The Keeper. Part 1. An Invitation

Speakes Craig

‘Go on, get your self inside and cleaned up. Dinner’s ready.’

Spotting his mother sitting outside under the kitchen window, pushing his baby sister’s pram backwards and forwards, Arthur trudged off down the garden path towards them.

‘Mu-um, you’ll never guess..’

‘Shh!’ She replied, raising a finger to her lips for him to be quiet.

‘But Mum…’

<<‘Shh!’>>

‘Agh, fine!’ he said, reaching for the porch door and leaping out of the way as the family labrador, who’d evidently heard him coming, bounded past, sending a stack of empty paint tins clattering to the ground. Not about to hang around and find out who was going to get the blame for waking his sister, he vanished into the kitchen.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t our intrepid adventurer returning from a hard day’s doing nothing,’ said Aunty M, with her customary cheeky grin. ‘Is that your handiwork I can hear?’

‘All I did was open the door,’ said Arthur, trying to keep a straight face.

‘And how many times do you need to be told not to let the dog out?’

‘But I can’t see through it, can I?’

‘It’s called “being careful”,’ she replied, handing him a bowl of soup and leaving to go and help his mother.

<<Soup again.>>

It had been soup yesterday and the day before that and very likely even the day before that, too. Cutting himself some bread, he sat down at the kitchen table and gazed at it all miserably.

‘You know you’re supposed to eat it, not watch it,’ said Sasha, entering the kitchen.

‘I know, but why do we have to have it every day?’

‘Because your mum’s decided that it’s good for you,’ he said, washing his hands and splashing water over his shaven head.

‘But there must be other stuff that’s good for me.’

‘Well, then I suggest that you get yourself down to the shops and find something. And, when you’ve worked it all out, you can take over doing the cooking. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.’

Arthur pulled a face and dipped his spoon into the soup.

‘Yum,’ he said, grinning.

While they ate, they talked more about the helicopters landing in the woods and how the men in black uniforms had blocked off the road. The part about the black train, however, Arthur left out – even just thinking about it gave him with a weird feeling and he had no idea why.

When they were done, Sasha turned on the local news and, curious to see if there’d be any mention about what had happened, Arthur stayed for a while to watch the reports. But there wasn’t anything, and not wanting to watch it anymore, he moved to sit by the kitchen window. A storm was already starting to blow in, and soon the rain which was already tapping on the glass was coming down in force. Presently, his mother called out for them to go and bring the cushions in from the chairs in the garden.

‘You grab those from the bench, I’ll get the rest,’ said his stepfather, entering the porch, which already smelled strongly of damp earth. Opening the door, a sharp gust of wind knocked them both backwards.

‘Right, go!’ he shouted, leaping into the downpour.

No sooner though had Arthur jumped out after him, than a terrible flash had lit up the sky, flooding everything around him with a pulsating white light. Barely able to move, and no longer feeling the torrents of rain beating down on him, his hands suddenly began to shimmer like two black holes. Holding them out in front of him, unable to look away, Arthur started to become aware of a kind of deep and distant darkness. An endless abyss, flecked by tiny lights, it felt vast – ancient. And in those moments which followed, as he stared through his hands, feeling a rush of sensations which he could not understand; he could have sworn that he heard his name being called from within.

Then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, it was over. The light vanished leaving Arthur staring at his hands in disbelief. Only now, all he saw was the rain splashing against his fingers.

‘Hey, did you see that?’ shouted Sasha, reappearing clutching several large seat cushions.

Arthur stared at him, shaking.

‘Come on, grab those over there, and get inside, quickly.’

Hurrying back into the porch, they both stood in silence, watching the storm through the open door, waiting to see if it would happen again.

‘Go on in, I’ll lock up,’ said Sasha finally.

Peculiarly, no one indoors appeared to have noticed a thing. His mum had been preoccupied with his sister’s bath time, whilst Aunty M had been enthusiastically scouring for shoes online and had just shaken her head in surprise. Not sure what to make of it all, Arthur spent the rest of the evening lying on his bed unable to get the images of his hands and what they’d transformed into out of his mind. When he did finally manage to close his eyes, he began to imagine a star-filled night.

‘Hello, Cat,’ he mumbled sleepily, feeling the cat come and lie down on the bed next to him. ‘Where’ve you been all evening, then?’

‘Where do you think? Trying to stay out of that dreadful storm.’

Arthur’s eyes flickered slightly. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that the cat had just said something to him.

‘You didn’t just talk, did you?’ he grinned, reaching out to stroke his warm fur.

‘Sure, I did. Is there something wrong with your ears, all of a sudden?’

Gasping, Arthur sat bolt upright, almost tumbling out of bed in the process. ‘Oh my god! Cat! You’re talking!’

‘What do you mean I’m talking? Of course I’m talking. What’s wrong with you?’

‘No, you don’t understand—you can really talk!’

‘And there you have it folks, the kid’s a born genius.’

‘What? No, look—I mean, listen. You’re talking, and I can understand everything that you’re saying. Go on, say something, I’ll prove it.’

‘Liquorice sticks,’ said the cat.