Jack Mutant - Which Way is Down (part 9)

 

The rest of the exams passed by without incident, he didn’t do well, didn’t do disastrously either, somewhere in the middle, perhaps hovering just below the middle at times, well that’s how he felt about it all. The results would be out after the half-term break and then everyone would be streamed, if not condemned, according to their “ability”. Friday came and Jack had made the decision to go to Tristan’s house after all, Chris was going and the three of them were on a bit of a high with the week long break in front of them and the exams now behind.

 

Tristan lived in a long, private road which started fairly civilised then trailed into a semi-wilderness, there being were fewer and fewer houses until the road became unmade and dusty, there at the end stood his house, a unique, architect designed dwelling from the fifties. It was detached with garden all around it, odd angles in the roof and bits of wooden cladding, neither ugly or beautiful it was certainly practical with large spacious rooms filled with clutter. His mother wore floaty, colourful clothes and had long frizzy hair, that unnatural shade of purple/red so favoured by aging, arty women. She ushered them into the kitchen for drinks and bowls of spicy rice crackers. There was painted pottery scattered all over the kitchen table.   

 

‘My mum runs children’s painting classes,’ Tristan announced proudly, speaking with his mouth full, spitting a bit as usual. ‘She’s an artist.’

 

‘I might come and teach at your school when little Flora is older.’ She turned to her young daughter who was gazing at Jack and sucking all the spicy dust off her fingers. ‘Did you wash your hands Flora May, what’s all that black under your fingernails?’

 

The young girl looked down at her fingers and grinned ‘Could be chocolate, could be dirt….could be poo,’ she said breezily.

 

Tristan rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ He led them into a spacious lounge which appeared even larger in its lack of furniture, there was no sofa or soft chairs just large sequined cushions and beanbags scattered everywhere, lots of dusty house plants, children’s artwork and a television.

 

‘That’s a big TV,’ said Chris.

 

‘It’s not a TV, we don’t watch telly in this house, it’s a screen for freelance viewing.’

 

‘Freelance viewing?’ said Chris.

 

‘Internet and the Xbox,’ Tristan said as he bent down to fetch the consoles which were coated with a sticky layer. Being quite a selfish boy he made Jack and Chris take turns while he had his own but the boys were nevertheless rapidly and totally immersed into the world of gaming.

 

There were shouts and sighs, fidgeting legs and feet while eyes remained fixated on the screen. An hour flew by but Jack became increasingly distracted by a bad smell coming from the beanbag he was perching on and he was pretty sure it wasn’t coming from him, he handed the console to Chris and got up to wander around the room. He went to the patio window and observed the garden, all wild and overgrown with a messy vegetable garden where a couple of giant pumpkins sat tethered among the weeds. Just beneath the window sill on the floor were three hamster cages surrounded by bits of spinkled sawdust, he put his fingers through the bars. There was a stirring in the bedding, a pink nose poked out and sniffed the air curiously.

 

‘One of your hamster is awake Tristan.’

 

‘Oh….that will be Bobbit, he’s the most active one.’ Tristan dropped his console, got up and came over to the cages, he put his hand in, grabbed the furry creature and held it to his chest. ‘He’s my dad’s one, that’s mine in there, John Wayne, he doesn’t get up until nine and the other one, Minty is my sister's. Come on let’s take Bobbit outside.’ He flung open the sliding patio door and skipped out, gripping the hamster firmly against his body.

 

‘What about the game,’ said Chris, getting up and following them.

 

Flora May opened the kitchen door and joined them in the garden, she grabbed hold of Jack’s hand and he sensed her looking up at him, her eyes drilling into the side of his head. He let his fingers hang limp until she let go and he refused to look in her direction, little girls creeped him out and Flora May was creepier than most. She shouted something incomprehensible, Tristan froze and looked angry for a few seconds then he answered with something equally incomprehensible. They seemed to understand each other. Chris and Jack exchanged looks and shrugged.

 

Tristan placed the hamster in the vegetable patch and crouched down to watch it as it milled around, nibbling on leaves, digging and collecting bits and pieces in its cheek pouches. This is getting a bit weird now, thought Jack and he was relieved when Tristan’s mum called them in for dinner. He was starving and hoped for pizza, a standard Friday dinner in his house.

 

The children trampled into the kitchen. Tristan’s mum was ladling bright orange soup into hand-painted bowls. Jack felt panic rising in his chest, his stomach froze in terror.

 

‘Homemade pumpkin soup from homegrown organic pumpkins!’ she announced, her eyes shining. ‘Plus homemade bread to fill your hungry tummies.’ She dropped a heavy, brown loaf onto the middle of the table which shook under the weight of it. ‘Just tear it up, have as much as you want now.’

 

Flora May picked up the loaf of bread and suckled the end of it a while, then she dug her fingers into it and ripped off a large section. The soup was thick and flecked with spices. Chris gazed into it and glanced across to Jack, terror flashed across his eyes and he looked into the sea of orange. Tristan dug in, slurping great mouthfuls and scooping it with the bread which dropped its coating of seeds, scattering them onto the firm meniscus of the soup. There was silence at the table as Jack dipped his spoon into the soup, taking tiny mouthfuls and trying not to breath through his nose so as to avoid tasting it. The proximity of Flora May didn’t help his appetite, her dirty fingernails clearly visible as she sat next to him, looking at his bowl, then at him, perplexed at his reluctance to scoff what was clearly standard fare in their house.

 

Tristan’s mum was sorting her pottery, glancing up occasionally and smiling. ‘Put the hamster back in its cage Tristan,’ she said calmly.

 

The hamster was now wandering freely across the table, picking up seeds from the bread and squeezing them into its pouches which were now wide like wings. ‘You do it Chris, I can’t reach,’ said Tristan.

 

Chris shook his head. ‘I can’t,’ he said flatly.

 

Flora May huffed and puffed, scooped up Bobbit and left the room. The cage door banged shut and she was soon back in her seat staring at Jack again. ‘Jack’s not eating his soup,’ she said.

 

‘Oh….is there something wrong with it Jack?’

 

‘No, no Mrs er….it’s just I’m not that hungry, had a big lunch.’

 

Please get me out of here, thought Jack. The tension was broken by the sound of the front door banging. Tristan’s dad crept in slowly, he had a gentle manner about him, he planted a kiss on his wife’s head, then Flora’s, then Tristan’s. Jack choked on his soup a little.

 

‘Who are the friends Tristan?’ He said pointing.

 

‘The brethren dad, it’s the brethren. This is Chris, the one I told you about...and this is Jack.’

 

The man held out his hand to Jack who shook it and winced at its clamminess. ‘You young boys have been getting on with the serious business of having fun have you?’

 

Well not really, thought Jack. Tristan nodded his head, 'It's been awesome.'

 

Flora May piped up with some weird incomprehensible language again, Tristan joined in and then, to the horror of the guests, his dad piped in too, speaking some gobbledegook but seeming to understanding each other perfectly. Their unfathomable conversation went on for a few minutes. Jack and Chris eyed each other. This family have their own language, thought Jack, I need to get out of here now. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, held it in his lap and quickly texted his mum to collect him, saying he felt sick and to hurry. ‘I need to go and wait for my mum now,’ he said getting up.

 

‘Oh but you haven’t eaten much, do you want a container to take some home in,’ Tristan’s mother opened a cupboard and fussed around among stacks of Tupperware.

 

‘No, no I’m fine, she’ll be here soon. I’ll wait for her on the drive incase she has trouble finding the house.’

 

‘Can she drop me home too,’ said Chris, scraping his chair noisily.

 

‘We normally wait for everyone to finish before we leave the table,’ said Tristan’s dad in his creepy gentle voice.

 

The boys made a dash towards the front door shouting out their 'thank yous' rather apologetically as they went. Tristan followed. ‘You don’t have to leave so soon,’ he said. ‘You could stay the night, we’ve plenty of spare bedding, we could pitch a tent in the lounge..’

 

‘No it’s fine,’ said Chris, ‘the hamsters will keep me awake. I’m a very light sleeper.’

 

‘Oh….okay,’ Tristan muttered. He waited with them by the front door. Jack texted his mum several times as they stood on the gravel. The road had a funny feeling about it, like it was some sort of no man’s land where no-one would ever find you if you happened to disappear from civilisation. The little red car approached painfully slowly and the boys shot in like rabbits down a hole

 

‘Is everything alright?’ Jack’s mum waved politely at Tristan as he turned sadly and went back into his house.

 

‘No mum! It..it was like a cult in there.’

 

Jack’s mum peered at him through the rearview mirror, her brow furrowed. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she said after a pause.

 

They dropped Chris home and returned to the house where grandad’s car was now parked outside. Jack felt warm inside, he heard Bristol barking as he approached the front door and his grandad gave him a big bear hug and the dog circled them panting with excitement. They had dinner together and laughed about the strangeness of Tristan’s family. ‘We’re all different,’ said grandad.

 

Jack went up to bed, quite exhausted by the week’s events. He beckoned Bristol to follow him upstairs but the dog stopped halfway, growled and went back down. It was unusual, the dog normally slept in his room when they stayed but now he refused to go up even when bribes of ham were offered.

 

‘Does he want to sleep downstairs tonight?’ said grandad. ‘That’s funny Jack, he was looking forward to sleeping in your room he told me so.’

 

‘There’s a demon up there...that’s why.’

 

‘A demon? Well we’ll have to sort that won’t we.’

 

Jack went up alone. It occurred to him that his grandad always accepted whatever happened, even the notion of a demon, he never fussed or act shocked, it made Jack feel safe but he worried, one day the old man wouldn’t be around, how many years would it be. The thought of it made him feel sick.