Rare Sight

Chapter Sixteen

“I can’t believe I have to go to school,” said Joe the next morning.

His mum put some mugs away in the sideboard. “For the last time, Joe, you are going to school. It is a school day and you have already missed far too much this term. Now eat up, or we’ll both be late.”

Joe shoved the best part of a slice of peanut-butter-caked toast in his mouth and grimaced at his mum, who pulled a face back.

“I’ll never get used to the quantities you can fit in that mouth of yours,” she said, as Joe stood up and dusted the crumbs off his trousers and jumper.

“Right,” he said, through his mouthful of toast, “let’s hit the road.”

In the car, he squinted sideways at his mother as she drove.

“So, are you going to tell me what Gideon said last night?”

His mother’s face gave nothing away. “Gideon didn’t say anything.”

Joe sighed. “OK – what did he write, then?”

“Joe, we sent you to bed for a reason. It may be hard for you to believe, but there are some things you’re still too young to hear.”

Joe felt the amber stone the Reverend had given him, small and hard in his coat pocket. He turned it between the fingers of his left hand. “Gideon killed someone else, didn’t he?” said Joe. “Apart from his dad? He and Georgia did.”

His mum jerked slightly. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“I heard Georgia say it – yesterday in the kitchen. She said something like, ‘Was it only three people we killed?’”

His mum stared at him. “Yesterday? Georgia said that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mum, can you watch the road?” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but… I forgot. I know it sounds mad, but there’s just been so much going on and… Mum?” His mum had slumped forwards, unconscious, over the wheel. “Mum? Mum, wake up! Mum!” The car started to swerve to the right, and Joe leaned over to try to turn the wheel, but his mother’s body was blocking the way. He managed to grab a small section on the left side of the wheel and tried to yank it towards him, but his hands were slippery with sweat and kept sliding off the smooth surface. There was a lorry coming towards them – why was it always a lorry? – and he covered his head with his hands and waited for the collision.

And then, without anything seeming to change, his mum was sitting normally at the wheel again, steering the car as if nothing had happened, and there was no lorry anywhere on the road. As Joe’s breathing and heart slowed down, he became aware that the palm of his left hand was burning. He straightened his clenched fingers and saw that he was still holding the amber stone and that it was glowing, as if a small light was shining inside it. He heard a tiny whisper, more like a breath:

“See us…”

“What…” said Joe, rubbing his eyes and looking all round for the speaker.

“What is it, lovie?” asked his mum.

Joe ran a hand through his hair. “You were dead just now at the wheel. And there was… I thought I heard something.”

They were near the school, so she pulled up at the kerb and turned to him. “What did you hear, Joe?” she asked.

But before he could answer, the voice came again, much louder now, so that it shook the car,

“You hear us now, Joseph Simmonds, do you not? Do you start to see us, too?”