Short Story #12...........Charlies Diary (Part 6)

“What’s going on.” I asked nervously……”The body! The body its gone.” Gorman swooned back a little at this information.

“Gone.” he mumbled. “Oh my God…. What in Gods name are we dealing with!

“Why what is happening?” I felt frightening emotions filling up my whole being, I didn’t want to cry in front of Mr Gorman but I was finding it very hard to fight it back… “What’s happening.” My speech was fluctuating incessantly as the tears were building up I struggled to keep all signs of tears well within their ducts. I strongly reiterated my previous statement. “What’s happening.

“They don’t die.” He blurted.

“What you talking bout?”

“Just that boy! ...They... don't... die! .....And what’s more they remember what we did and I do believe that they are seeking Retribution.”

Bright light blazoned like a search light over me and I was quickly brought from my sleep by Ma picking one diary off the floor and the open book that was still laying straddled across my chest.

“Come on now Charles, Wake up sleepy head … I hope you wasn’t up all night reading this.” She bandied the diary around in front of my still sleep sodden eyes.

“No Ma.” I lied.

“Well come on lazybones there’s lots to do.”

After I had dressed I followed Ma down to breakfast, My little brother and Dad were already tucking in to it.

“Come on Charles,” she announced loudly to the room. “I haven’t cooked this food for nothing.” I nimbly careered around the remnants of boxes and disassociated items of furniture. "according to Dad that is stuff that had not yet been allocated a place in my Ma’s grand scheme of things." Finding a box marked books was my makeshift chair I sat down to breakfast.

“Tuck in son,” said Dad.

After breakfast we all got stuck in. Helping Ma situate the remaining furniture was Dad. Willy and I unpacked various items from the remaining boxes and under Ma’s strict direction would place them in the appropriate place. We worked well and was just putting the last few ornaments away at around noon.

“Ok,” said Dad, “I think you boys have worked long enough, me and your Mother can finish off.”

We needed no second bidding and within seconds we were gone.

“Do you wanna come and play footee in the Garden.” asked Willy.

“No I’m going to sort out my new room.” I answered.

“Suit ya self.” Willy picked up the ball and disappeared outside.

All morning as I had knelt over boxes removing sheet after sheet of news paper from a menagerie of Ma’s collectables my mind had been on other things. I kept picturing Gorman with that look of nausea as he once more spilt out those words.”

“They don’t die.”

I went up to my room picked my diary up, once more flicking through various monthly scriptures. There it was..... Wednesday, 21^st November, 2007.

The words floated through me, memories catapulted into images that wound together creating a flickering movie of memories. I could see Gorman standing before me, all red eyed and fearful. Puffing on that old clay pipe that resonated a milky cloud of smoke around his face. Finger pointing erratically up and down, his mouth utteringthe words.

“They are seeking Retribution.”

Before my reply had even left my mouth Gorman had me by the arm, pulling me along the hall-way and into a back room. “Look.” he said. The light of day blasted downward onto the floor through the large wooden slatted louvers. The old victorian panel shutters that were pulled across to secure the windows each night had remained unscathed. However the windows hadn't. There was an old dustbin sitting in the centre of the room full of shards of glass.

“Come,” he ordered. Outside was a mess of ripped up vegetation and rockery that were used in an effort to break through the heavy window coverings.

“What happened,” I screeched. “ The Rat-boy did this.”

Gorman laughed manically.

“Rat-boy! Rat-boy!” he repeated. “It felt like the whole damn pack was trying to get in. If they could of broken through these old wooden window panels as easy as the windows I’d be a goner by now!”