The Black Room

TOM WENT OUT LATE, JUST BEFORE THE PARK CLOSED. He liked that time of day when it was damp and gloomy, when autumn hadn’t quite turned into winter. Helga had been pestering him for hours, pushing her nose against his legs while he was trying to write, but he’d made her wait until his homework was finished.

By then, there was a faint wet mist lingering between the street lamps, blurring the view across the road. It was colder than Tom had expected. As he and Helga went into the park, he put his collar up and pushed his free hand into his pocket, but the mist sneaked around the back of his neck, turning his ears numb. By the time he bent to let Helga off the leash, his fingers were thick and clumsy with cold. He fumbled with the clip, and Helga jumped up and licked impatiently at his face.

“Sit,” he said. He took the leash off and felt in his pocket for the whistle he was using to train her. “Wait for the signal.”

She gave his hand another lick, almost sitting but not quite, eager to be off. Her eyes were bright in her sharp Jack Russell face, and she watched the whistle intently as he lifted it to his mouth.

He blew twice in quick succession, making a noise too high-pitched to hear himself. Immediately, Helga shot off across the wide expanse of grass. He let her run until he could only just see her, and then he blew again. He had no intention of letting her reach the hedge at the end of the park. If he did, she’d be through it in a flash, into the little woods beyond, exploring the undergrowth and paddling around in muddy ditches. And he’d have to spend hours cleaning her and getting the burrs out of her coat.

He blew long-short-long—comeback here-and saw her skid to a halt. But she didn’t run back to him. She stood where she was, a small, dark shape in the mist, looking longingly toward the woods.

Oh no, you don‘t, Tom thought. He lifted the whistle and blew again, long-short-long, watching to see what she did. If she came now, that was good enough. If he had to blow a third time, she was in for a scolding.

She turned and took a step toward him—and that was when he saw the two people coming out of the woods.

They were on the other side of the park, much farther off than Helga. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw them come around the far end of the hedge and start to walk along the opposite edge of the grass, on the path that led back to the main gate. In the mist and the dark, they could have been any two people. Two gray blobs, with nothing to identify them.

Then the tall one hunched its shoulders forward, running a hand through its hair, and the shorter one tossed its head and laughed. And Tom knew who they were.

As soon as he’d recognized them, they seemed unmistakable. Robert was loping along the path, leaning sideways as he listened to Emma. And Emma was nodding briskly, to emphasize what she was saying. Tom couldn’t hear her voice, but he knew those sharp little nods, and the way she moved her arm, stabbing at the air with one finger.

Didn’t she ever give up? Tom watched her through the mist, imagining the rise and fall of her voice, carping and criticizing. Jabbing away at Robert with every sentence.

Why did he let her get away with it? He was tall and smart and good at sports. He ought to have had everything going for him. But as soon as Emma started nagging, he seemed to collapse into a pathetic heap. You’ve got that wrong, Rob.... That’s a really stupid idea.... How can you be so clumsy? ... Why didn’t their parents tell her to shut up? Couldn’t they see her always putting him down?

Tom had spent years trying to do a repair job. Robert was his best friend—ever since they were four—and he hated seeing him bullied. You’re just as good as she is. Tell her to shut up and get lost.

He’d actually thought he was having an effect, too. But since the summer, Robert had gone downhill. Tom had no idea what had happened to him during vacation, but it had made him ... strange. When he’d come back to school, he was like a zombie, going through the motions but not really connecting with anything. As if he was suffering from depression.

It was Emma’s fault. It had to be, somehow or other. Looking at them through the mist, Tom couldn’t bear to watch her jabbering away at Robert. He wanted to creep up behind her and give her a shock. Make her jump and look stupid. He liked getting Robbo to laugh at her.

He was about to set off when he suddenly realized that Helga hadn’t come back. Where was she? He blew the whistle again and peered into the mist.

There was no sign of her—and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. Sorry, Robbo, he thought. You’ll have to look after yourself for the time being. Getting Helga out of the woods was the top priority.

It didn’t take long to find her. She was investigating a deep ditch just behind the hedge, and she was wet and smelly and very, very happy. Tom pulled her out of the ditch and clipped on her leash, but he didn’t have the heart to shout at her. He just dragged her out of the woods as fast as he could.

As they came through the hedge, he saw the two blurred figures again. They’d almost reached the main gate, but the short one—Emma—was still nodding and waving her hands around. How could anyone have so much to say? Tom toyed with the idea of sneaking up, as he’d planned before—taking smelly Helga with him for increased shock value. Could he make it before they crossed the road and reached home?

He was just about to try, when Emma stopped on the path and started to laugh. And the taller figure laughed, too. Robert’s laugh. Tom could hear them quite clearly through the mist.

At least, that was what it looked like. But it had to be the mist playing tricks. Robert would never do anything like that. It was impossible.

“WHAT WAS I DOING IN THE woods? YESTERDAY EVENING?” Robert looked startled for a second, and then his face went blank. “I don’t think so, Tosh. Must have been someone else.” He pushed his gym bag into his locker and shut the door.

“It was you,” Tom said. “I was taking Helga for a walk and I saw you and Emma, coming out of the woods.”

He tried to meet Robert’s eyes because that was always a sure way of catching him. Robbo could never keep a lie going if you stared at him. Either he turned red, or he started laughing.

But he wouldn’t meet Tom’s eyes. He closed him out completely. One moment they were having a conversation, and the next ... nothing. Robert’s face was cold and expressionless. He looked over Tom’s shoulder and started talking to Joe, as if Tom weren’t there.

Tom turned away and stamped off. But that didn’t make him feel any better. Robert was getting more and more peculiar. What did it mean? Was he in trouble? And if he was, why didn’t he ask for help? What had happened over the summer? There seemed to be hundreds of questions and no answers.