by G Mottram
Dad kept his eyes locked on Brash. ‘See yourselves out.’
For a moment, no one moved then Miranda stood up and walked purposefully next to Dad. Jason got to his feet as well. Where was this going?
Brash held up his hands and smiled. With a glance to Alicia, they left and Dad closed the drawing room door quietly behind them.
The moment they heard the front door open and close, Jason started. ‘How did he do that?’
Dad turned to Jason and his eyes seemed to darken to deepest jet.
‘It’s called the Gift – it’s for killing demons.’
Chapter 7
The next morning saw Jason eating breakfast alone – Dad had left a note about going shopping and Miranda was still not up.
Jason put another couple of slices into the toaster and thought back to last night. Brash had said something about knowing Dad too well and needing some way of making him talk about his past. He was right - once the pressure was off, Dad had given next to nothing away.
‘Right,’ Dad had said, ‘demon spirits can really be summoned into this world and Jason, you’ll come into some unbelievable powers now you’re through adolescence. Now there is no way I am going to even start trying to explain it all at ten-thirty on the night before you start a new, god-awful school. It will take days and still you won’t grasp the half of it. We are all going to bed… now.’
‘You think I can sleep after this?’ Jason tried.
‘Blame that on Alan Brash.’
‘Do I get some groovy powers as well,’ Miranda asked, ‘or is it just the golden boy here?’
‘They only pass down to the first born of the same-sex until…’ Dad stopped himself. ‘Enough now… you’re not going to draw me into this conversation. Go to bed.’
And so they’d left it at that. A lifetime of trying to question their father had taught them that he couldn’t be forced to talk.
It didn’t stop Jason fuming for half the night though – finally resolving that if Dad didn’t tell him everything, and tell him soon, he really would go to see Brash for the answers.
Was that what Brash wanted – for Jason to betray his father’s trust?
The toaster was taking ages. Jason read Dad’s note again.
Sorry about not being here kids – didn’t want to argue about not telling you everything this morning. Gone shopping...
Jason - don’t forget the bus is at 8:00 - take the photo-pass that came last week – not sure where you put it. Good luck at school.
PS – finally got post from your grandfather this morning – everything’s fine up on Mawn.
PPS - We’ll talk this afternoon – I promise.
‘Yeah – right,’ Jason mumbled ‘of course we’ll talk this afternoon.’
He’d just been told that demons are real and he’s up for some weird powers and his father is more interested in giving advice on what to have for breakfast. Still, Louisa and Mouse should be back from their holiday by now. Perhaps he’d take a chance and see if they really were part of it all.
Ten minutes later, with Miranda still flat out in bed, Jason heaved the front door open and slouched down the steps.
Beyond their gates, steam gently rose from the thatched roofs of a pair of mismatched old cottages leaning against each other for support. Small paned windows with lace netting peered sleepily back at him.
Jason crunched across the driveway gravel and out into the narrow, neatly paved High Street. Bathed in bright morning sunlight, the hamlet seemed lost in time. One shop and a score of houses, all tiny-windowed, jumbled up against each other with the Highwayman Inn looming over them all like some ancient patriarch. He didn’t want to leave here for some rough, gang-run school in the middle of a scummy industrial town.
In a few dozen steps Jason reached Darkston Wick’s only bus stop. It was set in front of the old general store owned by the equally old Mrs Miggins. There was no one else waiting there.
Jason checked his watch - five to eight. Shrugging his shoulders he plonked himself down on a little stone wall in front of the shop.
With nothing to distract him, the images from last night ran through his mind - Brash flipping his heavy body backwards over the sofa, landing effortlessly and freezing the whisky glass in mid-air. And then there was the breeze Jason had felt across his face when Brash did those things - what was that all about?
Some things had clicked into place last night between snatches of sleep. When he’d first met Louisa and Mouse for instance – he was sure now that he really had been pushed away from Mouse before Louisa got anywhere near to him… and he’d felt a similar brush of cool air then. She must have Brash’s powers - this Gift, as Dad had called it.
Jason looked at his watch again - five past eight and still no one. He wondered if Dad had got the times wrong and the bus had already gone. He’d have to telephone the school – see if there was a taxi or something he could call. God, starting his new school by arriving late and everyone staring at him. He was suddenly hit by an image of a vast assembly hall, filled with hard lads and mean-faced girls all turning to laugh at him as he blundered in through swinging double doors. Couldn’t Dad even be bothered to find out the right bus times?
A door slowly opened halfway down the street and a boy and girl stepped out, their matching thatches of rusty, bushy brown hair bobbing as they moved.
Jason recognised them. He had seen the village children around a few times over the holidays – a group of two girls and three boys all aged perhaps between eleven and thirteen, all hardy and sun-browned presumably from a lifetime of roaming over the moors. He hadn’t got to know them though – they’d always sidled off whenever he’d seen them and there was no way he was going to chase after them like some sort of loner desperate for friends.
Jason watched the two kids half-heartedly wave to someone inside before trudging down their garden paths. They looked like First World War soldiers in those old movies, leaving their families to be slaughtered in the trenches.
As if everyone had been waiting for someone else to crack first, more doors opened along the High Road and others appeared. They all shuffled along the road to finally plonk themselves on Mrs Miggins’ wall. None of them talked.
Jason swallowed. How bad could Silent Hill be? And where the hell were Louisa and Mouse?
A heavy diesel engine coughed into life somewhere behind him. Jason twisted around but the noise was coming from somewhere in the trees on the road out to Drunken Abbot. All the others seemed to be doing their best to ignore it.
The engine roared louder and moments later the oldest, most clapped-out, double-decker bus Jason had ever seen smoked its way down out of the trees. It had once been some shade of green but most of the paint had peeled or been scratched off long ago. There were cracks in most of the filthy windows and black clouds of diesel exhaust billowed all around the vehicle as if it were coming out of hell itself.
Jason flicked his eyes back to the Highwayman – still no sign of Louisa or Mouse. The bus roared closer. Staring out of the wiper-cleared arc of the grimy windscreen was a long faced, greasy haired driver. As Jason watched, the man’s eyes seemed to fire up with demented glee and he put his foot down.
The Darkston Wick children all pressed themselves back against Mrs. Miggins’ wall as the bus sped past, missing their legs by barely a metre and clouding them in filthy black fumes.
Coughing, Jason stared in disbelief as with a scream of rubber, the old crate span around to come back for a second run at them. This time it jerked towards them, engine revving and belching out more thick black fumes.
The driver’s face was pressed up against the window like some leering old letch. He seemed to be looking for someone in particular amongst the small crowd of coughing school children. As he pulled up next to them, he finally sat back in his seat, a thin smile playing on his lips.
The bus stopped and the doors snapped open with a hiss.
‘Are they ill then, have they not turned up for their first day bac
k, eh?’ the man said, grinning with a face full of nicotine stained teeth. ‘We’ll have some fun on the way to school today, won’t we children? And the new boy from the mill to play with as well… shame your lovely sister ain’t here.’
Jason frowned. How did he know where he was living… and that he had a sister?
For a moment, no one made a move towards the blackened steel steps.
Jason took a deep, slow breath and took a step forward. He’d not be intimidated by this creep.
‘What a fine and dandy morning this is,’ a voice boomed from behind them and as one, the Darkston Wick children snapped their heads around.
Mouse, rock solid and smiling broadly, and Louisa, tall beautiful Louisa, stepped out of the swirling exhaust fumes.
Jason smiled a greeting then stepped up and thrust his bus pass at the driver like holding up a crucifix to a vampire before striding towards the back seat.
The others piled in afterwards, each flashing their passes before flopping onto the seats downstairs. Last to enter were Louisa and Mouse. The driver turned to stare out of the front window, his hand reaching for the door-close button. Mouse stopped on the stairs, half his leg still out of the door.
The driver’s hand hovered over the button. Mouse waited a couple of seconds longer then continued up the steps. The doors immediately slammed shut and the engine revved up, enshrouding the outside world in swirling smoke. Neither Mouse nor Louisa hurried to take a seat. Jason caught the driver staring up at a tiny mirror, glaring back at his passengers. Louisa winked at Jason and slipped in between him and the window. Mouse grinned and joined them on the back bench seat.
The bus lurched forward.
Louisa leaned in to Jason a little, her hair just brushing his cheek. He caught a hint of her perfume – light and summery. She smiled at him conspiratorially. ‘The driver is called Porter - he shut the door on Mouse... once.’
Jason grinned back at her, his stomach clenching with her leaning so close. ‘He’s a proper creep.’
‘Alan Brash has many… creeps working for him’ Louisa said, her eyes flashing. ‘This one is always sneaking around the village pretending to be doing one job or another whilst he spies on us.’
Mouse tapped Jason’s arm, breaking their secretive huddle. ‘Do you like our lovely bus? Brash really looks after us, yes? In fact, I think they must have even cleaned it for us over the holidays.’
He patted the seat hard when he said this and dust mushroomed up and over them. He grinned. ‘So – you are ready for Silent Hill, yes?’
Jason looked around. The children from Darkston Wick seemed perfectly unspectacular and they survived the school. There was no reason he shouldn’t do as well as them. Anyway, he’d more important things on his mind.
‘I think I’ll cope, thanks,’ he said then lowered his voice although no one was likely to hear them over the engine noise. ‘Talking of Alan Brash… he visited us last night. You wouldn’t believe the things he did…’
Mouse and Louisa glanced at each other then back at him.
‘I think you know that we would believe it,’ Mouse said quietly.
‘My mother talked with us on holiday,’ Louisa said, ‘she has seen your father in the Mill and she needed to get away to think. They knew each other well, you see, a long time ago in Romania.’
Jason nodded. ‘So you are part of what Dad used to do… the Watch and the Brethren and all…’
‘Quietly,’ Louisa cut in and glanced down the bus. The Darkston Wick children didn’t seem to be taking much notice of them as they stared miserably out of the windows or played with their MP3s and Nintendos.
‘Sorry,’ Jason said. ‘I thought you were probably involved from what you said in the woods. It’s just that Dad has never told us much about his past but now I’ve met you two…’
‘We can not “tell you much”, either,’ Mouse said, shrugging.
‘There is a tradition amongst us…’ Louisa began
‘There are many, many traditions… rules… laws...’ Mouse mumbled.
Louisa ignored him. ‘… a tradition which states only a parent may decide when to first tell their child about… the work we do.’
Mouse cut in. ‘Your father should have told you everything by now – he cannot have hoped you could live your life without knowing about it, especially now that you are clearly old enough to...’
‘Mouse!’ Louisa snapped.
Jason turned back around to face them. ‘Old enough to what?’
Louisa stared straight into his eyes. It was almost as if he could feel her inside his head, pressing against his mind. She dropped her gaze, flashing a last look up at him before smiling tightly. ‘I am sorry we cannot talk about this until…’
‘Until my dad tells me first – I get it.’ Jason said. ‘That could be sometime never.’
Mouse shrugged.
‘Well last night Brash told me about I am going to get some… super powers,’ Jason said. ‘He even gave us a little demonstration.’
Mouse and Louisa stared at one another for a moment. Finally Louisa turned back to Jason. ‘He should not have done that.’
Mouse gave a harsh laugh. ‘Alan Brash does what he likes.’
‘Anyway,’ Jason said, ‘it means you can tell me a bit about the stuff he did… the Gift or something.’
‘No it does not,’ Louisa answered, ‘not until your father has explained it to you.’
Jason shook his head. This was getting nowhere. ‘Brash said I’d end up going to him for the answers.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘That would be a stupid thing to do – he will try to… to own you.’
‘For once, Louisa is right,’ Mouse said. ‘We only stay near him for protection until we are old enough to join the…’ he glanced down the bus. A couple of the older Darkston Wick kids quickly turned back to look out of their windows. ‘… to help with the work that needs to be done.’
Louisa was watching the front of the bus. Porter, the driver, kept glancing at them in his mirror. ‘This is not the place to talk of such things.’
‘But…’ Jason began.
Louisa placed a finger on his mouth. He froze, desperately hoping he wouldn’t dribble under her smooth, cool touch.
‘Come to our house after school – we will talk then but remember we cannot discuss anything your father has not explained to you already.’ She slowly took her finger away, releasing him.
Jason hesitated for a moment then nodded and was quiet.
Mouse broke the silence with a grin. ‘Did Brash have his assistant with him – Alicia Sirensong?’
‘Did he ever…’ Jason began, then glanced at Louisa.
‘Sirensong,’ Louisa said, ‘– such a stupid name. It should be warning to you about how Alan Brash controls people, how he thinks he owns people.’
‘What?’ Jason asked.
‘Don’t you see - he gave her that name. When people come to his valley wanting to forget their past life, he chooses stupid new names for some of them – like pet dogs. The others he just calls Smith.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Jason managed as Louisa turned her back on him to look out of the window.
The bus slowed down and Jason looked out as well. He’d been so engrossed in the conversation and Louisa’s close proximity that he’d not registered driving into Drunken Abbot.
They were on a main road with small, grey houses falling back from it in a warren of narrow streets and shadowed alleys. On the high street, he could see a few run down shops, takeaways and newsagents scattered amongst many boarded-up buildings but the only businesses that seemed to be thriving were tiny pubs. There was one on at least half the corners where a dark terraced street slunk up to the decaying main road.
The pubs were all garishly decorated in vibrant shades of reds, greens or blues with liberal dashes of glossy black and gold. He read their names – “The Abbot and Altar”, “The Abbot and Chalice” – in fact, they were all called the “Abbot and something”.
; The bus hissed to a halt in a quick series of air-brake jerks. Through the dirt-streaked windows Jason could make out a dozen or so youths, all in T shirts, dirty jeans and scuffed trainers. They shuffled forward through beer bottles and take-away rubbish dumped at the bus stop.
‘Now you will have the pleasure of meeting some of the Skins,’ Mouse mumbled and lounged back into the seat.
The doors opened and half a dozen skinheads pushed on first – one of them a girl. They ranged from perhaps twelve to older than Jason but they all had their noses, eyebrows, ears and even lips studded with a mixture of gold balls, skulls, daggers and guns. Tattoos including snakes and spiders crawled up their arms and necks.
Behind them, the other kids waited on the pavement, keeping well out of their way. The Skins piled in without showing their passes, pushing each other and swearing their way towards the stairs. Porter said nothing but his contemptuous sneer burned in the passenger-view mirror. Suddenly, the first skinhead stopped at the bottom of the stairwell - he’d spotted Jason.
The lead skinhead was big, stocky and maybe a little older than Jason - probably in year eleven. His lower lip was pierced through with a gold ball and his left eyebrow had three small daggers studded through it.
He started down the aisle, punching the metal headrests and hold-posts with his large, gold-coloured sovereign rings as he came. As he got closer, his lips split back over dirty teeth in a malicious smile and he flicked out a double studded tongue like a snake. The other Skins crowded in behind him. One of them, lanky but tightly muscled, had a spider web tattooed over half his left cheek.
The more normal Drunken Abbot kids getting on behind, scuttled onto the downstairs seats and turned to watch what would happen. The Darkston Wick kids kept perfectly still, trying not to catch the Skins’ eyes as they banged their way passed. They need not have worried - the Skins’ attention was all on Jason although all the boys kept glancing at Louisa.
