by Matt Shaw
* * * * *
We were sitting at the small breakfast bar area in the kitchen of the lodge. I call it a kitchen but it’s more like a box room with a few camping stoves than a real kitchen. It served its purpose though...
I had managed to get into my can of spaghetti and sausages using one of the kitchen knives provided. It was a pain in the backside but I really fancied them, having spotted the can in the car.
“Are you okay?” I asked Tom. I had finished my meal but he was still toying with his - pushing the sausages around the bowl with his spoon. He looked at me. An expression on his face which suggested as though something was on his mind. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He went to say something but stopped. Was he scared of talking to me? I thought we were bonding. “Come on, you know me...What’s on your mind?”
“Can I phone mum and dad yet?” he asked, quietly.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I forgot to charge the mobile phone. Tell you what, though, I’ll do it as soon as we’ve finished eating - okay? It’ll be charged by morning and we can call them then. How’s that sound?” He didn’t say anything. He just carried on pushing the sausages around the bowl. “You know - it works better if you eat them,” I pointed out. He didn’t answer me. “Come on - I said we can call them in the morning...It’ll be fine. It’s only tomorrow. It’s not a long time to wait.” He looked at me as though he wanted to say something else, “What is it?”
“It’s nearly Christmas,” he said. “I hoped they’d be home in time for Christmas...”
“We’re not having fun?” I asked him. He nodded. “I thought we were enjoying ourselves.”
“Just miss them...” he muttered. I understood how he felt. I used to miss my parents like mad. I’m not sure when I got used to not having them around but I know it wasn’t a quick process. I looked at him as he slowly started to eat the sausages that he had earlier been toying with. I watched him, eating. I wondered whether there’d ever be a time when he wouldn’t miss them? I can’t very well let him go home - not now he has seen my face. Not without giving up my freedom for the rest of my life. He looked up and caught me looking at him. I smiled; a smile he returned. In this brief moment I wondered what the chances would be of us running away and starting a life together. Fake father and son. A brief moment.
I need to stop thinking like this.
It won’t happen.
It can’t.
8.
Beach holidays. Playing together on the sand. Enjoying ourselves. The sun beating down on our skin. Ice-creams for lunch. Sprinkles on top. Sandcastles. Swimming. Snoozing in the midday heat. Ice cold cans of drink. Hunting crabs in the rock pools. Fish and chips as the sun goes down. I shook my head. Forget about it. It’s not going to happen. I leaned into the other room - Tom’s asleep on the bed. Good. Now is my opportunity. I turned to the television in the corner of the living room and turned it on - immediately being sure to turn the volume down so as not to wake the boy. The first channel was commercials. The second was more of the same. Come on...I checked the time via a quick button press on the remote control. Timing is perfect, news should be on any minute now. Just as I had finished thinking how good the time was, I stumbled across the opening credits for another news bulletin. Please be local, please be local...Unless - would the story have gone national?
The anchorman came on and introduced the headlines; the first mentioned were to do with fighting overseas. I don’t know why they bother talking about that as a priority. It’s not as though it is more pressing than what is going on in this country. The second stories were about the economic downturn. Don’t I know it. It’s because of that I’m in this particular mess. Increased fuel, increased petrol, increased grocery shopping, increased taxes...Everything going up. Everything other than the wages, that is. And for people like me, ex-cons living on minimum wage, it’s even tougher. Management knows we’re on a hiding for nothing, when it comes to seeking employment - especially decent employment - given our track record so they think we should be grateful for anything they give us...And the ‘anything they give us’ is usually peanuts. Next up, a mention of some political scandal taking place. Not sure what it’s about. As soon as things like this are mentioned - I have a habit of turning off. The news station switched to another set. Here we go, the local news. My heart stopped, for a second, when I noticed the picture of Frank behind the news lady. It looked as though it was his mugshot - but with the number cropped out so as not to cause unnecessary alarm to the people watching. The lady mentioned him by name. She mentioned Tom. Police wanted to talk to Frank in connection with the missing boy. The bulletin then went onto one which had been in the local news quite a lot recently - random stories of farmers’ livestock getting violently attacked. Why they keep harping on about that is beyond me - it’s not as though your average Joe gives a shit about a sheep or goat! The set changed back to that of the national news. On the plus side, they didn’t mention my name. Would they though? Would they mention it in the full report? Obviously that was just the highlight of what was to come so they didn’t have time to say it all. No. They would have shown my picture too if they suspected I was part of it. I’m sure they would have. Need to be sure, though. Need to watch the whole program to be sure.
“What are you watching?” I jumped at the sound of Tom’s voice. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, behind me, rubbing his eyes as though he’d just woken up - which he had.
“I was just channel hopping,” I said. I flicked the ‘off’ button on the remote, killing the television immediately. “Did you have a good sleep?” I asked. He nodded and came over to sit with me; a troubled look on his mind. Please don’t ask me about your parents again, I thought.
“I had a bad dream,” he said.
“I thought you said you had a good sleep?” I looked at him. A definite look of concern in his eyes. “What was it?” I asked.
“I dreamt that you had to go away too,” he said. I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say. The lost little boy who’s concerned for my well-being. If only he knew the truth. He’d wish I did have to go away. I put my arm around his shoulders.
“They say,” I said, “dreams work in reverse. You know what that means? That means I won’t be going away. No. I won’t be going anywhere.” My mind teased me with images of the two of us going on the run, once again, and living together as a proper family unit. I did my best to ignore them again - knowing the full impracticalities of that scenario.
“Who says that?” he asked.
“Well - for one - I said it. And I’m the important one, right? If I say I’m not going anywhere - I’m not going anywhere. It’ll be fine. I promise. I won’t leave you.” There I go again, making promises I can’t keep. He tucked himself against my body and squeezed me tightly. We’ve come so far - from the moment I first picked him up in the van to now. I gave him a squeeze too and felt a strange churning in my stomach - a sickening feeling that I was growing attached to this boy despite knowing, deep down, how it was going to end. I should just get it over with now before it’s too hard. Hell, it shouldn’t have even got to this stage. It should have ended in the woods. I should have left him with Frank.
“Can we go somewhere?” he asked.
“Where?” I asked him. He shrugged. It was due to get dark soon. Our disturbed sleeping patterns, brought on from the night of driving, meant neither of us would be going to bed early - especially after his afternoon nap - so we may as well go out. And in the cover of darkness too - could be the perfect opportunity to put an end to this once and for all? My picture wasn’t scattered on the news program that I had seen - it might be safe for me to go home. But, if it is, I can’t go home with Tom...Maybe he’s unwittingly given me a way out of this mess once and for all? Take him out, on a long walk, and throttle him. Leave him somewhere. From my childhood holidays here, I knew there was a river not too far away from this spot, I could dump him in that. With any luck his body may not get discovered. At least, if it does, it won’t be
for a long, long time and they’ll never put me here; not since I gave them a fake name and paid in cash. “We could go for a walk in the woods, if you want?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Well it’s getting dark outside so you’d best get your werewolf mask out!” I told him.
“I don’t want to wear it though,” he said. Damn. Finally the novelty of the mask had worn off. Even though it was getting dark outside I wanted to play safe. There was still a possibility of bumping into someone on their way back to their own lodge - having been out for an afternoon stroll. Just because my face isn’t plastered everywhere, the same can’t be said for Tom’s.
“But it’s getting dark outside,” I told him, “and you know what the means...That means the creatures all come out from the shadows where they lurk. The monsters and demons which wait to hurt us...The only way we’ll survive is if you’re dressed as one of them - you can pretend I’m your prisoner and that you’re taking me back to devour me with your monster family.” He looked as though he didn’t know whether to be scared or laugh. I may have pushed it a little too far. I continued regardless, “I mean - if you want to chance it out there, without the mask, I suppose that’s fine but...well...I’m just thinking about what would be best for us. So, anyway, get your shoes and your coat and let’s go...”
By the time he came back to the lounge - he was wearing the latex werewolf mask.
“Give us a roar,” I teased him.
He folded his arms, “Werewolves don’t roar...They growl!” he reminded me.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
9.
I stepped out of the lodge first, full of a nervous energy due to the knowledge of what was to come. A nervous energy and a sadness. I’d grown quite attached to the boy, just as Frank had originally warned that I would. Stepping onto the earth, I turned back to hold the door open for the little wolf-man. He jumped out - seemingly in quite a jovial mood considering he wasn’t keen on wearing the mask anymore.
A quick look around, only the elderly lady from the reception. Typical. I spotted her just as she spotted the boy and I. For a second I worried that she’d say something - more specifically that she’d ask who the boy was, considering I checked into the lodge as a single occupant. At least he was wearing the mask. If his body is ever discovered - it would be hard for her to put the two of us together. Trying to act normal, I flashed her a smile.
“Just off for a walk,” I called out. She was standing at the boot of her car, a few lodges down. Emptying the contents, which appeared to be large bags of dog food, onto the floor. I couldn’t help but smile broadly. I may have been in the wrong for having the boy in the lodge but, going by the amount of dog food she was taking from the trunk, she was just as much in the wrong as I was. I’m sure one of her many rules, for residence here, was that no pets were allowed.
She stopped what she was doing and stood up straight, “It’s a bit late to be going for a walk,” she said. Just as I had hoped, she didn’t mention the fact that Tom was standing by my side. Either she hadn’t noticed him, which I somehow doubt, or she knew she’d get in as much trouble as I would if the park management found out about her pets. She continued, “It’s getting dark.”
“Made the mistake of sleeping most of the day after our journey last night. It’ll help to burn off some excess energy if we’re in for a chance of getting any more sleep tonight!” I called back to her as I locked the lodge door up. I slipped the key into my pocket.
“Be sure as to stay on the bridal path,” she said, “it’s easy to get lost when the light goes down...”
“Will do,” I said.
“And don’t cross the fences. We don’t own any of the land on the other side. The owners get somewhat territorial about it...” She continued taking the food from the boot of the car. Jesus, how many pets does she have in there? Unless, maybe, she just likes the taste of dog food. I had a cousin, once, who enjoyed eating dog biscuits. He said they were much tastier than the normal biscuits the shops try and pass off to humans. I declined his offer of a nibble when he offered it. I gave the elderly lady a wave and ushered Tom in the direction of the bridal path. He ran ahead with a skip in his step.
* * * * *
As we walked through the woods, neither of us said anything. He was busy looking around and hitting various trees with a long, thin branch he had stumbled across - literally - and I was busy thinking about the best way of getting done what needed to be done. With options buzzing around my head, the only thing I was certain about was that I wanted it to be quick. Not just for his sake but for mine too. I don’t want him to be afraid. I don’t want him to know what is happening. I don’t want him to feel any pain. More to the point - I don’t want him to know what’s coming when I make whatever move I end up choosing to make. The thought of seeing the fear in his eyes was nearly enough to put me off from doing it. I just want it to be quick and painless. Admittedly there was a massive part of me which wished things could be different, that the boy could go home and I could go about the rest of my life having learnt from my mistakes but I knew it was impossible. I made this half-arsed plan up, I saw it fail and now the only way to get back to what little life I had is to ensure the boy disappears. Damn it! Why couldn’t I have listened to Frank when he had tried telling me not to get attached? Why didn’t I keep things strictly professional? I should have done as he had said, back when the boy first saw my face, and done him in there and then but I couldn’t.
“I think I’ll come here with mum and dad, when they’re better!” he suddenly said, out of the blue.
“Oh?”
“It’s nice, isn’t it? I think they’d like the walking. They like walking at home.”
I need to hate him if I’m going to make this easier. Think of him, walking through the woods with his rich mummy and daddy, like the spoil brat he actually is. Hell, he probably didn’t even walk. He probably had his own petrol operated quad bike, or something similar. Something that your Average Joe couldn’t affo... I suddenly tripped on a large branch and landed face first on the debris-scattered earth.
“Shit!”
“You said a bad word!” Tom helpfully pointed out. Although I can’t disagree with him - I couldn’t help but to think it would have been better if he asked if I was okay.
“Well, let’s keep it between you and me then, yeah?” I said as I sat up, holding my stinging ankle. Nothing broken, other than my pride, but Christ that hurt. I stood up and looked at what I had tripped over - the branch was big and heavy. It must have fallen from one of the trees above. Good job no one was standing underneath when it did happen to break off. It could have killed someone...
Ah ha.
I picked the log up, using both of my hands and a fair amount of strength. A few test swings up and down to see if it was suitable for what my brainwave was suggesting. It was. It’d take two hits, I believed. One to knock him to the floor and the other to crack his skull open. Surely this was a better option than throttling him like I had originally planned? Surely this is more humane?
“Your stick’s bigger than mine...” he said. He held up his own branch, next to the log I had. Disappointment on his face.
“I’d say we could swap but I don’t think you could lift this one.”
“Can I try at least?”
I held the log up high, “It’s probably not the best idea,” I said. “You may hurt yourself.” I should just get this over with. Come on. A quick swipe downwards and it’ll be almost over and I could go home again - back into the warmth and out of the cold. Come on. I can do it. I suddenly yelled as I brought the log crashing down onto the floor, not even close to where Tom was standing and watching. I can’t do it here. We’re not far away enough from the campsite. Someone may come along. If not now then definitely later. They’d find his body way too soon. I need it to rot a while first to make identification more of a chore. I dropped the log. They’ll be other logs. Maybe even rocks. A rock would be better. “Come on,” I said, “we’ll leave it there...” I wa
lked away from the log and away from the bridal path.
10.
We had been walking for over ten minutes now, off of the beaten track. I was feeling the strain in the backs of my legs. I’m too old for this now, despite only being in my thirties. In prison, I had got fit but - since leaving - I had lost all the stamina again. The same couldn’t be said for the boy - he was pushing ahead, still swiping his stick at invisible foes. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered by the fact that it’s absolutely freezing out here or that it’s getting pretty damn dark.
“Look!” he pointed to a wire fence a few feet away from us - previously hidden by the darkness, or the fact I wasn’t actually looking for it. “Does that mean we have to go back now?”
I shook my head, “Just because an old, miserable woman told us we couldn’t go over the fence? I think not!” He cheered. The fence was new. Well - I say it was new...It hadn’t been there when my own mum and dad brought me here years ago. I’m sure of it. We never had to cross over any fence to get to the river before. The campsite owners must have sold some of their land; probably to help with some financial difficulties. It seems the economic down-turn has hit everyone. I helped Tom over the fence and followed him over. “So which way do you want to go now?” I asked him. Despite his earlier enthusiasm to go over the fence - he looked as though he was hesitating, like something was bothering him. “Well?” I asked him on the off-chance he didn’t hear me. He looked from side to side and back to me. “Which way?”
