Hallowe'en Angel
by Charles Lacey
As a child I was always regarded as rather odd. Physically I was unremarkable, thin rather than chubby, of average height. My only bodily peculiarity was my eyes. I am heterochromic, which is doctor-speak for having one blue eye and one brown. In addition, each eye has a white ring around the iris. It's more noticeable in the brown eye, of course.
But even as a very little boy, I was constantly aware of things, and people, beyond the visible and audible spectrum. I would talk to the people I saw and heard. My parents, of course, thought I was 'pretending'. I tried to put them right, but it worried my mother and annoyed my father. They were kind enough, but a stolid, unimaginative couple whose ideal was a completely conventional life. After I was about eight I stopped trying to tell them about the people I had seen and talked to, especially once I had discovered that I did not need to use my voice for them to hear me.
And sometimes I found I knew what was going to happen. Oh, mostly small things. I'd know I was going to get Toad-in the-Hole for my tea before I even left the school at the end of the day. And I knew I was going to be ill with a skin rash long before I got the measles.
In my early teens I discovered another oddity in myself. I had no interest in girls, but found boys quite fascinating. Well, some boys, at any rate. By then I was used to keeping my peculiarities to myself, and said nothing. But there was one incident when I was around eleven or twelve. The school bully, a great hefty lout named Scott, used to torment me whenever he could. On one occasion he hit my arm, very painfully, and then said sarcastically, "Oh, sorry, my hand slipped."
This was just the latest in a long series of blows, taunts and insults. Something in me flipped, and I glared at him with my eyes open wide. He looked at them and backed away uncertainly a step or two. I said, not loudly but very clearly, "James Scott, you will be dead within three months." I didn't know I was going to say that, and I didn't even realise I was saying it until afterwards. But just after the end of term, when he was on holiday in North Wales, he fell from a cliff into the sea, and drowned. After that, my schoolmates were a bit more wary of me.
I continued to get the occasional 'flash' of … well, foresight, I suppose you could call it. I knew things were going to happen, and happen they did. I woke one morning with a vision – which at the time I put down to a dream – of the Town Hall burning down. It was very realistic and detailed, as were most of my experiences of this kind. Three days later the Town Hall did catch fire, and by the time the fire engine arrived (it had been out on another call) there wasn't much left of it.
Among my invisible friends were two boys, Nathan and Peter, who had died during the War in a German bombing raid. They were lovely. They'd been close friends, and more than friends. They'd been discreet, of course, but they'd had good times together whenever they could find the opportunity. I wondered whether I would ever find a boy-friend to have those kind of times with. Nathan and Peter were encouraging. "There's someone waiting for you," they would say, "but it isn't time yet." Well, I thought, I just hope he comes along soon. Though how two teen-aged boys would cope as a couple with the level of prejudice that then existed I don't think I ever bothered to think out.
I had no control over my visions. They happened on average I suppose two or three times in a year. But on an April morning I had one which was especially vivid, and which would come to have a very special meaning for me.
I'd woken very early that morning and it was only just starting to get light. I had to get up to pee; I hurried to the lavatory, did the necessary and hopped back to my nice warm bed. I was just falling asleep again when… I was standing in a busy street in a place that I recognised as Mouseborough, the county town. It felt like mid-morning. Everything seemed normal: cars driving to and fro, women shopping, a sound of children playing in a nearby school. And then two cars came along the street in opposite directions, one of them going much too fast. They met with a horrific crash and the one that had not been speeding was forced backwards by several yards. Then there was a 'wump' sound as its petrol tank caught fire, followed by a much louder noise as it exploded. I could feel the heat on my face although I was some distance away.
There was a confused noise of women screaming, men shouting. Someone had the sense to run into a shop and tell the shopkeeper to telephone for the police, an ambulance and the fire service. I noticed that the door of one of the cars had burst open and a body thrown from it. It lay there, arms and legs moving. I wondered if I should do something to help, but found I was rooted to the spot.
Only a few minutes later came the 'nee-nah, nee-nah' of a police car's siren, followed by the arrival of the fire engine and then the ambulance. The police shooed away all the onlookers; oddly (or was it?) they didn't see me, so I stayed put. The ambulance crew picked up the body from the road on a stretcher after checking for broken bones and as they came past me towards the ambulance I could see that it was a boy of around my age. I may as well say now that he was the only body they were able to rescue. The others were past any possible help. I just hoped that the collision had knocked them all senseless before the fire started.
I rode in the ambulance with the boy, though neither he nor the crew was aware of my presence. I knew he needed me, but I didn't know why, or how. We arrived at the hospital, and they took him in, still on the stretcher, though he was conscious and asking what had happened and where he was. They asked him his name. "Nick," he said.
The next thing I knew was Mum calling me awake with a cup of tea. I put it down to just a very vivid dream, until the county paper arrived two days later (it only comes out twice a week).
"Three killed in crash in town centre.
"Two cars, one travelling at speed, collided in Market Street, Mouseborough on Tuesday morning. The drivers of both cars, named as Robert Smith and David Robinson, together with Robinson's wife Barbara, died instantly. Their son Nicholas (13) was thrown clear and is in Denton hospital with multiple fractures. His condition is said to be stable.
"Post mortem examination of the bodies revealed that Smith had more than five times the legal amount of alcohol in his blood. Local resident Mrs Doris Wood said, 'I saw the whole thing. It was awful. This car came tearing along the street, on the wrong side, and hit the other one. They just burst into flames. It was worse than in the War.'"
There was a picture to go with the report. It had been taken from a slightly different angle, but I recognized the street straight away. It was the place I had seen in my 'dream'.
A few weeks after this, not long after the beginning of the Autumn Term, I saw a new face at school. It's always a bit chaotic first thing in the morning, but this lad caught my eye; I nodded and said, "Hi, Nick." He looked at me, startled. But I was as startled as he was. How had I known his name, a stranger, a new boy? We moved on, forced by the pressure of hurrying bodies. Then I realised how I knew him. He was the boy who had been injured in the road accident in Mouseborough. What was he doing, at my school in Bevington?
I found out later that day. As his parents had both been killed in the car smash, he was now living with his grandmother. At Assembly, the Headmaster made an announcement:
"I want to introduce Nicholas Burrows to you. Some weeks ago he was involved in a serious road accident, and is now starting a new life here in Bevington. I know you will all help him to settle in here. And now, let us sing Hymn no. 246…"
Nick wasn't in my form. In each year there were three parallel forms. I was in 3G, Miss Garsington's. Miss Ghastly, we called her. Nick, lucky chap, was in 3H, Mr Heather's. He was nice. So I didn't see much of Nick.
September passed, and the evenings started to draw in. Then, just before half term, we got another new boy, who was in my class. His name was Michael Thornilow, and I took an instant dislike to him. He was one of those superior types. But the really awful thing was that he spotted Nick Burrows, and started a really nasty rumour about him. I heard him telling a bunch of lads from 3H.
"You don't want anything to do with that Nick Burrows. He's a nasty little queer. He was caught at school. I was at the same school, that's how I know about it."
"Oh," I asked, "which school was that?"
"Abbey Grange, in Mouseborough. Much better school than this dump."
I walked away without bothering to react. Bevington High wasn't a bad school, as schools go. But we were all fed up with hearing how much better Mouseborough was than Bevington. I know Mouseborough is the county town and Bevington's only a small place about ten or twelve miles away, but it's not a bad little town. I felt sorry for Nick, though, and I was sad that some of his form-mates started to give him the cold shoulder. I made a point of sitting with him at lunch; he was pleasant enough, but quite reserved.
Then came the night of the Hallowe'en Dance.
It was for the Third and Fourth Years, and was held in the school hall. Tickets were sold in aid of some local charity, I forget which. We had a band, a bar serving soft drinks and little snacks, and we were encouraged to come in costume if we could. Actually most of us were in jeans and T-shirts. Well, it wasn't a bad do. The band was much too loud for me, and I spent most of the time at the bar, as far as possible from the stage.
I was drinking a bottle of Coke, I remember, when suddenly I felt the most awful jolt. I nearly bit the neck off the bottle, it was so violent. But I knew that something, somewhere, was terribly wrong, and I was needed. I ran. I didn't know where, or why. My legs just took me out of the school, along Denton Road, along the High Street, and then through a couple of side-streets until I came up to the Seven Bells pub. Something – someone – was calling to me, urgently. As I ran I realised that it was Nathan and Peter. There was a little alley-way to the side of the pub, and I dashed down there. There was a body lying there. I looked, and it was a boy. I looked again, and it was Nick Burrows. There was a bottle next to him. No, two bottles, a big one and a small one. The big one still had some whisky left in it. The small one, just a few little white pills.
"Nick," I said urgently, "It's Adam, from school. What have you done?"
He just waved the bottle at me and mumbled. It was obvious what he had done. Heaven knew what those pills were, or how many he had taken. Nathan and Peter told me what to do. I whipped my hankie out of my pocket (thanks, Mum!), wrapped it around my hand, forced his mouth open and pushed two fingers down his throat.
What came up was mostly liquid, but I noticed quite a lot of little white dots, so hopefully the pills had not yet dissolved. I said, "I'll be back in a moment, Nick," then ran into the pub and up to the bar.
"Quick as you can, please. Ring for an ambulance. There's someone in the alley behind, unconscious."
"Oh yeah? Pull the other one. D'you think I don't know what night it is?"
"No, seriously. Come and see if you don't believe me. But please be quick. And please bring a big glass of water."
Shrugging his shoulders, the man came out with me. When he saw Nick he ran back into the pub. A few moments later he was back with a pint glass in his hand.
"Ambulance is on its way, sonny. Here's the water. Are you OK?"
"Yes, thanks. I know this lad, he's from my school. I'll stay with him."
I propped Nick up as best I could and got him to drink some of the water. Most of it came back a few moments later, but that was all to the good as it would have washed more of the stuff out of his stomach.
Before long I heard the 'nee-nah, nee-nah' of the ambulance. The paramedics, a man and a woman, came round with the barman from the pub. They saw the mess that poor Nick had made, and checked him over carefully. He kept trying to speak. Eventually the woman spoke to me.
"I think he wants you to come with him in the ambulance. We'll take him to Mouseborough Hospital. Can you get back home from there?"
"Yes," I replied without thinking, "I can ring my parents."
All the way to the hospital Nick kept trying to hold my hand. I was afraid that he might throw up again, but I think he'd emptied himself behind the pub.
"Do you know who his parents are?" was the next question.
"No. They are dead. They died in a road accident a few months ago. I don't know who he lives with now."
"Oh, Lord. Poor lad. Well, we'll notify the police, hopefully they can find out something."
The ambulance drew up outside the hospital and Nick was stretchered in. By this time he was completely unconscious, and he was in the best possible place, given the state he was in. So I rang home.
"Dad? It's Adam. Look… yes, I know I should have been home, but something's happened…. No, I 'm alright, but I'm in the hospital in Mouseborough. Can you come and pick me up?"
There were worried noises from the other end.
"No, I'm perfectly OK and I'm not in any kind of trouble. I've been with a friend. I'll tell you about it when I get home."
Dad came over in the car, and he looked and sounded very, very cross. But I explained as best I could and eventually he accepted that I'd done the right thing.
The next day was a Saturday, and I went over to Mouseborough on the 'bus. I'd checked when visiting hours were, and got in to see Nick. He looked dreadful! He was white as a sheet and obviously had a splitting head as well as, presumably, a serious belly-ache as well. But he was conscious and making sense.
"Thanks, Adam," he said. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd…"
"That's OK," I replied, "Only, don't do it again, OK?"
There was a pause before Nick spoke again.
"Adam, how did you know? And how did you find me? What were you doing there?"
Oh heck, I thought, now what am I going to tell him. Eventually I said, "The same way I knew your name was Nick, that time in the school corridor, on your first day."
He looked at me and nodded, then clutched his head. I think nodding had made his headache worse. But then he stretched out his hand and held mine. "Well, thank you, anyway."
He kept hold of my hand, though.
It seemed that the police had managed to track down his address: he was living in Bevington with his grandparents. They'd been in to see him in the morning. The doctor wanted to keep him in hospital over the weekend, just in case of further problems, but expected to send him home on the Monday.
The doctor popped in while I was there. "Hello," he said, "Are you the lad that found Nicholas, and made him sick?"
"Yes. I hope it was the right thing to do."
"It certainly was. You probably saved his life. Well done."
Nick was still holding my hand. He squeezed it then.
"Nick," I said, "next week's half term. Do you want to come round to my house one day? Or can I come to yours?"
"Thank you, I'd like that. Give me your address and 'phone number and I'll ring you."
We chatted about this and that for a few minutes, and then I had to get up and go to catch the 'bus back home. But I was really chuffed that Nick wanted to be friends. I didn't really have any close friends at school, so it would be nice if there was someone special.
On the Tuesday Nick rang. After checking with Mum, I invited him over to lunch. Though he certainly looked a good deal better than he had on the Saturday, he clearly still felt a bit frail and didn't eat much. After lunch we went up to my bedroom, since the weather was chilly and a bit foggy. It was November, after all. We sat down, I on my bed and Nick in the armchair.
"Adam, can I trust you?"
"Yes, of course."
He looked at me consideringly. "Yes, I reckon I can. I want to tell you what happened. Can I trust you not to tell anyone else?"
I got up, crossed to where he was sitting and took his hand in mine.
"Yes. I promise. Anything you say now will stay in this room."
"Adam, you know how my parents died?"
"Yes. I saw the report in the paper. I'm truly sorry." I didn't think it necessary to tell him that I had actually seen the whole thing happening, even if I hadn't actually been there in person.
"The thing is… my parents were taking me to see some kind of psychiatrist."
He stumbled slightly over the difficult word.
"I was caught… at school… with another boy…"
I sat on the arm of the chair and put an arm around his shoulders.
"Nick, are you going to tell me you were wanking together, or something like that?"
"No, it was worse than that. I was… "
He went bright red.
"I was sucking his cock."
I tightened my arm around his shoulders. "It's OK, Nick. I don't have a problem with that."
He breathed a deep sigh, presumably of relief.
"We were both expelled from the school. When my parents heard from the Headmaster they hit the roof. They thought they'd done something wrong, bringing me up. So they were taking me to see this head-shrinker when… when…"
"It's alright, Nick. I know what happened. I understand if you don't want to talk about it. But I hope we can be friends."
"Oh, Adam, do you mean that? Really?"
"Yes, really."
He slewed round in the chair and gave me a big hug. I saw tears in the corners of his eyes.
"You see, ever since that Michael Thornilow went round telling everyone about me… it's been terrible. And then on Friday afternoon he said, 'I hope you're not coming to the dance, pansy-face. It's only for proper boys and girls.'"
I began to understand.
"And then later my grandfather said I wasn't to go, as I might 'misbehave with another boy' if I did. That was the last straw. All I wanted to do was to end it all. I stole a bottle of Grandad's whisky. Well, it was about half full. And the bottle of my Nan's sleeping pills."
I realised that we were holding hands. I gave his a gentle squeeze.
"Adam, you seem to really understand. You're the only one…"
I leaned forward, looking into his eyes, until he closed them. He turned his head slightly. I leaned in, and then felt his lips on mine. It was just one kiss, though it was to be the first of many. But when our lips had parted, I said, "Nick, you trusted me, and you can always trust me. What I want to ask is, can I trust you? The same way?"
"Yes, of course. I won't ever tell anyone anything you have said to me in confidence." He kissed me again. It was beautiful.
"In the hospital, you asked me how I knew where you were. I said, it was the same way I knew your name before being told."
He looked alert and interested. I noticed his warm hazel eyes and soft, gentle features, and wondered why I hadn't noticed them before.
"It's like this, Nick…"
And sitting there in my bedroom, close to my beloved, I explained about my unusual gifts. He took it all in without any particular kind of surprise. And then he said, "Adam, Hallowe'en is supposed to be about witches, and demons, and wicked people. But you were my good angel. But there's something else I want to know…"
He paused, trying to find the right words.
"Are you… are you qu.... are you like me?"
"If you mean, do I like boys, the way most boys like girls, the answer is Yes. Or rather, yes, depending upon the boy."
He smiled, and it was a very sweet and tender smile.
"And do you like this boy?"
For answer I put my arms around him again. This time, the kiss went on for some time. And once again my strange insight came into play. I knew that we weren't just kissing. We were laying the foundations of a lifetime love.
Yes, I'd been his Hallowe'en Angel. But he was mine, too.
THE END.
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