Ryde High School
In July 2005 I spent two weeks on the Isle of Wight at Ryde High School as their Writer in Residence. The residency was a part of the school's Macromundo Festival. In 2005 a whole raft of arts projects were undertaken to coincide with the annual carnival that takes place on the island at this time of year.
The work below is by some of the young people I met and worked with during that time.
The Boy
There was no remarkable birth. Though slightly premature he was born perfectly healthy; no disease, no rare blood disorders or early signs of mental illness. However this new born boy was remarkable, one of a kind, not one in a million he was the only one. Strange things would happen when this child was around; the surgeon who delivered him slaughtered the assisting nurse and then took his own life with a scalpel, cutting his neck with the precision only the steady hands of a surgeon could muster. Though a very bizarre and baffling case the police would never connect it to the baby crying in the delivery room, tiny fingers clasped around his adoring mothers ring finger.
The boy's parents, Jane and Patrick, had a rocky relationship at the best of times but the arrival of their child split the foundations all together. Jane had little time for Patrick, though she still made the effort. Patrick on the other hand spent no time with Jane and still expected the same level of flair and sexual spontaneity from his girlfriend as during their 'getting to know you' period; as Jane's mother had so nicely put it.
The boy would often lie on his bed listening to his parent's fights spiral out of control. The yelling would lead to doors slamming and glass throwing. He had been alienated from his family, relationships were based on arguments and this naive six year old couldn't help feeling it was his fault. He spent many nights crying alone; in fact his big brown eyes were almost always stained with tears and his jet black hair was knotted and split at the ends. His unblemished skin was almost always red around the eyes and his nails were almost always bitten down to the point of drawing blood.
********
After a night drinking Patrick confronted Jane about having an affair. His grounds for thinking this were unfounded but he persisted nonetheless. This fight got particularly out of control and for the first time ever Patrick hit his partner; blood spattering from her nose and staining the caramel carpet. Jane rushed out the door her nose obviously broken; she would drive herself to hospital and make excuses for Patrick's elevating violence.
Patrick on the other hand would take to the shower, slamming the bathroom door behind him. His son was brewing with anger, his mother who had looked after him all this time, this bully of a father who took no care in his son's life, the father who would dare to hit the one who makes his tea and cooks his meals.
The boy banged the door frame, Patrick couldn't hear because of the jet of water spraying onto his back. The boy began to cry outside of the steamy bathroom, and a fire in his eyes burned. Anger raged through him as he raised his sobbing head to the door handle; a nail had loosened, the boy concentrated on it.
It took just an instant for the boy's father became confused; his own environment became unrecognisable and colourless. The showerhead seemed larger and twisted like a snake. The water turned to thousands of sharp nails, distorted and rusting, just like those in the door. But there was colour; his blood was the brightest red. It flowed like a river, running down his back in small streams and converging at the small of his spine to form a deluge into the tub. It then flowed peacefully to the drain but did not disappear, instead it congealed and blackened. The father swam through the river of blood in a desperate panic, nails still pelting him, pain still coursing through his veins like a cancer. The end of the bath was near; he jumped from it frantically and was flung back to reality.
His head cracked against the hard marble floor. He was given just moments of sanity before the blood left his body, departing through his fractured skull. The young boy slid down the back of the door and wept quietly to himself, the flame was gone.
********
Jane arrived from hospital about three hours later. She came home to her son asleep next to the bathroom door; his eyes were red and bloodshot and tear marks streamed down his china like face. Steam was escaping through the gaps of the door, too much thought Jane. She banged on the door, waking her son who simply got up and went to bed, too tired to utter a word, a word that would surely have been ignored.
It was three o'clock in the morning and Jane was still wide awake, she had called the police and was waiting for them to arrive. The boy was sleeping peacefully, more so than usual. Perhaps he was horrified by what he had done but maybe he was relieved. Now he and his mother could live together happily. A hope that he had clung onto through the lonely days and nights. For the first time in years he was sleeping with a smile on his face, sweet dreams of torment filled his head. The fire inside him was particularly potent in his dreams, an outlet for his gift; his curse.
Jane fainted the moment she set eyes on Patrick's broken body. There were puncture wounds along his back; like he had been pelted with nails. If it was not for these wounds the boy would have had his wish of harmony. But as it were the police began a major investigation and the case became a national talking point.
They had cordoned off the area and Jane and her son were taken to a police safe house. They started with print checks and a thorough forensic examination. This examination was an odd one because there was no sign that anyone had been in the house except the family. This meant that Jane was now prime suspect however there was also no sign of anyone entering the bathroom and the door could only be locked from the inside. The police report proved that they had had to force the door open which left the window. But of course, the window was locked and secure with no sign that it had been opened from the outside.
The police were now thoroughly confused; the investigation into Patrick's personal life had revealed nothing and the forensic examination had found no leads. He had no enemies or links with illegal activities or groups. In fact the more the police investigated the more possibilities were closed off to them. The only chance for the investigators now was the post-mortem.
********
The surgeon flung back the covers of the body bag, Patrick lay face down because the interesting peculiarity was on his back. Detective Inspector House had taken over the case and watched intently as the surgeon probed away at his back.
'What am I looking at here doctor?'
'Well inspector, the wounds on his back would suggest a long, thin object. Such as a skewer.'
'Yes I can see that, is this is meant to impress me?'
'If you were a doctor you would notice that the holes are distorted. Meaning a different weapon was used for each entry.'
'Now you have my interest, please continue. Doctor,' the inspector gave a wry smile.
'Yes, thank you. There are forty-seven entry wounds, each different. Except in one way. All the wounds are burned exactly the same amount, with all the lining tissue dead and barbecued in every last wound,' he said this slowly, mainly because he was thinking but he had made a conscious effort to add effect to his amazing discovery.
'Very impressive doctor, but I am just a humble detective inspector. In plain English, what does this mean to my investigation?'
'It means that you are looking for a killer who can get into a house unnoticed with forty-seven skewers and a barbecue.'
'Thank you doctor but I am pressed for time, could you please send me the rest of your results by tomorrow morning?'
'Certainly,' He nodded his head, 'One thing before you leave Inspector.'
'What is it?'
'Pass me my coffee.'
********
Robert House was exhausted and so were his options. The case that had gripped a nation was soon to become a cold case. Flicking through the various notes and reports he realised there was one person they had yet to question; the boy. Though he had been interviewed it was just a simple check about what he saw. When he answered nothing the interview ended. Robert couldn't make up his mind whether this was his intuition or if he was clutching at straws; he suspected the second but couldn't be sure.
********
'Interview beginning Thursday the twenty-fourth of November, 2005. 11 22AM.'
'Thank you Natasha,' said Detective Inspector House to his lovely assistant, 'Can you please state your name and birth date,' this was directed at the young child sat in front of him. He looked remarkably small in the black plastic chair. The first thing he noticed was the floor. It was painted white, but like the rest of the rooms decor was no longer. The paint on the floor and walls had peeled and scuffed. Foot prints left their stain on the floor and handprints did their part on the walls. Overall the room gained an unsettling muddy white colour. This always unsettled Natasha, however, she was more unsettled that they were interrogating a six year old boy for a horrific murder; and that of his own father.
'Robert he's just a boy,' said Natasha, shaking her head.
'Corby,' said the boy timidly.
'Thank you and your birth date,' replied DI House.
'Thirteenth of March.'
'And your six years of age so you were born in 1999. Correct?' Corby didn't reply, 'You are here today because of your father.'
'He's dead.'
'Yes, and I am very sorry for your loss,' again no reply, 'I would like to know what you saw that night. Can you tell me please?'
'Nothing.'
'You must have seen something, what happened when he got in the bathroom?'
'I sat next to the door.'
'Why?'
'Because I was angry.'
'Why were you angry Corby?'
'He hit her.'
'Your mother? Yes we are aware of that.'
'So I made him see. I didn't want to but I couldn't help it.'
'What did you make him see?'
'What I wanted to happen, but I didn't want that. I didn't,' tears welled up in his eyes.
'Corby, what's wrong? What did you want to happen?'
'I wanted him to die!' this came out a tear filled scream.
'Are you telling me you killed him?'
'I didn't want to.'
'But you did? Kill him?'
'No, I made him see.'
'But the cuts in his back? You did those?'
'They were nails.'
'And you used those to stab him?'
'No, it shouldn't be real. I made him see. It doesn't happen. It's like a dream, a dream. Not real. Dreams aren't real!' his voice was barely audible.
'Thank you Corby, Natasha stop the interview.'
'Interview terminated 11 29AM,' Natasha's voice was trembling.
********
DI Robert House was in a state of shock; what could he do with this interview. It proved nothing other than this child needs some serious help. Yet he couldn't help feeling there was something more to this boy; that somehow he was telling the truth. This was a crazy thought but to be sure Robert had endeavoured to book the boy in to have a full psychiatric examination.
To his horror he also realised that he had to tell the boys mother about this turn for the worse. As if having your boyfriend killed mysteriously wasn't bad enough, he thought. He made a decision and called her.
After a brief chat DI House told Jane that her boy had been taken into medical care and that he had to see her as quickly as possible. To lighten the blow Robert asked her if she would like to talk about it over dinner, he suggested his house. Jane agreed, she thought it was better to speak about it in person.
********
Robert answered the door and welcomed Jane with a hug; nothing forward just a sort of comforting hug. He had made an effort to look casual but his wardrobe consisted mainly of suits so he wore black pin-stripe trousers and a shirt done up to the last two buttons that exposed a small patch of hair. Jane on the other hand wore a revealing red dress that showed off her cleavage very well; it also matched the curves of her smooth legs perfectly. Robert gulped as he let her in.
'How are you tonight Miss Glover?' said Robert as professionally as he could.
'Well apart from the dead boyfriend and my six year old boy in hospital I'm fine.' Jane did not say this in a nasty way and did not intend it to be but inevitably that is the way it came out, 'I'm sor...'
'And call me Jane,' she interrupted. She gave him a smile as she realised how her last words were interpreted. Patrick smiled back.
'And how are you Detective?' she was still smiling.
'Perfectly well thank you and please call me Robert.' he looked at her and then made a gesture to the wine bottle on the table. After pouring Jane and himself a glass he went to get the dinner ready.
His mind was racing in the kitchen; she was so beautiful but he couldn't help thinking of the terrible news he must burden her with. The signs and the signals she was giving off indicated she was interested. No, he thought. Not yet, maybe not ever after this news but I will not take advantage of a woman in distress, no matter how beautiful, no matter how interested she may be this news must be given to her. He took two plates of tortellini, took a deep breath and went into the dining room.
There was some small talk but Robert was distracted. He was torn between her chest and the news he must bear. In the end he decided to tell her; the meal was nearly over and Jane looked quite happy. She knew something bad was going to happen but Robert had taken her mind away from all the shit in her life.
'Look Jane you know why we're here right?' said Patrick with a sigh; this was one thing he really didn't want to do.
'Yeah, it's about my boy. He's in hospital right?'
'Yes, a psychiatric hospital. There's something terrible that I have to tell you.'
'Of course there is but I wanted to enjoy myself until my life was ruined,' she gave a wry smile. One that Robert couldn't reply, instead he turned his head away and fixed his eyes on his half eaten pasta.
'Corby admitted to killing Patrick, Jane.' Jane didn't move, she just nodded her head.
'How?' she asked.
'We don't know, the wounds and the fact that there was no forced entry suggest that Corby could not have done this. Hell, it suggests that know one short of the devil could have killed him,' he realised immediately what he'd said, 'I'm sorry that was heartless.'
'No, don't be. My son is no devil. There is a murderer out there and my son feels it's his fault.'
'Your son said that nails created the wounds in his back. He gave no surprise when I mentioned these wounds, which is strange considering he has never seen them before. He also said that he made him see and that it should have been a dream. Jane, I think your son really believes he killed Patrick, now I'm not saying I believe him which is why I have entered him into the psychiatric hospital so he can be checked out,' when he finished saying this he cocked his head to look at her, he had no idea what to expect.
'Would you like me to help you wash up?' Robert suspected this was a reaction of denial but played along and shook his head.
'I'll go do it, I expect you have a lot on your mind.'
********
Meanwhile young Corby found himself secured to a hospital bed with brown leather straps. He was secured to the bed because of the state he had arrived in, doctors feared for his safety even though it was theirs they should fear. The leather straps were home to just about the only colour in the whole room. The walls were white. The door was white. The sheets were white. The only other colour was the sterile chrome on the various white tables and the rails on the bed.
Corby tried to struggle. A nurse was called in to administer a sedative; Corby had been here for just a day but had been sedated enough times to know what was happening to him. He concentrated on the needle and his eyes began to burn.
The nurse began to feel dizzy. Her head swirled as she turned to look at the boy. Flames were erupting from his eyes giving him an orange aura. The rest of the room had gone dark; just the flames of the boy and the needle in her hand glowed with vibrant colour. I have to get out of here, she thought. Looking down at her wrist she then glanced towards the syringe. For some reason that luminous needle felt as if it were her way out of this place.
Without another thought she stabbed it into her wrist. She stabbed so violently that it came out the other side of her arm. She just looked in awe as the blood dripped down to the tip of her finger and dropped to the floor in a steady stream. Sliding it out of her arm she began to stab it through her arm in a quick but rhythmic way; entranced by the stream of her own blood trickling down the palm of her hand and off her middle finger.
She stopped. Suddenly and looked from the trickling blood to the gouges of flesh hanging off her arm. The tendon had been ripped and hung limply to one side along with the hand it supported. A lump of her flesh had fallen to the floor leaving her bones visible. All this was too much for the boy and realising what he was doing closed his eyes. Like water to a flame this act of defiance against his so called gift doused the blaze. The nurse fainted in a pool of her own blood and the boy lay near to her, here he cried himself to sleep.
********
Robert and Jane were sitting by the fire, wine in hand. It was gone midnight but Jane hadn't got round to leaving. They were laughing in a sort of semi-drunken tipsy way. It was nothing particularly funny. Every now and then they would make awkward eye contact but never kept it for more than a second or so.
Robert put on some music; it was 'Swing When Your Winning' by Robbie Williams. Robert held out his hand, 'Would you care to dance?' he said in a mock English accent.
Jane giggled and accepted his invitation. They danced close, shuffling in unison. Her arms were around his neck, his on her waist. They stayed like this for about twenty minutes, content in each others company.
Eventually Jane looked into Roberts eyes; there was passion in those deep blue orbs. Robert saw the same in hers, like magnificent emeralds. Looking longingly into each others eyes they moved closer, lips eventually locking. They kissed passionately, hands exploring, bodies touching. Roberts hand found his way to Jane's and they clasped them together squeezing hard.
They eventually released their lips and once again gazed into each others eyes. Both of their hearts were beating quickly and oddly enough in unison. Jane grabbed Robert and dragged into the bedroom; except the house was Robert's and they ended up in the bathroom. They both laughed, hard, and kissed softly. Robert then led Jane to the bedroom and they both jumped onto the bed.
They kissed for a while, exploring each others bodies with their hands. Giggling, they slipped out of their clothes and under the sheets. Robert's bedroom was very modern with shades of cream and brown garnishing the walls and bed sheets. Various vases were placed carefully around the room filled with interesting looking twigs and exotic, mainly Asian plants.
Jane was surveying this contemporary paradise as Robert had her locked in a passionate embrace. Her sub consciousness was taking in her surroundings as her waking consciousness was busy with other things. She turned to face Robert; they were both breathing heavily. This night was her saving grace, Robert may not have realised it but his love kept her going.
********
When Jane woke Robert was sitting by the bed, his back turned and his head in his hands. 'What's wrong?' she asked. The night before was magical to her and she was worried that he thought it a mistake.
'I just got a phone call from the Psychiatric Hospital; they've found a nurse dead in Corby's room.' Robert hated to once again be the bearer of bad news to this beautiful young woman.
'Oh no, that's awful. Why would she do that?' there was genuine concern in her voice.
'Corby said that he did it, he said he didn't want to be sedated and that he hadn't meant to kill her he just got angry,' these words may have seemed harsh but they were the facts; the cold, hard truth that was required from a police officer.
He turned to face Jane, taking in the contours of her body as the silk sheet slid down her chest. He went to her and placed his arms around her shaking body, tears ran from her eyes like gentle beads of morning dew. She looked deep into him and they made love, the birds still chirping and the ground still damp. A thin fog still blanketing many of the paths.
********
Once again Robert sat in his study; lights dimmed and his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He was poring over Corby's file, desperate to find evidence of this boy's seemingly impossible power or of his insanity. He dreaded both but ploughed through the notes nevertheless.
His thoughts wandered to Jane, she had left to see her son. Robert had offered to come but she insisted he would feel awkward and that if he didn't she would. So he felt it best to leave her to it though his mind kept returning to her. He wasn't sure if he had taken advantage of her; wasn't sure whether to feel ashamed or... well... proud. He decided on neither and said to himself, 'I will be there for her mentally as well as physically, in body and soul,' he chuckled in spite of himself. What an awful cliche.
When returning to reality he found a newspaper article about a murder-suicide from the doctor that delivered young Corby. Looking more deeply into it he saw that the case had not come to any conclusion; there was no reason why the doctor would have killed the nurse and certainly no reason for a suicide.
As luck would have it he knew the officer who headed the case and as luck would have it DC Harry Coombs was up for a drink down the local. Robert didn't mention the case; he wanted Harry to answer not DC Coombs. Wanted a personal not police account. They had arranged to meet at six o'clock that night.
********
Robert arrived at The Lake Huron at precisely six. He went in and got himself a pint, the walked over to a table in the corner. If there was one thing he hated it was tardiness, and he had the feeling that Harry would be late.
Sure enough two pints later Harry walked through the door, 'Sorry I'm late, mate. That rhymes and you know it.'
'Indeed I do mate, sit down and have a pint,' Robert was obviously pissed off but nevertheless kept his cool, he was not on business. Relax, he said to himself, lateness is better than a no-show. Harry bowed his head in agreement and trotted over to the bar.
After ordering his pint Harry took up the seat opposite Robert, 'So, mate, what seems to be the problem?' Harry said.
'Should there be a problem?' Harry opened his mouth to answer but noticed the rhetorical nature of the question, 'Just wanted to see an old friend is all,' Robert finished.
'Well good, I'm glad to hear it, I needed a couple of drinks. New job ya see, working me to the bone!' Robert nodded his head in mock agreement and drained his glass. He went to the bar and ordered him and Harry a pint of the finest local bitter.
'Well there is one thing,' said Robert casually as he returned with the frothy headed lagers, 'and before you say, 'I knew it' hear me out. It's true that I wanted to see an old friend. It just so happens that that old friend can help out this old friend and in return owe that friend a nice favour whenever he should need it.'
'I knew it.'
'Yeah thought you might say that.'
'What's the problem then?'
'Well, you see I am heading a case for a homicide of a man who treated his family like dirt; he also happens to have been stabbed by forty seven individual skewers, hot skewers as well.'
'What do you need my help for then?'
'One of the suspects is the man's six year old son.' Harry looked up from his pint and then at Robert. He had certainly gained his interest and who could blame him? This case would make history if a six year old was a murderer. And to be a part in this case would certainly spruce up his resume.
'This is all very interesting but how do I fit in?'
'Six years ago you were in charge of a murder-suicide in the County Hospital. A case which didn't come to any conclusion.'
'Yeah, I remember. It was an interesting day for me...'
'Well, I don't know how much of the case you remember, but the scene of the crime was at the birth of a little boy.'
'Umm, was the kid's mum called Jane?'
'Yeah, why is that all you remember from such an interesting case?' he looked at Harry with his eyebrows raised. A beautiful woman is often more appealing than a grizzly murder.
'Well, coz she was hot!'
'She must be an amazing woman if you can remember her from a case six years ago.'
by Jason Drew
White Rabbit
The cave was as black as night. The miners had been working steadily for hours, chipping at the damp wall. A small man was collecting the coal into a large bag. He was a tiny, mouse like man, scurrying around on his hands and knees, collecting the precious material with his chubby hands.
He gasped suddenly, causing the blackened men around him to drop their heavy pick axes with shock. He gave a cheer, dropped his sack, scattering the shining black coal over the floor.
He stumbled to his feet; the rock he found clasped protectively to his chest in his grubby hands. He ran as fast as he could to the mouth of the cave, tripping on the dampened floor and fighting to remain upright. When he reached the entrance, he was gasping for air, and holding a stitch in his side. He walked towards a man in a crisp suit, who was reading the local newspaper, then raised his hands in front of him. He couldn't speak, so he just held out the object in front of him. The man in the suit looked up. His eyes were open so wide, the little man thought they might pop out of his round head. He rose from the chair he was sitting in, causing the old wood to creak, walked slowly towards the little man, then stopped about a foot in front of him. He beckoned to someone with his left hand. A tall man, with dark brown hair that fell just past his shoulders, wearing a long white lab coat ran over, stared for a few seconds in silence, and then nodded towards the man in the suit. The man in the suit took the rock, sat down in the old wooden chair again, as if he was in shock, then thrusted a handful of notes at the little man. The little man froze for about three seconds, counted the money that had been placed in his chubby hands, then let out a whoop of joy, and ran as fast as he could towards home.
The man in the suit looked towards the man in the lab coat, and then put his hands in his pocket. He wrapped the rock in his handkerchief, placed the whole lot into his chest pocket, and then lay back in his tatty armchair. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, a broad smile plastered across his face.
He wasn't expecting to be found dead later that afternoon.
***
The Peters' family were running around their small, cluttered house, grabbing belongings and shoving them into large, tattered suitcases, which lay at their feet.
'We'll be late for the flight if your father doesn't get here soon!' moaned a tall, skinny woman called Sarah. She was wearing a pair of jeans, and was making holes in them as she crawled around the floor, grabbing items of clothing that had fallen out her suitcase as she ran around the living room.
'Then quit moaning and pack his suitcase for him!'
The person who spoke arrived in the room from the tiny garden, hidden behind a mountainous pile of so many items; her head couldn't be seen over the top of it.
'I said why don't you pack his bag for him, or we really will miss the plane if he takes any longer.'
'I guess it is a good idea. Drop that junk and come and help me.'
She dropped the pile onto a battered chair and went to help, skipping between the clothing littered over the floor. She loathed packing, and having to sort through her dads underwear draw would be hell. If she could get into his room that is, it's usually a mess. Her dad was a scientist, and sometimes brought the work home with him, so he could get home earlier in the evenings. Sometimes he was so involved with his work, he forgot to come home at all.
The two girls were moaning about the state of the room, so they were oblivious to the sound coming from outside. A dark figure walked through the garden gate; a loud clunk came as metal hit metal, and the gate swung shut. It walked down the garden, slipping on the uneven faded brick path. As it reached the door, there was a loud bang. The frosted glass front door burst open, one of the tiny window panes fell into the thick, faded rug as the door hit the wall. The door started to creak and close again because of the force it hit the wall at. The hand came through the frame and caught it. A dark shadow fell in the hallway. The creature in the door was illuminated by the sunlight shining behind it. Its huge foot took one step into the hall, followed by another, leaving dark, indented footprints in the carpet. The creature reached out towards the wall, blindly scratching around, then it found what it was looking for...
The light came on with a click, as the creature found the switch. It walked into the living room, kicked off its shoes, and sat on the settee.
'Neil!'
The creature jumped to his feet.
'It took you long enough to get home. I've been waiting for ages. Pack the rest of your suitcase, we're late.' Snapped Sarah.
'Oh come on, give me a rest, I've been at the lab all night.'
A low rumble came from the hall. Lucy, their daughter, appeared dragging her tightly packed suitcase behind her. She came slowly, as she wasn't strong enough to pick it up by herself. Despite what her mum had said, she needed all her CDs to survive a holiday trapped with her parents.
'Come on, let's go.'
***
There was a problem at the lab.
Chemicals were smashed on the floor, creating a putrid smell; benches were upturned or broken, and test tubes lay cracked and empty, scattered over the floor. The few scientists that were left in the building were hiding in the shadows of the benches, petrified of what they might see.
One man lay in the middle of the room, bleeding and in pain. His best friend was one of the scientists hidden in the shadows. He was sobbing gently, watching his friend dying a slow, painful death. He longed to run up to him, to help him, but he was too scared to leave the safety of the shadows that had been protecting him for the last few hours. He longed to reach into his pocket and phone the police, or an ambulance, even the fire brigade; anyone who could help him, but again, he was too scared to phone, in case It, that horrifying monster came back, and heard him. Although he desperately wanted to help his friend, he didn't want to end up like him, who was out there, dying, alone.
***
The Peters had finally arrived in their destination, Rockall, a small island off the coast of Scotland. It had taken them two days to get there, by car, train and boat. The undersized boat they came out on warned them that there were frequent washovers, when huge waves came over the whole island. These weren't strong enough to knock them out into the water, as long as they stayed in a tent, and didn't go into one of the small caves, as the icy cold sea could trap them.
Neil had come to find out about the life on the island; only a few sea birds he had been told, but he had to take numbers of them for their research. Sarah had come to enjoy the peace and quiet of an uninhabited island; Lucy had come because she had to.
They walked up the side of an extinct volcano, to the area known as Hall's Ledge to pitch the tent to sleep in before it went dark. They had to reach this point to keep away from sea spray, as the island regularly gets washed over, so they had to be high above sea level, in case the water rose during the night.
'Are you seriously suggesting we spend a week camping here?'
Lucy had just managed to get to the top of the steep hill, and was shocked to find the area they had to stay in. It was a small ledge 5 metres by 3 metres, and she wasn't going to be able to be stuck in this space for a week.
'Come on Lucy,' pleaded Sarah. 'If you help us unpack, then I will let you go and explore the island by yourself until sunset.'
Even at fourteen years old, Lucy was still really excited to be free to play by herself on a beach. Lucy was a keen naturalist, and loved to look at sea life most of all. She knew her mum was bribing her, but really wanted to look in the massive rock pools she had walked past when she was climbing up the rocks to get to camp.
Lucy walked away to get the tent, trying not to show her mum that she was being persuaded. Then she turned back. 'Mum?'
Sarah paused, and then went to face her daughter. 'Yes?'
'You're really awful at bribing. But it works.'
***
Neil was hiding in a small hole in the cliff side, in the middle of the night. He hoped no one had seen him leave the tent. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he knew if he had left it behind, anyone could have got it. He hoped there was no more of them. There would be so much trouble if there were. It was the right thing to do, he was sure it was. Maybe no one would notice it was missing. Only three people knew it existed. One had been killed, and one had runaway with a pocket full of cash, never to work for him again, and the other one was himself. He didn't know what it was, but it had been important to that man in a suit, whatever his name was. If it was important enough for the man in the suit to pay nearly ten thousand pounds to the man that found it, why didn't he see anything in it?
Neil let his thoughts continue, as he wrapped it up in the same gold handkerchief his boss hand, and hid it in a little, dry rock pool. He would remember where it was, and check on it every day. But until he knew what it was, it wouldn't be in the same tent as his family.
***
Neil had gone to count the birds he found. So far he had only seen seagulls, which was not on the list of things he had to look for. He had been watching for near four hours, but wasn't going to give up easily. He got himself a book, and waited.
Sarah had to do the washing. She couldn't leave dirty clothes for a week. Her star sign was Virgo, and it was dead suitable. She couldn't leave anything untidy. If she saw something out of place, she had to tidy it.
The washing had been shoved into a strong fishing net. Sarah had an idea. She had been in the army, and had to spend a month in the wild, with one set of clothes and a knife. Because she was the only girl in the group, she had to do the cleaning. The course had taught her a lot about it. She grabbed the bag, and headed to the beach. She knew that some types of seaweed could be used for cleaning, so she got to work. It took her forty-five minutes to clean all their washing; not as well as the first time she tested this technique, but good enough for the clothes to be counted as clean enough to wear. Now she just had to find somewhere for them to dry.
Lucy went out to go rock pooling again. Yesterday she found a starfish, and spent all day trying to find out what type it was in a small handbook she brought with her. Today she was trying to find any type of fish she could.
Back at her home in London, she had a fish tank full of exotic, brightly coloured fish, which she cared for and watched for as long as possible. She named them after personalities. Each fish she watched had his or her own personality. She had a fish she called Joyful, because she always had a smile on her face; one named Moody, because it was nearly black, and always swam around by himself; and one named Jolly, as she was brightly coloured, and never stayed in the same place for more than a second. She tried to explain this to her mum, but she just laughed, and went into a conversation about her childhood, which Lucy could not abide.
Now all she wanted to do was to find a new type of fish she hadn't seen before. Scotland may not have been the best choice of places to come for wildlife, especially since the island was uninhabited with no wildlife or plants, only birds and rock pools. But this island has brilliant secrets. Lucy had found a cave. It was hidden behind a large rock. There's a gap just big enough for her to crawl through, if she found any fish, she could put them in the small pool behind the door.
Then something caught her eye in one of the dried out holes. A piece of cloth, shining next to her. She had seen her dads' boss at the lab with a handkerchief the same colour, but it couldn't be his. She removed it from the rock it was stuck in. The rock moved. Lucy shook her head, it gave her a fright, but rocks don't move, it was just stuck on the cloth she told herself. It twitched again. Lucy was confused. It was a large rock, yes, but it looked the same as the rest of the ones around it. When it moved the third time, she decided it was too bizarre. She turned to tell her mum, she would understand, she would reassure her that she wasn't crazy. A loud crack came from behind her. She spun around. Smoke was coming from the rock. Then an ear splitting sound came, like a scream. She grabbed her ears to block the sound. It was painful; her eardrums were going to burst if it didn't stop. The island went silent, the only sound were the seagulls flying overhead. Lucy stood, rooted to the spot like a tree. She wanted to run, but she was intrigued by the quivering, steaming rock in front of her.
Then she came to her senses, the rock started to make the shrill screaming sound again, so she ran.
Neil heard the sound, and swore under his breath. He knew what that sound was.
Sarah stopped making the washing line. She recognised the screaming, but this wasn't from the creature, this was from her daughter.
***
Lucy ran for her life. She could hear a pounding beat of its feet hitting the rocky floor, but she didn't look back. No, she wouldn't look back.
***
Neil ran the length of the island to find his daughter. Although it was extremely small, there were many nooks and crannies Lucy could hide in. He shouted her name about ten times, looking round and listening for any calls back to him.
Sarah was weeping. She knew there were strong waves that could have easily knocked her daughter into the water and swept her out of her depth. But she wasn't going to give up the search. She climbed onto Hall's Ledge and looked in all directions, looking for her daughters' bright red jumper that could give her any idea where she was. She stood on the ledge for half an hour. She even went into the tent and got Lucy's binoculars out to get a better view of the island and the water around her. Maybe Lucy was lying on the beach looking at the birds like her father was and the waves took her into the sea? Or searching the rock pools for fish and got dragged by the current? No, Lucy was smarter than that. Lucy IS smarter than that.
***
'I am so smart, aren't I?'
Lucy was sitting her small cave. She figured out that the cave was under Hall's Ledge so she could climb down from her campsite and hide here whenever she wanted. She just had to be careful in case there was a wash over and she got trapped.
'I said, I am so smart, aren't I?'
She wondered if her friend could answer.
'Can you talk?' she asked, 'I don't mind if you can't, it would be nice though, if you could. I would come down every day to see you, and then you could come back with me when I go home. You would be a good pet. My friends would be jealous, because you look really cool. What are you anyway?'
The Thing gave her a weird look.
'What are you?'
***
Neil started to panic. No one alive knew if this Thing was dangerous. The only person who stood a chance of knowing was dead. What if It killed him? He continued to search for it, or for his daughter. He couldn't remember what was more important anymore.
***
Lucy continued to watch her new pet with amused fascination.
It reminded her of a puppy, playfully rolling around on the hard rock floor. It looked like a rabbit, without long ears, but had a small nose that twitched a lot, but it stood on two legs and had smaller paws. It acted like a puppy, but looked like a rabbit that walks on two legs thought Lucy to herself, that makes no sense. There is no such creature. It has very sharp claws, as she had learnt from when she hit it by accident earlier. But it also has fur, and was born in an egg.
She forgot her confusion when it walked over to her and lay down on her lap, like a cat, or a small child who had been worn out from play.
Lucy pulled it close to herself, to stop it getting cold.
'What are you?'
***
The creature came to the shore on Scotland, and looked out onto the water. It knew it was out there, and had to get to it. It walked back six paces, then ran forward and dived into the deep blue, freezing cold water and started to swim out towards Rockall.
***
Neil gave up. He sat on the beach of Rockall, and stared into the calm, blue water. His daughter must have been killed by it, like the man in the suit had those few short days ago.
Was it really only three days ago? It felt so much longer than that. Maybe it was because he was sitting on a rock out to sea, with a killer monster and a dead daughter.
He started to cry. Why did this have to happen to him?
Then he heard a shout. Sarah was calling to him from on top of the hill. She was waving frantically, and pointing into the water. A figure was coming in from the water towards the island. It was swimming rather fast, and heading straight for them.
Neil ran towards his wife, climbing up the sharp rocks, grazing his hands and knees as he clambered upwards. He grabbed the binoculars from around Sarah's neck, causing her to cry out as it pulled her head.
He took one look, turned as white as a sheet, and fell into his wife's arms
***
Lucy could hear frantic shouting from above. She was going to find out what it was, but every time she tried to move, the creature asleep in her arms grabbed tighter to her woollen jumper with its claws. She sighed. It may be hours before it woke up, so she took her jumper off carefully, so not he wake it, and laid the baby-like creature in it. Lucy then lay down beside it, and fell asleep. It had been a very long, and tiring day.
***
Sarah was confused. What was this thing swimming like wild fire towards her? Why did her husband faint at the sight of it? And where was her daughter? What ever this thing was, she was going to find out, and solve this mystery forever.
She ran down the hill, trying not to slip as the soft rock on the surface crumbled beneath her feet.
'Hey you! What...?'
Sarah was stunned into silence. A monstrous creature rose from the water. To her it looked like a gigantic oversized rabbit, but looked more vicious, possibly because of its size, and its small black eyes and long claws. Sarah felt her knees collapse beneath her, and knelt down in the sand as this huge creature walked past her calmly. She almost fainted as it swept past her. Her all time favourite film was Harvey and this reminded her of her favourite six-foot tall white rabbit.
As she was thinking about giant six-foot tall white rabbits, Neil was seeing a giant six-foot tall, brown, monstrous, no, murderous creature walking around the foot of the hill. It looked in a trance as it walked around, making no sound, like it knew exactly where it was going.
Neil stood up slowly, swaying slightly on his feet, and made his way down the side of the hill, following this creature as it walked towards the large rock leaning against the side of the hill. He knew it could kill him with one swipe of those razor sharp claws, so he kept his distance.
Sarah wandered over and joined the two tall figures by the side of the hill. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Neil turned to face her, with his fingers on his lips. Sarah made a note in her head to ask Neil if he knew all along what was going on.
The huge creature raised one of his giant, clawed hands to move the rock, blocking a hole in the side of the hill. Sarah was amazed to see that the creature was remarkably human like. It had fingers, toes, a good intelligence, and could walk on two feet. She thought it weird to be comparing something so different to herself. But it did have a remarkable likeness.
A low grinding noise came, and the creature moved the huge rock back. It stooped down and entered the cave through a small hole. A gentle snoring could be heard. Neil and Sarah stepped forwards, to see Lucy and a small rabbit-dog like creature curled up together, asleep.
***
The Peters packed up the following day. They took down the tent, which involved great difficulty from Neil to remember how to do so, and Sarah took down her washing line. Lucy was nowhere to be seen.
She had gone down to her cave in the early hours of the morning to see her creatures. Neil had told her the evening before that they were called Griblods, but Lucy still referred to them as her creatures, because she thought that Griblods was a rather childish name. Like something in a Roald Dahl book.
It took her a long time to say goodbye, even though she had only known them for a day, she had managed to become good friends. The tiny one she had found the day before had taken to her like a mother, and curled up again in her lap whenever she came near. It took her an awfully long time to say goodbye to him. She had to persuade him to go to the older one, who she thought must be his mother. He made whimpering noises when Lucy had to leave for the last time. Lucy wanted to cry, as she had grown so close to it in only a few hours. It felt as if she had known him all her life. Her friends would now never meet him, and she would never see him again.
Neil phoned up for a boat to pick them up, and then they said their final farewells. Lucy hugged both of the Griblods. She found it like hugging a giant furry cushion. Sarah also hugged them, but Neil just taught them to shake hands.
When the boat came they hid behind the hill. Lucy was the last one to board it. She was crying silently. When the boat sped off back to shore. She took out her binoculars again and looked back. She saw them waving and so waved back. She knew they would be safe there. Undisturbed by human life ever again. Or so she hoped.