Dead Village (20 page)

CHAPTER 23

“Where have you been Patrick?” Kathleen Shawnessy yelled, as her son, Patrick, head bowed, walked sheepishly into the house.

“What's that you have there in your hand?”

Patrick pushed his hand behind his back.

“Give me that!”

Patrick ran to his room, as his mother climbed the stairs behind him, and he quickly pushed the object inside his school bag.

“You've been playing with that trouble-maker; Billy Dowds again, haven't you?” Kathleen bellowed as she pushed her way passed the door.

“No mother, I haven't, Patrick lied.”

“Don't lie to me boy. Haven't I told you about playing with Billy Dowds? He'll get you into all sorts of trouble, with his smoking, and stealing from the shops. I've even heard he was drinking last week. His mother turns a blind eye to it because she just doesn't care what he does, and at fifteen years of age at that. I'll not be turning a blind eye to you though my boy, you can be sure of that,” the angry woman almost screamed at him, her face sullen.

“I did nothing wrong mother.”

“Oh, so you call walking in at half past ten at night doing nothing wrong do you?”

“I forgot the time,” Patrick lied again.

“Well you won't forget it next time in a hurry, because you're grounded my boy, do you hear me? Grounded!”

Patrick wanted to yell at her. Tell her to go away and leave him the hell alone. Billy was his friend, and he would damn well play with him if he wanted to.

“What did you have in your hand when you came in tonight?” Kathleen pushed on.

“I had nothing, nothing,” he sobbed.

Kathleen pulled his schoolbag from under the bed and pulled out the little blue bears head with the hole in it.

“So you had nothing you say, what's this then?”

“I found it floating on the river, down at the bridge, it's mine,” he spat.

“You will bring any damn rubbish into this house. What in Gods good name would you be wanting with a ripped up piece of trash like this for anyway?”

“I-I like it,” Patrick stuttered.

“Well, get rid of it, now,” she ordered.

When his mother left the room, Patrick placed two old tennis balls in a black plastic bag, and hid the little torn bears head in the corner, under some games.

He quickly ran downstairs and threw the bag of tennis balls into the little stainless steel bin in the kitchen, as his mother watched from the sink.

She suddenly felt guilty for her outburst, but sometimes you just have to be cruel to be kind with children, she felt. He suddenly looked so small and innocent to her though, and after all, he did throw the bears head out when she asked him.

It had been hard for her bringing Patrick up on her own, but after the accident those six years previous, when her husband and daughter had been killed in the crash. She had struggled hard, physically and emotionally to keep going on with her life. In fact, she knew the only reason she hadn't ended her torture was because of Patrick.

Patrick was all she had in life now.

As he walked away, she called affectionately to him.

“Look, I'm sorry I got so upset and shouted at you, but I worry about you Patrick. It's all for your own good son.”

Patrick ignored his mother and walked upstairs in a huff.

“I hate you,” he seethed, under his breath.

When he finally got into bed, he brought the bears head with him.

“What has happened to you?” Patrick whispered, as he poked his finger into the large hole in the bears head, and probed.

“I'll have to give you a name my little friend. How about if I call you Rumplestilskin? Or maybe, Einstein, cause' you look kind of smart?”

“Or what about if I call you Blue Boy?”

He held the little blue bears head at arms length and studied it as though it was the best thing he had ever found.

“I know you're not a girl because of all the fights you must have been in, with all of those injuries you received in battle. “Maybe I should name you Lancelot, because he was a brave knight of the round table, who fought many jousts.”

He stared affectionately at the little bears head and hugged it tightly.

“No! I'll name you Blue Boy and have done with it.”

Then he yawned and tightly propped the little bears head between the end of the pillow and the wall.

“Night, Blue Boy,” he smiled.

Patrick stared into its sad torn face, before sleep finally claimed him.

*  *  *  *  *

Tully had promised Francis's cousin's son that he would take him fishing for some time now, and today he would fulfil his promise.

He hunched down as he passed Francis in the kitchen, fishing rods in hand, and put his ear to her swelled Belly.

“How's my little fella doing in there? Huh?”

“The baby's fine,” Francis said. “It may not be a little fella though Tully. It may just be a little girl.”

“It's a boy, Tully said matter of factly. “I just know it. It's a family thing,” he added.

“My uncle Harold had six boys, zero girls, and my uncle Edward had seven boys and one girl.

“Well, maybe for you, this is the one girl,” she joked.

“Just wait until we've had five or six, then you'll see who's right,” Tully stated.

“If you want five or six children Tully, then you'd better start advertising elsewhere right now, because it's just not going to happen,” she laughed.

“Well, I'll be off then, and I'll be home around five. I'll bring you back a nice fresh trout,” Tully promised.

“Take care,” Francis called, and then he was gone.

*  *  *  *  *

At the river, Tully and the boy had been fishing for about two hours with no luck, when suddenly the boy's rod twitched.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tully whispered. The rod jerked twice more as the impatient boy eyed him intently.

“Strike!” Tully yelled, and the boy whipped the rod back.

“He's a big bugger,” Tully claimed, as the rod almost bent in two.

“Easy, don't reel so fast, play with it, because we'll need the net for this big fellow,” Tully informed him, as he walked over to fetch the net.

As he bent down to pick up the net, something caught his eye. It was just inside the boy's bag, which was almost discarded on the ground, the flap lying open. Something familiar.

Tully could hear him shouting excitedly in the background.

“Get the net Tully, quickly, get the net. It's going to get away.”

Tully ignored him, and pulled the opening of the bag wider. He cocked his head, puzzled and somehow frightened, as he reached into the bag and slowly pulled at the blue object.

“Get the net Tully, get the net,” the boy continued to shout.

Tully stepped back and quickly dropped Mr Cliff from his hand.

A thousand shock waves covered Tully's body and he recoiled in horror, as he stared at the little blue bears head lying on the grass.

When Patrick glanced around, he could see Blue Boy lying on the ground. Tully stood over it, straight and stiff.

“What is this Patrick?” Tully whispered, unaware that the boy could hear him.

“What's wrong Tully?” Patrick asked, as he stood behind Tully, aware that fishing was now the last thing on Tully's mind as he stood trance like over the little bears head.

“Wh-where did you get that fucking thing?” Tully said pointing.

Patrick felt his cheeks redden, now that his tough relative had caught him concealing a little child's teddy bears head.

“Someone must have put it in there,” Patrick lied. “I-I never seen it before, honest,” he stammered.

Tully could feel his heart race, as the fear returned,

Instinctively, he kicked it out onto the river, and the little bears head floated for a few seconds, bobbing in the ripples like a little boat.

Patrick ran to the edge of the river and grabbed the spare rod. He reached out with the rod to try and catch the bear with the tip. But the rod fell short by about two feet.

Now Patrick couldn't hide his lie, as the bears head slowly sank below the dark surface.

Although he had denied owning the bear, a sudden feeling of loss came over him.

Now he didn't care what Tully thought of him.

He could feel the rage building up inside him, as his new best friend would now be lost forever in the fast flowing, deep river.

“No, Blue Boy,” he yelled.

“Huh?” Tully whispered, puzzled, as he spun around.

“Blue Boy, Blue Boy,” Patrick repeated and pointed across the river.

“Blue Boy?” Tully groaned, confused.

“That was my bear, and you're just like my mother, you bastard,” Patrick shouted. “I fucking hate you both.”

As the bears head sank under the surface, Patrick grabbed his bag and ran off, crying, as the large trout pulled the rod and reel into and under the water.

*  *  *  *  *

Tully didn't remember walking home from the forest that day, because now his thoughts were fully focused on the little bears head.

Coincidence, and nothing more, that's all it is,
Tully thought. Tully was aware that Patrick was always playing at the river bank, down near the bridge.

He had simply picked it up from the rivers edge, and now Tully felt that he had over reacted towards Patrick.

The bear was dead. The spear had killed it. He remembered its grey lifeless eyes before he kicked out at it.

Now though, he would have to face Francis's cousin in regards to his treatment of her son.

“Will this damn curse ever go away from us?” Tully whispered. When Tully arrived home though, he didn't mention the incident with the bears head. He just didn't want to unnerve Francis.
Francis has been through too much already,
he thought.

Francis's cousin was never to mention the incident regarding Patrick either though, because she was simply unaware of it. Patrick couldn't tell his mother that he had disobeyed her when she told him to get rid of the bear, so now she would never know.

However, when Patrick seen Tully walking on the street, he would cross over to the other side of the road. Patrick would never speak to Tully again.

*  *  *  *  *

Somewhere in Scotland, Jimmy Watson awoke with a shout, and ran from his room.

He slammed his fist on his friend's door five times and when the door answered he could see John Hutchison sitting up on his bed, a bewildered look on his face.

“It's over John,” he shouted.

“I know Jimmy, but don't ask me how I know.”

“It just came to me John, I was sleeping an
…
“

“I know, I know Jimmy, I felt it as well. It was like a message. The creature is dead, and for us, it's finally over.”

Jimmy's daughter rushed into the room, followed by his little grandson, who was rubbing at his eyes.

“Are you all right father? What's wrong?” she asked, puzzled.

“There's nothing wrong Jayne, I couldn't be better,” he said as he and hugged her and the child.

“We can return home now,” John Hutchison said.

“Yes, and you can go back to being a sergeant again,” John's wife stated.

*  *  *  *  *

Down in the forest, everything was quiet, as the old rabbit limped along the lane and into its burrow.

The river was calm now, and deep down at the bottom, the small bears head lay gently swaying in the current.

Suddenly it moved, in a jerking pulsating kind of way.

It spun and twisted across the bed of the river, causing a cloud of silt, as the large fish tore out its remaining glass eye and swallowed it.

Now its eyeless ripped face looked more evil than ever before.

Two small river crabs, tugged and fought over what was left of Mr Cliff, and dragged the remains into some weeds, as some other small crabs pulled and tore at the stuffing.

Slowly they ripped it to shreds, and now it was only an unrecognizable mess of blue and black strips, moving slowly along the bed of the river.

Darkness descended once more over the sprawling forest, and a hushed calmness spread its essence up to the cloud filled sky.

A light drizzling rain covered the heavy trees as the old rabbit turned and looked nosily out from its burrow, and yawned.

*  *  *  *  *

Many thousands of miles away, Dan Winters jumped up from his sleep, his headache gone.

Something had happened, something wonderful.

He opened the blind with his fingers and stared out at the sunlight covering the land.

He didn't know what this feeling of almost euphoria was that he was getting inside his troubled mind, but he somehow knew that his problems were finally over.

“What's wrong with you now Dan?” Lynn asked, as Dan smiled down at her.

“Not a damn thing,” he replied. “What about the headache?” “Huh?”

“For once you aren't squirming in pain.”

“Everything is all right honey,” he said, “my headaches are gone for good, trust me,” he said, smiling.

“Are you sure you're okay Dan?”

“Yes, I'm more than sure I'm okay. In fact, I've never felt better. It's over, it's over for good, and I'm free of it, do you understand me? Free!”

Dan almost sprang from the bed and ran out through the bedroom door.

He silently opened the doors of each of his children's rooms, and stared lovingly at them as they slept.

No one could describe the feeling that coursed through his veins, and he dropped to his knees in prayer.

“Thank you Lord,” he sobbed, “thank you.”

Lynn stood behind him and smiled.

“But how Dan?” Lynn asked puzzled.

Dan stood up and held her in his arms in a loving embrace.

“We gave it the old one two honey,” he said. “The old one two.”

Up the street the old railway bridge stood silent in the morning sun. A light breeze wafted up from underneath, and the old rusty chains clinked together, and swayed gently.