Vengeance Child

He surveyed the island, pretending it was all his. The other kids had gone into the barn for fruit juice. But he was too wired to waste time sucking at stupid cartons. There was the river. What had Victor said? A goddess lived in it. Waves ran across its surface. In his mind’s eye, he saw a beautiful woman swimming underwater with long hair wafting back, her kicking legs would make those waves. Maybe the goddess fought monsters in that wide stretch of water?

Archer studied the field. Nothing here to do. Nothing exciting anyway. Over the fence were massive trees. Wasn’t it time he climbed one? He felt his biceps. There was a bulge of muscle, he was sure of it. He remembered his father’s big, hard muscles. His father used to have a gym at home. There he’d work out with weights until it felt hot as a furnace. Sweat would drip down his dad’s face as he hoisted those big metal dumb-bells up and down. ‘Archer . . . get your skinny body down here with some water. Make sure it’s cold. Archer. I’ll give you to the count of ten . . .’ His father had an argument with his friends. They had killed him. The grave in the cemetery had been like a big oblong mouth that had swallowed the black coffin . . .

‘Adventure! Damn to danger, damn to danger!’ Whooping, Archer jumped down from the stump and raced across the field to the fence. He glanced back. No one about. No one to stop him! Archer climbed through the fence rails. Rotten trees. They’d be tricky to climb. No branches lower down to use like ladder rungs. But surely there’d be one that he could climb. Almost straightaway he saw it. One of those funny creatures with the blue eyes. Saban Deer. He grinned. Knowing the name of the animal pleased him. Getting smart as well as strong. The moment the deer caught sight of him it slipped away into some bushes.

Great! The hunt is on! He grabbed a stick from the ground. This would serve as a spear. The hunter’s spear! He rubbed his thumb along the rough bark. The other kids would be amazed when he caught the animal and brought it back. Laughing with sheer excitement, Archer plunged into the bushes, gripping the stick like a huntsman handling a weapon. When he spied the deer again he’d zoom the stick right at the animal. Then – pow! Knock the animal out. He smiled as he imagined the way the kids would be impressed. That’s great, Archer. Will you show us how to hunt? Can I hold the spear? Blood thudded in the boy’s ears. If he could have seen his face he’d have been startled by the wild expression. He was drunk on the thrill of the chase. The branches smacking into his chest didn’t faze him as he sped deeper into the wood.

Soon the afternoon sunlight vanished as the tree canopy grew dense, shutting out the sun’s rays. Within minutes he ran in near darkness. With the gloom came silence. All he heard was the thump of his feet and the rush of his breath through his mouth. Every so often he caught a glimpse of gold fur. The animal fluidly weaved around the tree trunks. Oddly, it had the appearance of sliding along the earth rather than running.

‘Here, boy, here, boy.’ Archer panted the words as if calling a dog. ‘Then ready with the mighty spear, O warrior.’ He laughed as he recited a line from a comic he’d once read. ‘I will smite you . . .’ Then in a darker, more savage voice, he added, ‘I’ll rip off your face and stuff it down your throat.’

The deer bolted down a tunnel made out of tangled bushes. Archer followed. When he saw what was there he cried out. What was more, when he stopped dead he tumbled forward on to his knees. Instantly, the excitement bled out of him. Archer no longer felt like the powerful warrior – all muscly arms and fierce as a lion. From where he knelt he stared in shock at a face that gazed at him from the shadows. Its eyes possessed hard, glittery flashes that radiated pure menace.

‘Archer.’

Archer forgot all about hunting the Saban.

‘Archer.’

The boy shuffled round as part of his plan to run away, only his legs had gone so watery he couldn’t stand. The face got closer. It seemed to drift out of the shadows, disconnected from any body. A fiery face with burning eyes. A terrifying ghost face.

‘Archer.’

‘Jay, don’t keep saying my name.’ Archer pulled his knees up to his chest. ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘I’m going to show you something.’ Jay’s voice didn’t even seem to issue out of those pale lips. Instead it oozed out of the earth. Or so it seemed to Archer. ‘You’ve got to come with me for a little walk.’

‘No.’

‘Archer . . .’

‘I told you not to say my name . . . you witch. I know when you keep saying someone’s name over and over, then something rotten happens to them. Look what you did to Maureen. She’s dead. You killed her.’

‘We’re going for a little walk.’ Jay spoke in a dull, lifeless way. The face had no expression. It hung there in the gloom. Archer wanted to run back to the farm. He needed to be back with his friends so much he ached inside. Because he knew Jay would do something that would be so horrible that he, Archer, would be sick with terror. Jay took a step forward. Now there was enough light to reveal the boy’s delicate build. His arms hung loose. The fingers seemed so long that they stretched down toward his knees in a way that couldn’t be natural. Archer knew that Jay wasn’t normal. Then he had no doubt that Jay wasn’t even human. Those ghastly things he did to people. He repeated their name one day then the person would suffer an accident the next, or go so crazy like Tod that the police locked him up.

Jay gazed down at Archer. ‘You never told me about your dad.’

‘Why should I?’ Then he added with a desperate attempt at defiance, ‘Witch.’

‘You told the others.’

‘I’m not saying anything to you. Creep.’

‘Archer. You hate me.’

‘That’s dead right. Now, I’m going back to the others.’

Jay shook his head. ‘We’ve got to go for a walk first.’

‘No!’

Jay didn’t seem put out by the refusal. ‘Your father died.’

Archer got more angry than scared. ‘He got shot by his friends. They robbed money from a bank to buy drugs. My dad cheated them. They came to the house. When he opened the door they –’ Archer pointed his finger at Jay’s face – ‘blam-blam. Satisfied?’

For a moment there was silence. Neither of them moved. The gloom grew more intense, the smell of damp soil became stifling. Archer found himself suddenly wondering if it smelt like that when you lay buried in your coffin. Like his dad. Listening to the coffin lid creak under the weight of the soil. Archer wanted to vomit. The taste of soil filled his mouth, then it slid down the back of his tongue. All Jay was doing was staring. A stare as if he was reading words on Archer’s face.

‘Let me go,’ Archer pleaded.

‘First, I’ve got to show you something.’

‘I don’t want to see it.’

‘Archer.’

‘Don’t say my name. Please, Jay, I haven’t hurt you. Don’t do anything bad to me, Jay!’ The eight-year-old was close to tears. A breeze stirred the leaves into a chuckle. As if the forest would take pleasure in witnessing whatever fate befell Archer. ‘Please, Jay. It isn’t fair . . .’

‘Archer.’

‘No, please don’t.’

‘I’m going to take you to see your dad.’

This shook Archer. ‘You can’t; he’s dead. I saw him open the door; then they shot him.’

Jay murmured, ‘Keep next to me. Don’t stop walking.’

Archer looked down at his feet – they were traitors. He hadn’t even realized he’d stood up, let alone started walking. Jay led him through the undergrowth.

‘You can see yourself, can’t you, Archer?’ The voice could have been a whisper of cold air coming from a cave.

Close to panic, Archer snapped, ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘You can see yourself coming down the stairs at your house.’

‘Course I can’t. You’re being stupid.’

‘You can see yourself walking down the steps. You’re wearing a green T-shirt.’

‘You’re making it up.’

‘Your mother bought you that T-shirt earlier that morning.’

‘You witch. You’re trying to scare me.’

Jay continued in the monotone as they walked down a soil bank. ‘You’re on the stairs and you’re looking down at your father. He’s standing in the hallway. Someone’s banging on the front door.’

‘Liar.’

Archer ran down the banking. He’d had enough of this. What mattered now was to get back to the farm. Only the soft dirt under his feet became hard steps. When he reached the bottom he saw the bushes had gone. He couldn’t see Jay. There was no smell of dirt. Instead he could smell the bacon his father had fried.

Archer blinked. Somehow – and he didn’t know how it had happened – he was standing in the hallway at the foot of a staircase. He was back in his old home again. He knew his mother was upstairs. Now it was that day again. The one when his father’s friends came to call after they’d discovered the money had vanished. His father had shiny black hair, brushed back from his face. His face was always tanned and he wore a thick gold chain round his neck. ‘My freedom ticket’ was how he described it as he fingered the heavy links. Always he looked pleased with himself. Even cocky.

Except today. His face had gone ugly with fear. The knock on the door grew louder.

‘Archer, come here, son,’ he said. ‘That’s it. Don’t be scared. There’s a good lad.’ He tried to smile but his lips curled oddly as if he might start crying. ‘Go to the door, Archer. Don’t open it. Whatever you do, don’t unlock it. Just shout through that you’re home with your mother but your dad’s out of town.’

‘I want to get Mum the facecloth.’

‘Later.’

‘Her nose is bleeding.’

‘Archer, you little runt, do as I tell you.’ Even as he spoke he rubbed his hand against his trouser leg to wipe away the red smear. ‘Tell them, I’ll be back tonight. I’ll phone them then.’ Then he said to himself, ‘Some chance. I’ll be long gone.’

‘Dad—’

‘Just fucking well do it. OK?’

Archer nodded.

‘You see you do it right. If you screw up, I’ll rip your face off and stuff it down your throat.’ With that threat he backed through the basement door, and Archer heard soft footsteps descending.

Archer noticed drops of his mother’s blood on the floor tiles. These days when she cried she made it silent. Dad didn’t like weeping noises.

The thuds on the panel grew impatient.

Archer went to the door. He remembered what his father had instructed. ‘Go to the door, Archer. Don’t open it. Whatever you do, don’t unlock it. Just shout through that you’re home with your mother but your dad’s out of town.’

The thud of fist against wood got louder.

Archer took a deep breath. Then he unlocked the door and opened it to three men in leather jackets, they had gold rings on every finger. He always remembered those huge gold rings.

One of the men started to speak. Archer interrupted, ‘He’s down in the cellar. You’ll find him hiding behind the washing machine.’ When they looked at him blankly he added, ‘He made a secret space in the wall behind the washer.’

For a moment Archer thought he was waking up in bed. He realized he stood in the forest with Jay. He gasped as if in pain.

Jay’s face held no emotion. ‘You saw your father.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Archer protested. ‘I didn’t tell them where he was! He opened the front door and they shot him. I didn’t tell. I didn’t!’ A muscle seemed to tear inside Archer’s chest. The pain freed him from standing there. He fled through the trees. Rabbits scattered in panic. His breathing came in hard, moaning sounds. Something between weeping and angry shouting. All his feelings were mixed up inside. For years he’d genuinely believed he’d seen his father shot on the doorstep of the family home. Now, it had changed. The truth had been revealed to him by Jay. Now he remembered what really happened. His mother had laid on the bed with a bloody nose. The words he’d uttered to the men in their heavy gold rings came back so powerfully they roared inside his head. ‘He’s down in the cellar. You’ll find him hiding behind the washing machine.’ What if the men hadn’t shot his father? What would his father have done to him if he had found out that Archer had betrayed him?

Sunlight falling through the branches dappled the ground. Where now? He was lost in the wood. A breeze moaned through the trees. Timbers creaked. A sound like a coffin lid opening. Oh, how he’d dreamed about that happening. How his father would escape from the cemetery to find him. To get his own back. Archer knew all about his father’s anger. Death wouldn’t be enough to stop it.

Archer circled a clump of brambles. Then he stopped running. His father stood in the shadows. Archer saw where the bullet had smashed through his cheekbone. The force of the impact had thrust the left eye from the socket so that it hung out to gravely regard the ground. The right eye, however, glared with hatred at Archer.

His father snarled, ‘You told on me, Archer. I’m going to rip your face off and stuff it down your throat.’

Then a strange thing happened to the boy. He could still move. Yet his limbs seemed to turn stiff as wood. Although he couldn’t run he turned away from the man with the bullet hole in his face, then he started walking. His rigid legs carried him back into the trees. At that moment he couldn’t shout, or even turn his head to see the monster.

‘Archer . . . stay there . . .’

Instinct told Archer to keep walking. Even his mind had jammed up now. No thoughts went through his head. Just walk. Maybe everything will turn out well. Footsteps sounded behind him. They grew louder. He reached open ground. A shadow fell on him, a big black stain that spread out on the grass in front of him. His father always cast a huge shadow. Now it engulfed the child as the man got closer.

‘Archer. Don’t run away from me.’

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. It stopped him from moving. He found himself being turned round to look into the face from the grave.

‘Archer . . .’

The boy’s knees gave way. Everything had gone faint.

‘Archer, what’s wrong?’

He looked up into the man’s face.

‘Victor?’

Then the world went away.