Cloudy Head

Cloudy Head

"What's wrong with you Jack?" Father's voice, loud, irritated.
Jack stood by the French window, eyes wide in wonder, mouth parted in
awe, staring out at the wild and overgrown greenery of their new
garden. Their last house had been a semi-detached two bedroom with a
converted bathroom above the garage, and a perfectly square lawn beyond
a drab patio spattered with pigeon poo.
The new garden was not the object of his fascination. Something out
there had caught his eye.
Jack was nine.
His father stepped up close behind him, a short, broad shouldered man
with dark hair and forever serious face. "Jack!" Angry. He slapped Jack
hard across the back of his head, wedding ring cracking off
skull.
Jack flinched away, crying out in pain and surprise, tears instantly
brimming. He turned, clutching his head and faced his father's
impatient scowl. "I was speaking to you. You've been gawping at that
garden for half an hour; what's wrong with you lad?"
"I," Jack stammered, scared of his father's reaction, but this was too
important not to tell him; "I saw a man in the garden!" Still rubbing
his head.
"What?" Shocked; his father stepped past Jack and jerked a glass door
open on stiff runners. "Where?"
"By the well." Jack told him.
His father peered out into the swelling afternoon gloom, scanning the
vast area of woodland beyond the well. The well was nothing more than a
ring of broken dry-stone and a tightly boarded up lid. "By the well,
eh?" Doubting. "What did this fellow look like?"
"He had a cloudy head." Jack's voice dropping to a low murmur.
"Stop mumbling Jack! There's no reason for it! Speak properly! Now,
what did you say?"
"He had a cloudy head." He said quickly.
His father closed the door slowly, stiffly tugging at it every time it
caught on the runners. He turned and looked at Jack with a very serious
face; it was the same face he used when Jack played spaceships inside
his father's car. Jack would turn around on the back seat and shoot at
the car behind them with his twin barrelled, two handed Millennium
Falcon laser canon. His mother always let him play spaceships when she
drove; but his father would just shout at him not to be so stupid, and
would look at him with the same face he had now.
Jack wondered if his father was going to hit him again.
His mother's voice called to him from the kitchen; "Jack, can you give
me a hand?"
Jack didn't wait to respond, he turned and ran from the room.

That night was the first night they had slept in the new house. They
had been to the house three times before, but always in the day, when
the workmen were still building things.
Now Jack lay in his new bedroom, in a new bed, with his favourite
blanket: the bright red one with a shiny edge.
They had gone to Portugal and left the old house behind, him and his
mother and father. When they got back, they went straight to the new
house. All the workmen were gone and all their things had been moved
there.
Jack was dissappointed by how small his bedroom now seemed. When he
had first chosen it he had been excited because it appeared large
enough to make a stage for all his action figures. He was going to
fasten his model spaceships from the ceiling on fishing wire and have
them hang above scenes of epic battle.
But now all the space had been taken up by the bed, and the wardrobe
his parents had had built, and by the desk for his computer and the
chair.
He still liked his new room. It was very quiet. He liked that. The
window was open just a little bit and he could hear the trees moving
against each other outside. He could not hear his parents, or the
television; they were at the other end of the house. The moonlight was
very bright, sloping into the room from high up in the sky. He looked
at the light and wondered if it was solid, or made up of moving things.
He daydreamed that the moonbeam was solid and he could use it like a
ramp. He could climb up to the moon.
A sound caught his ears. A musical note.
Jack sat up in his bed, all of his senses suddenly straining; his eyes
fixed on the open window.
It was a musical note, and there it was again. A violin? It sounded
like a violin - a short, eerie sound, not happy but not sad, like the
music the gypsies had played in the village in Portugal. The village
had been small, there had been no tourists, and there had been a naked
girl, dancing from house to house, dancing to the violin music; she had
been covered in dried mud, and the people who's houses she went to
sprinkled water on her and gave her small presents.
Jack listened, not even breathing, waiting to hear the sound.
It came again, close to the house.
Maybe the gypsies had come to his country? Maybe they were playing
nearby?
He wondered if the girl was there? He had thought about her a
lot.
Jack climbed out of bed and went over to the window, then he gasped in
delight.
The man with the Cloudy Head was outside, down by the well. He was
sitting on the wooden boards with a violin to his white, fluffy chin,
making sharp random strokes with the bow. Long periods of silence
between each note. Jack squealed with excitement.
Cloudy Head looked up at him, wisps of white cotton wool drifting past
a bright red lipped smile. Jack froze for a second, not sure how to
respond. Cloudy Head dropped his eyes to the ground then bent forward
in a low bow. The perfect performer. He sat upright, jumped down from
his seat on the well and took a few steps into the woods, his black
dinner jacket blending his body into the shadows. Then he stopped,
glanced back at Jack's window, brought the violin up to his chin and
began to play the same eerie tune.
Jack knew he had to go out after him.
He scampered away from the window and pulled on his trainers; he
grabbed his dressing gown, pulled it around him and ran
downstairs.
In the lounge the television was on a 24 hour news channel; it was the
sort of thing his father forever watched. News about business. News
about money. Jack was sad that he did not understand it very well, and
it seemed his father never had the time to explain.
Because the house was so new, creeping around was still like an
adventure. Moving stealthily past the door to the lounge, he saw the
enemy camp was deserted, and knew he would have to be extra vigilant
not to be found by prowler patrols. He did think it was strange his
parents were not sitting in front of the television, but the excitement
of getting outside overwhelmed everything else. It was a sight he had
been used to seeing since he could remember; every night, father
watching the businessmen talking about their news, and mother reading
magazines or asleep with the glass sometimes in her hand. Jack had
tried her drink one time but it had burned his mouth.
He got into the kitchen and opened the back door without a sound. The
violin music swept across the garden, no longer eerie, now a beautiful
happy melody. The white, drifting face of Cloudy Head was angled up at
the night sky, eyes tightly shut, feeling the passion with the notes
his played.
The moment Jack's gaze fell upon him, Cloudy Head turned and strolled
away into the trees.
Jack giggled, amazed that no one else had come to investigate; but
then their nearest neighbours were almost an hour's walk away. He
dashed across the garden and came to a stop when he got to the
well.
Something moved in silence along the edge of the woods. He watched,
frightened at the tall, stick like figure that walked in jerky,
long-strides between the trees. Its head was fat and round, and slowly
turned to toward him as it lurched forward; and its face was.....
Jack screamed.
He screamed until he could feel a wind blowing out from him; and he
couldn't suck it back in. He could feel his lungs collapsing and his
vision wobbled as he staggered back towards the well.

"Come on, son, you're all right." A strange man's voice through the
darkness. Jack felt the cold bite into his arms and legs. The man was
rubbing his chest.
He could hear his mother, gasping in relief and fright; she was coming
toward him, or so it sounded. He knew where he was now. He was beside
the well. His head hurt. He must have fallen down.
Jack opened his eyes and saw a policeman crouching over him. The
policeman smiled, stopped rubbing his chest and patted the side of his
head with his hand; "Hello, sunshine, welcome back to the land of the
living. You've had everybody scared." His voice was friendly.
Jack peered past him and saw his mother hurrying across the garden
from the house; "How did he get there?" She was asking nobody in
particular.
Two other policeman stepped outside from the back of the house. Jack
saw his father talking with them; he did not look very happy.
Jack's mother swept into his vision; she picked him up and squeezed
him close. He could smell her drink on her breath and her words had
that lazy sound, "Thank goodness you're alright Jack. I was so worried
for you. We heard you screaming and couldn't believe the sound came
from outside."
"I'm sorry mum." He croaked, his throat so dry it hurt. His eyes
darted beyond her shoulder to the trees at the edge of the woods. Where
was the thing he had seen?

His father did not speak to him much that day. Jack co-operated by
spending most of the day upstairs in his room, even though he did not
feel ill. His mother brought him orange juice and sandwiches; she sat
on the bed beside him and stroked his hair, she apologised about his
father's behaviour and told him his father was having problems with
work. Their new house was very expensive. Jack asked if his father was
scared. His mother seemed surprised by the question, as if she had not
thought of it herself. She told Jack that she and his father were not
very good friends at the moment. She did not know if he was
scared.
His mother asked him why he had gone outside.
Jack decided not to tell her about Cloudy Head. He told her he had
heard strange sounds and wanted to investigate. He asked where she and
his father were when he came downstairs. His mother was puzzled and
claimed that they did not leave the lounge until they heard his
cries.
She told him what the policeman had said. That the well was dangerous.
The last people to live in the house had a child who had fallen in and
died.
Jack asked if the child had drowned. His mother had hesitated with her
answer; she said no, the child had just died. That was why the well had
been boarded up.
The sun set toward the front of the house so the garden and his
bedroom were quickly filled with shadows as the afternoon flew
by.
There was still daylight when Jack heard the growling sound, coming
from beyond his window.
Cautiously, he crawled across the floor of his room then pushed his
head slowly above the windowsill to peer outside.
Cloudy Head was there, by the edge of the trees, swinging his violin
at something crouching down in the darkness. That was where the
growling was coming from. Cloudy Head bent down and picked up a large
tree limb; he held it by one hand and swung it into the darkness
between the trees. The growling changed to a howl, which suddenly
became far away.
Jack watched Cloudy Head wipe his hands together and step up to the
well. Cloudy Head stopped and looked directly up at Jack's window, a
wide smile spreading across his white fluffy face. Jack grinned,
excited, and waved his hand.
Cloudy Head waved back, then stepped away from the well toward the
edge of forest and began to play the same eerie sounds.
Jack knew he had to go downstairs.
Creeping into the kitchen he found there was food cooking, pans
bubbling on the stove; the house was utterly silent. Jack eased open
the backdoor and stepped outside. Cloudy Head was there, watching him
from above the prow of his violin, a happy glimmer in his eyes.
Jack glanced behind into the empty kitchen. He knew his parents would
be angry if they found out, but his was too amazing to just
ignore.
Jack ran across the garden to where Cloudy Head stood.
Cloudy Head was tall, very tall and very thin. He stopped playing and
reached out a bony white hand. Jack took it and was happy to find the
hand was dry and warm.
"Hello Jack." Cloudy Head said in a rich, friendly tone.
Jack squinted up at him, wrinkling his nose, "How do you know my
name?"
Cloudy Head grinned, "I heard your mother calling it out last night,
again and again."
"Why didn't you tell them where I was?" Jack asked.
"Because, they would not have been able to see you. Not until the sun
first kissed your skin."
Jack frowned, he did not understand, but he did not want Cloudy Head
to think about him the same as his father. Jack nodded and said,
"Okay."
Cloudy Head let go of his hand and turned to face the woods; "Do you
want to know what this place is?"
Jack looked deep through the trees. "Is this where the monsters
are?"
Cloudy Head chuckled and rubbed the top of Jack's head. "Yes, there
are some monsters here, and they know about the talent you have."
Jack thought for a while. "My father says I am stupid."
"That is a shame." Cloudy Head said. "He does not really know you
then, does he?"
Jack shook his head and shrugged, not sure how to answer such a
question. "He says I'm a stupid kid, and he hits me when he is
angry."
Cloudy Head played his fingers through Jack's mop of hair. "Maybe he
is just jealous?"
Jack frowned heavily. "Jealous? Why?"
"Maybe because he feels he can no longer be the same as you."
"Hmmm." But again, Jack did not understand.
Cloudy Head began to walk slowly forward, "Come on Jack, let me show
you the Jungle of Kled."
Jack hurried after him and took his hand again.
They walked past the first few trees before the woods began to change.
The colours became deeper, the trees became taller and wider apart, and
there were flowers such as Jack had never seen before, everywhere, and
vines hanging from the massive branches all the way to the
ground.
"This house is on a very special place, Jack." Cloudy Head said.
"I know. I can feel it."
"Good. It is where two places meet. Very rare, and with your talent,
well, it will be easy for you to explore." Cloudy Head looked down at
him and smiled.
"But you have to be careful here, Jack, you have to know your way
around."
"Are you going to show me?" Jack looked up at him.
"I can try."
They walked for a while with very little said, Jack's attention
grabbed by the vast jungle vegetation and the trees that were as wide
as the bus he used to take to school. It was very warm now and Jack
became aware of strange smells, and sounds. He tried to ignore the
feeling that something was watching them.
"How big is the jungle?" Jack asked as they came to a stop at the edge
of a clearing.
Cloudy Head let go of Jack's fingers and crouched down, the edges of
his white fluffy face brushing across Jack's hand, leaving it wet with
something that tasted like tears. He put a bony finger to his wide red
lips. "Don't talk too loud here, Jack. There are things that don't like
to be disturbed."
Jack shivered and suddenly he felt very scared. He trusted Cloudy
Head, and said a little prayer to make sure Cloudy Head kept him safe.
Jack moved over and put a small arm across Cloudy Head's bony
shoulders. "You might think the jungle was very big." He answered Jack
in a low whisper. "Everyone with your talent can get to it where ever
they are in the world."
"Really? Wow." Jack beamed.
"But for most people, even getting here is hard. That is why your
house is special. But really the jungle is tiny compared to the rest of
what is out there." Cloudy Head swept his hand in a wide arc. The real
challenge to some people is getting through here alive."
"Is it really that dangerous?" Jack asked, shaking a little bit
now.
"Yes. Yes it is. You need to be sure what you want. You have to be
careful about where you wander. And that is the main reason why."
Cloudy Head pointed at something Jack had not noticed before. A huge
grey slab of rock standing upright from the ground. There were small
white shapes scattered on the grass around it. Jack gasped when he
realised the shapes were human skulls.
"Is that where the monsters come from?" Jack said, his voice a tiny
sound.
" The ones you need to worry about right now. Never go over there
Jack. There is a staircase leading down, deep underground. When you get
older you might be tempted to explore what might be down there. There
is a beautiful world beyond this jungle, that is the place I want you
to find. Not what lies down there. Do you like cats?"
"Yes. Cats are cool."
Cloudy Head grinned. "I think they are too. My cat is called Bubastis.
He lives in one of the nearest towns, in Ulthar."
Jack thought for a while, then said, "Ulthar. Is it nice? Can we go
there now?"
Cloudy Head took Jack's hand, "I am afraid I can't. You have to find
it on your own."
A noise came from behind them. Jack felt Cloudy Head's fingers stiffen
around his, and heard Cloudy Head say, "Oh dear."
Then a big tree branch swung down and smashed through Cloudy Head's
head. Jack was shocked to see the head knocked away like smoke caught
by a strong wind; his black dinner jacket dropped to the jungle floor
like a shadow. Jack staggered forward and whirled around to see the
awful stick man standing above him, grinning down at him with a ragged
shape for a face, the tree branch still held in his impossibly thin
claw-like hand.
Jack screamed and once again felt all his breath sucked out of him.
The colours of the jungle melted together before his eyes and he heard
an awful growling, like the sounds of too many dogs locked in a small
cage. The smell of bad meat his nostrils as his breath continued to
flood out and Jack felt like he was deep underwater and going to
drown.

The police and a search party made up of local people found Jack the
next afternoon, deeply asleep a long way in from the edge of the
woods.
Jack woke up in his bedroom, and heard his mother and father arguing
outside in the hall.
"They said a witch had been drowned in the well." His mother
said.
"What nonsense!" His father's voice exploded, "A stupid story made up
by these country folk."
"That young boy didn't die from the fall. He died from shock!"
"That's what they say, but how can we be certain?"
"I don't want Jack to live here." His mother said.
His father made a confused sound, "I don't understand, what are you
saying?"
"What do you think!" His mother's words like ice being cracked apart;
then she was storming downstairs, her clogs banging on the wooden
staircase.
Jack closed his eyes and fought back the tears. He heard his bedroom
door opening. He didn't breathe or make a sound.
He felt a warm hand stroke his brow, then heard his father's voice
murmuring, "God, what a silly child."
It was later when his mother came upstairs. Jack was sitting up in
bed. She smiled when she saw him. "Hi."
"Hi." He croaked back.
"I'm making you your favourite soup. Do you think you could eat
some?"
Jack didn't feel sick. He nodded a big yes.
His mother hesitated in the doorway, then walked over to his bed. She
sat down slowly, there was pain in her eyes.
"Do you like living here?" She asked.
Jack made a sound that said he wasn't sure.
"Jack, I'm going to tell you something you don't know."
Jack watched his mother's face, saw the trembling below her eyes and
movement at the corners of her mouth.
"Okay." He said, sounding brave.
"Well, Jack, your father is not your father."
Everything seemed to go really quiet and a cold feeling filled his
tummy. His mother was telling him things: she was going away, she
wanted Jack to come with her, and she wanted Jack to think about
it.
Jack realised he must have fallen asleep because suddenly she was no
longer there. His pillow was wet, and smelled of fresh tears.
The house was very quiet and the moon shone its brilliant bright light
into his room.
Jack didn't feel tired. He climbed out of bed, left his room and went
downstairs. The television was off. The lounge was empty.
He heard the sound of splintering wood.
Jack ran into the kitchen and found the back door open. The sound of
splintering wood came from outside.
He went to door and was startled at what he saw. A young boy with
black hair and broad shoulders was prying away the boards covering the
well.
"Don't do that!" Jack shouted.
The boy jumped away from the well, clutching a broken board in his
hand. He looked at Jack and seemed equally surprised.
"It's dangerous." Jack said, walking across the garden.
The boy threw the broken board away and watched Jack approach. They
looked at each other for a while.
Jack smiled, "I'm Jack. This is my house."
The boy grinned, puzzled. "My name is John. This is my house
too."
John was his father's name.
They both laughed.
Jack squinted and wrinkled up his nose, "Why were you opening the
well?"
"I wanted to see what was down there." John replied.
"It's dangerous. A witch and a child died in there."
John looked shocked, then curious, "A witch. Cool."
Jack laughed, "Do you want to play?"
John looked at him, amazed. "Play? Yeah, I would love to. I've never
had anyone to play with before."
"I can show you a really cool jungle. It's full of monsters so we have
to stay close."
John bit down on his lip. "Will the monsters kill us?"
"If they catch us."
John glanced at the deep dark woods behind him. "It will be a big
adventure." He turned back and grinned.
Jack smiled.
Then music touched their ears.
It was violin music, slow and haunting, the saddest sound Jack had
ever heard.
"Cloudy Head!" Jack exclaimed. He grabbed John's arm and ran into the
woods, toward the sorrowful sound.
They ran together, ducking past the branches that seemed to reach from
the darkness toward them. Jack wondered where the jungle was. The trees
did not change.
It was strange to find themselves running out from the wood back into
the garden. They had done a complete circle.
Cloudy Head was sitting on the well, the violin buried into his chin,
his eyes tightly closed as the music swept over them.
"Wow!" John said, looking at the man sitting cross-legged on the
well.
Jack found the sadness pouring into him. He began to cry. Cloudy Head
did not look at him, but just sat there and played.
It was music for goodbyes. It was music for the pain of leaving
somebody behind that you loved and might never see again.
"Where's he going?" John asked suddenly.
Jack wiped the tears from his eyes, realising Cloudy Head had stopped
playing. He saw him walking away into the woods. "I think he's going to
Ulthar. He has to see his cat."
"I've heard of Ulthar. They have lots of cats." John said. "Can we
still play?"
Jack noticed he could no longer see the house, and the well was fading
beyond an approaching curtain of darkness. "I hope so."
"So do I!" John said, but already his words were far away.
Jack turned round but could see nothing but darkness.
Then he felt something warm rolling up against him, and a familiar
smell in his nostrils. Jack opened his eyes to the early morning light,
and found himself lying beside his father in his parent's bed. His
mother wasn't there. He looked around the room and saw her wardrobe was
open and empty. All her things were gone. Jack frowned deeply, not sure
what to do next.
Then his father snapped awake and struggled to sit upright. Jack
watched him stare at the empty wardrobe, as if reminding himself it was
true. His father turned his head suddenly and looked down at him; Jack
worried about what his father would think about him being in their
bed.
"Hey!" His father smiled, his eyes still red from crying.
Jack grinned. "Hey!"
His father reached out and rubbed the hair on his head. "What are you
doing in my cave?" He grunted and made a bear sound.
"Hiding from the monsters." Jack said.
His father frowned, as if trying to recall something slipping from his
memory. "Monsters, eh?"
"Will mother be coming back?" Jack asked.
His father blew out through puffed up cheeks, and looked around the
room dazed, "I hope so."
"Then it's just going to be you and me for a while."
"It's not that easy." His father said, depressed.
"But we can play."
"Maybe&;#8230; we'll see." More memories tugging at his father's
mind.
Jack's grin stretched with excitement. There were adventures ahead of
them. Cloudy Head had said their house was special. Jack wondered if it
was because it allowed people to share his special talent. Jack had so
many questions, it was enough to make him dizzy with them all flying
around in his brain.
They would have to travel to Ulthar and find Cloudy Head.
Jack yawned and closed his eyes, a smile resting on his lips.
Cloudy Head.
Jack understood the man who had tried to become his father a little
bit better now. He knew that inside the serious man was still a small
child. Jack was determined to make their friendship grow.
Thank you Cloudy Head.

END