‘Dunno,’ said Pete. ‘Why not ask him yourself?’
Connor appeared on my left and I couldn’t be sure how much he’d heard.
‘Hi, Connor,’ Pete said. He gave me a quick glance and smirked. ‘Luke here has something to ask you.’
‘Thanks, “mate”.’ I shot him my best evil look.
‘So what is it?’ Connor said, standing his tallest right in front of me.
‘I’ve heard you’re looking for Guy.’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Just wondered why you wanna fight him,’ I ventured. It sounded limp but I couldn’t think how else to broach the subject.
‘Why do you care?’ He rolled a grey blob of chewing gum between his tongue and top lip.
‘Seems a bit unnecessary. He’s not trying to hurt you.’
‘Are you his batty boy or somefing?’
I suddenly felt in danger. Connor was unpredictable. He could lash out without warning.
‘No, I’m not gay. Just a pacifist.’
‘You sound well queer. Maybe I should teach you a lesson first.’
I stared back at him, trying not to blink. Connor blinked first, smiled, and looked down. I relaxed a little. Connor moved off and turned back to us.
‘We can’t have scrotes like him nickin’ our muff, innit? We have to make a stand.’
He strutted away and I was left unsure whether Connor still meant to hurt Guy or not.
‘Hey, lads,’ Pete said, giggling childishly, ‘his name is Guy, right, but we should just call him Gay, instead. Geddit? Guy. Gay.’ He actually looked at us hoping we’d consider him a genius for his amazing wordplay.
‘Yeah, well done, Pete. Whatever,’ I said, striding off to the tutor room.
The next time I saw Guy properly was two nights later – a Saturday. He’d avoided being beaten up by skiving off school again.
I woke up with a start, unsure what had disturbed me. The clock said 3.09. I sat up and slipped out from under my duvet, instinctively making my way to the window, where I pulled back the curtain. Guy stood brazenly in the middle of the lawn, looking up at me. He was completely naked. Looking away quickly, I stepped back and let the curtain fall back into place. Oh crap! He was naked again. Part of me realised he couldn’t have clothes on when he magically transformed into the magpie, although all this talk of him being gay made me nervous. What if this weirdo was trying to get off with me, though? Why was I being so stupid as to trust this relative stranger – this freak?
However, another part of me recalled the excitement of his company and the unbelievable things he’d shown me so far. Had they all been real? Or was I the victim of some strange delusion? The last week had been so unusual that I was finding it very hard to keep a grip on reality at the moment.
I had a decision to make. To go with this strange nature boy – this super-powered, shape-shifting wonder, or to end it all right now by sending him off or calling my parents. There was no knowing where he meant to lead me, or whether I could trust him. I had to consider what might happen at school the next time we met. It just felt that right there, right then, I had to make a decision.
Opening the window out wide I signalled dumbly, not even sure what I meant by the gesture, grabbed my dressing gown, and threw it out to Guy. I promptly got dressed, found my torch, then shimmied down to the fence and ended up inelegantly sprawled on the lawn. I’d made my choice.
‘What’s today’s little secret?’ I whispered.
‘Something incredibly important,’ he replied in his usual soft way. His voice sounded like a gentle spring breeze. ‘Follow me.’ He moved a few steps and stopped. I just managed to avoid bumping into him like some cartoon character. He whipped his head around towards me. ‘Hope you’re feeling brave. You’ll need some courage.’
My mind reeled with trying to guess what hideous night-creature he had ready for me. We didn’t have vampire bats or killer spiders here in Britain. Werewolves don’t exist – I felt mostly certain about that. What else came out at night? Foxes? Badgers? Owls?
As he crept towards the shed I initially wondered if he’d caught something in there which I’d be forced to confront. Although nervous, I couldn’t help enjoying the creepy sensation of anticipation giving me an adrenaline rush.
It didn’t occur to me at first as Guy made his way to the back of the shed. I watched as he began ripping out handfuls from the top layer of the compost heap. I fumbled for my torch and tried to aim the beam where he was digging until he found what he’d been searching for and brought it out for me to look at.
Frisky!
The stiff and skinny body of our family tabby cat had been better preserved over these few weeks than I’d imagined. I expected something maggoty and skeletal, but this little corpse was still recognisably Frisky. My stomach turned and all the guilt I’d been hiding came back to me.
Chapter Eighteen
I had to look away. Eventually, I forced myself to look again at the corpse of our family pet.
Guy was cradling Frisky as if rocking him to sleep. He muttered something directly to the dead creature, and I even thought he was going to kiss it, but instead he carefully inspected the body. He found a small wound and with one thumb carefully pressed out a little pellet – the ball-bearing from my Desert Eagle. Then he carried the little dead thing over to my mum’s herb rockery and tore off a cluster of leaves from one of the bushier plants there, crushing them between his fingers and rubbing the mulch over the wound.
‘Lavender stops infection spreading,’ he whispered.
At first I thought he meant to somehow embalm the body, but my deepest fear was confirmed in his next sentence.
‘Do you want him back?’
At first I stared at him as certain now that he was insane. Then I nodded uncertainly.
‘Good. Then you have to help me.’ Guy placed Frisky on the grass and took my torch from me. ‘Do you regret what you did?’
‘Yes. Very much. But I didn’t mean to kill Frisky. I thought it was a fox –’
Guy turned on me and hissed angrily. ‘And what would have been your purpose in killing that creature? For food? In self-defence? Were you threatened?’
I shook my head. I knew the answer and it didn’t need to be said aloud.
Instead, I gazed at Frisky, stark and motionless – legs outstretched and back curved around. Guy stroked the dead cat’s back and picked out the various leaves, twigs, and chunks of dirt clumping his fur.
‘So many creatures have suffered because of you.’
He was right. My head dropped down until my chin pushed against my throat.
‘I knew them all,’ Guy continued. This was an odd way of explaining it. I could sense him looking at me and I waited for the accusations and hatred. None came.
With a thorn from a bush he pricked his finger and poured a few drops of blood on Frisky’s head. Nothing happened. Guy then looked up at me, waiting for me to meet his gaze.
‘This is going to hurt, so get ready. It involves a transference of your life force into him. If you make a loud noise you’ll wake people up and it won’t work. Understand?’
I trembled wildly, wondering what the hell it all meant. What on earth did he have in mind for me?
‘Sit down!’ Guy pointed to the space opposite him on the other side of Frisky. I did so, facing him. Guy took my left hand and held it over the cat’s body. He picked up a sturdy piece of wood which he must have found and placed there earlier. ‘Grip this tightly between your teeth. Bite down hard when you need to.’
I felt terrified, but obeyed his directions.
He slowly pinched the little finger on my left hand and pushed my thumb into the palm and then wrapped my other three fingers over them. Then, before I could brace myself, he swiftly snapped my little finger backwards.
My God! The pain!
I bit into the wood, which cut into my soft gums and lips during the urgency and panic of the shock. Spit dribbled down my chin.
A bolt shot acro
ss to my shoulders and my head, which pounded horribly. Then I remembered my little finger and every single atom of me seemed to disappear, leaving only the searing agony all concentrated into that tiny point and part of me.
I kept in the desire to howl and scream. My breathing intensified until I thought I might black out. Dizziness suddenly took control of me. Everything went white and blurred. Then, unexpectedly, I felt something warm begin to swell from my abdomen, which moved slowly up to my chest and head, then slowly down the length of my arm, to my wrist, palm, and finally to the epicentre of pain. From then on I remained aware of the ache, but now only as a distant stinging.
Something – perhaps adrenaline – had given me the strength to survive this ordeal. I now felt I could be slightly separated from the event itself. I looked at my finger still popped out at a jaunty and illogical angle. And I giggled. Like after the flying, I felt elated.
‘Breathe in deeply,’ a voice whispered. Who was speaking? At first I couldn’t recall my own name or where I was, but then the whiteness shimmered into translucence and I could make out Guy’s shadowy outline still holding my left wrist.
I became aware of my shallow breathing – like an uncontrollable shivering – so I concentrated on inhaling slowly.
‘That’s it. A few more times,’ Guy encouraged. ‘Good. Now I want you to close your eyes and focus on the feeling in your hand. Take in a very long breath and hold it until I say.’
Following his directions carefully, I filled my lungs with what felt like the sweetest air I’d ever tasted. My head spun and my body convulsed with the power it gave me. I managed to hold it in. Then I opened my eyes. Frisky’s lifeless eyes and bristled fur floated a few centimetres away. Guy was holding him up and forcing open the jaws, previously locked by rigor mortis.
‘Blow into his mouth.’
Then the smell hit me. Decomposed. Fetid. The smell of death. I shuddered, seized with the horror of what I’d done. Instinctively, I jerked away and coughed and spluttered helplessly – feeling like a failure.
‘Try again!’ Guy tugged at my little finger. The excruciating pain snapped me back into position and a new heightened awareness. ‘Focus on the point where it hurts and let your life force fill you to bursting. Then hold it with all your strength.’
Closing my eyes, I repeated the motions – once again feeling the joy as my lungs became swollen. Just as I thought my head might explode I felt a cold hand being placed on each cheek. On opening my eyes I saw Guy move his own face close to mine and then tilt in the manner of a kiss. I stayed calm and trusted the moment. Guy placed his mouth over mine – but this was no kiss. He began to draw my breath out of me. It sounded like he drank from me with a straw. There was nothing I could do as he drained me of oxygen, and on my final wheeze, when I thought I might die, he stepped back and left me flopping about pathetically.
As soon as he withdrew I felt the enormity of my aching finger once more. It was unbearable. Uncontrollable spasms stopped me from thinking any of my own thoughts. The white sheen returned until I felt forced to stay lying down. Watching from my prone position gave me the chance to observe what Guy did next.
He held Frisky in front of him, with outstretched arms. The inert creature still had its mouth open in a yawn, its long tongue dried and useless. Proving himself braver than me, Guy then pressed his lips against the gaping mouth of the cat and slowly blew into the dark, narrow hole. This process took a few minutes to complete, all done with impressive concentration.
‘Now you hold him! Keep him warm!’
The corpse was thrust at me and I grabbed it, mostly out of shame. Death lay here in my hands. Not knowing what else to do, and still glad to have something to distract me from my pain, I sat up and cuddled Frisky just like I had done as a little boy. For a few moments I remembered exactly how I felt as that small, lonely child. Then I returned to myself. Seeing my little finger out of joint disturbed me, so I used that hand to hold Frisky and my right hand to stroke his hardened, blotchy fur.
I couldn’t be sure initially if it was my imagination, but Frisky had now curled into a ball, like a kitten; his previously outstretched legs now tucked in comfortably just like he had looked most evenings on our sofa. His fur appeared somehow less matted and blemished. Some parts around his ears and nose were patchily bald, but he certainly felt a great deal softer already. I gave him a squeeze. It came from a desire to pass on my warmth.
Guy sat down next to me and put a hand on the animal’s back for a few moments, smiled, and nodded. Settling Frisky onto my lap Guy took hold of my left hand and stared at the little finger. It reminded me of the pain. He looked about for the bit of wood, which I must have spat out and placed it between my teeth again. He caressed the back of my hand a couple of times and then, placing his fingers around my small digit in his fist, he yanked it back into place.
The wood broke into splinters in my mouth and bile rose in my throat, hot and stinging. Turning my head away I spat out the mixture of wood and vomit, reeling with nausea and an acute headache.
Guy pressed Frisky back into my arms and this time I felt a little resistance to my embrace. Tingling little pinpricks could be felt against my skin on my arms and chest, which reminded me of a familiar sensation. I looked down and saw Frisky staring back at me – his eyes animated if somewhat sleepy. His ears flicked in response to the many night time sounds. The prickles were his claws. Of course, his claws were pushing into me as he stretched out his awakened limbs. Although he lay limply in my hands there could be absolutely no doubt about it – Frisky was alive again.
I raised him right up to my face and felt a mixture of horror and confusion. I’ve no idea how long I sat there, staring and stroking, but I quickly snapped out of it when a light came on, stretching right across the lawn, followed by the sound of the French window sliding open on its noisy rails.
‘Who’s out there? I’m calling the police!’
It was my dad. I jumped up in a panic and ran towards him with Frisky, my head rapidly clearing.
‘Dad, it’s me. Look! I found Frisky! I heard a noise and I came outside to have a look. It’s him. Isn’t that great?’
Dad clearly hadn’t expected this. ‘Um, yeah. Wow. Well done. Bring him inside. We need to look after him carefully and take him to the vet as soon as we can, just to be sure. He’s probably hungry, poor sod.’
I also wanted to distract Dad so he didn’t see Guy, so I encouraged him back inside. Just before I entered the house I looked back and could only see my dressing gown spread on the grass. As I stepped over the threshold I heard a hoarse chattering from a nearby tree, ‘Chack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack’.
Dad found Frisky’s basket and I placed him carefully in it. He seemed grateful and content, finally purring as Dad started stroking his still roughened fur.
‘Get him a bowl of water and some food. I’m glad we kept all his stuff. I’ll go and tell Mum the good news.’
While Dad returned upstairs I shot back outside to retrieve my dressing gown and looked for the magpie with no luck.
Frisky seemed excited about the water, which he lapped up greedily. I guess being dead is thirsty work. He sniffed the cat food – some soggy jellied meat – but rejected it rather haughtily. I wondered if cat heaven had better food on offer and that bringing him back was actually a slightly mean thing to do.
Of course, both parents were overjoyed and we spent the next hour or so inventing theories about what must have happened to him. I had no intention of telling them the truth. How could I? Oh, um … well, actually, our cat is a zombie; the undead; Nosferatu; beast from the grave; reanimated. I did suggest we rename him ‘Lazarus’ which got a wry smile from Mum. Eventually, Mum and Dad agreed that he must have been trapped somewhere, like in someone else’s shed or even a house while the owners were away on holiday. The next best theory was that he’d been in a fight and had slowly recovered somewhere until he was strong enough to return home. I voted for that one, which also explained his dirty, unkem
pt state.
It looked like I’d really got away with it. Thanks to Guy. I’d witnessed something miraculous that early morning; something which made me realise that there is so much more to our world than we can ever hope to understand.
In all the excitement and wonder, I’d forgotten about my little finger. Once Mum and Dad had taken Frisky to the vet I became aware of a throbbing ache and had to take two paracetamol. Using bandages, plasters, and a wooden lollipop stick I found in the cutlery drawer, I improvised a splint and made up a story about an accident in PE. It continued hurting – a lot – but I was beginning to understand that bringing Frisky back to life meant some kind of sacrifice on my part, and this seemed infinitely preferable to the sacrificial rituals seen in those mad old Hammer Horror films my Dad loved so much.
Frisky came back with a clean bill of health. He’d lost a bit of fur in small patches and the vet found certain cuts and bruises, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by the usual behaviour of a tomcat. Somehow Guy had healed up the ball-bearing wound – or made it look like a bite or scratch. I also wondered if he’d done something to preserve the body. The vet reckoned Frisky had got into a fight with, perhaps, a fox and then hidden somewhere to recover. Apparently it happens all the time!
I waited for Guy or a magpie to appear all Sunday, day and night, but was disappointed. The pain in my left hand didn’t help my sleep or concentration. But I had made an important decision.
Chapter Nineteen
He didn’t appear in the playground at all on Monday. I asked various people in his classes if he’d been in. Nobody remembered him being there – but a few didn’t seem certain if he had or not. How did he manage to miss so much school? I knew he was considered a school-refuser, but what did his foster parents say? Was the educational welfare officer on to him? As I sat in English pondering these things rather than completing the exam practice questions, I did glance out of the window beside me across to the mobile classes below my line of vision. On the roof amongst the general detritus of tin cans, crisp packets, and a couple of footballs, hopped a magpie, although I had no way of knowing if this was Guy or not. The bird seemed keen on the moss sprouting from the guttering – perhaps pecking it for insects and grubs. Although I did wonder why Guy might do this, knowing his odd behaviour at the best of times, it didn’t make me any less or more certain either way. It did stop a few times, bobbing its head and angling it to look at me with one eye, but I’m sure I just imagined it. The magpie’s tail gleamed metallic green and its wings were a sheeny blue.
Pica Page 10
