Connor Clover and the Lost Children
Book1
Helen Oghenegweke
Copyright © 2012 by Helen Oghenegweke
For more information:
https://ihelenblog.wordpress.com/
ISBN: 9781310759192
For my husband, Tim, for sharing my dream,
Believe in the power of dreams for they do come true.
Acknowledgements
First of all, I would like to thank my husband, Tim, for being my rock of support throughout. This book would not have been written without his enthusiasm and belief. I would also like to thank my children, Olivia, Thomas, and Jessica who have been the root of my inspiration.
Much appreciation goes to my mum, Josie, and my step-dad Bryan for being incredibly supportive. Thanks also to Ben Butler for his enthusiasm and advice, and Delia Robinson for her expert skills and advice.
CHAPTER ONE
A Frightening Encounter
On a cold November morning, in the small town of Wislington, Connor Clover woke with a start, staring at the ceiling. Before he stretched or yawned, a deep voice thundered again.
‘Hey, worm bag! Come here now! Are you deaf or something?’ it hollered impatiently.
Used to his uncle’s insults, Connor wondered if his guardians had actually forgotten his real name. He rolled out of bed, put on his slippers and slung on his dressing gown. He knew the drill. From an early age he’d leant not to keep his uncle waiting. Not unless he wanted him to stamp his foot like a buffalo and scream in his ear. Blind as a bat without his glasses, he tripped on his dirty washing. Pulling his glasses from the pocket of his dressing gown, where he’d left them the night before, he placed them on his nose. Beside his bed, the alarm clock read five-thirty in the morning. He groaned as he shuffled from his room. He was never usually called at this time.
He rubbed his temples and mumbled, ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
Entering the living room, Connor was greeted by a thick wall of cigarette smoke. The curtains and windows hadn’t been opened for two years, due to the preferences of Dorcus, who’d taken a fancy to dark, stinky atmospheres. He covered his nose on approaching the sofa, where Uncle Dorcus sat with Aunt Fagan.
They’d been stuck in the same chair for two days now, after a serious food scuffle had occurred between them. Being his usual brutish self, Uncle Dorcus had squashed a cream bun on the end of Aunt Fagan’s lumpy nose. She, being as savage, had thrown a treacle pancake over her brother covering his entire face. Losing his balance he’d grasped hold of her and pulled her on to the sofa with him. The sofa had given a loud rumble, accompanied by a splintering noise, before collapsing under their weight. Now it resembled an exhausted animal, with its wooden legs pointing horizontally along the floor.
‘They don’t make furniture like they used to,’ Dorcus had commented, peeling the treacle pancake off his face and eating it. When he’d finished, he’d pulled the flattened bun off Aunt Fagan’s nose and eaten that as well. She didn’t mind; she had been otherwise occupied with a box of popcorn, munching away like a potbelly pig with cream and jam smeared on her chin and whiskers.
Snoring loudly, Aunt Fagan’s head lolled to one side.
Uncle Dorcus yelled again and Connor covered his ears in time.
‘You good for nothing, green, warped toad. Come here now!’
‘I’m here.’
‘You waste of space!’ Uncle Dorcus scoffed, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. ‘Well you took your time, didn’t you, little flea bag. Look at the clock and tell me the time!’
‘Nine-thirty.’ Connor avoided his uncle’s scowl. ‘It must’ve stopped last night. It’s five-thirty in the morning.’
Connor’s heart skipped a beat when Aunt Fagan turned sharply, narrowing her beady eyes. Had she been awake the entire time?
‘You liar! The clock is right! Why haven’t you prepared our breakfasts, little worm. I’m going to teach you a lesson. When I get up, I’ll get you!’ she spat coarsely, wriggling her wobbly legs, huffing and puffing, achieving nothing more than a sweaty brow.
Uncle Dorcus pointed his dumpy finger at him. ‘Did I ask you to tell me lies? No I didn’t. So shut up, little pip squeak!’ He thumped the arm of the sofa so hard it disturbed the dust. Seconds later, he suffered a coughing fit.
Serves him right, thought Connor.
‘Now see what you’ve done to your uncle!’ screeched Aunt Fagan. ‘Go and bring our breakfasts!’
Thankful to close the door, Connor entered the kitchen and opened the window for some fresh air. Heaven! Apart from the streetlights, the neighbours in their safe, little houses appeared to be sleeping. Switching on the light, he shuffled to the cupboards. The upright freezer overflowed with food and, when he opened the door, an accumulation of food and ice fell on to the tiled floor.
‘Jeez!’ cursed Connor.
‘What are you doing, useless toenail?’ screeched Fagan.
Connor gritted his teeth. Unfortunately, to make matters worse, there was no more ice cream.
‘Are you thick? You’ll have to go and buy some from the shops – right now,’ ordered his aunt, snapping her crocodile jaws.
‘What? Now? It’s too early!’ Connor wished he hadn’t said anything, for his uncle raged for several minutes on how he should respect his elders.
Putting on an extra jumper, a coat, scarf and woollen gloves, Connor exited the house and shivered as he closed the door. He predicted it would take him fifteen minutes to walk to the twenty-four hour garage, one-mile away. The biting cold slapped the warmth from his cheeks and the darkness terrified him. He hurried along the pavement, catching sight of two foxes rummaging in someone’s bin on the other side of the road. For a sudden moment, it reminded him of his aunt and uncle.
Aunt Fagan and Uncle Dorcus were brother and sister and being horrible people, no one had ever wanted to marry them, so they now shared a house and developed a hobby for eating, whilst growing into their surname ‘Piggott’. Their diet consisted solely of junk food: they ate it in the morning; they devoured it for dinner; they scoffed it for tea and they snacked on it in the middle of the night.
Connor knew little about his parents as his guardians refused to speak about them. He’d no idea if they were dead or alive. But a few days ago, he’d come across an old newspaper cutting, with a picture of a young couple and a child. He’d found it in an old suitcase at the bottom of his aunt and uncle’s wardrobe when he’d been searching for his birth certificate. Wearing a dark suit, the man had matching dark eyes and black spiky hair. Being slightly shorter, the woman’s blonde wavy hair cascaded to her narrow waist. The chubby child grasped the woman’s hair with clenched fists.
The headline read: Couple Missing, Presumed Dead
The article continued: Yesterday, a young couple disappeared in an aeroplane accident in Mexico. Rescuers have been searching in vain. So far, the wreckage of the aeroplane has been discovered. Ryan Clover, age 45, and his wife Christy Clover, age 45, are feared dead. Their child Connor Clover, age 2, is currently being reunited with his mother’s brother, Dorcus Piggott.
In his excitement, Connor had tipped the entire contents of the suitcase on the floor, but apart from a few blurry photographs, there was nothing else of interest – until he found his birth certificate, and discovered his true date of birth – next Wednesday. Altogether, his search had proven productive. Bursting with questions, he’d asked Uncle Dorcus about them.
‘Why do you want to know? They didn’t want you, little wart!’
So Connor didn’t bother him again. For now the newspaper article remained in his jeans pocket for safekeeping, where i
t became a ritual to view the picture of his parents each night before he slept. Knowing he resembled his parents and bore no physical resemblance to his so-called guardians made him happy. He thanked his mother for his mop of blond hair and blue eyes, whereas his oblong facial shape, large ears and nose were inherited from his father.
Striding purposefully, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, Connor recollected his dream about his parents, but he couldn’t remember all of it. They’d been crying about something. His mum had given him to a furry-faced man, who took him away. He remembered them saying they loved him and he yearned to believe the dream had been real, but the newspaper article proved his parents were dead, so he put it to the back of his mind and tried not to feel sorry for himself.
It wasn’t long before he arrived at the garage. Stomping towards the lighted building, an elderly man on night duty appeared to be talking to someone, while reading a paper. As Connor’s footsteps crunched across the frosted forecourt, he made a beeline towards the old man at the service window.
‘Hi,’ greeted Connor.
‘What can I do for you, young man?’ The old man peered down his large nose towards the boy. He took off his extra-large, wire-framed glasses and wiped them on his sleeve.
‘I’d like a tub of vanilla ice cream, please.’
‘Ice-cream?’ the old man quizzed, stroking his long goatee beard. ‘At this time in the morning? You should be in bed. I hope your guardians know where you are.’
‘It’s them who sent me!’ Connor kept moving to stay warm.
‘Really?’ He shook his head in disapproval. ‘Poor kid. Read this while I get your ice-cream.’ He slid the newspaper under the gap in the window. ‘You’ll be surprised what’s been happening in the world.’
As the old man hobbled to retrieve the frozen dessert, Connor noticed the newspaper brand: UFO Times. How strange. He’d never heard of this newspaper before. He scanned the headline before reading the whole article of “The Lost Children”.
“The Dark Master, Definastine, has strengthened his forces. Last month the planet Darl was destroyed by his army and a significant relic, known as the consulting mirror, was stolen. It can show events past and present. The inhabitants of Darl were responsible for the sudden breakthrough in the whereabouts of the missing children, which prompted Definastine to attack the defenceless planet.
Children have been vanishing for centuries from Earth. On the night of a full moon more children vanish from their beds, for it holds the key to opening a secret dimensional gateway from Dramian into our own world and vice versa.
Many great law abiding star-spirits from other worlds have been visiting our people for thousands of years. Unfortunately, this includes Definastine, the destroyer.”
Amused by the article, he recalled his dream and remembered someone had mentioned the name Definastine. Could this be a simple coincidence?
When the old man returned, he said, ‘No one knew where those kids had gone, until now!’
‘But its not true! Aliens don’t exist,’ replied Connor, though he’d never really thought about it before.
‘Don’t they?’ When the old man grinned, his brown, rotten teeth made Connor cringe. ‘Don’t be so sure. You’ve seen a newspaper meant for members of the AAA council.’
‘AAA? Isn’t that a battery?’ The boy stiffened as muffled laughter came from the counter. On tiptoes, he peered into the shop to find it empty. The old man coughed loudly.
Connor eyed him curiously. ‘You okay?’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’ The man gave a final cough. ‘It stands for Alien Agents Alliance.’
‘If you say so.’ Connor paid for the ice cream. ‘But aliens don’t exist.’
‘You try telling the UFO fanatics that,’ he snorted. ‘Whatever you do, don’t hang about this morning. I wouldn’t want you to go missing like those other kids.’
‘Don’t worry! I can take care of myself.’
‘Just be careful!’ called the man as Connor trudged across the garage forecourt. ‘Don’t talk to strangers!’
Connor waved, leaving the safety of the forecourt for the dark depths of the night.
Once the boy had left, a man and a dog crawled from their hiding place beneath the counter in the shop. The man had scruffy brown hair and wore a chestnut coat.
‘Well, Tookar,’ chuckled the old man. ‘You don’t exist. Are you sure the Starstone wants him as a host?’
‘Yes,’ replied Tookar. ‘I must go after him.’
‘Not now. You’ll frighten him to death!’ the old man declared.
‘You managed that,’ snapped Tookar. ‘What on earth did you do to your teeth?’
‘I’m in disguise.’ The old man removed the fake teeth.
‘And mentioning strangers and the missing children…what were you thinking?’
‘Don’t go after him. He doesn’t know you from Adam.’
‘But I know him. Now, please unlock the door or do we have to do it the hard way?’ Tookar folded his arms stubbornly.
‘Don’t go. He’s jumpy enough.’ The old man fidgeted nervously. ‘Besides I won’t help you.’
Tookar glanced at the dog. ‘Well, perhaps some gentle persuasion will change his mind.’
‘Now, now gentlemen.’ The old man flustered, stepping back. ‘I’m sure we can discuss this amicably.’
‘A gentle nip on his bottom should do the trick,’ Tookar suggested.
The dog growled softly before lying, with its head resting between its paws.
‘What are you doing? I said go and bite his bottom!’
The dog tilted its head to one side and eyed Tookar impatiently. Moving its jaws in a strange motion the dog spoke. ‘Don’t think for one minute I’m going to lower myself to act like a canine. I’m not budging or biting any bottoms tonight!’
‘Crazy dog!’ Tookar rolled his eyes impatiently.
The old man flung his arms in the air. ‘Oh for goodness sake, I’ll open the door but promise me you won’t frighten Connor. Think before you act, please!’
Tookar saluted. ‘I promise.’
Meanwhile, Connor continued on his journey. Street lamps either flickered or weren’t working and he cursed the council for not fixing them. The odd car whizzed pass with blazing headlights, creating monstrous shadows. Trees stirred restlessly as the coldness continued to bite. He imagined the headlines in tomorrow’s newspaper: Boy Freezes Walking Home.
He wasn’t particularly fond of the snow, especially when his aunt and uncle threw him out in the blizzard and refused to let him back in. When he closed his eyes, he could still picture their faces jeering at him from the window. In those terrible times, he’d sneak off to visit Mrs Rosebud, an elderly lady who lived two doors away with her pet dog Mrs Damson.
Connor shivered. The frost sliced through his clothes, draining him of warmth. Icy vines entwined his limbs, spreading from his scrunched toes to his shivering shoulders. Right now, he disliked the cold as much as the dark.
The article he’d read at the garage began to play heavily on his mind. The slightest noise startled him. During a full moon children go missing. Why? Where have they gone? Thankfully, the moon wasn’t full this morning. He increased his pace, but his feet moved like two blocks of ice. He buried his face in his scarf. Relieved to finally reach the top of his road, he jumped when a deep voice spoke from the darkness.
‘Hi Connor! I know this might come as a shock, but I’ve something for you.’
For a terrible moment, Connor froze. A man wearing an oversized coat, fiddled with something in his pocket and he’d known his name.
‘Ah – here it is!’
The stranger must have followed him home. Beneath the seamless blanket of cloud, the surrounding gloom shrouded the man’s face, while a camel-coloured dog waggled its tail.
‘He won’t bite.’ As if to prove his point, the stranger stroked his dog. ‘He’s a big softy – a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Meant to be a guard dog, but well – he’s har
mless.’
The dog sniffed Connor, before rolling onto it’s back. Connor backed away. His love for animals didn’t mean he’d be careless enough to start playing with this one. The dog flipped, jumped up at him, knocking him off-balance.
‘Hey – get down!’ scolded the man. ‘Sorry Connor – he’s excited.’
Connor continued stepping backwards. ‘How’d you know my name?’
‘I’m a friend of your parents.’
Connor paled. ‘My parent’s are dead!’ He turned on his heels and fled.
‘Wait!’ The man called.
Panic urged him on until he reached his garden gate, and with a wheezy breath, stumbled up the garden path and fumbled for his key. He’d never walk in the darkness again, no matter how much his uncle yelled at him. As the key turned in the lock, a hand grasped his shoulder and another covered his mouth.
‘Shh!’ whispered the man. ‘You’re safe with me. I’ve a letter for you.’
Safe? He wasn’t safe? Despite Connor’s struggle, the man proved too strong and his cries for help were dampened. His legs weakened like jelly and to make matters worse, a horrible whiff of rotten mushrooms oozed from the man’s skin.
‘If I let you go, promise not to scream. Take this letter.’ When the man released him, Connor screamed louder than he’d ever done in his life. To his astonishment, the man vanished and the dog took flight. Falling backwards in shock, his head struck the wall and darkness swiftly came...
Startled, Connor eventually woke to see a doctor leaning over him with a peg on the end of his long, thin nose.
‘He’s waking,’ said the doctor in such a manner, it was as if he had a hot potato in his mouth.
For a brief moment, Connor was disorientated and confused of his whereabouts. Though, his blurry vision soon recognised the familiar array of shadows in his bedroom, which reassured him.
‘Looking for these?’ A young woman passed him his glasses.
‘What happened? What are you doing here?’ groaned Connor.
‘You hit your head. How are you?’ The doctor held his wrist and measured his pulse.
‘I’ve a headache.’ Connor had no memory of the past events and this unnerved him.
‘You’ve been in bed for the best part of the day. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon. You knocked your head pretty bad,’ explained the doctor. ‘The swelling will subside in the next day or two though.’
‘What were you doing outside at that ungodly hour?’ queried the woman. Her long auburn hair fell softly forward past her shoulders and freckles covered the bridge of her nose.
‘I remember going to the garage to buy a tub of ice cream,’ explained Connor.
‘Lucky for you, your neighbour, Mrs Rosebud, came to your rescue. She called us. Please, excuse us for a moment.’ The young woman pulled the doctor aside for a private word, but Connor still listened.
‘I knew it,’ the woman hissed. ‘He’s suffering from exhaustion. His guardians have been abusing him. He’ll have to be placed in another home or something.’
‘We don’t know anything as yet, Deana.’
‘What don’t you know?’ she snapped. ‘He needs help. Isn’t it obvious?’
Connor took an instant liking to Deana.
‘Okay. They needs a live-in carer and since you’ve no sense of smell, why don’t you take the job?’
‘Thank you, Doctor Raymond.’ She jangled keys from her pocket. ‘I’m going to collect some belongings. I’ll be back in a jiffy. You won’t regret this.’
‘No, I‘m sure I won’t,’ he replied, smiling.
Connor Clover and the Lost Children (Book 1) Page 1
