He smiles back, only he’s not very good at it. Looks more like a grimace. Still, I’m encouraged to continue.
‘Some of mine ought to be locked up in an asylum,’ I say. ‘I’m thinking of disowning them.’
I get a snort for this comment as he rifles through the cornettos. Might have been a laugh, I guess. Maybe I have found a friend.
Not a very talkative one, though.
‘So, any words of advice for the newbie?’ I ask, trying to draw him out.
‘Yeah,’ he says quietly, turning to face me. His arm muscles bulge through his sleeves. ‘Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.’
Oh dear. Not the response I was hoping for. I try laughing, just in case he’s joking, but it turns into hysterical giggling as he silently stares down at me.
Only suddenly he’s not staring down at me – he’s staring up at me as his feet get swept from under him and he lands heavily on his back on the floor. Glancing down I see a glowing blue tentacle unwrap itself from his ankles and disappear underneath the drinks fridge.
Hey! A blue thing interacted with someone else. It actually did something. They’re real – I’m not insane! I grin down happily at Martin Hacker.
Martin Hacker glowers back up at me.
Oh, crap. He thinks I did it.
‘Martin,’ his dad says, charging over with Peter close behind. ‘What are you doing down there, son?’
‘He slipped,’ I say quickly before Martin can give his version of events. ‘Careful, it’s really slippery just here.’
Peter laughs and lends Martin a hand up. ‘You’re just about as clumsy as this one,’ he says, nodding towards me.
Martin sneers and opens his mouth, probably to give us his opinion of “this one”, but is interrupted by the guy at the counter calling out, ‘Pizza for Monkeys.’
‘That’d be us, I suppose,’ Peter says. He walks over and pays the man. Then he hands me the soggy boxes to carry and turns back to Mr Hacker. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
‘You too. Best of luck.’
I give Martin my best sorry-please-don’t-kill-me face, but the steam rising from the boxes must obscure it because he’s still looking homicidal. ‘See you at school tomorrow,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ he says flatly. ‘I’ll be looking out for you.’
Great.
I can hardly eat anything. I get through a slice and a half of pizza before I stand up and mumble something about bed.
‘Okay, bye Jim,’ Winifred says and tucks into her strawberry ice-cream, completely oblivious to my pain.
My room is made stark by the electric light and the darkness outside. I feel exposed standing there among the boxes and the mattress on the floor, so I flick off the light and sit on the bottom step.
It’s only when my eyes adjust to the darkness that I notice a little glowing mouse scampering along the edges of the room. It’s a bit like a blue mobile night-light. I follow its progress with my eyes, trying to figure things out. There are really only two possibilities:
One – these things are real, but as long as no one else can see them they’re going to keep getting me into trouble and I won’t have any evidence to show it’s not my fault.
Two – they’re not real, in which case I’m insane and starting to get violent. Maybe I did trip Martin Hacker after all. Maybe it’s just my crazy brain blaming it on imaginary blue creatures.
And if that’s true, then what crazy, violent thing am I going to do next?
A brighter light illuminates the room from behind me. Looking up, I see Claire holding the door to the hall open, staring down at me.
‘You know, they’ve invented this great thing called electricity,’ she tells me, reaching for the switch.
‘Leave it,’ I say. Her hand stops – she’s caught between being a smart-alec and being nice – then falls back to her side. She walks down the steps and plonks herself beside me.
‘I don’t think it’s going to be so bad here, actually,’ she says. ‘We’ve got our own rooms, we’re not sharing the loo with six other people. It’s an improvement.’
I don’t answer. I can’t bring myself to explain that it’s not the house that’s the problem.
My imaginary blue mouse sniffs my runners.
‘Claire, could you do something for me?’
‘Sure.’
‘If I do anything particularly crazy tomorrow, would you just go ahead and kill me?’
She thinks about it. ‘Sure, I’d do that for you,’ she says eventually. ‘My advice, though?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t. It might damage my social standing.’ She stands up and walks back up the steps to the hallway. ‘Just act normal.’
‘I’m not sure I know how to do that,’ I tell her.
She snorts and walks the fifty miles back to her own room upstairs. The mouse and I sit in the dark a while longer and listen to my family stomping around this strange house. The noises become fewer and more distant as the day winds down. Finally I crawl towards the corner of my room and roll onto my mattress. The soft blue light throws up strange shadows, which weave about on the bare walls as the mouse scurries around. It’s making me feel seasick.
‘Turn out the light,’ I mutter.
To my surprise the blue light disappears. I smile in the darkness. If that’s all I have to do to keep these things at bay, maybe I can get through this. With the light from the mouse gone I notice for the first time that there’s quite a bit of moonlight filtering in through the windows. I’ll have to put some curtains up if I want a decent night’s sleep. But at least the shadows aren’t moving anymore.
Then suddenly a shadow moves.
Chapter Three: Reality
I sit bolt upright, heart in my throat, and stare at the spot where the shadow was. I can’t see where it went. And I can’t convince myself that it’s just me being crazy again. If the shadow were ferret-shaped or octopus-shaped or even dinosaur-shaped, I’d figure it’s just the blue things messing with me again.
But it wasn’t. It was man-shaped.
Another shadow flickers over the wall. I turn with a manly squeak of fright to peer out into the garden, trying to see what made it. I’m hoping it’s just Michael getting a head-start on the pruning, or Peter out to survey the nocturnal creatures that reside here. Even Garth trying to freak me out would be a relief. I mean, I’d kill him, but in a relieved way.
Only I can’t see anyone – just shadowy shapes that are probably normal garden things. The trouble is I’ve never seen this garden in the dark before so I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like. Was there a shrub over there earlier today, or is it actually some maniac crouching down, ready to spring? And was the trunk of that tree always that wide? Or is there a ninja standing beside it now?
I can’t see properly. I’m going to have to move. I pull my blanket around my shoulders for extra-special protection and creep towards the window for a better look. I’ve almost reached it when I spot a suspicious-looking shadow at the back of the garden, near a gate that leads to a track through the woods. It looks like a cloaked figure…
‘Ow!’ Pain shoots up my toe as I stub it on the aluminium base of the sliding door. I instinctively look down, and smack my head against the glass. ‘Damn it!’ I curse, hopping on the spot with sore foot in one hand, sore head in the other.
The pain in my toe passes, and I inspect it for damage. It’s alright, it’s not bleeding. I put my foot down again, look back at the window and –
‘AAAAGH!’
Man. Leather-clad, muscle-bound man, standing right on the other side of the window, glaring in at me.
I jump away from the glass, straight onto a pile of comics which shoot out from under me. My feet fly into the air and I land heavily on the stone floor, banging my elbow and jarring my neck. Too bad I didn’t knock myself unconscious – I might have got a decent night’s sleep then.
When I look back up at the window, there’s nobody there.
I sit on t
he floor all night, back up against the wall, watching the dark windows. By the time dawn creeps over the garden outside my body is rocking backwards and forwards, my feet are frozen and my eyes feel like they’ve been sandpapered. They make one last effort to search the dim garden for signs of life.
Nothing.
I moan in relief and exhaustion, and crawl over to collapse on my mattress. I just have time to check my watch – seven-thirty – before my eyes shut for good…
‘AAAAGH!’
Something hit me in the face. I’m on my feet in an instant and ready to run away, before I see a small rubber skull at my feet and Garth standing in the doorway.
‘Mum says get up,’ he says, grinning.
Bastard. I pick the skull up and hurl it back at him. He ducks out the door and runs up the passageway laughing.
Once I get my breathing back in order I pick up my watch – seven-fifty. I’ve had twenty minutes’ worth of sleep. I moan quietly as I rummage around in a box and find a towel, then trudge to the bathroom.
The shower doesn’t seem to come equipped with hot water, but at least it wakes me up. I wrap the towel around me and stare at myself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty sight – blue lips, dripping hair, dark circles around bulging eyes. Like a cross between a fish and a zombie. A great first impression I’m going to give.
By the time I get dressed and stagger to the people-filled kitchen, I’m once again struggling to keep my eyes open. But I’m going to have to stay awake long enough to tell Mum and Michael what happened. They’ll probably want to call the police.
‘Where’s my folder gone?’ Mum calls from near a pile of boxes in the corner of the lounge. ‘Oh hello, darling. You’re late.’
‘Well, there was this –’
‘Which folder?’ Michael asks from the fridge. ‘Jeez, Jimbo, you look like death.’
‘That’s because I –’
‘The one with all my references in it. I really should take it with me, don’t you think?’
‘Mum –’
‘Mummy, where are my black shoes?’
‘Well, there’s a box over here with “Winifred’s hats and shoes” written on it. Do you think we might be onto something?’
‘Hey, Dad –’
‘Hey, Dad, I’m old enough now to drink coffee, yeah?’
‘You on a caffeine high? I think that can wait a few more years.’
‘Hello?’
‘Morning, Jim. Hey, Claire, you haven’t seen my guitar picks, have you?’
‘Why would I have seen your guitar picks?’
‘Doesn’t anyone care that there was some creep hanging around outside my room last night?’ I yell.
Everyone in the kitchen turns and stares at me.
‘AHA!’ Mum yells. She straightens up from the boxes with a folder clutched in her hand. ‘Found it.’
‘What did you say, Jimbo?’ Michael says, frowning.
‘Last night.’ Finally, I’ve got their attention. ‘There was someone out in the garden. I was looking out the window and then suddenly this guy in a leather jacket appeared out of nowhere right on the other side of the glass, like, an inch from my face.’
‘My God, that’s terrifying,’ Michael says. ‘I had a nightmare too. Things kept on hatching out of all the boxes and crawling up the walls.’
‘It wasn’t a –’
‘I slept like a log.’
‘Me too.’
‘Well, I didn’t. I woke up in the middle of the night and had no idea where I was. Really freaked me out.’
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can’t anyone in this family stay on track? ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’ I ask.
‘What about?’ Peter says. ‘Hey, Mum, you haven’t seen my guitar picks, have you?’
She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, love. No time to look now, either – I have to get this lot to school. Now, Jimmy, don’t just stand there gawping. We’re going to be late.’
You’d think these people had never seen a stranger before. They’re staring at me like I’m a giraffe that’s accidentally wandered into a flock of penguins. Yes, hello, I’ve arrived. I’m terribly fascinating, and aren’t you all excited. Do you like my Call of Duty T-shirt?
Now go away.
‘Won’t it be fun, me working at your school?’ Mum says as we wait just inside the front doors. ‘We’ll all be here together. That’ll be my office there,’ pointing to the right, ‘just in front of the headmaster’s, so I’ll know if you’ve been naughty. Look, glass walls. I can keep an eye on you. And straight over there,’ pointing to the left, ‘is the main office. Don’t they look nice and helpful?’
Claire and I snort, but Winifred’s enthusiasm is loud enough to cover us up.
‘We’ll have to organise school uniforms for you all,’ Mum says as she peers about. ‘I’ll find out where the second-hand shop is this morning and we can all meet back here at lunchtime, get you kitted out.’
Great. A family outing in front of the whole school. This day is just getting better and better.
Although I think most of the school has seen us already. We’ve been standing in this foyer for twenty minutes now, waiting for the office staff to deal with us. They can’t have forgotten about us, surely – we take up enough room.
Finally a rotund woman in a floral-print dress emerges from the main office and bears down on us. She smiles expansively at Mum. ‘Sue, the headmaster will see you now,’ she says.
Mum gives us a look of pretend terror and hurries through her new office into the headmaster’s. As soon as Mum shuts the door, Floral Woman’s smile disappears. She looks down at us like we’re slugs crawling round her pudgy toes.
‘Leticia,’ she snaps at a passing teacher, pushing Win and Garth towards her. ‘Take these two to the primary school. Now, you two,’ she says, turning back to Claire and me. ‘Here are your class schedules. Here, take them! I’ll have to find students in your own classes to show you around. I just don’t have time for this.’ And she bustles around the foyer like an angry chicken, looking for victims.
Why, if you don’t like kids, would you choose to work at a school?
Floral Woman finally plucks out a girl called Tracy Beckett from the masses and hands me over to her. She’s skinny and slanted, like she’s been italicised, so I don’t trust her. One of those types whose ponytail swings much more than it should as she prances along arm in arm with her self-confidence. She takes the entire first period to show me around the school, pointing out all the sights of note along the way, including the assembly hall, her best friend, the lavatory, her boyfriend, the library and her second-best friend.
‘Look, we’ve got to get to class,’ she says suddenly and irritably, like it’s my fault she’s been leading me around like a poodle in a parade ring. ‘We’re going to be late for maths.’
‘Okay,’ I say, and follow along behind her as she canters off. I see a familiar face outside one of the classrooms and am about to smile when I realise that it’s Martin from the take-away yesterday, standing about with some tough-looking friends. He says something to them and points at me, and they all turn and sneer at me with such force that I actually take a step back, right onto someone’s foot. I turn to apologise and swipe someone else with my backpack.
I figure I’m beyond apologising now, so I just put my head down and plough on past Martin and his friends without looking to either side. I’ve completely lost Tracy the ponytail girl. I walk in and out of three classrooms before I find her in a fourth.
The maths teacher is already there, sitting on the edge of his desk calling names from the roll. He raises a pair of shaggy eyebrows at my sudden appearance.
‘Oh my word,’ he wheezes, staring at me like I’ve just hatched out of his morning egg. ‘Oh my goodness.’
‘Um, I’m new,’ I tell him. ‘I’m James.’
He blinks and pulls himself together. ‘Quite. Well, James, I’m Mr Lancer. It’s great to have you with us. Now, let’s get you signed in.’ He poises
his pen at the bottom of the list. ‘Last name?’
Oh God, do I have to?
‘Munkers.’
And there they are, wafting around the class. The sniggers. The guffaws. Laugh it up, guys.
Even Mr Lancer seems taken aback. He looks back up at me in confusion. ‘Are you sure?’ he asks.
Am I sure? It’s only my last name, for heaven’s sake. This guy is weird.
‘Fairly sure.’
‘Oh.’ He looks disappointed. ‘Oh, well, never mind. There’s a spare seat back there.’
Great. I’ve already disappointed my first teacher, and all I’ve done is tell him my name. I wander down to the desk he pointed to and drop into the chair, wondering how else I can lower his opinion of me.
‘Do you have the textbook yet, James?’
‘Um, no. Sorry.’ Well, that was easy. He takes it pretty well, though – just grabs an old textbook from a shelf and hands it to the first kid in the row. ‘Pass this down, would you?’ he says. Down it comes, from hand to hand, people just passing it over their shoulders without looking round.
The boy in front of me, though, turns as he passes it back to me. He’s got messy dark hair and some decent muscle-tone. I wonder whether he gets that from working out or from beating freaks like me to a pulp. He gives me a frank stare, then smiles.
Hmm. What’s that supposed to mean?
‘Okay, people. Page forty-six – we’ll continue on with the trigonometry we started last week.’
We slog our way through trig questions all morning, most of which I know – we did it a few weeks ago at my old school. I answer a few questions to keep Mr Lancer happy, but then my mind wanders and I start to think about gardens, and blue creatures, and how very… very tired… I…
‘Mr Munkers?’
My head snaps back from where it was almost touching the desk in front of me. ‘Cosine,’ I say in desperation.
Mr Lancer raises an eyebrow. ‘Correct, in fact,’ he says. ‘Now, would you care to tell me what the question was?’
‘Um…’ I look desperately down at the page I was drooling on, and up at the whiteboard. Everyone’s looking at me, smirking. I’m just about to admit defeat when the bell goes for break. Mr Lancer shakes his head and hollers over the noise of people rushing for the door. ‘Finish the questions on page forty-nine for homework. There’ll be a test on this on Wednesday.’
James Munkers Page 3
