by Unknown
The thing came out the water like a dolphin he’d seen at a Sea Life Centre in Florida, as if it wanted to play and perform tricks for an appreciative audience. Mark loved the dolphin, but this was as far opposite to that experience as you could get. There was no happily smiling mammalian face at the top of this water creature, just a raw stump of a neck that was puckered and torn as though the head had been ripped from the shoulders.
Mark cried out and stumbled backward. He lost his footing and went down on his backside. Water washed over him, but worse than that, so did the decapitated torso. He screamed and bubbles raced from his mouth. The body was heavy, weighing him down, as though the inanimate thing wanted to press Mark into the silt at the bottom of the pool. It was trying to drown him so that it could keep him there as a companion in its watery grave.
For the second time this day panic took hold of Mark. He screamed and water invaded his mouth. He imagined specks of rotting flesh floating in the water. Those motes of rotting flesh were now in his nostrils and throat and eyes. He screamed again. He couldn’t help it. Then somehow he managed to push the corpse aside, and he stood up, dripping and exhausted and feeling like he was going to throw up.
In fact, he knew he was going to throw up. Which was exactly what he did.
He’d eaten a breakfast of cereal this morning, but that was his last meal and all that came up now was a string of bile. He didn’t care: anything was better than swallowing the corpse’s decomposing flesh.
Slashing at his face and lips with his hands, he rushed away from the torso, which was once more sinking beneath the water. White waves splashed either side of him as he scrambled towards the bank. He didn’t bother with using the dam as a sequence of stepping stones this time, just ran through the shallow water next to them and threw himself down on the grass next to Shax. There he was sick again. He was aware of Shax’s hands on his shoulders but not of his friend’s words.
Finally he pushed up to his feet and he stood shakily looking back across the now still pool. The headless corpse was out there somewhere, but it was hidden. Mark had the horrible sensation that it was waiting for him. If he went back near the water it would lurch up at him and drag him down a second time.
‘I warned you, Mark. I told you to be careful,’ Shax said. ‘I told you it was a dead boy.’
Mark was shivering and couldn’t stop.
Shax was right. Just like he always was. But there was more to it than that.
It was more than just a dead boy. It was a dead Asian boy, tall and skinny, and it was wearing the same navy blue Cold Play T-shirt and green Bermuda shorts that Shax wore.
3
Mark and Shax ran like the devil was after them.
On their way to the pool, Mark had marvelled at Shax’s ease, as he’d run between the trees. Now both of them were as clumsy as the other. Panic did that to you. Things that seemed so simple when performed with a cool head became complex when terror took a hold of you. Both boys fell more than once and actually covered quite a large part of the run on their hands and knees.
They came out into Tanner’s field yelling.
Mark’s earlier disconcertion about the weirdness of the day was gone. His mind was too full of other things to worry about the harmless nature of a flaring sun and double shadows. For one, the boy who ran beside him, his best friend, Shax, might not even be who he thought he was. His gawky, Asian friend looked exactly like he did any other time, but Mark couldn’t help but wonder about him. How could Shax be there beside him when the body he’d tugged out from under the roots had also been that of his friend? For he had no doubt at all that the body in the water was Shax. It was more than the Cold Play T-shirt or the green Bermuda shorts. Even without his head on his shoulders, Shax was too distinctive to confuse with anyone else. He didn’t know why he was so sure, only that he was. That was Shax back there, headless and rotting in the pool. But then, he was equally sure that the boy beside him was also Shax.
Mark stumbled to a halt.
‘Tell me something, Shax,’ he said.
Shax was bent double, his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath.
‘You what?’
‘I want you to tell me something that only you would know,’ Mark said.
‘Are you nuts? We’re running from a dead body and you want me to stop and tell you something?’
‘Not just something,’ Mark said. ‘Something only the two of us would know.’
Shax squinted at him. ‘You’re a nutter, Mark Darrow. Will that do?’
Mark shook his head. ‘I’m not joking, Shax. I need you to tell me about what we said last night at the Sunshine Home. You were telling me a ghost story and I butted in. What was it we said?’
‘You’re talking about Paul Clifford?’ Shax asked.
Mark nodded.
Shax shook his head wearily. ‘“It was a dark and stormy night”, I said, and you told me to “hold it”.’
‘That’s right,’ Mark said. ‘But go on.’
Shax did that thing with his bottom lip that reminded Mark of that politician, Gordon Brown. Either that or of a toad swallowing a bug.
‘You asked me if I was kidding you, and when I said I wasn’t, you said “That’s the line Snoopy always starts with when he’s writing”. You then took satisfaction in telling me that Snoopy was a character from the Peanuts comic strip. Like I didn’t know that already.’
‘Yes. But what else did you say?’
‘I took great delight in informing you that you were wrong. The line was originally penned by Edward Bulwer-Lytton as the beginning of his 1830 novel Paul Clifford.’
Mark sighed with relief. In his crazed mind he’d started wondering if a shape-shifting water creature had killed the real Shax and then taken on his human form. Like the Kelpie’s he’d heard stories about. But no self-respecting Kelpie would be as much of a know-it-all as Shax. Paul Clifford indeed!
‘Thank God for that,’ Mark said, clapping a hand on Shax’s shoulder. ‘C’mon, buddy. We’d better go and find some help.’
‘About time,’ Shax agreed.
The bang of a shotgun made both of them jump.
Turning quickly to the sound of the gun, they saw a tall figure striding toward them. The man was stick thin, dressed in jeans and wax jacket and his grey hair stuck up wildly from his head. His eyebrows, thick like spider legs, drooped over his angry eyes. Beside him came a black and white streak rushing through the grass.
Their first instinct was to run, but before they had a chance, the collie dog circled them and snapped at their backsides with gleaming teeth.
‘Down, Rip,’ Old man Tanner shouted at the dog. It stopped snapping at the boys, but it still glowered at them like they were easy meat. ‘I’ve got you this time,’ snapped Tanner. ‘So you’re the hooligans who have been making those bloomin’ circles in my field?’
Circles in his field? Mark wondered. What was he going on about?
Shax as usual couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
‘You have crop circles. Wow!’ He looked all around himself, looking for evidence, as though a decapitated body meant nothing any more. ‘Mr. Tanner, you should feel blessed. You’ve been visited by aliens.’
‘Aliens, my foot!’ Tanner scowled. ‘It’s you bloomin’ social service kids up to no good again.’
Mark bristled at Tanner’s words. Not his accusation, but the fact he’d called them social service kids. Like it was something dirty.
‘We’re not social service kids,’ Mark said.
‘You’re from that bloomin’ Sunshine Home in the village, ain’t you?’
Mark wanted to explain that they were only there on respite care. Things had been tough for his mum and dad since Jake was killed. Mark was only at the SS holiday home for the summer term. He was going home after. At least, he hoped he was.
‘Even if we were, it doesn’t make us vandals,’ Shax said.
‘I knew nothing good would come of all you city kids comin’ out here,’
Tanner continued, as if he hadn’t been listening. ‘Tramping all over my fields and running wild through my woods like wolves.’
‘We found a dead body,’ Mark said.
Tanner squinted. He shoved his shotgun under his armpit and leaned down to catch Mark in his rheumy gaze.
‘What did you say, boy?’ Something moved behind the old man’s eyes and Mark thought Tanner was about to strike him. ‘One of my sheep, boy? Are you saying one of my sheep is dead?’
Mark shook his head. He didn’t have the words to explain.
‘There’s a dead boy in the pool by the waterfall,’ Shax explained. ‘He’s got no head.’
Tanner didn’t react the way Mark expected. He just turned toward the woods.
‘Show me,’ Tanner said.
The last thing Mark wanted to do was return to the pool. The body would be waiting for him. But at least Tanner had a gun. If the corpse rose up this time, Tanner could shoot it, like those soldiers did to the zombies in Dawn of the Dead. Then another thought invaded his mind. Maybe Tanner had already shot it: shot the head clean off. What if he was leading them back into the woods so he could shoot them, too?
‘Now!’ Tanner barked. The collie sprang at them, nipping at their backsides, chasing them into the woods.
Tanner led the way, moving like a stick man between the tree trunks.
Coming back to the pool, Mark paused well back from the water’s edge.
‘Where is it?’ Tanner demanded.
‘In the water.’ Mark pointed a trembling finger.
Tanner waded into the pool, looking around. He frowned, squinted, then approached the dam. He kicked loose the rocks that were piled to hold back the water. ‘Kids! Always flooding the bloomin’ place!’
Water cascaded from the pool, making the stream muddy. Pretty soon the level of the water had dropped down beneath Tanner’s boot tops.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Where’s this body?’
The pool was empty. There was no headless corpse. No head either.
‘But...but...’ Mark stuttered. ‘It was here. We both saw it. Didn’t we, Shax.’
Shax didn’t answer. Mark looked around for him, seeking support. But Shax was nowhere to be seen.
4
Mark felt sick again.
Shax had disappeared and so had the body from the pool.
Tanner stood glowering at him with his shotgun tucked under his arm like he was squeezing the life out of it. Mark suddenly felt very small beneath the towering man’s gaze.
‘Honest, Mr. Tanner,’ Mark said. ‘There was a body.’
‘You been smokin’ somethin’ that you shouldn’t’ve been?’ Tanner asked. ‘I’ve heard about you city kids, drinking and smoking and stuff.’
Mark pointed towards the roots of the trees. They now dabbled their fingers in mud. ‘It was right there.’
‘My foot!’ Tanner looked past Mark. ‘Where’s your friend run off to? He needn’t think he’s wasting my time like this without getting a length of my tongue.’
‘I...I don’t know.’
Mark again played with the notion that the Shax who’d followed him out of the woods was a Kelpie. Now, fearing discovery, it had disappeared back into the water and slipped off down the stream following the surging flood.
Tanner had other ideas. ‘Fetch him, Rip.’
The collie darted off. Seconds later, Mark heard a yelp, and he saw Shax hopping out from behind the rocks by the waterfall. Rip, the collie, was tugging at the leg of his Bermuda shorts. Despite his fear Mark wanted to laugh. This confirmed that his friend was no water sprite. His ungainly friend was hopping about like he had a struck match down his shorts. In comparison the collie looked like he was enjoying the game.
“Leave him, Rip,’ Tanner called and immediately the dog darted back to its master. To Shax, Tanner said, ‘That’ll teach you for trying to dodge the punishment of your sins.’
‘I need a tetanus jab!’ Shax yowled.
‘Give over, lad. Rip never touched you. Now – the two of you - we’ve had enough nonsense for one day. Git yourselves back to the home. I see you round here again, I swear I’ll put a charge of bird shot in your backsides.’
For emphasis, Tanner waved the shotgun at them. For the second time that day Mark and Shax fled shoulder to shoulder from the woods.
They followed the boundary of Tanner’s field and came out onto the road that wound its way down to the village. The village was called Larchwood, too, like the people who lived around here had little imagination when it came to place names.
‘I’m sorry I tried to hide,’ Shax said.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Mark said.
‘No,’ Shax said. ‘I should have stuck by you. It’s just that...well, I didn’t want to see the body again.’
Neither did I, Mark thought. And I didn’t.
‘Where do you think it went to, Shax?’
‘Beats me.’ Shax shrugged. His T-shirt hitched up with the action, showing his waistband.
‘We did see a body, didn’t we?’ Mark asked. ‘We didn’t dream it or nothing?’
“Two people don’t normally dream the same dream,’ Shax pointed out.
‘So it was real then?’
They stopped and faced each other.
‘As real as we are,’ Shax said. He jabbed Mark on the shoulder. ‘Yes, you’re real.’
Mark grinned at him. He owed Shax his revenge after the sponge crack.
Then Mark frowned.
‘Did you see anything else strange today?’
‘I saw Mrs Proctor in rollers and a face pack. That was weird.’
Mrs Proctor was the lady who looked after them at the care home. She was a big woman with thick ankles. Not very pretty; but a kind soul.
‘I meant out there. At the field.’
Mark watched Shax’s face and he saw that his friend had seen something strange.
“When I was in the woods and came back for you,’ Shax said timidly, ‘I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.’
‘You saw the sun acting weird; you saw the double shadows?’
Shax shook his head. Behind the frames of his glasses his eyes appeared to dim. ‘No, Mark. I thought I saw you disappear. One second you were there, then you were gone.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Quick as that you were back again.’
They set off walking back toward the village, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
Almost back at the care home, Shax asked, ‘Do we tell anyone else what we seen?’
‘The body has gone. I’m not even sure it was ever there. Maybe we should just leave things be.’
‘Suits me,’ Shax said, even though his drooping shoulders said their adventure with the headless corpse still troubled him.
Mark was troubled, too. He didn’t believe that the body had ever been there, but he was pretty sure of one thing: it would be there in the future. Maybe tomorrow or the next day, maybe the day after that, and it was down to Mark to stop that from happening.
5
Mark couldn’t sleep. How could he? He’d imagined a headless body for long enough that seeing the real thing shouldn’t trouble him. But it was different when your nightmares became reality and you’re almost drowned beneath a rotting corpse.
He shared a room with Shax. His friend had fallen asleep. Maybe it was exhaustion. Shax snored faintly at the far side of the room. Mark lay on top of the covers, his hands crossed on his chest as he thought about what had gone on earlier that day.
There was strange goings on in Larchwood, which was for sure.
Old Man Tanner had started him thinking. All that talk of crop circles. Mark had watched an old TV programme about crop circles where some scientists and some cuckoos had offered their theories about the formation of intricate geometric symbols in fields all over the world. Some geeks said it was down to E.T.s – just as Shax had. Others claimed it was down to hoaxers. But then there was another theory that one man had come up with. He told about being by a field and
the sun acted strange and the shadows of the trees could be seen in duplicate. When the sun went back to normal, there in front of him was a new crop circle that hadn’t been there moments before. The man reckoned that there had been a tear in time and space, and the crop circle was the work of nature as it welded shut the tear. The man said that he thought that he’d witnessed being in two times at the self-same moment. At the time, Mark thought the man was well in the cuckoo bracket. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He had seen something similar. He had seen his shadow become two. One shadow followed his actions, but the second seemed to trail half a minute behind. What if Mark had -at that moment- been standing in one of these tears in time and space? To Shax, standing looking back at him from the woods, Mark would seem to disappear, because he’d stepped half a minute into the future.
Mark remembered walking through the woods behind his friend and seeing again the flicker of shadows in the trees. What if both of them had stepped into the future when approaching the pool? What if they’d found the body of someone that had not yet been murdered? And not just anyone: Shax!
Once, Jake said to Mark, ‘I wish I knew where I was going to die.’
‘Why?’ Mark asked.
‘Because I wouldn’t go there,’ Jake grinned.
Mark thought about that now. Mark didn’t think that Jake was thinking of Afghanistan when he’d made that lame joke. If he had done, he wouldn’t have been vaporised by a Taliban bomb.
He hadn’t told Shax whose body was in the pool. Now he wished that he had the nerve to do so. He had to make sure that Shax never went near that place again. If he stayed well away, then the future wouldn’t come true.
He decided that tomorrow he would come up with a plan. He’d make sure that Shax never went near the pool in the woods ever again. That was his final waking thought before sleep took him.
He didn’t sleep well. He had nightmares. This time they were again of his headless brother, but this time Jake rose from some deep dark water, to shamble headless and blind after Mark. ‘Why did you let me go there? You knew it was where I was going to die,’ Jake repeated over and over again.
