Mist over Boniface

Mist Over Boniface Chapter One
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Autumn 2008

“Get a move on Tom! The taxi’s are due in five minutes!” Jenny yelled, banging on the door
A tuneless rendition of “Dancing Queen” floated from the bathroom.

“Abba will sue you if they hear that racket.”

The door opened a couple of inches and a steam flushed face peered through the gap.

“Sorry love was it that bad?”

“Yes and worse.” She laughed.

“Won’t be long, promise. Are they all here?”

“They’ve been here ages Tom. I thought it was only women who took their time to get ready.In any case if you stand there much longer in your birthday suit I won’t be responsible for my actions and we’ll be even later” giggling as she returned downstairs.

When she reached the bottom step Jenny sat down drawing her knees up to her chin. She caught the low hum of conversation drifting from the lounge.

“I was wondering where you’d got to young lady”

Jenny jumped.
“Sorry did I startle you. May I?” Christian asked.

“Of course.” she replied making a space for him.

“It’s been a long journey, Jenny. All I can say is that Tom is lucky to have the support of a wonderful woman.”

She smiled,her face reddening.

'After all he’s been through, he deserves this. Though without you none of this would be happening.” Jenny paused.and looked into Christians hazel eyes before resting her head on his shoulder.
.

‘Has the journey been worth it? How do I tell Tom I’m in love with Christian after all he’s been through?’

1955
Tom studied his feet trying to remember how they came to be covered in concrete, green with slime. He managed to lift one-foot .It crashed to the floor, making no sound.
He tried the other. It crashed to the floor, it too was soundless.
A stairway swayed gently, spouting from moss-covered walls. Faces laughing demonically, others with insects crawling from holes where their eyes had once been , emerged one by one.
An icy gale whipped around his legs. Something pushed him forward. The walls were slithering in his direction. There was only one way of escape…up the swaying staircase. Something was behind him…he could see its freezing breath hang in the air above his head.
Tom daren’t look round. He heart beat wildly; stinging sweat ran into his eyes.
He reached the summit.
A door burst open.
Black objects with twisted faces and writhing snakes where their hair should have been, hurled themselves toward him.
He ran down the stairs, through the walls, stumbling into a room festooned in crimson drapes and huge cobwebs.
Tom lay panting on the wooden floor.
A door appeared in the wall. It was bending inward. A brilliant light pierced the darkness.
He flew through the air before landing on a manicured lawn.
Tom looked back toward the house. Faceless monsters were pummelling the French windows…
…
He woke bathed in sweat, the hammering still audible but easing gradually into silence.
Tom wanted to run to his mother’s bedroom but he knew what she would say.
“Don’t be a baby. It’s only a dream.”
She said it every time.

“Ma, can we go home now?” Tom asked for the third time.
“No dear. Not until you’ve seen the doctor.”
“But Ma, there’s nothing wrong with me, I don’t want to see a doctor.”
“This is a special doctor, now be a good boy and do as you’re told.”
Tom looked up and down the narrow, dim corridor.
“Mum why do I have to see a doctor when…”
“Sssh Tom. Someone might hear you.”
“I WANT TO GO HOME!”
A distant scream invaded his thoughts. He gripped his mother’s hand.
“What was that?”
“What was what, dear? I didn’t hear anything.”
A door squeaked open and a large woman appeared. A trilby was perched precariously on her head; a blood red scarf wrapped around her neck and a long black dress swished along the floor as she approached. A mane of crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was accompanied by an overpowering aroma of mothballs.
“Ma, I don’t want to see her, she looks like a witch!”
“Don’t be silly dear. No wonder you have nightmares…”
“They’re not just nightmares, Ma.”
“Mrs. Walsh and you must be Thomas. I’m Doctor Prazinski,”she offered a bony hand. The icy coldness of her touch sent goose bumps marching down his back.
She led the way into an office littered with stacks of dusty books, some on the floor; other’s perched on bulging shelves.
“Do sit Thomas and you there, Mrs. Wa…”
“Oh do call me Dorothy.”
“…Dorothy. Now what appears to be the problem?”
“This is the problem.” Dorothy replied tousling Tom’s blonde curls.
“His hair?”
“His head, Doctor. Whatever’s inside that head of his.”
“Well Thomas what have you got to say for yourself?”
“I…”
“His father says it’s just an excuse to get out of going to school.”
“What is?”
“The nightmares. The things he says he sees. They’re not real of course.”
“Well?” the doctor gazed at Tom
“THEY ARE REAL. WHY DOESN’T ANY ONE BELIEVE ME?”
Tom leapt out off his seat and dashed for the door, sending a pile of books crashing.
“THOMAS. Come back here at once! I’ll go after him.”
“Oh it’s all right Mrs. Walsh leave him be. I don’t think there’s much we can do for him. Keep an eye on him and see your GP if you are worried about him.”
“But…”Dorothy spluttered. The psychiatrist ushered her into the corridor.
“Good day, Madam.” The door closed with a sharp click.

Tom sat in the porch sheltering from the squally rain waiting for Dorothy to return. He watched her walking down the cobbled street with shoulders hunched and arms folded..
She grabbed him by the arm, pushed him through the front door into the unlit hallway. He broke free from her grasp and ran upstairs into his bedroom locking, the door behind him.
“Thomas. Thomas let me in at once. Wait ‘til your father comes home. He’ll give you what for!”
Tom sat on the window seat watching misshapen clouds scud across the face of a full moon. When they disappeared a million stars twinkled in a velvet sky.

Tom knew his friend wasn’t far away. He could feel the familiar tingling in his arms, ice sliding down his backbone and a myriad of tiny lights sprinkling the wall.
There was no sound, just a gentle puff of freezing air.
“Hello Tom.”
“How did you know I wanted to see you?”
“Can you see me?”
“Of course I can, but I only hear you inside my head.”
“Don’t I frighten you?”
“I was frightened when I first saw you but not any more…anyway you’re the only one who listens to me.”
“I was asked to look after you.”
“By who?”
There was no answer
“I was made to go and see a doctor because I see things.. My dad says I use it as an excuse to get off school”
“Well is it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d know seeing as you’re following me around!”
“I can’t be everywhere, Tom.!”
The boy with the golden hair and deep sad eyes faded into he shadows.
“Please don’t go! I’m sorry…”

Mist over Boniface.
Chapter Two 1959
Denver Street is unremarkable in appearance.
Semi detached uniformity with chintzy curtains and twitchy nets.
Fords and Austin’s on concrete drives.
Postage stamp lawns and trim flowerbeds.
Every morning, before leaving home, Frank Walsh pecked Dorothy on the cheek, checked for morsels in his goatee beard, patted Tom on the head, jangled his keys and stood at the front gate.
Outside Wheatsheaf public house Eddie Simons observed Frank. He was supposed to be supervising the draymen who were hurling casks of ale into the cellar. But watching his neighbour was more entertaining
“Nine o’clock sharp , eh love. You can set your watch by that beggar .”Eddie remarked.
Evelyn nodded in agreement.” Who does he think he is standing there in his bloody uniform as if he owns the place? Did you hear what he said to Mrs. Pearson from number eighteen?”
She threw her cigarette into the gutter.
“No but I’ve a funny feeling you’re going to tell me.” Eddie muttered
“He marched up to her in the middle of the street and demanded she stopped undressing at night with the light on. He reckoned her naked shadow could be clearly seen silhouetted on the curtains, He said he watched her for three minutes the other night!”
“The dirty old fox. I bet he’s one of those blokes who hide in the bushes at Grove Park spying on courting couples.”
“Wonder if he wears his uniform while he’s watching.” Eddie smaned.
“Shouldn’t think the Prison Service would be too happy if they knew what else he gets up to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come and have some breakfast and I’ll tell you what Jill Thomas from forty three told me the other day. Cost me a fortune in Guinness, it did.”

Frank watched the draymen finish and the lorry disappear in a cloud of grey exhaust. He checked for creases in his black trousers. Inspected his shoes to make sure Tom had polished them to precise instructions and marched down the street whistling Rule Britannia.
He cast a furtive glance at the open curtains of number eighteen.
Frank turned onto Hexton High Street, with its vagrants, quarrelling lovers, yapping dogs and general cacophony. The giant oak door HMP Warden, a former sixteenth century castle, creaked open as he entered.
“Staff meeting in ten minutes, everyone in their cells in five.” he barked.. Doors slammed in staccato, keys scraped in discordant symphony as protests fell on deaf ears.
The wing office door remained open
“Game of cards, Frank?”
“Mr. Walsh if you please. I’m the boss while the senior officer is down with the clap and in his absence we’ll have some respect.”
“Sorry. Cards out Mr. Walsh?”
“Of course”

“How’s that boy of yours Mr. Walsh?” Officer Chandler asked, his features obliterated in a haze of blue cigar smoke, "growing up apace, I should think. Strange though isn’t it? “
Frank let the cards fall on to the table.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it must be lonely being an only child and I just thought…”
“Mind your own fuckin’ business!” he yelled storming out of the office and slamming the wing gate with an earth shattering clang.
“What the hells wrong with him?” Chandler asked
“You’re a wind up merchant Jon. You know he goes peculiar if you ask questions about his private life.” Officer Jenkins laughed.
“I hear him and his missus have separate rooms. Always have had since the day they were wed.”
“Well how the fuck did they manage to have there Tom, that’s his name isn’t it?” Jenkins asked pouring milk into a chipped mug.
“Immaculate conception mate, I reckon.” Chandler replied aiming a written visit request form into the bin.” Anyway he’ll be away this afternoon so we’ll have a bit of peace. Keep the cons locked up. We’ll have a game of pool ‘til home time. What a life eh?”
“What do you reckon he does with himself?” Jenkins asked.
An alarm button gleamed a fiery red glow on the console. “Your turn or mine”
“Nah can’t be bothered, leave it. You were saying…oh yeah. They reckon he’s got a bit on the side who he visits every Wednesday.”
“Today’s Tuesday, Jon.”
“Oh …perhaps he’s giving her one twice a week now.”
“What makes you think it’s a she?” Jenkins replied with a smirk.
“What!”
“My lips are sealed, mate, I’m not saying a dickie bird.”
There laughter echoed along the empty corridors as the red light flickered into life again,

Tom and the House on Madison Crescent
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“Right Walsh, you know what to do.” Horace Atkin instructed Tom as he locked the classroom door. “You know what’ll happen if you tell anyone, don’t you?”
“Yes sir. But please don’t hurt me. Last time…”
“Last time what, boy”
“Nothing Sir”
“Right let’s get on with it with then.”

Tom trudged into the sunlit playground wiping tears with the cuff of his purple school blazer.
A ripple of laughter floated from a group who were lounging against a wall..
“Eh! cry baby. Did Atkin give you a hard time?”

“Leave me alone.” He cried.

.
Horace Atkins’ voice reverberated through the wall and around Tom’s head.
“”No one will believe you, Walsh. God will punish you if you tell anyone, and you don’t want that do you?””
The sun moved behind a black cloud and the warm summer air became nerve tingling cold.
A window rattled.
Tom jolted as thick black slime oozed down the school wall and the terrifying apparitions of his nightmare leered from the brickwork.

‘Run. Don’t turn around.’ Billy whispered.
Tom ran.

Tom rummaged around the dusty rooms in the old house. Tinkling laughter and urgent whispers echoed in theempty corridors.
Oak Lodge was one of ten mansions in Madison Crescent.
In pre war days they had homes of well to do families who flocked to Hexton to escape the choking smog’s of London but post war austerity became the mainspring of their decline.
It provided Tom with a refuge where he returned after every encounter with Horace Atkin.
He polished a space in a grimy windowpane with the sleeve of his school blazer. A cobbled stone wall swept in an arc along the boundary of the jungle which had once been a communal garden.
A lone figure floating through the undergrowth toward neighbouring Elm Cottage.
The apparition grew closer.

Frank brushed a strand of coal black hair to one side and adjusted his tie. He watched the old house, with its boarded windows and ivy-strewn walls, for signs of life. On the peripheral of his vision he detected a movement in a window of Oak Lodge.
‘Shit, bloody imagination playing tricks. Take it easy Frank old son’
He threaded through the bracken and brambles toward Elm Cottage A grey squirrel froze and stared at him before streaking for the safety of a rhododendron bush.
.He paused to recover his composure shivering as a chill wind infiltrated the sun-dappled trees.
Frank approached the rear of the house through a canopy of luxuriant foliage. A huge oak door creaked open and a crimson light radiated from the interior..
“Your first client has arrived, Sir.” The concierge said as Frank acknowledged him.
He moved through the antechamber to a changing room where he stepped out of his uniform, replacing it with black livery and a leather mask. Selecting a whip he entered a small dungeon.
A naked man smiled at Frank bracing for the first strike. His scream bounced from wall to wall and beyond the confines of the house.

Tom heard it.
When he saw his father disappear into Elm Cottage, Tom left the safety of the Lodge and hid in the bushes separating the two houses.
The sun cast misshapen shadows as it played hide and seek with scudding clouds. He crouched further into the hiding place as another cry splintered the air.
He’d heard the rumours about Madison Crescent, headless horsemen galloping soundlessly under a full moon, shadow’s dancing to an unearthly symphony but his visits to the Lodge had always been uneventful.
He pushed the shrubbery apart in order to get a better view when he heard footsteps crunch toward him A voice that gripped him with a claustrophobic terror boomed
“Thank you Frank. An expert in the craft, if I may say so.”
“Good night Atkin, you took your punishment well. Same time next week?”
Tom watched the men embrace and kiss.

Bile escaped from the pit of his stomach. Their footsteps receded.
For the second time that day, he ran.
He didn’t stop until he reached the safety of Denver Street.