Poppy sunk back down into her pillow. “Sorry.” she whispered. “I wasn’t going to spend any of it.” Then reached under her mattress and pulled out the missing money. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Forming the tone of her next words carefully she paused. “I’m not allowed in any shops am I?”
The tiniest hint of sarcasm did not go unnoticed by her Mother. And as she retreated from the room she wondered if there was any hope for her daughter, tears began to fall once again. Not through anything as fleeting as happiness, but because she knew Poppy’s repentance wouldn’t last long. It never did.
Poppy was still afraid and tried to stay awake for as long as she could. But before she knew it her bed was bathed in daylight and it was time to get up. She noticed straightaway the wardrobe door was slightly ajar, she was certain that her mother had shut it. Pangs of fear returned for less than a second before being overwhelmed by anger. She threw back the sheets, jumped out of bed and without any hesitation opened the doors wide. Clothes hung on the rail and old shoes lay in the bottom. There were no ghosts and not a monster in sight. She let out a loud sigh. “Poppy Darke stop being a baby, there’s no such things as ghosts.” Still unconvinced she quickly ran downstairs.
Only there is and he was standing right in front of her trying not to breath, and then remembered he didn’t. As his new neighbor slammed her bedroom door Jesse faded through the wall back into his own bedroom.
All his favorite toys were propped up awkwardly on a shelf. They were all there, Action man, a remote controlled jeep, some Play station games and two old comics. Alongside sat a photograph of him playing with a kite on a beach in Corfu. All of his toy cars were in a box just as he had left them that Saturday morning almost a year before.
He glanced at the Mickey Mouse clock on his bed side table, it was almost that time. Every morning at exactly eight o’clock his mum would come in and open the curtains and then a window to let in some fresh air. Then she would strip, remake his bed and fluff the pillows until they were just perfect. Finally she’d take some of his clothes; they would reappear later in the day washed, ironed and folded neatly. Jesse had the world’s cleanest clothes, and he couldn’t even wear them.
In the beginning he didn’t know he was a ghost. He shouted and pleaded at the top of his voice, even screamed at her to see or hear him but she never did, not once. “I’m here Mum, I’m right here.” he shouted. “I’m home now, please don’t cry.” But she cried, she cried all the time.
Every night she would light a candle and place it in his bedroom window, then she would sit in the rocking chair holding one of his toys and lovingly recite one of his favorite fairy tales, then after ‘they all lived happily ever after’ she’d quietly cry herself to sleep.
Today was different because that girl next door had seen him, and she was going to help him whether she wanted to or not.
Spot on eight o’clock the door swung open and in she came, hesitating for a second almost as if she had forgotten something, and looked down the hall. Jess realized with some puzzlement that she was sneaking and didn’t want someone to know where she was, or what she was doing.
“Hi Mum.” Jesse said, as he had every morning. ”What are you doing?”
She didn’t head for the curtains or window as usual and she didn’t remake his bed. She had tears in her eyes as she sat down. Jesse had to move quickly or she would have sat right on top of him. “I hope you can hear Me.” she said as she picked up a teddy bear and hugged it tight. More tears trickled down her wet cheeks. “You have to know that we will always love you more than anything in the world.”
Jesse felt a terrible fear welling up inside him. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say one little bit and he didn’t think that he wanted to hear any it anyway.
She continued. “But your Father and I have decided to move away and try to rebuild our lives.”
“No.” Jesse screamed. “No, you can’t. I’ll be alone.” He grabbed at his Mum in vain, his hands passing right through her. “I’m here Mum, I’m right here. Don’t leave me.”
Suddenly the bedroom door opened again. “I thought you weren’t going to come in here anymore.”
“Dad!” Jesse realized he hadn’t seen his dad for ages and as he stood there he seemed strangely different. The sparkle in his eyes was missing and he looked much older, maybe even smaller. There was pain and sadness etched across his face and that smile that could light up a room like a light bulb had simply gone out.
His wife smiled through the tears. “Where is he John? Where is our little boy?”
The unbearable sadness was always there and he had almost grown used it. The tears were harder to control and he ground his teeth in an effort to halt the tide of emotion forming a knot in his throat. “This is why we must go. Little Jesse isn’t coming back, he’s gone.” He pulled his Wife up to her feet and took her in his arms. “We’ll go mad living here, keeping this shrine. We have to go and live our lives, and one day when we’re really old, we’ll see him again I’m sure of that.”
Burying her face in his shoulder she sobbed. “I’ll see him again?”
“Ssh. Sure you will. We both will.”
“But why don’t you know where I’ve gone? Where’s my grave? I haven’t seen my grave.” Jesse shouted even though he knew no one could hear him. “This can’t be right. I don’t remember dying, I don’t remember …! Anything.” He needed answers fast, first he would search the cemetery for a grave and then tonight he would go and see the Goyles. If anyone could give him answers, they could. “Don’t go anywhere.” he said as he ran through the door. ”…Love you.”
Chapter 3
The whole place was a rotten, stinking dump. The locals called it a town but ‘Burnham’s lowly’ was little more than a village in the middle of nowhere; there were more cows and sheep than people. They had arrived in the dead of night and Poppy had explored the very next morning; it had taken a grand total of twenty minutes. Saint Michael’s church stood in a cemetery between a river and the crossroads in the middle of the village. Opposite there was a Butchers shop which also doubled as a post office and sold buns and cakes. Their neighbors were Green grocers who sold sweets and Newspapers.
Then there was a public house called ‘The Black dog’. A golden thatched roof crowned white walls crisscrossed with black beams. The windows were tiny and all seemed crooked in some way. All had rusty old window baskets overflowing with colorful flowers and green foliage.
Most of the stone cottages seemed to have been built in a hotchpotch lay out with a lack of thought or design, and with their little country gardens full of vegetables, fruit and flowers there was no end of Bees, wasps, midges and every other biting or stinging insect known to man.
The sky was blue and everything else seemed to be a shade of green or brown. Poppy longed for Straight lines and square buildings, the grey concrete jungle of inner city estates and the hustle and bustle of life in North London. Mostly though, she missed her friends, even the ones she didn’t really like.
Here there was never anyone to play with or talk to and nothing to do. Poppy Darke hated it and she hated her mother for moving back. Most of all she hated her new, as yet unborn, brother or sister. Baby this and Baby that, it was all she ever talked about. And now, with every passing day, that awful lump on her stomach was growing larger and soon there’d be a brat screaming the house down.
Poppy sighed; she was bored and desperately wanted something to happen. Sitting in the shade at the edge of the hayfield, she could see all the way down the valley, past the Farmer in his little red tractor and into town. She was out of breath and terribly thirsty, it had been a grueling climb.
In the hot afternoon sun a tall, pregnant woman with bright hair, walked a large black mongrel along the path by the river. Poppy regarded her with pursed lips and the hint of a scowl, until she disappeared behind some trees. Mrs. Anne Darke was most probably angry and looking for Poppy, she was grounded after all.
A di
rt track edged with thorny bushes and a dry stone wall, wound down the hill side and became tarmac where it crossed the river. Poppy was deciding whether to take a wander down there and throw stones at the fish, or maybe just go home, when something hit the side of her head.
It didn’t really hurt but nevertheless made her jump. She slowly stood up, rubbed her cheek and peered into the trees behind her. “Who did that?” she cried. “Who’s there?” Even on a midsummer’s day the forest was a creepy, dark and forbidding place and she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. The shadows seemed to play games and Poppy saw monsters where there were none. As she turned to head down the lane there was another sharp blow, this time on her shoulder and it stung. Then another and another, soon it was raining stones, acorns and broken twigs.
Spooked, Poppy made a dash for it, scraping her knee as she scrambled over the wall. She crouched out of range and winced in pain as she inspected her bloodied leg, which was really little more than a scratch. Then she began to hear the distant sound of kids laughing. It was just kids, not monsters; and Poppy Darke was not afraid of anyone. “Stop it.” she hissed angrily. “Stop laughing at me…” An eerie silence returned to the lane, even the birds seemed to fall silent. “… Where are you?” She dared to peer over the top but saw nothing and there was no reply. “Show yourselves?” Still there came no answer. “I’m going now, if you throw anything I’ll find you and you’ll be sorry.”
A single squawking crow swooped from high and landed on the wall nearby and was soon joined by more of his friends. It was almost as if they had come to watch, Poppy wasn’t sure who they were cheering for. “It wasn’t you? Was it?” She felt silly just asking. The birds seemed unafraid and watched her for a time then squawked and flew off to a high perch.
Poppy stood up, wiped some hair out of her eyes and noticed a small blood stain on her fingers. “I’ll have you for this.” she screeched angrily, then louder. “I’ll get you.” The return of her own voice in a fearful echo sent her hurtling down the hill. Keeping the wall between herself and her tormentors, she dashed down to the bridge and ran across. Feeling much safer she slowed to a jog and then stopped to get her breath back. She was sure that if she waited long enough some kids would tire of hiding and come down the lane. If they had any sense and knew what was good for them, they would stay right where they were.
Sure enough seconds later she caught a glimpse of a face peering over the wall and then more figures trying to sneak down the hill without being seen. Poppy counted at least five and there could have been even more, this meant trouble. She didn’t mind fighting and could hold her own against even bigger kids, but here the odds were stacked heavily against her. She made a run for it and looking over her shoulder realized the chase was on; all five kids and two more who were much closer had come out of hiding and were sprinting after her. Running had never been one of Poppy’s strong points and she realized breathlessly that she would have to hide, and soon. Judging she would be caught long before reaching home she looked around frantically for help or somewhere safe.
They were calling her names now and shouting threats, she heard a girls’ voice demanding she stop ‘or else’. Poppy was out of breath and could run no more, she came to a stop and bent over with her hands on her knees gulping in mouthfuls of air, awaiting the inevitable. They were much closer now and there was nowhere to run.
“In here.” The tiny voice came from some edges by the side of the road. Then a small hand came through a gap and beckoned her urgently. Poppy didn’t need asking twice she was already squeezing through. There was no one to meet her just the sight of a little blond haired boy disappearing around the side of the church.
“Hide.” she heard him shouting in the distance.
Marigold Stubberfield, Born 4th March 1886, Died 1st April 1899 aged 13. Poppy read those words twice, it was bad enough dying at 13 years old but to die on April fool’s day was just tragic. There was something morbid about hiding behind a grave stone, but she felt safe. She had to move several more times and she always found herself reading the headstones, all children. Another one read ‘Edith Parker, passed away peacefully aged 8, an Angel in heaven’. There seemed to be an awful lot of children in Saint Michael’s church yard, both alive and dead.
She could see them again now, two had entered the same way as Poppy and the rest got in by the main gate. She watched them search in vain; Poppy could have stayed hidden all evening but they seemed to be giving up.
Now they were throwing stones at the church. Poppy moved closer, she wanted to know what they looked like so she would know them if she saw them again. The gang was completely oblivious to her movements; too busy trying to knock an object from a ledge some way up the side of the church. They were laughing and whooping with excitement and too busy scooping stones off the ground to notice her, poppy moved closer still and tried to see what all the fuss was about. At first she thought it could be a bird but it wasn’t moving, then as it crashed to the ground she realized that it must be a statue.
The kids ran off screaming and when she was sure they were gone she came out of her hiding place. Their screams and shrieks of laughter could be heard in the near distance so Poppy knew she was safe.
The statue was broken in two. Poppy rolled the top half of the body over to have a look at its face. Small pointed ears and huge bulbous eyes sat on a misshapen head. The teeth were twisted with some missing and a tongue lolled down the side of his chin. One eye looked forward whilst the other seemed to be looking at a wart on the end of a lop-sided nose. Whoever made it must have had a great sense of humor. Crouching down she caressed the stone form with the tips of her fingers, gently tracing the grotesque contours of its features, absorbing every turn of curve and texture.
She turned her attention to the body. The skin seemed to be stretched so tight that the bones were about to burst through and even the muscles seemed impossibly lifelike. Long sinewy limbs folded neatly away giving way to wings which looked like they could actually fly.
Poppy thought about going home and leaving it where it was. “It’s just a stupid statue.” She told herself and tried to walk away again, managing exactly three steps before turning on her heels and picking up the two broken pieces. “I haven’t got time for this.” she said angrily. “What if they come back? Oh no I’m talking to my self now.” She held up the head of the statue. “Look I’ll try, Ok. God you’re really ugly.”
Making her way down to the river bank where it cut through the cemetery Poppy looked for some clay. It took a while but she found some really sticky mud and scooped up a handful. She roughly smeared some all over the two broken edges and the pushed them together. “There you go, all better.” She smiled at her work and then gently carried her patient back up to the church and placed it safely out of harms reach. “Now you stay there.” she said bossily. “And keep out of trouble; I may not be around to save you next time.”
Even with his limited reading ability Jesse could recognize his own name but had failed to find anything even remotely like it in the cemetery. It was whilst searching he heard the gang chasing his new neighbor. She was completely out of breath from running, and if she was to help him, then he would start by helping her. “In here.” he shouted and beckoned her in. He wanted to speak to her properly later when they were alone, so quickly hid around the side of the church and watched as the gang searched for her. She kept moving and they had given up, instead, they started throwing stones at the church.
After a while they went away, but his neighbor seemed to be hanging around for some reason. He could see her looking at an object on the ground. He moved as close as he dare, after all he didn’t know if she could see him all of the time.
As he peered round the church wall he almost cried out with horror at what he saw. His only real friend ‘Slurpe Rottenoffle’ the Goyle was dead. The girl was stroking his broken stone form and then she suddenly stood up to leave.
Jesse came out of his hiding place. “Stop!” he
whispered, the words nothing more than a ripple on the breeze, and only barely heard by her subconscious. “Please help my friend.” The girl immediately froze in her tracks. Then she turned and scooped up the two fragments.
After a few seconds inspecting the damage she headed straight for the river. Jesse followed closely behind; it was obvious to him that she couldn’t see him at the moment. He sat down on the grass and watched her smearing handfuls of mud on both pieces of the dead Goyle.
He would miss his pal and remembered the first time they had met. Jesse had been watching some poachers down by the river when he had seen the strange creature fly overhead. He chased it all the way to the cemetery when it suddenly swooped down. Jesse had been terrified and started screaming, but to his utter astonishment all the creature did was pull funny faces at him. It crossed its’ eyes, it pulled its’ tongue out and it roared. All Jesse could do was laugh; he laughed more than he had ever done even when he was alive. He laughed so much that ghostly tears ran down his cheeks and his ghostly ribs ached with laughter. Slowly they had become firm friends, and now Jesse would have to tell the Goyles parents what happened.
By the time he stopped daydreaming the girl had gone back to the church and hidden the small statue. The sun was low in the sky and darkness was closing in, Jess wondered what on earth to say. The Goyles parents were terrifying at the best of times and probably wouldn’t take kindly to losing their only son.
As the last of the sun’s rays left the church a door began to appear in the stonework. “Ok Jesse boy. Time to kiss you’re ar’…..”
“Yippee …. Yippee.” Someone squealed excitedly over and over again The noise was deafening and the following whoosh and sound of a crash landing in the nearby trees told Jesse only one thing. Slurpe Rottenoffle was not only far from dead, but still couldn’t land in trees.
Poppy Darke Page 2
