Vengeance Child

The cry had woken Archer. Frightened, he’d looked out of the window. A huge ship glided past the island. As big as an office block it dwarfed the houses. The wash from its bows ran up the beach in a big wave to smack against the jetty. In fact, it was so powerful it snatched away a dinghy, which vanished into the foam never to reappear. Archer realized that if it wasn’t for the village being built on higher ground the water would have gushed into the houses.

Sleep had dispelled the effects of the seizure. Even so, he felt unsteady on his feet as he went to pull on his shoes. At least he’d been put to bed in his clothes so he wouldn’t waste time getting dressed. What matters now, he thought, what is ultra-important is to tell Laura . . . ‘You’ve gotta know that Jay’s put the curse on you.’

Outside, the cold air stank of river mud. A mist made the houses all faint . . . all colours were washed out. All faded, weaker, sickly . . . It was like the village was slowly dying. Normally there wouldn’t be wind when it was foggy. Yet a hard breeze pushed the trees. Branches shook as if they protested at the rough treatment. Leaves, stripped from the twigs, raced along the ground in a river of green. And the gales made crying sounds across the roofs. It made Archer think of sorrow and weeping. There weren’t many people about as Archer headed toward the hostel. A cottage door had been left open. It banged furiously in the storm. All of a sudden a figure emerged from the murk. It was the island’s doctor; he spoke into a mobile with such grave tones they filled Archer with dread.

‘Listen . . . I am begging you to send help. Just this morning I’ve had to issue nine death certificates. I’m on my way now to another patient who is in a coma. At this rate half the island will be unconscious by nightfall. This isn’t an epidemic, madam, it is a plague.’

The doctor never even noticed Archer as he swept past. At that moment to Archer the man didn’t seem like a human being. He was a fabrication of dark shadows. A seething mass of worries, fears, of problems without solutions, an individual whose role it was to see death in men’s faces, to be in the company of the dying, then to certify their death. Archer couldn’t render that intuitive understanding in words. Instead, his imagination turned that figure into the essence of dread.

These dark emotions made Archer move all the quicker. He had to warn Laura. Jay had repeated her name. The curse was on her. How long before the doctor, with all those grim shadows, came to sit beside her bed?

Jay merely stood there. Still as a statue. Green leaves raced by his feet. Fog swirled round him. Slowly, Archer moved forward. He longed to flee from Jay, but he had to pass him to reach the hostel. He needed to find Laura. She must be warned. Meanwhile, the breeze ruffled Jay’s hair. The eyes were bright. As if he was excited about something. Those eyes tracked Archer as he tried to sidle by.

‘Don’t you dare say Laura’s name again.’ Archer clenched his fists. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. It’s rotten. Laura loves us. She’s nice. You’ve put a bad thing on her. She’ll die now. And it’s all your fault!’

Jay didn’t blink. His stare blazed through Archer. For a moment Archer glimpsed hundreds of screaming men, women and children in that stare. A sickening deluge of sound. A ship was sinking into an ocean. He sensed the panic before it became a surge of rage. A fury. A distillation of pure anger. That emotion ripped through the eight-year-old. His nerve endings burned with it. He swayed. Suddenly it seemed like there was no earth beneath his feet. It was as if he was slipping downward. To join Dad in his grave, to smell wet earth, taste the rot, feel the worm . . . Then his senses snapped back to absolute clarity as he heard Jay begin to speak: ‘Archer . . . Archer . . .’

With a howl of despair Archer ran past Jay toward the hostel. Yet even when he put his hands over his ears he could still hear the boy’s soft, insistent voice.