The Identical Boy (5 page)

Th
e
next morning, Mark left his house in a chipper mood. The thought of the torments he could rain down upon Sam brought him a sunny sort of joy that warmed him from the tips of his toes to the rims of his ears.

Before yesterday, that park encounter might have been it for he and Sam. Sam was just one of many. The day before had been his turn, then it would have been time to shuffle the pack, to pick out a new face. Sam had been nothing special. He was just a Wednesday.

Now Sam was special.

He laughed as he wondered if that mad girl had any idea how much more trouble she’d delivered to her friend’s door.

Mark hopped over a fence to make his way across Oldcoat Field, batting aside the thick, overgrown grasses and weeds that reached up to his chest as he took the shortcut.

What else could he get Sam to do? What else could he do to Sam? He wouldn’t hurt him. Not physically. Not at first. Humiliation, that was act one. And two. And three. And as many more acts as he decided, before he finally released the pressure valve and beat out a boogie rhythm on Sam’s body with his fists.

Mark was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed someone was stood a few metres in front of him, blocking the way.

'Hi, Mark.'

Mark pulled up short in surprise at the sudden intrusion into his daydream, involuntarily taking a protective step backwards as he made sense of where the voice was coming from.

In front of him stood a boy. A small, skinny boy.

'Sam?'

'Going for a walk?' asked Sam.

Mark had regained his composure now, and thoughts began to dance around his mind. He wouldn't have to wait until school after all; he could get Sam back right now for having that stupid girl humiliate him! He almost laughed in delight.

'You are mental, aren't you?' said Mark. ‘What d'you think you're doing? Was that gob on the face not enough then?' Mark took a step forward, expecting Sam to back up, to turn and run so Mark could chase him down and bring him to the ground again, hidden from sight by the tall, thick grass, to do as he pleased.

But Sam did not take a step back. He didn't even flinch. Mark paused, unsure and surprised.

'You wanna fight then, is that it? I'll punch your face in, you know that?'

'No,' said Sam.

‘No?’

‘No. You won't win this fight. Can’t win it. Because I know something you don’t.'

Mark looked at Sam with amazement. 'You what?'

Sam smiled at him, and Mark felt the fury rise.

'Come on then, get me.' Sam leapt into the thick grass as Mark stepped quickly forward and swung a boot at where he thought Sam lay; but the boot swung without connecting to anything but grass and air.

'You missed, Mark.'

Mark whirled round in surprise at the voice that came from behind him, to find Sam somehow stood quite still and calm ten metres away. There was no way he could have got over there so fast.

'How did you—?'

'Oh, you didn't know I was magic, did you Mark?' Sam ducked back down into the thick undergrowth, only to pop up a second later, twenty metres behind Mark. 'Black magic is a powerful thing, you know.'

Mark turned to face Sam, who began to slowly walk towards him. 'Oi, how are you doing that?'

'I told you,' said Sam.

'Black magic.'

Mark turned again, to find Sam was behind him now. But still in front of him too! Two Sams walking slowly towards him. Mark turned and turned and turned, looking wild eyed from one Sam to the other and back again. 'Don't! Stop moving! Both stay where you are or I'll … I'll—'

'Or you'll what?'

Mark fell silent. This was wrong. This was all very, very wrong. Unnatural. Mark could feel it inside, twisting his guts. The very
wrongness
of it all. As if by stepping into this field he’d walked out of the normal world and into a place where nothing made sense.

Mark could feel fear. No, not fear,
fear
was too small a word for it. Terror. That was it. The wrongness exploded inside him as terror, and he knew he had to get away. Away from this field and the two inexplicable Sams that couldn’t be but were.

'What should we do with him, Sam?'

'Something bad, Sam. Something really bad.'

'Got to be taught a lesson, Sam.'

'Yes, Sam. A hard lesson.'

'Please … don't do anything to me. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry!’

The two Sams stopped in their approach and surveyed Mark with cool eyes.

'He's lying, Sam.'

‘I know, Sam.’

'I'm not! Promise. I'll stop! I will! Please—‘

'He won't stop.'

'You won't stop.'

‘I will! I will stop. I have! Look, look at me, I’ve stopped, I have.’ Mark looked at the two Sams, desperate for a sign that they would let him go, that he could escape this cold, clammy wrongness.

The two Sams shook their heads.

‘No.’

‘No, no, no.’

'We're going to have to use our magic on you, Mark. Our black, wrong magic. Get rid of you for good. Isn't that right, Sam?'

'That's right, Sam.'

'Please don't … please don't … my Mum needs me. My Mum….'

Mark had dropped to his knees, only his head visible above the weeds. He thought about his Mum. About his sister. Even his Dad.

'What d'you think, Sam?'

'I think he gets one last chance, Sam.'

Mark wiped his nose with the back of his hand, 'Yes! I won’t bother you no more; I really won't. And I won't let any of the others bother you, neither. I’ll tell them. Tell them all. You’re off limits. Under my protection. Nothing can ever happen to you again, right? Just, please, don’t hurt me or disappear me. Please.'

The two Sams looked at each other, smiling.

'How about this, if you can make it out of this field and over the fence before we count to twenty—'

'—I won't kill you—'

‘—And neither will I.’

Mark’s heart fluttered. 'Yes, yes, thank you, I—'

'One.'

Mark staggered back and shoved himself to his feet.

'Two.'

Avoiding passing either Sam, Mark headed to his left. It was the longer way out of the field, but he didn't want to risk passing close to either of them, he didn’t want to be anywhere near their wrongness—

'Three.'

'Four.'

Marks eyes streamed and his lungs burned; he could feel a stitch begin to scream in his stomach, but he ignored it—

'Five-'

'Six.'

'Seven.'

Mark didn't know if he was going to make it. He could hear the two Sams starting to laugh as they counted. Were they coming after him? Would they break their promise? He would have. He wouldn’t even have given them a chance.

'Eight.'

'Nine.'

'Ten.'

Mark stumbled and fell as his foot caught under something. He yelped and swore and cried as he hit hard, his knee a sudden burst of pain as it struck something solid—

'Eleven.'

'Twelve.'

'Thirteen.'

Mark staggered up, almost falling again as his injured knee tried to give way beneath him, but he wouldn't let it fail. He pushed on, he would make it, he would make it—

'Fourteen.'

'Fifteen.'

'Sixteen.'

So close now, so close. He couldn't quite catch his breath anymore and it felt as though his vision was going cloudy around the edges. The stitch ached, his knee stabbed, and his boot-injured side yelled in pain—

'Seventeen.'

'Eighteen.'

'Nineteen.'

Mark's desperate hands found the fence and he heaved himself upwards, collapsing over and falling to the hard road on the other side.

'Twenty!'

Laughter. It rolled out of the field as Mark lay on his back, chest convulsing. He’d made it. He’d got away. He was going to be okay. As soon as he was able, he scrabbled up, looking back into the field. As he gasped and wheezed, and his nose whistled and whined, he searched for any sign of the two Sams. The field was empty of people. The tall, thick grasses and weeds swung back and forth lazily in the breeze, but there was no sign of his tormentors.

Mark clutched his side and shivered, half in relief, half in fear. He turned and limped away as fast as his injured body would take him.

Mar
k
paused at the school gates. He stood, heart knocking against his chest, as he peered into the scrum of kids in the playground, trying to see if Sam was in there. Waiting.

It was Friday. He’d skipped Thursday. After what had happened, he hadn’t been able to face shool. To face his gang. To face
him.
He’d gone to the abandoned train track and sat on his own all day, until it was time to go home. He hadn’t even set any fires, which was one of his favourite things to do at that place. He’d just sat and stared blankly at the tracks, his knee throbbing rhythmically as a constant reminder of what had just happened. That he hadn’t dreamt or imagined it. It was real.

Fear was real.

Mark’s eyes scanned the schoolyard.

He’d never felt unsure or worried about crossing into that playground before. It was
his
yard. His school. No one stepped out of line with him, everyone respected him. Or was scared of him at least—same thing as far as he was concerned. But now?

Was
he
in there? Mark scanned from person to person.

This was dumb. Sam must have drugged him or something, that was all there was to it. Hallucinations! Yeah, yeah, that could be it. Mark’s knee throbbed.

He continued to look, but could see no sign of Sam in the school grounds.

Sooner or later, he would cross Sam’s path again. Bound to. No avoiding it. And what then? He should just … just pummel him. No thinking, no chance for weak doubt, just start punching. Show him Mark was the boss. Not scared of anything. Not scared of—

‘Mark!’

He jumped, startled, even taking a step back.

‘Oi, Mark, what you doing? Come on, we’re playing soccer.’ One of Mark’s gang, waving him over.

Mark swallowed, swore at himself, and headed over. The other children still stepped aside, still deferred to him, anxiety and fear washing across their faces as he passed them by. They didn’t know. Only he knew. And Sam. Both of the Sams. Only they knew the humiliation he’d suffered. He didn’t feel strong; he felt weak. Beaten. Angry.

‘When we going to do for Sam then?’ asked Patrick. Fat, white-blonde hair, a shirt at least one size too small.

‘When I say so, all right?’ said Mark, snapping. Patrick stepped back.

Mark went over to a low wall and sat, brooding. What had happened—it wasn’t right. Not just Sam getting one over on him, but the thing Sam had been able to do. Maybe it was just some twin brother Mark didn’t know about? But Mark knew it wasn’t.

Then what? Black magic? Voodoo? What was voodoo again? Whatever it was, it wasn’t right. It was evil. Mark had felt it, felt it chill his bones. Felt it chase at his heels as he ran, heart beating so hard it might have burst from his chest. The unnaturalness of it all.

‘There he is,’ said Kath. Mark followed Kath’s pointing hand, and saw Sam crossing into the playground.

He wasn’t creeping round the wall as usual. He was walking right across the middle. And he was
smiling
. Actually, it looked like he was laughing. Mark shivered.

‘Come on, then, let’s go push him over or something, yeah?’

‘What?’ said Mark.

‘We should take him to the woods at break. Do the dog poo thing again!’ The others laughed, Mark joined in, but as he did so his eyes met Sam’s, and he knew he wasn’t going to do anything to Sam. Wasn’t going to go anywhere near Sam.

He was afraid.

***

Mark spent second period in the toilets. Third, too. He sat on the toilet seat, cubicle door closed, wondering what to do. He thought about telling someone, but telling them what? They’d think he was mad for sure if he told them about magic, and horror, and a boy that used to be one but now was two.

He didn’t want to face it. Not for a bit. Just needed to regroup, that was all. Get things straight. Get back to his old self. Couldn’t do that here. Not here. Not with
him
out there. Not with Sam walking the same corridors.

He just wouldn’t come back to school then. For a bit. Fake some sort of sickness. Head sick. What was it called? Depressive. Ultra-depressive. The up-and-down one.
Maniac-depression
, it was called, something like that. He’d look it up later. His Mum would believe him if he sold it well enough. She’d believe anything he said. He’d keep that up, get the rest of the year off, maybe. He could still see his friends after school. Probably. Would they still be his friends? Of course. Or else.

Or else what? What if they could smell the change on him too? Taste it in the air. Maybe they’d drop him. Kath would be the new leader. They’d come after him next. Sick in the head ex-bully Mark. It would be him on his knees in the woods as the others circled and jeered and thought of new things they could make him do.

Someone entered the toilets. Mark kept quiet. Footsteps on tiles, click-clack over to the sink. The water ran. A paper towel was pulled and then disposed of. Then the footsteps passed by once again. Stopped. Walked back a step or two, then turned to face the door of Mark’s cubicle.

Mark held his breath. Two scuffed shoes stepped into view in the gap between the door and the floor. Mark’s lungs burned as he denied them breath.

‘Knock knock.’ Sam’s voice.

Mark said nothing, his back pressing against the cistern.

The feet turned, click-clacked across the tiles, then left the bathroom.

Mark realised he was trembling.

He waited for almost seventeen minutes, then slid the lock aside as slowly and quietly as he could and crept out.