Before he was killed. Killed horribly, just because of when he was born.
It was Friday now, but only early evening – not yet midnight. Callum wondered feverishly if something would change within him during the chime hours. Would his powers be sharpened, his ability to see ghosts heightened? He tried to remember if there was any pattern to his visions, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything further back than the beginning of the week.
And what good would it do if his powers did increase after midnight? Another chime child had been killed and Callum hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it. Instead, he was being blamed for it. Why had Baz insisted Callum was the murderer?
Then Callum’s dazed mind came sharply into focus.
What an idiot!
It was the creature with his face.
That was what was killing the chime children. Not the sinister Jacob, nor his hell hound. The monster had come for Callum in the night, but it had fled when it heard Doom’s howling. Thwarted at the cottage, it had come to find him at school. Ed’s friend Craig had mistaken the creature for Callum in the cafeteria. After school, Ed must have come looking for him, and got more than he bargained for.
BEWARE THE DARK REFLECTION
Jacob had said it was a warning, but Callum hadn’t believed him. He’d been so busy running from the monster that it hadn’t occurred to him it might harm someone else. And now, how could he possibly escape a murder charge if the killer was wearing his own face . . .?
Footsteps broke the silence, echoing down the bare corridor outside the cells. Then voices – one deep and authoritative, the other shrill and demanding. Callum raised his head suddenly in wild relief.
Gran.
The harsh echoes made it difficult to make out what she was saying, but she was talking to the Custody Sergeant. It sounded like the policeman was getting a right earful.
With a clank, the cell door opened, and there she was.
‘Callum!’
Then she was running to him, and crushing him to her tightly in one of her rare hugs. It had never felt so good.
‘You’re free, Callum,’ she said firmly. ‘No more worries.’
Callum jerked back.
‘What?’
‘That girlfriend of yours is a right bright spark,’ the Custody Sergeant said approvingly. ‘She was absolutely spot on about the CCTV. You’re a very lucky lad. Every step you took since you left school this afternoon is on camera, and you were clearly nowhere near the scene of the crime.’
Callum let out a huge sigh of relief to hear the policeman sounding so convinced and sympathetic.
‘It’s true that the allegations against you were very serious,’ the officer continued, ‘but quite apart from the only eyewitness being unreliably hysterical, even without the camera footage there’s not a shred of evidence against you. This was a violent crime. It would have left your hands and clothes covered in -’
The Custody Sergeant coughed, clearing his throat at the unpleasant thought of what Callum would have been covered in had he really ripped Ed’s eyes out of his skull and eaten them.
‘Well, as I said, there’s no evidence,’ the policeman finished. ‘I don’t know what did happen, but you obviously had nothing to do with it.’
‘What do I do now?’ Callum asked faintly.
‘Go home with your gran, eat your tea and have a lie-in tomorrow,’ the Custody Sergeant said kindly. ‘You can leave this case to Greater Manchester’s Finest now. It’s nothing to do with you any more – though of course you may be called on as a witness.’
‘Come on, Callum,’ Gran said.
They let him change back into his uniform and gave him back his anorak and rucksack. Then Gran and Callum walked home in silence. It had been dark for some time, and Callum was glad to have Gran’s no-nonsense company on the road through Marlock Wood. None of the usual ghosts were hovering there, and the light over the front door of Gran’s cottage shone cheeringly through the leafless trees. Callum stood shivering on the path while Gran let them in. They both sat down in their usual armchairs in front of the fire, without even taking off their coats.
‘Well, good grief!’ Gran exclaimed finally. ‘All right now, Callum. I’ve heard out the police and I’ve heard out your friend Melissa Roper. Let’s hear your side of this awful story.’
‘Oh, Gran -’ Callum started. He broke off and tried again. ‘Was the actual murder caught on CCTV too?’
‘No. The camera only gets the car park. It caught you and Melissa running past after you heard the screaming.’
Callum didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed. He didn’t really think the supernatural creature that was after him was any more likely to be caught on film than a ghost was. Yet Baz had seen it. So had Craig, in the dinner hall. Sure, they’d seen the monster when it was in Callum’s form, but they’d seen something. It was a being that could reveal itself to anyone, not just chime children. Not like a ghost . . .
Gran leaned forwards in her chair. ‘So what happened?’
Something in Callum snapped. He just couldn’t keep up the pretence, the secrecy of his thirteen years, any longer. He didn’t think he should keep it secret now. The world of ghosts and monsters was affecting his world – not just him, not just chime children, but everyone. Every boy and girl at Callum’s school who had witnessed Ed’s defiled body lying on the pavement in a pool of blood. Callum couldn’t bear the burden of being the only one who knew what had really happened.
‘Gran, I think I know who did it. I mean, what did it. It wasn’t human.’
Gran sat very quietly. She didn’t protest. She seemed to be listening, so Callum went on.
‘Last night there was . . . there was a thing in the back garden. Like a person, but without a face. I don’t know what it was. It came down the garden path and stood at the glass doors and looked at me. And then . . .’ Callum paused. Unbelievably, Gran was still listening. Her expression was serious but impossible to read. She didn’t interrupt. ‘Then it grew a face. And the face was mine. The thing looked just like me.’
‘Oh, Callum,’ said Gran softly. Her voice was full of dismay, but there was no surprise in it, and her expression was understanding.
‘I don’t know what the thing was, Gran, but it . . . it wasn’t a ghost -’ Callum broke off again.
‘A ghost?’ Gran prompted quietly.
‘I can see ghosts too,’ Callum admitted. ‘I’ve always been able to, Gran. They’re real. And they’re everywhere.’
‘Can you see them here?’ Gran asked seriously. ‘Can you see them in this house?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Callum replied. ‘But then you already know that, don’t you?’
Gran sighed. ‘Yes, Callum,’ she said softly.
‘But you never said anything!’
‘People don’t like to talk about ghosts, do they?’ she answered, her voice edged with something like sadness. ‘But if you don’t see them here, then what was the thing in the garden?’
‘That’s what scares me. I don’t know what it was. It was something else. A monster. It borrowed my face, and now it’s out there pretending to be me, killing people.’
Gran sighed again but said nothing.
‘You believe me!’ Callum gasped.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Why, Gran? You’re not superstitious! You don’t even go to church! So why do you believe me?’
‘Callum,’ Gran said, her voice still quiet and even. ‘We need to talk. There’s a lot you don’t know that I suppose I have to tell you. Things about me, and about yourself. And -’
She paused, then added reluctantly, ‘And about your father.’