ages – playing games on my phone, texting my mates, stuff like that. But since my dad’s a conspiracy-theory nut who freaks out if anyone even mentions me getting a phone, all I could do was, well, nothing. Not even as much as when I was in the living room, because now I wasn’t watching telly. Just looking at the air and thinking, you know?
I was so still, after a few minutes the birds forgot I was there and started hopping back out of the undergrowth. There’s nothing special in our garden, just blackbirds and sparrows. The blackbirds must’ve had a late brood, because there was a fledgling hopping around near the fence. It had most of its proper feathers, but still a few tufty ones poking through, and it was sitting in the grass cheeping, while its mum and dad flew in and out of the garden with caterpillars in their beaks. I got into watching, and that’s why I didn’t notice anyone coming up behind me.
Yooooo …
I stopped breathing.
Yooooo …
I turned around, my heart beating like mad. On a stoneright behind me was a pale figure, drifting up from the ground. It was the colour of scratched glass and smaller than me by a metre. The things at the quarry hadn’t really had a shape, but this one did have something like a face. Two dark smudges and another below: eyes and a mouth.
Yoooo… Yoooo…
“What do you want?” I whispered, but it didn’t answer, only turned a bit of itself into an arm and reached out with it.
I ran as fast as I ever have, flat-out full speed for the house. I lurched at the back door, flinging myself inside and slamming it shut behind me. The Yale lock clicked and I leaned against it, breathing in gasps.
Then I thought, Don’t stay by the door! I mean, if you’ve ever seen any films, you know that’s the worst place to be. I jumped away, ran into the kitchen and looked for something I could use to defend myself. Except I had no idea what would even work.
I went back to the door, put myself a couple of metres away from it and held up the frying pan.
Nothing.
I waited.
Still nothing.
Mum came out of the living room. “What are you doing?”
I lowered the pan.
“Um, you know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. What are you up to?”
“Honestly, nothing.”
Mum narrowed her eyes and looked at the back door. She walked towards it.
“No, don’t!”
Mum completely ignored me, which she always does when she thinks she’s on to something I’ve done wrong. She put her hand on the lock, turned it back.
“No! Mum, there’s a…”
She looked me, properly challenging. “A what, Gray?”
“A rat,” I said, desperate. “I saw a rat in the garden.”
Mum pulled her lips tight, and for a moment I thought I’d convinced her. Then she flipped the lock and whipped the back door open.
A square of daylight, the straggly greens of our garden. Mum peered out.
I took a careful step towards the door, hardly daring to breathe.
“If I find out you are up to something…” said Mum, and then she walked out of the back door, right into the garden.
I stood frozen. Then I realised, in films that’s the bit where she gets eaten, and I couldn’t just say inside and watch it happen, could I? I rushed out after her, frying pan up and ready.
“I can’t see any sign of a rat,” said Mum. I ran the length of the garden, looking for the strange ghostly shape. “Mind you, with all the bins out in the alley, I wouldn’t be surprised. Mrs Jenkins’ dog is always at the bags, breaking them open, no matter what she says about it being foxes…”
I even clambered onto the rockery and looked in the nettley gap behind it. Nothing, just our wobbly fence and the apple tree. And a little boy standing next to me.
I held my breath, staring at him.
Mum poked her foot at an ancient Frisbee that was lying in the grass. “You need to tidy up a bit out here,” she said. Not, “Who’s that little boy?”
He looked about… I don’t know, five? Hair cropped really short,
I was so still, after a few minutes the birds forgot I was there and started hopping back out of the undergrowth. There’s nothing special in our garden, just blackbirds and sparrows. The blackbirds must’ve had a late brood, because there was a fledgling hopping around near the fence. It had most of its proper feathers, but still a few tufty ones poking through, and it was sitting in the grass cheeping, while its mum and dad flew in and out of the garden with caterpillars in their beaks. I got into watching, and that’s why I didn’t notice anyone coming up behind me.
Yooooo …
I stopped breathing.
Yooooo …
I turned around, my heart beating like mad. On a stoneright behind me was a pale figure, drifting up from the ground. It was the colour of scratched glass and smaller than me by a metre. The things at the quarry hadn’t really had a shape, but this one did have something like a face. Two dark smudges and another below: eyes and a mouth.
Yoooo… Yoooo…
“What do you want?” I whispered, but it didn’t answer, only turned a bit of itself into an arm and reached out with it.
I ran as fast as I ever have, flat-out full speed for the house. I lurched at the back door, flinging myself inside and slamming it shut behind me. The Yale lock clicked and I leaned against it, breathing in gasps.
Then I thought, Don’t stay by the door! I mean, if you’ve ever seen any films, you know that’s the worst place to be. I jumped away, ran into the kitchen and looked for something I could use to defend myself. Except I had no idea what would even work.
I went back to the door, put myself a couple of metres away from it and held up the frying pan.
Nothing.
I waited.
Still nothing.
Mum came out of the living room. “What are you doing?”
I lowered the pan.
“Um, you know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. What are you up to?”
“Honestly, nothing.”
Mum narrowed her eyes and looked at the back door. She walked towards it.
“No, don’t!”
Mum completely ignored me, which she always does when she thinks she’s on to something I’ve done wrong. She put her hand on the lock, turned it back.
“No! Mum, there’s a…”
She looked me, properly challenging. “A what, Gray?”
“A rat,” I said, desperate. “I saw a rat in the garden.”
Mum pulled her lips tight, and for a moment I thought I’d convinced her. Then she flipped the lock and whipped the back door open.
A square of daylight, the straggly greens of our garden. Mum peered out.
I took a careful step towards the door, hardly daring to breathe.
“If I find out you are up to something…” said Mum, and then she walked out of the back door, right into the garden.
I stood frozen. Then I realised, in films that’s the bit where she gets eaten, and I couldn’t just say inside and watch it happen, could I? I rushed out after her, frying pan up and ready.
“I can’t see any sign of a rat,” said Mum. I ran the length of the garden, looking for the strange ghostly shape. “Mind you, with all the bins out in the alley, I wouldn’t be surprised. Mrs Jenkins’ dog is always at the bags, breaking them open, no matter what she says about it being foxes…”
I even clambered onto the rockery and looked in the nettley gap behind it. Nothing, just our wobbly fence and the apple tree. And a little boy standing next to me.
I held my breath, staring at him.
Mum poked her foot at an ancient Frisbee that was lying in the grass. “You need to tidy up a bit out here,” she said. Not, “Who’s that little boy?”
He looked about… I don’t know, five? Hair cropped really short,
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