The Ghost Box

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The face in the tree

Sarah was carrying a tray of wine-glasses in one hand and a coke in the other hand when she saw the painting.

It was on the wall of the gallery. Between the chatting groups of people, the surprise of seeing the painting stopped her dead. She stared at the green fields, the hillside - they were the same as she could seee from her house.

" Hey, waitress. Is that for me?" Matt took the coke out of her hand and slurped it.

Sarah glared at him. "No. It wasn't."

"tough. you'll have to get another one." He grinned,his black Goth hair falling into his blacked-lined Goth eyes. She thought he looked stupid.

" Move, Matt. I'm working."

"got to make sure mummy's little party goes well have you ?" he said he didn't move, so she pushed past him and started handing round the drinks to the guests.

Sasha's mum was a sculptor, and the party was for her new exhibition. Her friends were mostly other artists and painters AND gallery owners. They all wore bright clothes and talked loudly. Sarah saw her mum now, having a photograph taken in front of the big bronze sculpture called Man in the rain. Mum looked flushed and excited. she winked at Sarah.

Then the photographer said," Look this way, Please".

Sarah dumped the tray behind the sofa as soon as it was empty. She was fed up with helping.From now on she'd swan around being the sculptor's daughter. Keeping away from Matt.

And his dad, Gareth.

Gareth was getting into all photographs too. He and mum had their arms around each other, and mum was grinning like a kid.

From behind a bronze figure, Sarah watched them.She likes Gareth.He was a bit up- tight, a bit like a teacher in his old brown suit, but now he and mum were married she'd soon sort him out. Gareth was OK, but Matt was his son, and having Matt in the house was pain. He was untidy and rude. He always left the his music blaring really loud and left his stupid black clothes lying around everywhere.

Annoyed just by thinking of him, she went back to look at the painting.

No one was near it . It was old, and it hung in the dim part of the gallery where the rain trickled down the windows outside. Sarah stood in front of it , seeing the fine brush-strokes, the dust on the gold frame.

It was a painting of the barn before it had been turned into a house.

Her house.

Now there was a modern part built on and huge glass windows, but int he painting the barn was old, the thatch falling off its roof. The big door stood open, and a dog was running under the wheels of a hay cart  where mum parked her car. It was strange to see their house like this, as it must have looked a hundred years ago. The round window in the stone wall was the same, but everything else had changed.

And there was a tree.

 Sarah stepped nearer, to take a closer look. There was a huge oak tree in the painting. It stood near the end of the barn, right where her bedroom was now.

She had no idea a tree had once grown there. There was none now. It looked very old, its trunk  enormous, its branches reaching out like green powdery fingers.

She came so close to the glass that her breath misted it. She wiped the damp away and saw the tree in the painting was full of birds- small, strange birds she'd never seen before. Their bright eyes peeped from the leaves. They were blue and gold birds with long tails and flashes of scarlet on their wings.

And then she saw a face.

It was among the leaves. Or perhaps made out of leaves. A narrow, dirty face, its eyes glints of sun-light, its smile a slant of shadow. As if someone was hiding in the green canopy, someone holding something bright in a thin hand.

She looked at him, sure he was there.

"who are you?" she said under her breath.

For a moment she almost thought he would answer. But he didn't.

He winked at her.

Sarah jumped back. Her heart thumped.

A shadow fell across the painting, and Gareth came up behind her. " so here you are!"

He put his glasses on and stared at the old barn, with interest. "Oh, look! Our house. Quite good, isn't it?"

Sarah couldn't answer. She stared at the tree but there was nothing in its leaves now, no birds, no face, no sly eye that closed.

Only the reflection of the room behind her, with its tinkle of glasses, its glitter and chat.