The Boy

After encountering a mysterious young boy, a man then realizes his worst fears are coming true.

  

                                               

                                                          The Boy

I had been on the road for a while now.  Trees, farms and fields either side.  The sun shone and the temperature was agreeable.  Occasionally I would pass a sign indicating another village.  There was a certain place I was looking for, as I had business there.  So, keeping my eyes peeled, I carried on down the country lane.  There was no other vehicles about, so it felt quite isolating at times.  I hummed a tune and played with the radio, hoping I would find something interesting to listen too.  Tapping my hand on the steering wheel, I found myself semi-dancing to an R&B track on Radio Hip Hop.  At my age I should of known better, but what the hell.  The song ended and then there was a discussion involving three people, a man and two women, about the problems young people experience today.  Mainly drug and alcohol issues, and how it can affect their lives for the worst.    

I have a son that I love very much, and the thought of anything bad happening to him, feels my heart with dread.  

I changed the station to see what else was on.  Peering down for a second I didn’t notice the figure in front, but looking up all I remember seeing was the startled face and the wide-open eyes of a screaming boy.  I closed my eyes in utter shock and the car skidded to the side of the road.  

After a few moments, I opened my eyes and expected to see the front window screen covered in blood. 

It wasn’t.

Looking further down the bonnet, I noticed no damage to the interior.  This didn’t make sense?  I knew for a fact that a boy of about ten or eleven ran out in front of me, and that we had collided.  So where was the evidence of this?

I got out of the vehicle still dazed from the experience.  Looking up the road I could see no traces of blood, let alone a mutilated body lying somewhere nearby.  Unless the body was thrown into a ditch, as my car was going at a steady fifty miles per hour, but still enough speed to cause this to happen.

I started panicking, I needed to call the police, or more importantly, an ambulance.  Somewhere out there a kid was either dead or lying helpless, needing my assistance.

I removed the phone from my trouser pocket and dialled the number for the EMERGENCY SERVICES.

Ten minutes later a police car pulled up, and a man in his fifties got out.  “How can I help, sir?”

“Hi,” I said, “Sorry for making a fuss, but I think I hit a young lad on this stretch of road, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of this.  Where’s the ambulance by the way?” I asked.

The policeman looked amused whilst looking about him.  “So, where did you hit this young lad?”

“Just over here,” I said, as I made my way to the spot.  “Right here, I can’t workout why there isn’t any blood?  Nothing at all.”

The policeman joined me and placed a hand on my shoulder.  “I’m afraid you have been fooled.  What you saw was the ghost of Harold Keedle.  He’s been haunting this area for years, poor lad.  The moment you called this in, I knew instantly what had occurred.  But still, I thought I would come and see for myself, and also, to see if you was fine.”

I was so relieved I fell to the floor.  “So I haven’t killed anyone?” I sobbed.

“No you haven’t, There’s a lot of sightings of poor old Harold along ‘ere, you’d be surprised,” the man said laughing.  “You’ve had a shock, my village is two miles from ‘ere, there’s a nice café there, and meals and drinks are at a good price.”

“Thank you, I should carry on with my journey though,” I answered politely.

The man smiled warmly.  “That’s your decision.  Have a safe trip.” 

With that he got back into his car, and drove back up the quiet lane.

I walked back to my car and opened the door, but before getting in, I looked back to the place where the boy had appeared to me.

I felt a chill.

Five minutes had passed, and I was yet again making my way up the long winding road.  The weather helped greatly, and the windows were open so a pleasant breeze could be felt on my face.

Standing in front of a tall oak tree a sign could be observed.  I looked closer, and it read ‘DARKRIDGE.’

Must be the village that the kind policeman was speaking of.

It had been a long day and I was growing peckish.  If I stop off at the café that the policeman had spoke of, get a quick bite to eat, than I would be back to full strength for the rest of the day.  It seemed a good idea.

Driving through, I noticed some cottages and a playing field, also a newsagents and some terraced houses.  So far, no food place.

Then a wide building appeared to me on the right-hand side of the road.  This was the place.

I pulled the car up, and got out.  

I headed towards the entrance and noticed the cafe was dead.  Or if the truth be told with no exaggeration, the whole village was dead.  Wherever I looked no one could be seen, including vehicles on the road.  This was indeed, a lonely place in the middle of nowhere.

I walked reluctantly to the front of the building.  

On the plus-side, if the café had no customers, then I would get served quicker.  

I entered the place and made my way to the counter.  Waiting patiently I looked about me, and noticed some photos of different people of various ages and genders, stuck on the walls.  They were all black and white photos, and the clothes these people wore, were definitely old-fashioned.  Then I noticed a particular photo, and my heart rate quickened.  Looking back at me was the little boy from earlier.  In this picture he looked happy as he crouched in a field, looking towards the person who was taking the photograph.  On his face he had a big smile, unlike the terrified look of earlier.

It saddened me.

I felt a presence behind me, and looked round, an elderly man stood there.

“Hello,” I said in a polite manner.

“That boy in the photograph, a shame it is, tragic,” the man said.  “He haunts a place around these parts, his soul never resting in peace.”

“So, what were the circumstances of his death?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not really sure,” the man said, and he coughed a few times and went a little red in the face.  After his coughing had stopped he carried on, “Someone told me a few years back that the poor little mite was murdered, his body found in a ditch.  The family never got over it, the boy’s dad supposedly committing suicide shortly afterwards.  Such a shame.”

So it was a violent death, that’s why he still haunted the place, but to verify this I needed to ask the man where exactly this occurred.

“Whereabouts did the boy get killed?  Or where was his body found?” I asked, interested by the answer I was going to get.

The man with his red nose and grey hair peered round at the photograph once again, and sighed.  Then he spoke, “There’s only one road that comes into this place, or to be more accurate a country lane.  Then it goes all the way through the village and passed the old church, and then to the next village.”

“Why is this?” I said, “why just one road?”

“To keep outsiders away.  My theory is, that young boy in the photograph was murdered by an outsider, someone from the city, maybe?  Can I ask you a simple question, if you don’t mind.  Why are you so fascinated by this?”

Well, it was time now to be honest with this gentleman.  So I explained my journey up here, and how I had encountered the spirit of Harold Keedle.

The man was quiet for sometime, a worried look on his face, and he said, “You saw the young boy you say?”

“Yes.”

“Did he look directly at you?”

“Yes,” I replied.

The man shuffled about awkwardly, sweat was visible on his forehead.  Then he spoke, “I must go.  I’m so sorry, I can’t help anymore.”

He started walking off, I suddenly felt anxious, why was he behaving in this manner?

“What’s wrong?” I shouted.

“Just leave me alone,” he bellowed.  “You’ve been cursed, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

He hurriedly left the building.

I was now on my own, worried about what the old-timer had just said.  What did he mean, when he said I was now cursed?

Then I came to the conclusion the man was full of it.  I was stuck in a dead place, full of weirdo’s and their superstitious stories.  Yes, I did see a ghost that morning, or I saw something that I cannot explain.  And yes, I still had business some miles from here to get on with.  It was time to focus, and get on with my day.

I decided to leave.

I left the building and headed towards my car.  Surprisingly a couple of people were seen walking down the other-side of the road.  They gave me strange looks, as they talked amongst themselves.  

I started feeling a little on edge, was it paranoia?

I ignored them and got into my car.  I started the engine and the car moved slowly up the road.  I passed the church and observed more people.  I wasn’t sure if my imagination was working overtime, but I swear they all looked in my direction, with scared expressions on their faces.  

This was too much.

I needed to get out of this crazy place.

Some time later, I was now surrounded by lush fields and the quietness of the countryside.  Away from that odd village and the even weirder occupants.

A strange day so far.

I hummed a tune and time seemed to be lost to me.  It was about eleven thirty in the morning and the sun still shone, causing the grass and the growth from the trees to glow.  

All of a sudden a tightness was felt around my throat.  I tried to pull my head away, but the grip was too strong.  I looked up at the mirror, and looking back at me with cold unemotional eyes was the little boy.  And with a terror I have never experienced before, I tried to scream, but my throat felt like it was being crushed.  Everything ahead of me became blurry and it was impossible to focus.  The last thing I remember was a tree coming towards me at great speed, and glass shattering everywhere.

And then darkness.

            The End