I guess I have always believed that grown-ups have all the answers.
They behave as if they do.
Looking at Mrs O’Donnell’s face I suddenly realized something. It’s not true. Adults are just making things up as they go along. And when they’re scared, adults have no more answers than us kids.
Mrs O’Donnell was scared and she didn’t know what to do. Everything that she knew and thought had been—
NOTE
We have absolutely no way of knowing just how Side Two would have ended if the tape had not run out. Many papers and book chapters have set out to explore this interruption to the story, but they are all just guesses. They are not worth looking at here, because they cloud the issues rather than bringing them into focus. When Graysmark argues that "(T)he largest truth of the Straker account lies in the silent spaces between tapes" he allows himself to fall into what Nightingale calls "the fallacy of the gaps". The meaning of the gaps cannot be known, measured or estimated.
Tape Two Side One
… my train of thought?
NOTE
Kyle never returns to his prior train of thought. Changing the tape seems to have completely wiped what he was going to say from his mind. It is difficult to judge the importance of this. Lahr and Pritchett, in their book Forgotten Words: the Untold Histories of the World, argue that Kyle Straker’s narrative is forever altered at the point where the second tape begins: "The story is reset, and the world revised. When Straker forgets his place in his own story, we lose something important, but it is something that we can never know . . . We try to complete this part of the story, and we can only do that by importing our own experiences, prejudices, ideas. Kyle’s story becomes our own, but it also stops being his. "
My throat is dry. Dry and scratchy. I think this is the most talking that I have ever done in my life. In one go, that is.
Funny thing is, I don’t even know if anyone will ever listen to these tapes. I’m not even sure why I thought it was such a good idea to make them. I just wanted to leave a record, for the four of us, for any more people like us that are left, so that we will not be forgotten.
I think that’s what we all want, in the end.
To know that we left footprints when we passed by, however briefly.
We want to be remembered.
So remember us.
Please.
Remember us.
Chapter 12
Things never happen the way you think they are going to. Too many random factors between thought and action, I guess. My dad used to sum it up with this weird golfing saying: there’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.
NOTE—"golfing"
Two things here:
1. Golfing was a sport, thought to be an early version of what we now call "flagellum". Golf, however, used an external, manufactured club to strike a "ball" towards a much closer target (hundreds of meters, rather than tens of kilometers) called a "hole", which was traditionally marked by a flag.
2. The proverb "many a slip…" is unlikely to have ever originated from the sport of golf, and is more likely to do with the way primitive humans used to drink by raising a drinking vessel (or cup) to the mouth (which used to feature "lips", or movable organs that fringed the mouth and were used for assisting eating, for rudimentary sensing, and for speech formation). See Bathgate’s Vestiges of Barbarism: What Our Bodies Used to Be.
We left Mrs O’Donnell’s house in a flat depression. The idea was to go back to Mr Peterson, check he was OK, then head out of the village on the Crowley road to see how far the phenomenon stretched.
Easy plan.
We were halfway down the road when Mrs O’Donnell stopped walking.
"They’ve gone," she said, and I realized she was at the house where the boy and girl had been standing, frozen in the act of coming out of their house.
Had been.
They weren’t there now.
The hallway was empty.
Chapter 13
We hit the high street at a run.
Gone was the heaviness that had settled over our minds and bodies, now we felt light as clouds. If the Cross children were gone, then surely it was likely that they had moved themselves. If that was true, maybe everyone else was moving again.
Suddenly we stopped running. People were moving down the high street.
People.
Were.
Moving.
In fact, it was a great number of people and they were walking, as a crowd, away from the village green and heading for, I guessed, their houses.
People.
Moving.
It was wonderful.
And if they looked a little dazed—staring about as if seeing an unfamiliar place—then that was probably to be expected after what had just happened to them.
I wondered if they realized anything had happened at all, or whether they had just been switched back on, with no sense that time had even passed.
Relief flooded through me, as if my world had suddenly been set back on to its proper axis. I saw Lilly’s face register her own internal relief. Tension replaced by excitement and a hint of a smile.
I knew that the smile was for Simon and I felt an eel of jealousy uncurl within my stomach.
NOTE—"eel of jealousy"
This is quite a bizarre phrase, because an eel was a snakelike fish of the type we now refer to as an Anguilliforme. How this related to jealousy is unknown, although Kenton argues for it being a kind of metaphor for the feeling the primitive emotion caused within the individual. LeGar, however, points to a fragment of a text called Stargate SG-1 which suggests that a parasitic creature of this type may have been present within certain individuals.
It didn’t last.
Whatever it was that had occurred was over now.
The people of the village were making their way back home.
I noticed my parents and brother in the crowd, turned to Mrs O’Donnell and she offered me a reassuring smile.
I smiled back, nodded at Lilly, and made my way through the crowd to join them.
Chapter 14
There was the oddest of moments when my mum’s eyes met mine and she seemed to look straight through me, as if she didn’t recognize me, or was looking past me, in search of…
In search of what?
I couldn’t even finish the thought because suddenly her eyes flicked back to me. They saw me as if I had just materialized out of thin air. They locked on me then, and I saw recognition flood into her eyes. Her mouth turned up into a smile.
"Kyle," she said, and there was a softness to her voice that hadn’t been there for a while. The way she said my name before Dad went and broke her heart.
I ran to her and she hugged me tight.
"I was so scared," I told her.
"Scared, poppet?" she comforted me. "Now what on earth is there to be scared about?"
Dad squeezed my arm.
"There’s nothing to be scared about," he whispered, and again it was a voice from the past. "We’re here."