On my way to school, I have to pass the police station. I walk about fifty steps further on, before plucking up courage and retracing my steps. I’m not overly fond of the police. They’re mostly big and scary, belong to the rugby club and make jokes that I don’t understand – but I think the time has come to face my fears. After all, what’s scarier – your family going mad? Or a big bloke from the rugby club making jokes at your expense?
‘Hello there. How can we help?’ says the huge man leering over the counter.
I swallow. This sounds so stupid. ‘My mum’s gone mad, she’s painted cartouches all over the sitting room.’
‘Car-whats?’ says the policeman.
I swallow again. ‘Cartouches – Egyptian symbol things, hieroglyphics?’
The policeman glugs something from a mug and nods as if he’s understood.
‘And my dad, he doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong. In fact he’s dug a well where the patio ought to be and they’ve got rid of the carpets and covered the floor in sand. And my teacher, Miss Primrose, has gone weird, too. She’s covering a wetsuit in feathers, and someone’s built a shrine in the school library.’
‘Not a criminal offence as far as I’m aware.’
‘No, but it’s odd – someone needs to investigate. I think something’s happened to them.’
‘Oh!’ says the policeman. ‘And what do you want me to do about it?’
I shrug. ‘Stop them?’
The policeman leans on the counter and looks up at the clock. ‘Tell you what – I’ll be round later on. I’ll come to your school first.’
‘Shakespeare Primary,’ I say. ‘When will you come?’
‘S’afternoon,’ he says, leaning back and scratching his back against the wall, like a cow. ‘At the end of my shift.’ He comes to open the front door to let me out. ‘Don’t worry, lad, we’ll sort it out.’
‘The sun god,’ says Miss Primrose, ‘will require a huge celebration, to make him reappear after the eclipse.’
Miss Primrose is wearing the wetsuit; it’s completely covered in feathers. She’s building a stepped pyramid out of chairs. When she’s not stacking up the chairs, she picks up a little tippy barrel thing that makes dying cow noises and rocks it.
‘Mooooaaaaaahic.’
‘Mooooaaaaaaa.’
I don’t think it’s particularly Aztec. More Christmas Stocking.
‘Moooooooooooaaaaaahic.’
On her head is a bike helmet studded with bottle tops. Leaning against her desk, a broom handle decorated with feathers, drinks cans and supermarket carrier bags. She’s like the man with the knife in my dream, but then again, she’s not, because she’s Miss Primrose, and Miss Primrose is a basket of kittens.
Because Miss Primrose has stolen the chairs, we’re all sitting cross-legged on the floor, except for Ursula, who’s sitting on a pile of books under a desk.
‘When’s the eclipse, miss?’ asks Ricky, feeding feathers to Cedric the class hamster.
‘Next week. It’s only a little one, but we need to look at our calendar.’ Miss Primrose pulls out two bin lids painted with symbols and revolves them one against the other. ‘The thing is, children, the universe is very delicately balanced. The gods are always competing for power, and they could upset the universe at any point.’
Will looks ready to cry.
‘We have to make sure we appease each god at the right time; this calendar helps us get this right. One of the most important gods in Aztec culture is the sun.’
Looking at the bin lids, I can’t see how they can help anything. Ursula’s camera whirrs under the desk. I look across and she smiles.
‘This here,’ Miss Primrose points to a green squiggle on one of the bin lids, ‘is a crocodile, and if I revolve it here, it points to…’
For a moment, staring at the symbols, I’m drawn back into my dream, and then I remember that Miss Primrose is helping us study the Aztecs, so of course she’s dressed up. She’s just pointing to pictures on bin lids, she’s not a high priest on a temple top.
Henry Waters sticks up his hand. ‘Miss, what about the sun? You were saying about the sun?’
‘Oh yes, Henry, the sun is terribly important. Their original creation myth, the myth of the fifth age, which is the age we’re living in now, is all about the sun and keeping it moving in the heavens, so we need to bear that in mind when preparing our celebration.’
‘What’s the myth, Miss?’ asks Ricky. ‘Is it bloodthirsty?’
‘No – it’s lovely, maybe a little…hot,’ says Miss Primrose. ‘You see, one of the gods was chosen to be the sun; his name was Tecciztecatl.’ Miss Primrose tells the story as if it was The Three Bears. ‘He was rich and powerful, but to become the sun, he had to throw himself into a pit of raging fire that all the gods had built. Another god, a far less proud one, covered in sores, was to become the moon. He was called Nanauatl. The two gods stood looking into the flames, and Tecciztecatl lost his nerve.’ Miss Primrose laughs at this, as if it was a great joke. ‘Instead, without making any fuss, Nanauatl threw himself in – wasn’t that nice of him?’ She looks round at us. Most of the class look blank, some look panicky, and Will starts to cry in earnest. ‘So, embarrassed, Tecciztecatl jumped in too, and after they’d been consumed by the fire, two suns appeared in the heavens. The other gods were so shocked by Tecciztecatl’s cowardice, one of them threw a rabbit into the sky, clouding the second sun and creating the moon, which is why the moon looks like a rabbit.’
I look round. It’s obvious that no one’s ever thought of the moon as a rabbit. Will’s rubbing his tears onto his sleeve. I look back at Miss Primrose. She’s drawing a big fire on the whiteboard, with long red flames. ‘But the sun wouldn’t move, it just burned the earth, so in the end, all the gods jumped into the flames to get it moving again, which was nice of them, because if they hadn’t, we’d all have been burned to a crisp.’
Henry goes slightly green.
Ursula’s camera beeps off.
‘So – everyone – let’s choose someone to represent our sun god.’
‘That was nice, being chosen as the sun god,’ says Henry, beaming.
‘Was it?’ I ask. I can’t help feeling that it wasn’t such a good idea; Miss Primrose looked definitely mad to me. I’m looking out for the policeman. I should have taken his name.
‘My dad’s got weird though,’ says Henry.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, after you mentioned about your mum and the beard, I watched him on purpose. He sat in the garden, put a lampshade on his head, set fire to the fence and cooked some steak and ate it all himself.’ Henry sucks in a lungful of air. ‘He was really bad-tempered and took Mum’s rowing machine apart and set a trap for the postman, who he accused of plotting to steal the TV.’
‘Really? Your dad?’ Henry’s dad’s a builder; he’s like Henry, but more brick-like.
‘Oh yes, he’s definitely gone…strange. Mum’s a bit off as well, she seems to be learning to ride, and she’s started to sing.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like an animal,’ says Henry. ‘Like a cow, if a cow could sing.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s not very relaxing.’
I look towards the entrance again. No policeman, but something else catches my eye, on the climbing wall. ‘What’s that?’
Ursula’s camera whirrs and I’m guessing she’s already zoomed in.
‘It’s fluffy,’ says Henry. ‘Probably one of the little kids’ cuddlies. I’ll get it down for them.’
We stand at the bottom. I’d have to climb to reach it, but Henry’s much taller. He reaches up and tips it forward.
It’s Tiny Tim, the reception class teddy. He falls face down on the safety grass and I turn him over. Behind me, a little girl screams.
Tiny Tim’s glass eyes stare blankly up at the sky. His arms lie broken on either side. The fur on his chest flaps open, revealing a raw hole in the stuffing.
He’s been murdered.
His heart’s gone.
His voice has gone.
His growler’s been stolen.