Read Online Psychosis (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 3) by K.R. Griffiths - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K.R. Griffiths
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that maybe she wasn’t aware for some reason that she was walking around half naked, but on each occasion the empty holes in her face had simply glared back at him balefully, until he had averted his eyes.
When Jason had been small – or at least when he had been young – his mother had found him one day alone in his bedroom, sobbing. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, felt ashamed of the fact that he was being mercilessly bullied by kids half his size, but his mother’s talent for extracting information was legendary around the town, and when she brought her skills to bear on his young resolve, he had crumbled in short order.
The bullying wasn’t physical of course: Jason towered above everyone in his class, and even the most short-sighted among his peers understood that if they moved him to genuine anger they stood little chance of emerging from a confrontation unscathed. No, it was psychological; insidious, leaving a far more indelible mark on him.
When his mother got the details she had marched to the school and straight into the head teacher’s office. The children in the corridors looked on, astonished, for Mr Meredith was a scowling, ominous presence that hovered over the school like a malignant tumour, spreading fear throughout. His office was the scariest place of all: the lion’s den.
To Paula Roberts, Jim Meredith was simply the man she had once observed buying a pornographic magazine in a quiet newsagent’s on the outskirts of town. She had made her presence known to him, and left him in no doubts about what she had seen when she glanced knowingly at the plain brown paper bag he clutched to his chest tightly. Information was power, and power was of no use unless the people you wished to affect knew you held it.
So when Mrs Roberts had marched into Meredith’s office, it was the domineering head teacher whose face turned a sickly shade of green.
The children cowering outside couldn’t hear what she said to him, for she kept her tone low, crushed under the weight of the force she exerted on the words. They heard Mr Meredith stammering and whimpering though, and when she stormed out of his office, the lucky few that saw through the door before it closed reported that Mr Meredith had officially ‘shit his pants’.
She was a formidable woman in life. In death, she became something altogether more intimidating.
Jason’s attempts to cling on to the world around him were becoming more strained; he felt as though he was being stretched . He remembered seeing a television show about black holes, and the way it was thought that if you were unlucky enough to be near one you would simply be pulled to pieces, the gravity affecting your feet many times stronger than that affecting your head, stretching your body out like wet dough until it snapped.
The stretching was bad enough when he saw her, the feeling of being slowly pulled into the space around him, like his mind was leaking. But just when he felt as though he might not be able to take anymore, things got considerably worse. She began to speak.
Jasssssssonnnnnn…
*
Claire jumped as the thunder rolled and ricocheted around the town above her, sounding impossibly loud. Her mother had taught her long ago to look for the flash of lightning and to count the seconds until the air began to rumble. One second for each mile to the storm she had said, and the words had comforted Claire, dulling the terror at the howling of the sky, as much by giving her something to focus on as by letting her know that the storm was not right upon her.
This time, locked in the cellar of the pub with the strange old man, Claire could not see the lightning flashing, but she knew the thunder must be close, maybe right above them. Never before had she heard it so loud: even down here, below ground level, the sound was like a furious god, unloading its rage on the sky.
She curled up even tighter, making herself as small as possible.
“Haw! Just a storm young lady,
When Jason had been small – or at least when he had been young – his mother had found him one day alone in his bedroom, sobbing. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, felt ashamed of the fact that he was being mercilessly bullied by kids half his size, but his mother’s talent for extracting information was legendary around the town, and when she brought her skills to bear on his young resolve, he had crumbled in short order.
The bullying wasn’t physical of course: Jason towered above everyone in his class, and even the most short-sighted among his peers understood that if they moved him to genuine anger they stood little chance of emerging from a confrontation unscathed. No, it was psychological; insidious, leaving a far more indelible mark on him.
When his mother got the details she had marched to the school and straight into the head teacher’s office. The children in the corridors looked on, astonished, for Mr Meredith was a scowling, ominous presence that hovered over the school like a malignant tumour, spreading fear throughout. His office was the scariest place of all: the lion’s den.
To Paula Roberts, Jim Meredith was simply the man she had once observed buying a pornographic magazine in a quiet newsagent’s on the outskirts of town. She had made her presence known to him, and left him in no doubts about what she had seen when she glanced knowingly at the plain brown paper bag he clutched to his chest tightly. Information was power, and power was of no use unless the people you wished to affect knew you held it.
So when Mrs Roberts had marched into Meredith’s office, it was the domineering head teacher whose face turned a sickly shade of green.
The children cowering outside couldn’t hear what she said to him, for she kept her tone low, crushed under the weight of the force she exerted on the words. They heard Mr Meredith stammering and whimpering though, and when she stormed out of his office, the lucky few that saw through the door before it closed reported that Mr Meredith had officially ‘shit his pants’.
She was a formidable woman in life. In death, she became something altogether more intimidating.
Jason’s attempts to cling on to the world around him were becoming more strained; he felt as though he was being stretched . He remembered seeing a television show about black holes, and the way it was thought that if you were unlucky enough to be near one you would simply be pulled to pieces, the gravity affecting your feet many times stronger than that affecting your head, stretching your body out like wet dough until it snapped.
The stretching was bad enough when he saw her, the feeling of being slowly pulled into the space around him, like his mind was leaking. But just when he felt as though he might not be able to take anymore, things got considerably worse. She began to speak.
Jasssssssonnnnnn…
*
Claire jumped as the thunder rolled and ricocheted around the town above her, sounding impossibly loud. Her mother had taught her long ago to look for the flash of lightning and to count the seconds until the air began to rumble. One second for each mile to the storm she had said, and the words had comforted Claire, dulling the terror at the howling of the sky, as much by giving her something to focus on as by letting her know that the storm was not right upon her.
This time, locked in the cellar of the pub with the strange old man, Claire could not see the lightning flashing, but she knew the thunder must be close, maybe right above them. Never before had she heard it so loud: even down here, below ground level, the sound was like a furious god, unloading its rage on the sky.
She curled up even tighter, making herself as small as possible.
“Haw! Just a storm young lady,
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