Andrew Hawks

by John Booth

“You are young Mr. Perfect in this village. Andrew is so responsible. Andrew is such a good boy. You can trust Andrew with your life, my dear.” Kylie quoted in a sneering voice. “Don’t you know what people say about you?”

  Kylie had rendered me speechless yet again. She was making a habit of it and it wasn’t her most endearing quality. The words she used were pretty much the same as the usual suspects used to tease me with. I always thought they made them up to annoy me. It struck me that having someone around like me might be more than a little anger inducing. No wonder those kids hated me if that was what they got every time they stepped out of line.

  “I didn’t know,” I said, “I just keep myself to myself and help out when people ask. Is that so wrong?”

  “No, of course not, you wanker. But now we need to use that spotless reputation of yours to stop Jane’s life being ruined. That’s why I need you. I know what it’s like to be her age and become a pariah.”

  Okay, I knew what she’d been through and she was right. I needed to go and clear Jane. I shouted upstairs to tell Mum and Dad that I had to go out and might be some time, and not to worry.

  Kylie shook her head as we left the house. Telling my parents where we were going was just another example of how thoughtful and responsible a person I am.

  Ten minutes later, we were knocking at the Bradshaw’s door. When I say ‘we’, what I mean is that Kylie banged the knocker loudly, then stepped back, and pushed me in front to talk to whoever came to the door.

  Mrs. Bradshaw answered. Her eyes were puffy and red and, surprisingly for me, I deduced she had been crying. She smiled when she saw me. A lot of the villagers do that. I’ve never been entirely sure why.

  “Hello Andrew. I’m afraid this isn’t a very good time to visit. Could you come back later?”

  “Jane didn’t kill Blackie. She was with Kylie and me when it happened.”

  Mrs. Bradshaw’s jaw dropped open and I saw her face go through all sorts of emotions as she mulled over what I’d said. She stepped over the threshold, took me in her arms, and hugged me. Then she started crying uncontrollably.

  I patted her like I might have patted Shep and looked to Kylie for help. But she was standing well back with a smirk on her face. Across the narrow cobbled road, Miss Berry opened her door, having watched us from her window. I’ve never liked Miss Berry because she sneers at everything new and nothing is ever as good as it was back in the old days.

  “Jane didn’t do it, Miss Berry,” I called out cheerfully, “She was with Kylie and me at the time.” I was rewarded with an evil scowl that cheered me up no end. This was turning out to be a pretty good day.

  Mrs. Bradshaw lifted herself away from me and I could see she was caught in indecision. “You must go and tell the police. But they’re in Sutton. How can you possibly get there? Jane and her Dad are in the police station with a solicitor. Not your father, because, well, we didn’t like to ask him as he’s such a friend of the Vicar. You must go quickly. Oh, it’s such a relief to know she’s innocent. I knew she wouldn’t do such a horrible thing. I was sure she wouldn’t.”

  “Perhaps if you phone the police they’ll send someone out to pick us up,” Kylie suggested.

  Mrs. Bradshaw flushed even more.

  “Oh I couldn’t ring the police. You don’t know what it’s like. Everyone would know when they arrived and she would tell everyone in the village.” Mrs. Bradshaw glanced towards the house across the street where the curtains twitched. “They aren’t bad children you know, it’s just there’s nothing to do here. You know that, Andrew.”

  We stood in a state of indecision. I was trying to decide whether to go back home and persuade Dad to get out of bed or to wait for the bus when Mr. Kelly came into view.

  Mr. Kelly is seventy-five years old, but he looks much younger. He is thin and dresses smartly, as if he is just about to go to church. He lives a little way down the road from the Bradshaw’s.

  Judging from the fact he was carrying a plastic bag with a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk in it, I guessed he had just come from the Post Office.

  As I’m sure I have mentioned before, our post office is also a newsagents and a general store. If Len Barrowclough doesn’t stock it, then you weren’t likely to be able to get it without a trip to Sutton. There was also the petrol station, but shopping there had its own hazards. Len took it personally for a start

  “Eh-up Andrew. What are you and the missus up to this bright morning?”

  Trust Mr. Kelly to start the conversation by embarrassing me.

  “Jane has got herself in a spot of bother with the police and is with them now, but we can prove she’s innocent.”

  Mr. Kelly took the news in his stride.

  “Happen, you’ll need a lift into Sutton then.”

  Mrs. Bradshaw looked as though a heavy weight had fallen from her shoulders.

  “That’s would be so kind of you, Tom. If you could take Andrew and Miss Brown? I need to phone the police to tell them they’re coming.”

  “That’s settled then.”

  Mr. Kelly set off with surprising speed towards his house.

  Mr. Kelly drives a fairly new Land Rover. It has quite a few scrapes on it because he’s not the world’s best driver. It’s not that he’s dangerous or anything, it’s just that he’s lethal to fence posts and gates that happen to be alongside the road. I’m sure that’s why he drives a Land Rover because it’s one of the toughest vehicles in the world. This means his car keeps on working despite the frequency of collisions. Your typical farmers gate, on the other hand, may never be the same again. Nobody tells on him though. He needs his car to get around and no one who knows him would deprive him of that.

  Kylie and I wanted to ride shotgun, but she won because I’m a gentleman and she plays dirty. I can’t believe where she grabbed me to make sure she got in the car first. I hope Mr. Kelly didn’t realize why I gave out a girly squeal behind him.

  The drive into Sutton was uneventful, but there are now a few more sheep in the area who have learnt to keep their distance from the road. Fortunately they all managed to escape uninjured.

  We pulled up outside the police station on a bit of tarmac with the words Police Vehicles Only written on it in large lettering.

  The police wouldn’t have a go at Mr. Kelly for parking there. In his own way, he was a local celebrity and has friends in high places.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said.

  Kylie dropped to her knees and looked as if she was going to kiss the ground.

  “That was quite an experience,” she said moments later.

  “Been driving for fifty years without an accident. Well not one that hurt anybody,” Mr. Kelly said straight faced and proud.

  “We’ll make our own way back,” I said. “This might take some time.”

  Kylie looked relieved.

  Mr. Kelly pulled out of the parking bay, scraping the side of a police car whose driver had been stupid enough to park next to him mere moments before.

  I led Kylie away from the scene because she was showing dangerous signs of bursting into laughter as a police officer got out of his car and threw his hat on the ground.

  I’d never been in a police station before. There was a receptionist behind a table blocking our way. Kylie had once again positioned herself behind me.

  “We have information about Jane Bradshaw.”

  The receptionist frowned and stared hard at me. Then she smiled.

  “You’re Andrew Hawks. I haven’t seen you since you were a little boy. I moved out of Felorton when you were still little. I know your mother. You’ve grown into a fine boy.”

  I heard something suspiciously like a giggle behind me.

  “We need to see the detective in charge of the case. Jane is innocent.”

  The frown came back. “From what I’ve heard that girl hasn’t been innocent for a long time. If not this, it’ll be something else. Mark my words.” She sighed. “Still, if you must help her, you must. Come with me.�
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  The receptionist led us down a corridor and knocked on a door. A middle aged detective opened the door.

  “Andrew Hawks and friend, sir. They claim to have evidence about Miss Bradshaw.”

  I spotted Jane and her father sitting in the room with a couple of other people. Before the officer could say anything I was in the room with Kylie close behind.

  “Jane didn’t do it. She was with us at the time.” I said, getting ready to repulse Mr. Bradshaw if he sought to wrap himself around my neck as his wife had. He didn’t get the chance because Jane got out of her chair and jumped onto me, kissing me on the lips in a manner extremely inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl.

  I disengaged her arms and legs and found myself face to face with an annoyed looking police inspector.

  “You’re Andrew Hawks and this is…” he indicated Kylie.

  “Kylie Brown” Kylie said.

  “And why was this underage girl with you last night, Mister Hawks?”

  Wow, what skill in asking a loaded question. I was impressed.

  “We caught Jane and three of her friends messing about in the woods about six thirty. As we knew they were grounded, we told them to go home after we exchanged a few words. They left us at seven oh five in the evening.”

  The Inspector was not impressed.

  “You seem very sure about the time.”

  “I have a watch that uses a radio signal to keep it accurate,” I said waving my left wrist in front of him, “And I checked it when the kids ran home because Kylie thought it was time we should go home.”

  “Jane told us she lost a pullover in the woods the previous Thursday,” Kylie offered. I tried my best to look innocent because Jane had said no such thing. Jane however, looked as though a light bulb had gone off in her head.

  “That’s right, that’s where I lost it,” she said with so much certainty in her voice, I was sure she believed it herself.

  Naturally, that didn’t finish the matter. The police like to find easy answers to important crimes and killing a Vicar’s dog is a major crime where I live. They cross-examined us. Then we had to write out statements in which I failed to mention anything about magic circles and naked chanting and I’m certain Kylie and Jane didn’t mention them either.

  It was late afternoon before they let us go. Mr. Bradshaw shook my hand, telling me I was a truly decent man. Jane dragged me down to her level so she could kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear.

  “If you want me, you can have me anytime you want.”

  I’ve been trying to forget those words ever since. Perhaps writing them down will finally purge them from my memory. I’m beginning to think I’m the only innocent left in the village.

  Mr. Bradshaw called a taxi and we rode home in silence. I was trying to ignore Jane’s ankle deliberately and persistently rubbing up against my leg.

  Mrs. Bradshaw was waiting to meet the taxi and was all over her husband and her daughter when they got out. The three of them went into their house arm in arm in arm.

  “Do you fancy her now she’s offered you her body?” Kylie said with the same sardonic look on her face that she’d had when we first met.

  “Absolutely not,” I said with all the conviction I could muster. I have no idea how Kylie had deduced what Jane had said to me.

  “Liar.”

  Kylie clapped me hard on the back and we started to walk home. I took her home for an evening meal. Mum always assumes that a guest will turn up and makes more than enough food. I knew it would please her to have Kylie at the table and so it turned out.

  9. Dreams and Prophesies

  I woke in the stone room inside the hill. Bright torches lit it with flickering yellow flames. The walls were coated with gold while the ceiling was painted the light blue of a morning sky. The floor was a dark crimson pool that could have been created using dried blood. I sat in the stone chair I had seen the skeleton in and I was dressed simply in supple leather trousers and a knitted wool top. The chair was padded with a large velvet cushion and its stone arms were draped in richly woven purple cloth.

  The lady I saw in the wood entered the room and this time she wore no clothing at all. The only thing adorning her body was a wide silver band around her neck, chased with images of the moon waxing and waning. Her flesh and the silver were almost the same color, it was hard to see where one ended, and the other began.

  I felt a surge in my loins as I gazed upon her perfect body. Her hair was white but apart from her head, I don’t believe she had a single hair on her body. Her skin was like the marble statues you see in museums, smooth and unblemished without a single mark. She had no belly button. Her lips were so dark red they were almost violet while her teeth were as white as freshly fallen snow.

  I looked into her eyes and saw they were deep blue in color. I could have fallen into those eyes and not hit bottom for a thousand years. She moved so gracefully that to call it walking was like calling World War Two a minor military incident. She stepped closer to me.

  She stopped with her face two inches from mine. To do that, she had to stoop. She looked at me and I found myself staring at her breasts. I think I had stopped breathing, and I could feel her breath on my face. It was cold as the air on icy mornings in spring’s first flush.

  She looked down and I followed her gaze to the snake band on my right arm. I could feel her smile on me, though I no longer looked at her face. Then her gaze and mine shifted to my left arm, which was empty of any band. I felt her displeasure at that absence. The room became noticeably colder and when I released the breath I had been holding I saw it become mist and my teeth chattered.

  She stepped back, but caught me firmly by the right wrist as she withdrew and I was pulled effortlessly from my throne. I knew with absolute certainty that it was a throne at that moment and that I had somehow proved myself unworthy.

  She dragged me towards the tunnel but we didn’t pass into it. As soon as she reached the entrance, the room dissolved in a kaleidoscope of colors and I found we were standing in the woods. The blasted oak was on its side like a beached whale, its branches still green with leaves. As if it wasn’t yet aware it had died.

  She pulled me into the oak. We passed through its trunk as if it was illusion. Inside its core, the hidden place caused by lightning strike and ancient fire was still whole. It appeared the whole world tilted, though I think it was just the two of us, and the bottom part of the room inside the tree became a floor again; just as it had been in my childhood.

  This living cavern was ten feet in diameter and rose four feet and more above my head. I saw the circle Sally and Jane had drawn on the dank decaying floor. It had a pentagram drawn inside it.

  I marveled at the accuracy of the lines and wondered if those clever little imps had used drawing tools. The candles Jane had mentioned were tumbled against the entrance hole and I supposed they had rolled there when the tree fell.

  Despite any source of light, I could see as clearly as if the place was lit by sunlight. I’d never seen the tree’s interior so clearly before. It was then that a sharp tug on my hand reminded me I was being held by an impossibly beautiful woman. She squeezed my hand so hard my eyes watered and as tears of pain filled my vision they somehow unclouded it and I saw for the first time that we weren’t alone.

  A massive black dog sat tearing at a piece of cloth. Its front paws held one end of the material while his fangs ripped at the rest. I recognized it as the remnants of a bra and wondered if Jane had managed to get any of her clothes out of the tree before it fell. The dog was supernaturally large and if Shep was put besides him, he would have looked like a puppy. He was shorthaired with a longish snout and his eyes were lit red as if he’d come from the depths of hell and brought a part of it back with him.

  He wasn’t the only occupant of this place, a woman sat on a stool. She was dressed entirely in black. She had one of those old-young faces that made it impossible to estimate her age. She was knitting something, but it looked all wrong. I almos
t emptied the contents of my stomach when I saw she was knitting sinews from a bowl at her feet. Blood and gore dripped from her fingers as she worked. She looked down at her knitting and ignored us, just as the dog had done.

  Across from her, there was a youth about my age who leaned against the body of the tree. He looked haunted, as if in deep despair. It was as if he was sweating out pain and it permeated the room. He wore a short sword at his waist, though his clothes looked like nothing ancient or modern that I could put a name to.

  The dog barked harshly and the sound it made vibrated my bones. The woman and the man looked at us and I knew at once that they could now see us. The woman raised an arm and with her fingers held strangely crooked started to say something, but the words she uttered weren’t in any language I’d heard before.

  As I stared at her face, it changed from human to something evil that might have been carved from coal and her eyes glowed red, just like the dogs.

  It was then that I woke and realized it was Sunday morning and I had work to do.

  I don’t normally have vivid dreams and I don’t usually remember the ones I have. Dreams have caused us so much trouble today that I thought it best to write this one down before I tell you what happened next.

  Sunday morning is a busy time for me, because the Sunday papers weigh a ton and I have to make several trips to the post office as I collect and deliver them in stages.

  Naturally, the villagers don’t expect to have to wait for their morning delving into the life of celebrities, royalty and the other people who don’t work for a living, so I have to start delivering them earlier than I do the rest of the week.

  Len was all business and made no attempt to slow me down, letting me get on with sorting the papers. It was such a big change from the day before that I wondered if I’d offended him by running off yesterday. Whatever the reason, it helped the deliveries go smoothly and I was finished by eight.

  I started my homework when I got home and made good progress because it was mathematics, and that doesn’t require me to think of clever sentences or sketch lines on paper that somehow conspire to fail to look like a human hand. By the time Kylie arrived at eleven I’d pretty much finished my homework.