A Spectre in the Stones

by John Kitchen

  He elbowed Rudi again. “Look at Rip Van Winkle over there,” he whispered. Then, from the back of his notebook he removed a page, rolling it into a tight ball.

  It caught Caitlin across the cheek and, immediately, she leapt up.

  “What’s that?” she shouted. She really looked a mess, and her face was contorted with spite. She grabbed the ball of paper and held it up. “Miss, someone chucked this.” Then she looked around, and Lloyd could see she was hell-bent on creating mayhem. “It’s paper out of a maths book, Miss. Someone’s tore it out”

  Miss Webb looked at Lloyd, and immediately he was on his feet, throwing his hands in the air. “Why you looking at me, Miss? Just ’cause I’m new. It could have been anyone.”

  “It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t, was it, Lloyd? It was Lloyd McKenzie Lewis.”

  “Yeah, it was him, Miss,” Caitlin said. “He’s always picking on me.”

  Lloyd looked at her. “How could I always be picking on you?

  I only come yesterday. That’s rubbish.”

  “Lloyd,” Miss Webb said. She was coming over now but she still didn’t look fazed. “You do not conduct arguments across my classroom. If you’ve got something to say, you talk to me. Did you throw the paper?”

  Lloyd shrugged. “She was sleeping, wasn’t she?” he said. “I just wanted to wake her so she could get on with her sums. I was being nice.”

  Caitlin flashed him a look. “Yeah, that’s a joke, and I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “Snore when you’re awake, do you?” Lloyd said, and Miss Webb held her hand up.

  “That’s enough,” she said. She was still calm and Lloyd respected her for that. “I’ve been patient with you, Lloyd, but I can’t have this anarchy in my classroom. Now settle down and get on with your work and I’ll see you after class.”

  She did see him after class too, but she didn’t make a big thing of it. She just repeated what she’d said before, but what was filling Lloyd’s head was Caitlin. She’d stirred it for all she was worth and she needed sorting for that. He could see she was more tired than the other Sarson Hall kids. That made him curious because he knew she’d been in the North Wing all night. All the same, he still didn’t reckon that was any reason for her to be so ratty. If anyone had the right to be ratty it was him. It was him that was stuck in a bedroom all night with some guy who was messing with his stuff. She needed speaking to about stirring it and at break he made a special point of seeking her out.

  “What you playing at?” he demanded. “You was asleep. You know very well you was asleep. I only chucked the paper so you wouldn’t get in no trouble.”

  She scowled. “Yeah. You think I’m stupid or something? You was set on winding teacher up – as soon as you got in class, and you can mess with her as much as you like – but you try messing with me and I’ll have you.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “Next time you’re splayed out on your desk, snoring like a pig, I’ll just leave you. What you sleeping in class for anyway? You not getting enough sleep or what?”

  She glared at him and then turned her back. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped, and she began to walk away.

  But he wouldn’t let her go. “You’re in North Wing, that’s right, yeah?” he said, grabbing her arm.

  “Don’t touch me.” She flinched, and her face was snared with venom.

  “I’m just asking,” Lloyd said. “There’s stuff going on back at the home, and I want to get my head around it. Someone mucked around with my cases last night.”

  “So? You accusing me?”

  “No, but the only reason you got for being so foul-mouthed is if stuff was happening to you down the North Wing too. Is there something messing with you down there, keeping you awake?”

  A look of fear crossed her face. “You trying to wind me up or something?”

  “No, I just want to know, that’s all.”

  But she pulled away. “Get lost.”

  “I want evidence. I want to find out who’s doing this stuff.”

  By now though she had her hands to her ears, and she was shouting some wild chant to drown him out and that took him by surprise. She was almost crouching too, as if someone had hit her in the stomach. Suddenly she swung round, and landed him a thump on the arm. “You’re nothing but a sicko,” she yelled. “Get your head sorted.” Then she stormed off into the crowd, leaving him staring after her.

  It didn’t make sense. He only wanted to find out what was going on. It was no big deal. The kid was off the wall. But her reaction made him even more curious. Something had kept her awake. Something had made her stop her ears and scream.

  Christine was waiting for them when they got back. She was standing on the steps, her hands on her hips, and her face sour.

  Even before Lloyd scrambled off the minibus she was shouting his name.

  He was in no mood for Christine though. “What?” he said. “You been waiting there all day?”

  “Don’t give me lip, boy,” she said. “I went in to check your bedroom this morning. Do you call those cases unpacked?”

  The other kids were rampaging up the steps, barging past her and she grabbed at the doorpost to steady herself. Then she turned to Lloyd again. “You stay where you are, Lloyd Lewis. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  “I told Dave about that this morning,” he said. “Someone’s been messing with my stuff so I left it like it was. Don’t you lot ever talk to each other?”

  She snorted. “There’s only one person that’s messed with your stuff, Lloyd Lewis, and that’s you. Looking for your school clothes more than like. And you don’t leave your bedroom in that state – not when you’re here, you don’t.”

  “You’d better not have touched nothing,” he said. “That stuff is my property, and I’ll flatten anybody what touches it.”

  “It’s just as you left it,” she snapped. “And before you do another thing, you get up there and pack it away. I’ll be up to see it’s done in half an hour, and you’d better believe me, if it’s not sorted by then it won’t be your stuff I’ll be laying my hands on.”

  He stared right through her. “You lay a finger on me, Missus and I’ll have welfare on you faster than your tongue can bitch. And I’ll sort my stuff when I’m ready, and that’s when I’ve had my snack.”

  He pushed past her, barging into the dining room for his Twix and orange squash.

  It was only after he’d finished that he went to his bedroom, and one glance told him the case and the travel bag were just as he’d left them. Even the clothes that had dropped to the floor were lying untouched.

  He found a couple of empty drawers and reached for the big case, sorting his socks and stacking his underwear and T-shirts. He was methodical. Apart from his travel case, his clothes were the main sum of his worldly property and, if he didn’t look after them, no one else would. Shirts, jeans and trousers went into the wardrobe. Then he put the case to one side to be stacked in the North Wing.

  There were more T-shirts and underwear in the travel case, and there was other stuff too – special stuff – but, as he removed the clothes, his hands froze.

  His main possessions, other than his clothes and travel case were a couple of photos, one of his mum, taken just before she died, and a picture of a family. It was some place where he’d been fostered when he was six. It was the only time he’d ever lived in a proper home, and that time had been special. He’d thought it was for real – that he’d live there forever.

  But social services weren’t in on his plans, and they dragged him off to another institution. He still kept in touch with his foster parents, Bill and Jean, and the other special possession was a small bundle of letters he’d had from them. Those photos and the letters, along with the travel case were his most treasured possessions. And the photos and letters weren’t there anymore.

  He rummaged through the T-shirts and underwear. Then he grabbed a chair to look on the tops of the wardrobes. And a red mist flooded him.
Suddenly it was as if there was a hole where his gut should be, and only one name shouldered through the turmoil.

  With one bound he leapt off the chair and out into the corridor.

  He was down stairs before two thoughts had passed through his head. Then he was in the television lounge where Martin was curled into an armchair, and he was on him, ripping him from the chair and grabbing his arms. The whites of his eyes shone. “You got my photos and my letters,” he shouted. “What you done with them?”

  The assault caught Martin off guard and his body had barely adjusted from prone before Lloyd had him back in the chair again, pinning him with his knees, and he was baring his teeth in fury. “You’ve been messing with my stuff. You’ve got my letters and my photos.”

  Martin stared, confused. He tried to wrestle his arms free, but, even though he was bigger, Lloyd’s strength was fuelled by a rage that was beyond Martin’s capacity.

  “I’m going to punch you senseless if you don’t tell me where my stuff is,” Lloyd hissed.

  Martin tried to kick out and shake him off. “What you on about? What photos and letters? Your girlfriend or what?”

  With a blinding swipe Lloyd brought a fist down on his face and that was enough.

  In a second Martin was out of his chair and Lloyd was pinned to the floor.

  There was a trickle of blood dripping from Martin’s nose and the strength in his arms and knees was like a vice.

  “You do that once more and you’re dead,” he hissed.

  It stunned Lloyd. Martin had always seemed more laid-back than a sloth, but the guy had fight in him, and the sudden display of muscle power brought some kind of respect into Lloyd’s head. He looked up from the floor.

  “I got two photos in my travel bag, and a bundle of letters, and they’ve been nicked. I’ve been unpacking my stuff and they’re gone.”

  Martin released his grip slightly, wiping the blood from his nose, and he sniffed, “That isn’t my problem. I told you. I never touched your stuff.”

  Lloyd looked into his eyes, and he had this sense that he wasn’t lying.

  “Well, Rudi wouldn’t have touched them,” he said. “And someone’s had them.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Martin said. “I told you that this morning.”

  Pinned to the ground, the anger was seeping away and in its place there was desolation. They were his most precious things, and they’d been nicked. They might never be found, and he could feel tears stinging his eyes.

  “They’re the most special things I got,” he said. “I don’t tell people about them. They’re personal.”

  “Like I said, it isn’t my problem,” said Martin. “And I’m telling you, you come in on me like that again and you’re finished.”

  He stood up and returned to his chair while the others settled back to watch TV.

  There hadn’t been any carers to intervene but Lloyd had lost face. He saw Caitlin smirking and, as he dusted himself down, he said, “Okay, but when I find out who it is what’s nicked my stuff, the thumping I’ll give them will make what me and Martin done look like a love-in.”

  Craig Donovan had been watching from a corner of the room with half a grin on his face, and he sniffed, “It was a love-in, mate. ’Cause anyone but Martin would have left you for dead. You’re nothing around here, and you try throwing your fists about like that again and I’ll sort you.”

  “Yeah?” Lloyd said. “You reckon?” But he knew not to push it with Craig, and he shoved his way out of the room.

  This stifling dump had done it to him again.

  Noises, smells, stuff being moved, vortexes in cellars, his most precious possessions nicked. He was finding it hard to get on top of it.

  He wandered into the grounds and if anybody had asked him why he’d gone outside he couldn’t have told them. It wasn’t for uplift. Out there it was all trees charred with winter cold, void branches, sweeping expanses of flat skies, flower beds that had nothing but the detritus of last summer’s vegetation, bland acres of grass smudged by wind and rain – the desolation of the damned.

  He wandered across the forecourt, barely lifting his feet. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were deep in his pockets.

  He was heading for the North Wing and, without knowing why, he shoved through the door. But, the minute he was inside, something gripped him. It wasn’t something reassuring, but it was something – an overpowering feeling, and today it wasn’t because he was curious, or because he wanted to prove himself, but he moved inexorably towards the cellar door. He had to. He had to push the door open. He had to turn the switch and, in the disembodied light, he had to clamber down the stairs.

  The air was cold and thick, and nothing moved. It was as if all the dysfunctions of history had been compressed into this room and he just stood there.

  Then, from the same corner as he’d seen it yesterday, there was a movement, a swirling of the air, silent but palpable. He watched mesmerised as it began to suck up the dust.

  This time though the vortex didn’t stay hovering in one place. It began to move, slowly trundling towards where he stood.

  He tried to step back, but his limbs were rooted. All he could do was stare, and as the vortex wandered, picking up leaves and debris, he gasped in disbelief, because there, swirling in the currents, tumbling and twisting in front of him, were the pages of his letters, and the two photographs. His eyes widened, barely able to take in what they were seeing.

  Chapter 4

  When the vortex had spent itself, there was nothing but an ear-splitting silence. The forty-watt bulb flickered, but it didn’t go out and Lloyd was stunned.

  There was anger simmering beneath the shock too, because it had suddenly become personal. Whereas before the wheeling vortex and the strange happenings had been a kind of abstract manifestation, now it was aimed directly at him. They were his cases that had been interfered with. They were his belongings that had been spilled. These were his photos that had been taken.

  Then he heard floorboards creak and the door upstairs groaned. There were footsteps… and every hair on his body tingled.

  Suddenly it was real fear, the fear of a rabbit caught in the headlights. He could barely crack a muscle to move his neck. Prickling with terror, he allowed his eyes to swivel and, in the corner of his vision he could make out a figure standing there… Then he breathed again, because what caught in his eyes was slim, with long hair to its shoulders.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  He didn’t answer. He just pointed at the random pile of sweepings lying at his feet.

  Justin crossed the cellar floor. “What’s up?” he said, but still Lloyd just pointed.

  “It’s a pile of rubbish.”

  “But that stuff is mine,” he croaked. “Them letters. Them photos.”

  Justin bent down to pick up the scattering of papers, shaking off the dust and examining them. Lloyd’s first instinct was to grab them out of his hand, but he didn’t.

  “How come they’re down here?” Justin said.

  “You tell me. Last I saw them they was packed in my travel case. Then this morning, when I woke up, all my stuff was messed with. My cases had been chucked up on top of the wardrobes, and when I checked this evening, them letters and all that stuff was gone.”

  Justin looked at the photos and letters again and, for an instant, Lloyd saw him shudder. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Get some fresh air. We’ll talk when we’re outside, okay?”

  He didn’t argue and, outside, even the overcast skies came as a relief.

  Justin was still staring at the bundle of paper in his hand.

  “Girlfriend?” he said.

  “No,” Lloyd said, sharply. “And it’s none of your business.”

  He saw him grin. “Sorry. I wasn’t prying or anything.”

  “That’s okay,” Lloyd said and he wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He didn’t know if he meant: “That’s okay – you’re forgiven,” or “That’s okay �
�� I’m not that bothered if you do pry a bit.”

  They sat on the bench and, although Justin didn’t probe any further, Lloyd knew he was dying to ask.

  “I was in a foster home, wasn’t I? When I was a little kid,” he said. “My foster parents keep in touch.”

  “You’ve never been with a family other than that?”

  Lloyd shook his head.

  “Is this them?” Justin picked out one of the photos, but, straight away, Lloyd snatched the bundle of papers away from him, and then wished he hadn’t.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just a bit private, that’s all.”

  “It’s just, I was thinking, it’s a bit rough,” Justin said. “And it makes me feel guilty, to be honest. I mean, a few months with a family, and you carry round letters and photos, and here’s me – with parents on call any time – and I’d rather keep out of their way. That isn’t right, is it?”

  “It wasn’t no big deal…” Lloyd said. But then it slipped out. “It’s just – when I was there, like… I mean, I was only a kid, and I thought it was going to be forever, that’s all.”

  Any other person would have seen the chink, and they’d have gone in with a crowbar. But all Justin said was, “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” And then he changed the subject. “What made you go down the cellar to look for the letters and photos?”

  Lloyd sat up. “That is so weird, man,” he said. “I was mad when I couldn’t find them, so I come outside. And as soon as I was out here I sort of drifted over to the North Wing. I told you yesterday, me and Rudi went down that cellar, with Martin, and I just had this feeling I wanted to go down there again – on my own”

  “And you found your stuff in the pile of dirt?” Justin said.

  Lloyd fiddled with the flap on one of the envelopes, opening and shutting it, revealing a triangle of Jean’s neatly compacted writing. “This place,” he said. “It’s bad, man.”

  Justin sighed. “Yes, there is a bit of an atmosphere about it.”

  “The thing is, I’m almost starting to think it’s worse than that,” Lloyd said. “Stuff happens here, and it’s hard to get my head around it. Weird stuff – like… unreal.”