Read Online Johnny and the Dead by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Pratchett
Ads: Link
chains and—well, nearly did. Yes. Yes. Right. I’ll tell him. Nice to hear from you. Good-bye.”
He went back and settled down in front of the TV again.
After a few minutes a small worried frown crossed his face. He got up and went and glared at the telephone for a while.
It wasn’t that Sunshine Acres was a bad place. As far as Johnny could see, it was clean enough and the staffseemed okay. There were bright murals on the walls and a big tank of goldfish in the TV room.
But it was more gloomy than the cemetery. It was the way everyone shuffled around quietly, and sat waiting at the table for the next meal hours before it was due, because there wasn’t anything else to do. It was as if life had stopped and being dead hadn’t started, so all there was to do was hang around.
His grandmother spent a lot of time watching TV in the main lounge, or watching her begonias in her room. At least, his grandmother’s body did.
He was never certain where her mind was, except that it was often far away and long ago.
After a while he got even more depressed at the conversation between his mother and his grandmother, which was exactly the same as the one last week and the week before that, and did what he always did, which was wander out into the corridor.
He mooched toward the door that led out into the garden, staring vaguely at nothing.
They never told you about this ghost stuff at school. Sometimes the world was so weird, you didn’t know where to start, and social studies and general math weren’t a lot of help.
Why didn’t this sort of thing happen to anyone else? It wasn’t as if he went looking for it. He just tried tokeep his head down, just tried to be someone at the back of the crowd. But somehow everything was more complicated than it was for anyone else.
The thing was…
Mr. T. Atkins .
He probably wouldn’t have noticed it, except that the name was in the back of his mind.
It was written on a little curling piece of paper stuck in a frame on one of the doors.
He stared at it.
It filled the whole world, just for a second or two.
Well, there could be lots of Atkinses….
He’d never find out unless he knocked, though…would he?…
“Open the door, will you, love? M’hands are full.”
There was a large black woman behind him, her arms full of sheets. Johnny nodded mutely and turned the handle.
The room was more or less bare. There was certainly no one else there.
“I see you come up here every week to see your gran,” said the nurse, dumping the sheets on the bare bed. “You’re a good boy to come see her.”
“Uh. Yes.”
“What was it you were wanting?”
“Uh. I thought I’d…you know…drop in to have achat with Mr. Atkins? Uh.” Inspiration seized him. “I’m doing a project at school. About the Blackbury Pals.”
A project! You could get away with anything if you said you were doing a project.
“Who were they then, dear?”
“Oh…some soldiers. Mr. Atkins was one of them, I think. Uh…where…?”
“Well, he passed away yesterday, dear. Nearly ninety-seven, I think he was. Did you know him?”
“Not…really.”
“He was here for years . He was a nice old man. He used to say that when he died, the war’d be over. It was his joke. He used to show us his old army pay book. ‘Tommy Atkins,’ he’d say. ‘I’m the one, I’m the boy, when I’m gone it’s all over.’ He used to laugh about that.”
“What did he mean?”
“Don’t know, dear. I just used to smile. You know how it is.”
The nurse smoothed out the new sheets and pulled a cardboard box from under the bed.
“This was his stuff,” she said. She gave him an odd look. “I expect it’s all right for you to see. No one ever visited him, except a man from the British Legion regular as clockwork every Christmas, God bless them. They’ve asked for his medals, you know. But I expect it’s all right for you to have a look. If it’s a project.”
Johnny peered into the box
He went back and settled down in front of the TV again.
After a few minutes a small worried frown crossed his face. He got up and went and glared at the telephone for a while.
It wasn’t that Sunshine Acres was a bad place. As far as Johnny could see, it was clean enough and the staffseemed okay. There were bright murals on the walls and a big tank of goldfish in the TV room.
But it was more gloomy than the cemetery. It was the way everyone shuffled around quietly, and sat waiting at the table for the next meal hours before it was due, because there wasn’t anything else to do. It was as if life had stopped and being dead hadn’t started, so all there was to do was hang around.
His grandmother spent a lot of time watching TV in the main lounge, or watching her begonias in her room. At least, his grandmother’s body did.
He was never certain where her mind was, except that it was often far away and long ago.
After a while he got even more depressed at the conversation between his mother and his grandmother, which was exactly the same as the one last week and the week before that, and did what he always did, which was wander out into the corridor.
He mooched toward the door that led out into the garden, staring vaguely at nothing.
They never told you about this ghost stuff at school. Sometimes the world was so weird, you didn’t know where to start, and social studies and general math weren’t a lot of help.
Why didn’t this sort of thing happen to anyone else? It wasn’t as if he went looking for it. He just tried tokeep his head down, just tried to be someone at the back of the crowd. But somehow everything was more complicated than it was for anyone else.
The thing was…
Mr. T. Atkins .
He probably wouldn’t have noticed it, except that the name was in the back of his mind.
It was written on a little curling piece of paper stuck in a frame on one of the doors.
He stared at it.
It filled the whole world, just for a second or two.
Well, there could be lots of Atkinses….
He’d never find out unless he knocked, though…would he?…
“Open the door, will you, love? M’hands are full.”
There was a large black woman behind him, her arms full of sheets. Johnny nodded mutely and turned the handle.
The room was more or less bare. There was certainly no one else there.
“I see you come up here every week to see your gran,” said the nurse, dumping the sheets on the bare bed. “You’re a good boy to come see her.”
“Uh. Yes.”
“What was it you were wanting?”
“Uh. I thought I’d…you know…drop in to have achat with Mr. Atkins? Uh.” Inspiration seized him. “I’m doing a project at school. About the Blackbury Pals.”
A project! You could get away with anything if you said you were doing a project.
“Who were they then, dear?”
“Oh…some soldiers. Mr. Atkins was one of them, I think. Uh…where…?”
“Well, he passed away yesterday, dear. Nearly ninety-seven, I think he was. Did you know him?”
“Not…really.”
“He was here for years . He was a nice old man. He used to say that when he died, the war’d be over. It was his joke. He used to show us his old army pay book. ‘Tommy Atkins,’ he’d say. ‘I’m the one, I’m the boy, when I’m gone it’s all over.’ He used to laugh about that.”
“What did he mean?”
“Don’t know, dear. I just used to smile. You know how it is.”
The nurse smoothed out the new sheets and pulled a cardboard box from under the bed.
“This was his stuff,” she said. She gave him an odd look. “I expect it’s all right for you to see. No one ever visited him, except a man from the British Legion regular as clockwork every Christmas, God bless them. They’ve asked for his medals, you know. But I expect it’s all right for you to have a look. If it’s a project.”
Johnny peered into the box
Similar Books
