Black soul rose by John Jones... - HTML preview

Brett

He was looking forward to his golfing session, particularly because it seemed like things were getting back to normal, and there was a new place for them to try out.

“You can ask Ian when he knocks,” he said to Kieran who was tucking into mulligatawny soup with bread.

“About what?”

“If you still think he’s possessed by an old man”.

“Well even if he was, do you think he would just admit it?” the doorbell rang and Kieran went to answer it.

He opened the door to see Ian, Chantelle, Boyd and Jordan standing there. Brett appeared with his golf club.

“Hi,” said Kieran, sheepishly, “come for Brett to play some golf,”

“See,” said Brett, “how can they be possessed by old men?”

92

“Yes thanks Brett,” Kieran muttered.

“Ah yes, I heard about that. Brett and his tall tales”, Ian said, “said you suspect us of being possessed”.

Kieran sighed. There was no getting out of it. No detective work to be done here.

“Just a suspicion that’s all. Seven pensioners were found dead, and seven kids went missing, then you all got found and you’d changed personality. Talking like you were older than your years”,

“Fuck,” Boyd muttered.

“We was traumatised is all mister,” said Chantelle. “we got lost and confused.

Could be what you mean”.

“But we’re cured now sir. Back to normal,” said Jordan.

“Jordan you’ve never called me sir,” Kieran said. “How did all the counselling go?”

“Made us better,” continued Chantelle, “we don’t need counselling now ‘cos we are cured. We are not possessed by old men mister”, Jordan smiled and looked away.

“We are all better now,” Jordan said rather more forcefully.

“Come on can we play golf now? I really want Brett to show me how”, said Chantelle.

“Jordan,” said Kieran, “what’s my name?” Jordan looked confused.

“You’ve been a good friend of Brett’s and would come around here often, and you both loved going to karate class. You should know my name. What is it?”

Jordan was silent, and confused for a few moments, thrown off-guard.

“Maybe I’m not cured a hundred percent, but I’m getting there”.

“Ian, another good friend of Bretts. What’s my name?”

“It’s fucking Kieran, now let’s go and play golf,” he said, turning and walking down the path to the gate. Brett and the others followed. Jordan closed the gate and glared at Kieran for a few seconds before joining the others.

93

Ian and Brett swung their golf clubs around as they walked along the roads to the entrance to the public footpath.

“Where are we going?” Brett said.

“Not too far,” said Ian, hitting stones, litter and branches along the way. At the back, Boyd gestured to Chantelle. He whispered in her ear.

“We can’t kill him,”

“We have to,” voice lowered. “Him, then Kieran, and that’s it, we live our lives undetected. It’s got to be done. Don’t start having second thoughts now”.

“I’m not, it’s just that Kieran will be very suspicious of us, and he’ll probably tell others”.

“Yes, chances are he will, but don’t forget Brett is about to commit suicide. I’ve written a note to leave with him, and who will believe Kieran really? Most people don’t believe in possessions, and if Kieran accuses us of being possessed by pensioners he’ll just get laughed at and called a crank. Brett killed himself because of survivor guilt. No-one can prove otherwise. Yes there’ll be a lot of heat on us, but it’s necessary in order to get to the other side of it, and do the same to Kieran. So when that heat has died down, we’re home and dry. No suspicion whatsoever. At least I hope not anyway, but these two are a thorn in our side and have got to be removed”.

“Yes…I know,” Boyd said, and they eventually approached the gate to the field.

Brett was happy because he was finally returning to some sort of ‘normality’

with his friends. He was surprised at Chantelle and Boyd showing up. Even Jordan, because maybe they had gained an interest in golf. He was just glad to have his friends back.

Ian tried to open the gate normally. Jordan helped him, but the chain was rusted and wound on tight. It was nigh on impossible to open. They concluded they would have to climb and clambered over, avoiding the big muddy patch. Jordan crossed to the bath. The surface gloomy and still as a sheet of glass.

“Alright,” said Ian throwing down a ball on the grass and wielding his 6-iron.

“Do you think I’ll be able to hit that horse down there?” and swung back the club and struck the ball.

Brett’s eyes widened.

94

“Ian what are you doing? that’s cruel”. He deliberately hit the ball quite lightly, because he knew if it went into the sanctuary, somebody could well spot them, and even approach. They could not draw attention.

“Not as cruel as this,” he said, nodding to Jordan who was standing at the bath.

“Brett, Brett, come and look at this”, Jordan said, pointing into the bath and waving him over. Curiosity overcame Brett and he hurried over, looking into the depths.

“What is it?” A hand gripped the back of his head and plunged him under.

Jordan was strong, and Brett began flailing and struggling. Ian rushed over and helped by placing his hand on the back of his and forcing him down deeper.

Brett struggled and struggled. Boyd and Chantelle stood around as though nothing was going on.

After around a minute, Brett ceased to struggle, and Ian and Jordan lifted him into the bath, and turned him face upward. His face was white just beneath the surface, eyes open.

He was dead.

Ian said nothing but walked back to his golf club, threw down a ball, picked up the club and aimed to across to the right into more countryside, striking the ball with ferocity. Jordan said nothing also, but paced around for a few moments.

“Chantelle,” he said, “where’s the note?” She took it out and walked around the muddy patch and handed it to him.

“Okay, find a rock or stone and we can put it just next to the bath with his golf club”.

“What if it rains?” Boyd asked.

“It should be protected by the stone, and if it gets wet it should still be seen as a suicide note”. Whilst Chantelle looked around, Jordan read it.

“Chantelle,” he said, “what’s this? This does not look like it was written by an eight-year old”. The others gathered around to read it also, and agreed.

Chantelle stood there holding a stone.

“Well sorry fellas would you like me to do another one? Someone pass me a sheet of paper and a pen,” she said with sarcasm, and threw the stone underarm to Boyd, who caught it.

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“Fuck’s sake it’ll have to do,” said Ian, “let’s go”. He took the stone and the note, and put them beside the bath.

Jordan pointed at the golf club.

“If we say he ran away, then he wouldn’t take his club with him would he?”

Chantelle sighed, and stepped across to pick it up.

She threw it into large, formidable bushes beyond the bath.

“No-one is going to find that in there,” she said.

“Hang on,” said Boyd, “but what about our footprints?”

“Fuck,” Ian muttered.

“It’s not a murder scene,” said Chantelle, “look around. Okay, Kieran knew we were coming out somewhere to play some golf. When the body is found our footprints will be here also, okay, but all we have to say is that Brett wanted to stay behind to practice. He really insisted, so we all agreed and went home. Not knowing he was planning on killing himself”.

“Well if that’s the case, then why did you throw the golf club in the bush?

That’ll have your fingerprints on it now,” said Boyd.

“They won’t be looking for the club if it’s fucking suicide,” Chantelle said, rather exasperated.

“Oh fuck,” said Ian, “we all know what’s coming, but it had to be done, right?”

They all agreed, then clambered back over the gate.

“One down, one to go” said Jordan, as they walked back along the footpath.

Two and a half hours later, a policewoman knocked on Kieran’s door.

96

When Jordan left for school the following morning, he was halfway there when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked to see Kieran approaching.

“Jordan, Jordan what happened? what happened?” he was red-faced, dishevelled, looked like he’d not slept. Looked like he’d been crying.

“What happened Jordan? Brett’s dead. They don’t know how but it looked like suicide”.

Jordan looked surprised. Not because Brett was dead, but because he’d been found so soon, but he knew he had to play innocent.

“You’re joking,” said Jordan. “Brett’s dead, how did that happen?”

“It looked like he drowned himself in a bath up in a field, but Brett wouldn’t do that, they won’t say why. Said there was a suicide note but they wouldn’t tell me anymore. What happened Jordan? you were playing golf with him yesterday”.

Jordan thought for a few moments.

“Yes, we all went to play golf up in that field, then we all went home but Brett said he wanted to stay behind to practice his golf swing. We really insisted he come back but Brett said no, and we couldn’t do nothing. That must have been when he did it. Such a shame. Anyway, got to go to school”, he turned and continued.

“Jordan you must know more. Did he look stressed, like he would do that”.

“No sir, just wanted to play golf. Must have played a bad shot or something like that,” he laughed.

Kieran accosted him again, looking down to his level.

“Jordan, you were a good friend to him, and I think you would be very upset. I don’t think you’re Jordan at all. You really are one of those old men that died in that clubhouse, and now here you are, not talking like an eight-year old, as if you were much older. What did you do to Brett?”.

Jordan tried to look innocent.

“I’m just a lil’ boy mister. I don’t know nothin’,” but then he couldn’t help himself and laughed again.

“What the fuck did you do to Brett you little shit?” Jordan then looked angry, and glared with full eye-contact at Kieran.

“One down, one to go, now fuck off,” he hissed, turning and heading to school.

97

Kieran watched him go.

He believed. His rational almost scientific brain believed. They really were possessed by those people, but had no idea how.

He stood there for a while, not knowing what to do. No-one would believe him.

He ran a hand through his hair.

The police. They would probably laugh and tell him to stop wasting their time with tales of possessions.

Probably, but possibly not.

However, he could but try.

At assembly, Jordan met Sam out in the corridor.

“Think I fucked up,” Jordan said. “Brett’s brother was fucking annoying me and I may have given something away. I said one down, one to go”.

“Come on Jordan, we can’t say things like that, it creates suspicion, you should know that”. Jordan nodded, like a chastised schoolboy, because he knew full well that Sam was right.

“It was just…heat of the moment…fucking Kieran”.

“Alright, well, don’t worry about it. It’ll be suicide, and we’re just kids with no evidence of murder. That would just be typical of an eight-year old to say. We’re all just so innocent remember. That’ll be just a throwaway meaningless comment. Anyway, after school in our usual meeting place. School playing field. We need to discuss killing him, and also Boyd’s parents apparently. They need to die as well ‘cos their dragging him away and we can’t have that”.

The children were still boisterous and loud as they were in assembly most mornings. The teachers though, were meek and quiet.

98

After five minutes, the place was silent. The head-mistress stepped up to the podium.

“Some sad news today children. Brett Lockley was discovered dead last night in a local field”.

“Fuck, he’s been discovered already,” said Chantelle, but not loudly enough to be heard by any teachers. The surrounding children all glared at her though.

“All we know so far, is that it looks as if he committed suicide. It’s not yet confirmed though. The verdict is still open”.

“We are joined by detective police constable James, and our social worker. We need to speak to those that recently got lost out in the countryside, so if you could stay behind please. Boyd Leyton. Glenn Dolman. Ian Ketteridge.

Chantelle Golbrook. Jordan Northington. Samuel Pickenham. Dorothy Cordrey.

Everybody else please go to class”.

The children all got up, not many talking, and politely went to their respective classes.

“If you could all come to the front please,” said the head-mistress. They all stood up, glancing warily at each other and sat in the front row.

“Ain’t it sad about Brett,” Dorothy said to Chantelle as the constable came over.

“I understand you all suffered a trauma when you were lost out in the countryside, and Brett was with you at the time. Why did he not get lost with you?”

“Are we suspects?” said Glenn, wide-eyed.

“No. No, we found a suicide note, but have not officially ruled it as such yet. In the note he speaks of being traumatised so much by what you went through”.

“It’s very similar to something called survivor guilt,” put in the social worker,

“that means when…”

“We know what it means,” said Chantelle, arms folded. The social worker and the constable were quiet for a second.

“Anyway. He committed suicide because of it. He felt guilty at not having been with you guys and couldn’t take anymore. What I want to know is did he show any signs of this guilt? Did he seem suicidal?”

“Nope,” said Boyd, “can we go now?” Ian sighed, knowing that the quickest way through this was, just shy of admitting guilt, to be honest.

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“We were with him,” he said, “yesterday, before he did it. I knocked for him after school, and four of us. Jordan, Chantelle, Boyd and I went up to that field to practice our golf, and then we saw it was getting dark and our mummies and daddies would be getting worried so we came back, but Brett insisted on staying behind to practice his golf. He really insisted”.

“Yes,” said Chantelle, “we were like ‘oh please Brett come home it’s getting dark’ but he was really insistent on staying behind, so we all came home”. The constable was furiously scribbling notes.

“We haven’t found a golf club though,” Jordan glared at Chantelle.

“Maybe he threw it away in frustration,” she said. The constable nodded.

“Also,” the social worker said, “we understand that it’s not easy to commit suicide in a bath, because the natural instinct would be to come for oxygen. He wasn’t weighed down or anything and face-up. Yet it is possible if someone is determined enough, they can override their instincts and stay underwater. But he was an eight-year-old boy. The concept of suicide should not have developed in his brain yet”. They all looked at her with curiosity.

“I’ll ask again,” said Glenn, “are we fucking suspects?” None of them knew what to say for a few seconds.

“Language,” put in the head-mistress, eavesdropping nearby.

“No, no you’re not suspects,” the constable said, “we just need to clear a few things up first as we know you were friends of his, then we can give our verdict, but for now you’re free to go”.

“Take the rest of the day off,” the head-mistress said.

“Thank-you miss,” said Boyd, “we will really miss him”.

“What does that mean ‘for now’?” said Glenn, but he wasn’t answered. The others ushered him away.

“We’re suspects aren’t we?” Glenn said as they entered the empty corridor.

“Yes we fucking are,” said Sam, “we need a meeting, and we need it now. But not in school”.

They wandered around awhile, each of them paranoid about being over-heard by anybody. If they stood near a house, could the occupants hear them inside, listening behind the curtain? How good was people’s hearing? Maybe some had 100

good hearing-aids that could pick up alien signals. So they eventually found the entrance to a lane that only led up to the horse sanctuary. There were no houses within ear-shot, and there was no activity on the roads. They could see one person in the distance, but could not be made out properly.

“Okay here is as good as anywhere”, said Sam, and they all gathered in a makeshift oval.

“Are we gonna have to kill the police?” said Chantelle.

“I hope not,” Sam said, “but if we have to you know we won’t hesitate”.

“We just need to see what this verdict is,” put in Glenn. “If it’s suicide, then that’s that. If not, then were just gonna be questioned and questioned”.

“They can fuck off. That is not a crime scene. Chantelle why did you throw away the club for fuck’s sake?” said Jordan, not expecting an answer, and he never got one.

“Look, as of this moment, we’re suspects, okay,” said Sam, “and there’s nothing any of us can do about it until they write it off as suicide. So lets just focus on killing what’sisname?”

“Kieran,” said Ian.

“…because once we do that, and Brett is confirmed as suicide, as far as I understand, we’re home and dry. We act like kids until we grow up and no-one suspects anymore. Then once we’re pensioners again we go get the seeds and change bodies”.

“Not into kids next time,” said Dorothy. “Teenagers maybe”. They all agreed.

“It’s not just Kieran that needs to die,” said Boyd, “my fucking parents are taking me to Australia in two weeks, and they need to stop”.

“Can’t you just refuse,” said Chantelle.

“Tried it, they’re really insistent. I was thinking. If they die, then their bodies can just stay in the house, and if anyone asks, they’ve gone to Australia, which means I get the house to myself. And I’m an only child. No brothers or sisters coming to fuck things up”.

“So how will you go about it?” asked Ian.

“Also…” interjected Dorothy, “I have someone in my family that needs to die”.

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“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Sam, “can’t we just stay hidden? Do we have to keep killing people? I mean I know it’s necessary to not be exposed, but does this one pose any threat to us whatsoever?”

“No,” said Dorothy, “but he needs to die”.

“Well, then no. For now, as kids, we kill to keep our secret. Nothing more, well maybe except for yours Boyd. Killing them will keep you from being dragged away, and we can use the house as a sort of base, instead of meeting like this”.

“Right, so how to go about it then,” said Boyd, “any ideas? I was thinking poison”. Sam nodded.

“Chantelle, that’s your department”.

“Ah yes, also my parents are adamant about taking me to a posher school, which, I must admit, I was tempted by because I can stay in the house and it’s a train ride away, but maybe that’s a step too far. We need to stick together”.

“Absolutely”, said Sam.

“Thorazine,” said Glenn, “my mother takes Thorazine for her depression and anxiety. From what I remember those types of drugs are lethal when overdosed.

I could nick it, because it’s in a bottle in the cupboard under the sink. I don’t think she thinks about keeping it out of the reach of children”.

“Maybe she wants you to find and drink it,” said Dorothy with a smile.

“Strychnine,” said Chantelle. “As far as I remember it used to be in furniture polish. If it still is, we can combine them, and it’s tasteless”.

Boyd reminded them of his cake idea.

“…here’s what we made in school as a leaving gift”.

“And they’ll be obliged to eat it,” said Glenn.

“Thorazine and strychnine should be guaranteed to work,” said Chantelle.

“Alright, anyone got any money on them? Let’s go the supermarket and buy a nice chocolate cake and some furniture polish”.

“and some ice-lollies,” said Glenn.