Chapter 6 {I}

When I mentioned earlier that our main character was to get a rude shock on getting home I hadn't been referring to the reappearance of the coin, per se. No, sir.

After a hearty game of football with the neighbourhood boys and an extended chat with a classmate with whom he had parted ways just before their cul-de-sac street, young Mr Relish was to get a severe shake-up as he walked up to Number Twelve, Merryway Close.

As he crossed the wide road to the other side of the street, he wondered what the small crowd in front of the house was for. It didn't occur to him until he reached Number Nine that the house of the centre of attention was none but theirs-the Relish Residence.

His heart picked up a steady bang in his chest as his throat dried of saliva. The boy knew a crowd, no matter how small like that, didn't mean good news.

The casual stroll increased to something short of a gallop as the ground was practically a moving blur beneath him. He wondered what could have happened.

His cornflower-blue eyes had gone wide and wild as different possibilities came and went. He thought about his mother and his clattering heart threatened to vault up his dry throat. What could have happened to her? She was fine and healthy the last time he had seen her. Or could it be Father? Father had no ailment that he knew of.

The thought that Odessa had maybe gotten into an accident with her carpooling friends crossed his mind, but he was quick to reject it. The thought frightened him too much and almost made his running knees weak with grief. The very thought could have pleased him any other day after a recent spat with her, but even he didn't hate his sister that much.

Then his thoughts went to his little sister. She had been sitting at the tv in the living room and had thrown him an evil scowl on the way out, no way she had gotten into trouble since then.

So what could it be?

The black iron gate was wide open and he dashed into the yard, almost stepping on a tiny yapping daschund by the path.

'What's the matter?' he demanded from the crowd without pausing to breathe in much-needed air.

His eyes desperately searched the small crowd for a way up to the house. Where were his father and mother? And his sisters? Why could he not see any of them outside?

When a bit hush passed over, an effusive feeling of fear bled through his pores and made all the hairs on his skin stand. Someone tutted and muttered something in a sad voice.

A bout of headrush flared in his skull, almost tipping him over. Any optimism he could have been having perished. It was definitely something serious.

A woman came to rest her hands heavily on his shoulders. She squeezed gently. He looked up at her, big tears swelling in his eyes. It was Mrs Bread from Number Thirteen. The elderly woman sighed and was saying something. He looked back at the crowd. It was his neighbours, mostly the residents of Merryway Close. They all looked to be in different states of shock and melancholy.

He could hear somebody crying. His heart stilled like someone had opened the door and thrown ice-cold water in.

'Dessa!

He darted through the crowd only to pull up short at the porch. Odessa was sitting on the old suede sofa on the porch and had her face buried in her arms. She shook visibly as she cried. Mrs Berrycloth from next door sat awkwardly on the arm and tried to console her.

His father stood on the porch behind Odessa. It looked like he was barely standing. His brown eyes were hollow and had a haunted look, his broad shoulders seemed to curl at the edges, as though withdrawing into his wiry self. Mr Berrycloth sat leaning against a pillar on the porch, a sorrowful look on his usually happy face. Another man stood still beside Mr Relish, he looked like he was watching to catch the man in case he collapsed.

Finian gasped. Mom! Pippa! Something had happened to them.

Then, like a beacon, a bright patch of colour to the right side of the front yard glowed in the sinking sun. Red. He gasped and swooned.

Finish blinked twice and rubbed a hand over his eyes, the boy thought, perhaps, he was seeing things. But the deep patch was still there when he looked again. The boy sat on the floor abruptly. If that wasn't blood! Plenty of it, it spread over the grounds beneath the broken swing set.

His teeth were chattering as he continued to stare, unable to break his face away from the horrific scene so that it kept tattooing and re-tattooing in his head, it was like an hypnosis session gone wonky. Tears gushed freely from his eyes like a broken tap as he started on.

At the centre of all the blood were the jagged, broken metal pieces of the third swing.

He tried to open his mouth to ask what had happened, who had died. . .but his vocal cords didn't seem to be in connection with his brain anymore. His saliva-drained mouth opened and shut wordlessly.

His mind was in a heightened sense of overdrive, the onslaught of emotions was a tad too much for the eleven-year-old child. His trembling body began to feel heavy and it was like an invisible force was tugging at him from below, trying to yank him into the ground.

He wasn't really aware of the happenings around him anymore, everything he could see was red. Everywhere was red. Blood red. Even the air tasted like blood.

He could hear somebody shouting. Maybe at him, maybe not. He couldn't see anything for the blood. But suddenly the downward pull on him ceased and his body was light. Too light. Like he was levitating. A cloud in the sky.

Then he stumbled up in the air, as though he had reached invisible air speed bumps and he heard someone panting into his ears. His brain dully registered that he was being carried up.

Finian closed his eyes. Maybe when next he opened them, he'd realize it had all been a dream. A nightmare.