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

Kieran

Kieran thought that it would be better to go to the police-station rather than ring up, and had to get a bus that took twenty minutes, seemingly going on a tour of 108

the town before ending up near it. A small place with several cars parked out front.

An over-weight desk-sergeant was watching the news on a small monitor up on the wall, and eating a chicken wrap. He looked rather miffed to be disturbed.

“I know how this is going to sound, but I believe several children murdered my brother”.

After having scrambled for his note-book, and furiously writing notes in scrawl that was worse than any doctors, his scribbling grew slower the more Kieran gave his suspicions.

“…I know the police are already involved but I just needed to tell you what I suspect”.

The man’s pen stopped, and he laid it down on the desk.

“So let me get this right kid,” he said with exasperation, “you’ve disturbed me while I’m eating my lunch, to tell me that a supposed murder that’s already being investigated, was caused by several pensioners whose bodies were discovered in an old bowling clubhouse, which, if I remember correctly the causes of death were unknown, but more than likely suicide, and they’ll be being held in a mortuary awaiting autopsy”.

“Awaiting autopsy? Probably stuck in some drawer in the hospital. They’re not going to find anything. Their spirits or souls have gone into the bodies of seven children who murdered my brother. I don’t know how. They’ve changed personality and everything. They speak like adults”. The man was silent for a few moments, then leaned forward on the desk.

“How many pathologists do you think there are round here kid? It’s not a popular job. It will take however long it will take. And do you honestly expect me to believe that they possessed children? and are walking around now. Sorry kid, what do you take me for?”

“You can check it. Seven pensioners died mysteriously, and at the same time, seven children went missing”.

“Seven children that came back safe and well because they just got lost”.

“Look, doesn’t that look suspicious to you?”

“No kid, it doesn’t, now please leave before I charge you with wasting police time”.

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“Can’t you just…” but the face on the man told him it was time to go. He slowly walked out, enough time for the man to make a show of tearing out the page in his note-book, scrunching it up and putting it in the waste paper basket, sitting down and continuing on with his lunch.

When Kieran went outside, he realised he didn’t have too many options left.

He wandered the unfamiliar roads for a while, trying his best to not break down, seeing in his mind the crystal clear face of Brett. He knew where the bus-stop was and gradually made his way there, realising that there was only one option left. The one that girl…Sandy was it? mentioned. Tell everyone. Get others who may believe him. Filter them out. Send it out on the internet. Let the world know.

On the bus on the way back, he used social media on his phone to purvey his theory, but realised he needed pictures, but posted anyway, and by the time he got back had only received one like with a smiley face. He guessed whoever that was, was being sarcastic.

In the morning he decided to go and find Bean-head and the girls, as they lived in a caravan park which acted as student accommodation, overspill from the places around the university in the nearby town, to see if they could offer him more advice about what he could do, until he realised that on the way, he was hesitant about putting it all out there. Fearful. It was a brash and confident thing to do. Subject to ridicule. Hey everyone, here’s my theory, what do you think?

Do me a favour, go and find these school-kids who I don’t have pictures of and let me know if you think they’re possessed by pensioners.

Then Brett’s face came into his mind again. Little Brett who had done nothing to no-one, killed by those cunts.

Jordan who wasn’t Jordan any more was living life as a child. Hiding.

Yes, he thought, they were hiding. Probably eliminating any threats. Terrified of being exposed.

Well fuck them, Kieran thought, and this, bolstered by Brett’s image, and the lack of justice, caused him to make a detour, and march straight on to Jordan’s house. Normally such a brash move would never have occurred to Kieran, but the need for justice, and grief, and sheer frustration made him bang on Jordan’s door, where it was answered by Daphne, Jordans ‘mother’.

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“Is he in? sorry Daphne but I’m afraid Jordan isn’t Jordan and he killed Brett,”

“What?” she said, unable to compute what he’d just said. However, when he was answered, it was from Jordan who was stood halfway up the stairs.

“Well now, what an accusation to make,” he said, coming down to stand next to her.

“Kieran you can’t just accuse Jordan of that, that’s very serious”.

“Yes mother, it is, even though the police have now concluded that it was suicide. Now they’re not going to do a thing, and anyway I couldn’t do that to Brett, he was my best mate, wasn’t he mother?”

“Yes, he was. It’s a very silly and serious accusation. The police have decided it was suicide. I’m very sorry about Brett, he was a good kid, but what happened is what happened. Poor Brett committed suicide because of the trauma Jordan and his friends went through”.

“That is absolute fucking bullshit!” Kieran shouted. “He wouldn’t do that. Don’t you think Jordan’s changed? Doesn’t he speak like an adult? He’s possessed by a pensioner”. Daphne simply stared at him for a few moments.

“Come on Jordan” she said, “Kieran’s understandably still in grief,” she turned and walked back inside. Jordan grinned at Kieran and flipped two middle fingers at him.

“One down, one to go,” he whispered, stepping back and closing the door.

Kieran walked slowly and aimlessly around the roads, his mind chaotic. So the police had concluded their investigations, and now they were going to do nothing, unless he could persuade them to reopen it. They can do that can’t they? he wondered, if new suspicious evidence comes to light they can reopen the case.

Yet the police were a huge behemoth. One that didn’t take kindly to nineteen-year-olds telling them of possessed children.

So they were out. Fuck them.

It was time to tell the world, and if some people thought he was a crank, then so be it. Fuck them as well.

He took out his mobile phone and called Bean-head to arrange a meeting, asking to bring the girls, and those other two they had mentioned.

111

Only Bean-head, Sandy and Herbie showed up. They met outside a café in the town. There was only one other customer, sipping green tea.

All had ordered soft drinks, except for Herbie, who was seventeen, and one of those that seemed older than their years, although in the normal sense, unlike the field-trip gang. He was small, and liked to wear sunglasses. These were small and round, and he wore a long brown jacket that he didn’t need because today was fairly warm.

“This is Herbie. Looks like a reporter, doesn’t he? A journalist. Oh, and Maisie couldn’t make it,” Sandy said.

“Private investigator,” said Herbie, “these kids you say are possessed by old men, tell me why you think that”.

“You love investigating paranormal stuff don’t you Herbie?” said Bean-head, sipping on lemonade.

“Yes, I’ve investigated loads of stuff science can’t explain. Anyway, I’ve never seen a kid possessed before”.

“Out in some abandoned bowling club seven bodies of pensioners were found, but their cause of death is unknown,” said Kieran.

“Really,” said Sandy, “I never heard that.”

“No surprise,” said Bean-head, “seven old blokes who died of old age or whatever at the same time could be page fifty of some tabloid rag. Not when a politician is being ‘slammed’ because he was caught with his pants down, or some celebrity is dating someone half their age. Breaking fucking news. Might have died of old age at the same time and been a coincidence. Committed suicide by drinking poison together, whatever. It doesn’t merit too much if it’s not obvious that it’s murder. As far as I read about it, it’s not a murder investigation. They just died in mysterious circumstances”.

“Maybe we should go there,” said Herbie, “to this bowling club. I may be able to pick up clues the police missed, and I could get in contact with the spirits…”

“What and ask them how they died?” said Sandy.

“Well, yes, maybe,” Kieran sighed. Looked like Herbie was a delusional crank with his head in the clouds, he thought, but went along with it anyway, as he knew he was clutching at straws.

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“Okay, and at the same time, seven kids from our local school were on some outing. A day trip to the country or whatever. They were doing orienteering and went missing for a few hours. My brother Brett…” he took a drink of his coke to hide a wave of emotion. The others just looked away, avoiding eye-contact for a few seconds.

“He told me they were kidnapped by old men. Taken away in a van. Brett said he escaped and was chased by one but he was too fast for him. I never believed him but he was convinced, and he was right. I believe him. Hours later the kids return as if nothing’s happened. Only they’ve got amnesia, and act confused.

They said it was the trauma of being lost, but they’ve changed. You can’t change personality because you got lost. Seven kids went missing. Seven pensioners died around the same time. They came back talking like adults. Now they’re hiding, trying to act like kids. But I’m onto them. They killed Brett because he was a threat, and they know I’m a threat to them as well. D’you know what one of them said to me? ‘One down, one to go’”.

“Well it’s obvious,” said Herbie. They all looked at him, waiting for him to continue:

“They’re possessed”. There was further silence for a few moments.

“Social media,” said Sandy, ”post on paranormal forums. There’s podcasts and internet programmes that deal with the unknown. You might want to tell them all. They could send people down here to interview the kids”.

“Pictures,” said Herbie, “we need pictures of them. I need to know what they look like”.

“I can show you where two of them live, but I don’t recommend approaching them though, they’re very dangerous”.

“How dangerous is an eight-year-old boy?” he asked, not expecting an answer,

“but it’s you who needs to get their pictures. I can’t just walk up to them and start snapping away. It needs to be you because you know them. I mean, I could ask them questions, and once I know who they are could follow them and see what they get up to”.

“You really are a reporter,” said Bean-head. “Will you have a camera around your neck and a note-pad?”

Herbie continued: “I’ll just trail them, and maybe if I do bump into them, I can ask a few questions, as if I’m lost and want directions. I’ll be able to pick up on their voice whether they speak like an adult, and gauge whether they really are possessed”.

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Again, there was a few seconds silence. They sipped their drinks.

“When you’ve got pictures,” said Sandy, “get them printed out and write on them that you think they’re possessed or something. That you suspect them of murder. Put them up everywhere. If you do that, the other kids will see it and they may be shown up then. Filtered out”.

“Yes,” said Bean-head. “Write ‘Are these murderers possessed?’” Kieran nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “I can do that. Get their pictures. Thanks Sandy”.

“Actually a video would be better,” said Herbie, “I can get a still from that, and if you stick a camera in their face they might look quickly away while you’re trying to push the button. If you have a video going on the approach it should be easier. Once you’ve got that, forward it to me so I can see what they look like and I can get loads of printouts in uni”.

“Consider it done,” said Kieran.

He was apprehensive on the approach to Jordan’s house. It was evening but just before the street-lights came on, the sun on the descent.

Remember, he thought, this little fucker killed Brett, and that was the boost of confidence he needed to walk up the path, get his phone in video mode behind his back, and knock on the door.

It was answered by Daphne.

“Kieran,” she said with wide, fearful eyes.

“Hi Daphne, is Jordan here? I’d like to apologise if that’s possible”. She shouted up the stairs, and Jordan appeared, slowly walking down, staring at Kieran.

“What?” he asked, and Kieran pointed his mobile phone camera inches from his face while it was recording.

“This is him,” he said loudly, “Jordan Worthington, murderer, possessed by a pensioner”. Jordan’s face went angry quickly and he tried to grab the phone, but Kieran backed away.

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“You fucking bastard!” Jordan screamed, “give me that!” Kieran turned and headed for the gate, closing it behind him.

“Give me that fucking phone you cunt!” Jordan hissed, trying and failing to grab it again, stopping at the gate, knowing he wouldn’t be able to catch or get the phone off Kieran even if he caught him.

The phone was still recording.

“That’s him, and this is where he lives,” he quickly filmed up and down the road, and stopped it, knowing he’d got enough footage.

“You are fucking dead!” Jordan shouted, pointing a finger.

“Kieran I’m calling the police,” said Daphne in the doorway, holding a phone to her ear.

However, when Kieran spoke to her it was relatively calm. He pointed at Jordan.

“Daphne, do you really think that is your son? That is not Jordan”. He turned and walked quickly away.

“One down one to go you fucking cunt!” Jordan screamed again, and spat on the floor.

Daphne stared at her ‘son’. She cut off the call to the police, and he stormed his way back, but she was blocking the doorway.

“Out my way bitch,” he said, and Daphne quickly complied, watching as he walked past, rushing up the stairs, only to hear him start smashing up his room.

From inside the living room his ‘father’ Keith appeared. He’d been in the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Kieran only knew where Ian and Jordan lived. It was a mile to Ian’s but he still hurried as if Jordan was following, and to get it over with.

However when he got there, his mother Ursula answered and told him he was with his father who didn’t live there. He would be back later on tonight though.

Kieran thanked her and left, stopping the video on his phone. He knew he would have to do it in the morning. Try and catch him on the way to school. He lived far enough away to walk and not get the bus.

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He spent another semi-sleepless night, with Brett’s image in his mind, and worrying over Ian. Would Jordan warn him in time? If so, what would Ian do?

He was after all partly responsible for Brett’s death.

He got up early and left without telling his parents. They would only talk and keep him there.

It wasn’t too long before he reached Ian’s, and knew it would look a little suspicious, or odd if he knocked at 08.30am, so he waited for him to leave.

There wasn’t too many places he could stand without looking out of place, as it was an urban street, so further down the road, he walked up and down, looking at his phone. That didn’t look out of place. A youth with his face in a phone was normal. Nobody took much notice. He could be lost.

After ten minutes, Ian left his house, and Kieran followed him. The ‘school-boy’

was walking fairly quickly, and Kieran hurried to catch up, readying his phone.

A group of other school children who had met up where walking nearby, heading in the same direction, but Kieran didn’t care. If Ian entered the school gates then he had lost him.

Now or never. He ran up behind him, filming.

“This is another one. Ian,” he couldn’t remember his second name. The boy turned and looked at the camera. At Kieran.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kieran realised others had stopped to watch him, so he raised his voice.

“This is Ian who is possessed by a pensioner. He killed Brett. He is a murderer,”

Ian tried to grab the phone, and couldn’t do it. He tried again, failed.

“Get that fucking thing out my face.”

“The murderers go to Sheridan junior school, and there it is.” At the end of the road was the school, around eighty metres away. Kieran filmed it and panned around again. Ian tried another attempt, and ran at Kieran, crashing into him.

“Give me that phone!” but Kieran stayed on his feet, lifted the phone out of Ian’s reach and saw the venom, and hate in his eyes. He pointed an angry finger at Kieran.

“You are so fucked,” he turned and hurried away towards the school. Kieran stopped the video, and headed back in the opposite direction, still walking quickly should Ian run at him. He chanced a look over his shoulder, but the boy 116

was a small speck in the distance. He turned a corner and stopped, leaned against a lamppost, closing his eyes, shaking.

Ian stormed into school, and when he saw Chantelle, brought her to the side out of anyone’s earshot.

“We need to kill Kieran now,” and he told her what had happened, and she agreed.

He found Boyd and Sam. They got angry as well. Jordan was doing the same, finding the others to tell them what had happened and that Kieran needs to die.

He found Ian, and they spewed hate and vitriol about Kieran, not thinking about who was in earshot. It was only a few other children, but they looked with curiosity at the two red-faced children, angrily animated, who then wound down.

“…so we’ll need another meeting. All of us, after school in our meeting place, the school field. Tell the others. I will as well”. Jordan nodded, and walked away.

Throughout the day they were all fairly quiet, contemplating, and when they traipsed onto the field at the end of the school day, it was Boyd who looked the most pleased.

“I know we need to kill Kieran, but follow me, you’ll like this”. With curiosity they followed, but still discussing Kieran along the way.

It was around a mile away from the school, but eventually, like an excited eight-year-old, Boyd got out his keys and opened the door to the house.

“Come on in everyone,” so they did. Boyd led them through to the fairly large kitchen where he hadn’t disturbed anything.

They filed in, to see the bodies of his ‘parents’ still in the same place. Barbara twisted and grimaced on the table. Neale frozen into position with wide staring eyes on the floor.

The field-trip gang were happy, smiling and went around to inspect the bodies.

“This is my house now,” he said, waving the keys. “If anyone asks, they’ve gone to Australia. Well it’s our house I suppose”.

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After ten minutes, they had all settled in as if they had been coming to the house for years, some helping themselves to the food.

Sam was staring curiously at Barbara’s grimace. Chantelle was studying Neale.

“This is what Strychnine and Thorazine does. Did you take notes? you could have studied this further”.

“I know,” Boyd said, “I didn’t think. Maybe we can dissect them to see what effect the poison has had inside”.

“We could,” said Chantelle, standing up, “but would need to be very careful. We would need gloves. We can’t get an atom of anything on us”.

“But I touched that cake…didn’t I?” said Boyd.

“That’s okay. A tiny amount would only make you ill. That’s if you ingested it, which you didn’t”. Boyd just stared at Barbara, her eyes staring at a salt-shaker.

In the living room there were two twin-seater scroll arm sofas and a high-back leather armchair, yet the kitchen was bigger.

They found a bottle of wine and cracked it open.

After a while, with some sitting and some standing, they knew they would have to address what was forefront mostly on their minds at present.

Kieran.

“…but we can’t just straight up murder him. That would be way too risky,”

Dorothy said.

“No,” said Glenn, “we can murder him, but it’s just where. Jordan, if you knock on his door you can pretend to be upset over Brett. That’ll get you in. Then with the door open, and us tooled up, we’ll come in, and probably have to kill his parents”.

“Fuck,” said Sam. “we’re trying to stay hidden”.

“That should be it then,” Glenn continued, “we kill them inside the house. No witnesses. But it will be a murder scene. No suicides here. But you might get some nosy neighbours saying they saw some kids outside the house, but we’ll have to take that risk. If we find out later on who did it, they’ll come to regret it, but never mind them for now. As far as I understand, if we kill Kieran, and his parents, that’s us set then. We can live out the rest of our lives”.

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“Let’s hope Kieran hasn’t sent those videos anywhere and set off a bunch of nutcases coming down to see if we’re possessed”, said Jordan.

“If so we’ll just deny we’re possessed. Act like kids. Then it’ll blow over and be forgotten about”.

“So that’s it,” said Dorothy, “Kieran and his parents”.

“Yes,” said Sam, “we do it tonight. Jordan, when you knock, you need to find out if Kieran is in. If so, we’ll come in and kill everyone in there”.

“We also have to consider the inevitable,” said Boyd. “There’s no guarantee any of them will die. What if one, or Kieran escapes? What do we do then?”. They were quiet and sombre for a few moments, knowing he was right, then Chantelle said:

“We would need to change bodies,”

“Yes,” said Glenn, “something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time”.

“If we kill them though, then we stay,” said Dorothy, and Glenn said nothing but folded his arms. She continued:

“If this is to be our last night then we need to go back to our houses and wind up. Get whatever we need. Grab your weapon. Say your metaphorical goodbyes. Then return here for the night. Nobody will come looking for us. It will be too soon even if Kieran brings in the cavalry. Kids won’t be suspects anyway. Then in the morning we head back the clubhouse. I hope we won’t need to do that, and we can sleep easy in our beds, knowing we have the rest of our lives to grow up before we head back to that tree”.

“Yes,” said Sam, “okay, eight o’clock we meet up where?”

“Outside the school gates,” said Jordan. “Kieran doesn’t live too far away”.

They were quiet for a few more moments, knowing that the rest of their lives was approaching a fork in the road. One way they stayed and lived out their lives ‘normally’, the other they ran for the hills and changed into different bodies to escape and live a different existence.

“Alright folks,” said Sam, “go home and wind up, then tool up”.

“That would be irony,” said Ian, “how could the children that went missing on the field-trip, all go missing again?”.