stupidity, and you made me feel like an idiot. Luckily Isabella didn’t believe me.’
Kemp sucked in his cheeks. ‘I’ve told Jackson and Pulse that I don’t want to be part of the gang. When I’m with them, I act like a... well, like a total dickhead. I don’t know what comes over me. The bottom line is I’m actually sick of it, too.’
Kemp noted Archie’s look of disgust. ‘Arch, if you don’t believe me, go and ask them,’ he continued. ‘They’re over there in the corner playing on their phones like happy little freaks. Seriously, I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I really don’t.’ He dropped his voice and briefly stole a look over his shoulder. ‘I want to be your friend.’
‘Blimey, Kemp, this isn’t the time. Right now, I’ve literally got a nightmare on my hands. I’m not going to trust you until I know you mean what you say.’
‘What do you want me to do? I’ve promised I won’t be nasty to either of your sisters. I’m going to put all that anger behind me. I won’t even speak to your sisters if you don’t want.’
‘I bet you’ve already arranged with your Sutton mates that Daisy’s going to get a kicking though, haven’t you?’
Kemp winced. ‘There’s not much I can do about that now, is there?’
‘The only reason you’re being ‘Mr Nice’ is because if they kick her out of the game we’ll lose and she won’t play in the team after half term. That would leave room for someone else, wouldn’t it. And that person will probably be you.’
Kemp’s expression had changed. ‘You know what, Archie,’ he spat. ‘I meant what I just said. Throw it back in my face, why don’t you.’
‘Well, that’s rich, coming from you,’ Archie said, standing up. He looked him in the eye. ‘I swore on my life that I wouldn’t tell anyone about the glass and I kept my word. You, Kemp... well, you’re a lying, deceitful disgrace to your dead parents, your aunt, your school and, more importantly, to yourself.’
