Crik by Karl Beer Page A

Bill, he could not relax.
    Nervous sweat greased his palms, making him want to discard the gloves that clung uncomfortably to his skin. When his shoes met the glass shards, he stopped. Anxious, he looked around; positive someone would come and ask about the shallow impression left in the mud. Each bent grass and bruised area of dirt, revealed in stark relief where the Hatchling had landed. Ignoring the glass, he kicked away the tell-tale signs of the demon, first with the toe of his shoe, and then the heel. Hurriedly he obliterated the imprint left by a clawed hand. Stepping back, he noticed, with rising disgust, where the demon had dragged its twisted leg through the grass.
    Yang stood off to one side, snatching a fly from the air. Jack neither expected, nor wanted, his shadow’s help. In Bill’s room, when he needed him the most, Yang refused to move; together they might have pulled off the creature. Many of Yang’s recent actions frightened him. How had Yang communicated with the Hatchling? Why had Yang done nothing to help Bill? Although his shadow acted by its own accord, usually against his wishes, he had put that down to a mischievous nature. Last night his shadow went down an unexpected path, and since then he eyed Yang with suspicion.
    The sun, glinting off the stacked glass, speared into his eyes. Grimacing, he raised his hand to shield his face. His mind turned reflectively inward. Had the Giant known Grandma Poulis’s secret? Why else would it leave the egg at her doorstep? More kids ran hooting and hollering down the street. Tired to the bone he only glanced at them. Hoping to spy Grandma Poulis, wanting to recapture the feeling of ease her light had instilled in him the night before, he looked at Bill’s house. The empty kitchen window stared back. Doesn’t matter, he thought surly, during the day she was only the old woman who shouted at him for playing ball too close to her house. He ached for that blue light, and part of him hated Bill’s grandmother for not sharing it with him.
    Disgust, at his own need for comfort, made him turn away from the house. Peeking, beyond the side of his home, he saw strange drooping branches. Forgetting the glass, he drew closer to discover a strange tree growing where none had ever grown. At odds with the tree’s grey trunk, which stretched up to the roof, were riotous coloured broad leaves. He ran across the garden. Fine hair, ruffled by the passing wind, covered the trunk. Curious, he discarded his gloves and felt the wood warm to his touch. His mother had grown the strange plant she had discovered; she must have planted it here when it outgrew the kitchen. Walking around the tree, he heard a baby cry. Startled, he pressed his ear to the wood, only to jump back in stunned amazement when he began to sink into the soft down. Yang sprang forward, disappearing inside the trunk. Wondering whether a hole existed within the tree, Jack pushed his hand against the wood, to feel it give under the pressure.
    Wind passed through his fingertips making him tug back his hand. Shivering like a wet dog, he stumbled back, his legs feeling like hit wickets. He went around the corner of his home, eager to lose sight of the strange tree. Yang stood in front of him, waving, and then the gate crashed against its jam, making Jack jump. Turning he saw Bill with a flushed face at the end of the garden. A jolt of fear swept through him; what had the demon done?
    ‘You’ll never guess what happened!’ Bill’s chest heaved from running down the road.
    The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood on end. Did Bill know about the Hatchling? His friend showed no real sign of distress.
    ‘I’m no longer a freak.’ Gasping, Bill fell to his knees.
    Such a declaration put Jack further on the back foot; what was this all about?
    Out of breath, Bill struggled to get out his words. ‘I woke as normal. Tired, but not feeling any different.’ Every fibre in Jack screamed for Bill to end the suspense.