Haven’t changed, haven’t much to say, but man I still think them cats are crazy.
My hands moved faster and faster, stacking the bricks higher and higher as the song built up to the chorus. That was the bit I used to sing along to, and me and Dad both would dance around playing air guitars.
The boys are back in town.
The boys are back in town.
The boys are back in town.
We were always the boys who were back in town. We’d do this thing with our Nerf guns where we’d jump out of the car and lock and load. I could see it in my head, me and Dad fighting off hundreds and hundreds of monsters—you know, Magog or Cybermen; Daleks or the creepy Borg.
A crash from downstairs startled me out of my daydream.
Glass.
Breaking glass.
Then I heard angry growls and the sound of wood snapping and splintering. I knew if I could just keep focused I wouldn’t get scared. I watched my fingers picking up blocks of Lego and placing them on whatever it was I was building like they had a mind of their own. I worked quickly, brick upon brick, Dad’s silly songs running ’round my head and making me laugh and cry, and miss him and Mum so much it felt like my organs were all dropping out of my body. I cried and cried, but they were someone else’s tears, and the people I saw—Nanny and Granddad, Aunty Paula and Uncle Del, even my best friend Joe Molloy, they all looked like they’d been cut out of a comic.
Kings of speed, we’re gonna make you kings of speed, Dad sang. Smash, crash, bash went the creatures downstairs.
The ace of spades, the ace of spades. Moan, groan, moan, groan.
The thing that used to be Dad roared, and the things downstairs roared back. I cried out loud then. I still wanted to go to him, even though I knew he was gone. I didn’t want to be on my own. I didn’t want them to get me.
Something squealed and I looked up. Two beady white eyes were watching me from the shadows. I threw a Lego brick at them and they vanished for a second, only to reappear a few feet away. I picked up another brick and placed it on whatever it was I was building. Somehow I knew it was finished. I pushed back and stood so I could see it better. It was a rectangle, like a doorframe for a dwarf. It stood on a chunky base of stepped bricks and had a shiny piece like a lamp on top. I was about to see if I could walk through it when more beady eyes lit up beyond the doorway.
I stepped away and looked around for something I could use to frighten them off. The yellow plastic of one of my old Nerf guns caught my eye. I pushed past some boxes and grabbed it. It was the one with the revolving chamber and a full load of foam darts. I cocked it, spun round, and fired at the first pair of white eyes. There was a squeak and they disappeared. More and more eyes were appearing all over the attic. Some of them scurried out into the light and I kept turning to make sure they didn’t sneak up on me.
Rats.
Dozens of them, all filthy and frothing at the mouth. They were squealing at me, staring me down with milky eyes just like Watson’s. Just like Mum’s. Just like Dad’s.
There were heavy footsteps on the stairs and more moaning and groaning. I fired off another Nerf dart and one of the rats scarpered. The others kept closing in, hissing and baring their yellow teeth. Something roared below on the landing and then light spilled up through the trapdoor opening as the canvas wardrobe was pulled down. Fingers grabbed the edge of the opening, but they slipped away. There was a thud as the thing must’ve hit the ground, but straight away more fingers took hold of the edge. I’d taken my eyes off the rats, and when I looked back they’d got even closer. I shot one right on the nose, but I could see it was no good. More and more were crawling over the attic junk and coming at me from all sides. I fired again and then threw the gun at a pack of them.
A head appeared through the trapdoor opening and the most evil face I’d ever seen snarled at me. Long ropes of drool dangled from its chin as it thrashed about crazily and started to drag itself into the attic. More hands appeared behind it, and below I could hear so much moaning that I knew the house must be full of zombies.
I kicked a rat that had got too close and turned, looking for somewhere to run. They were everywhere, spitting and hissing, squeaking and scratching. The first zombie was finding its feet, while the next was halfway into the attic. I screamed, whirling around desperately and knowing one of the rats was gonna bite me any second. There was no more being grown up, no more being brave. I wanted Mummy. I wanted Daddy, and there was no one. Maybe there was no one anywhere. I tottered and nearly fell, and when I steadied myself I saw a strange violet glow. It was coming from the Lego doorway. I stared at it, openmouthed, even as cold fingers touched the back of my neck. The rats swarmed toward me in waves, and the fingers started to dig into my skin. I screamed again and broke away, tripping on a big rat and falling headlong through the doorway. I hit my head hard and it all went black.
There was a buzzing in my ears, like someone had stuck me in a wasps’ nest. Everything itched and prickled and ached and burned. I was cold, then hot, then cold again. Mum was standing in the doorway, holding out a bag of shopping for me to take.
“Chain gang time,” Dad said, leaning over my shoulder to kiss Mum on the lips. The second they touched, it all went fuzzy. My head spun like I was in a washing machine and I ended up face down in bed. Bad dream, I thought and tried to pull the covers up, only there weren’t any covers.
I let out a whimper and tried to move. There was something gritty in my mouth. I spat and raised my head to see what it was.
Dirt.
I was lying face down in dirt. There were trees all around me; tall scraggly trees with no leaves. Heavy clouds hung in the sky and big birds flitted in and out of the treetops. I started at the sound of crunching footsteps getting closer and closer.
“Steady now, old chap,” a man’s voice said. It was so gruff it sounded like he needed a good cough to clear his throat.
I twisted my head to look up at him. At first he was just a blurry blob of white, but as I blinked, a pointy helmet came into focus. He bent down, resting his weight on a rifle. I rolled onto my back and sat up. I smelled something whiskeyish on his breath, and there were crumbs of food on his dangly moustache. His eyes were sparkly blue with magic, and his cheeks were red and blotchy.
“Good show, old man,” he said. “Good show.”
“I… but… I… omigosh! Wesley J. Harding! But this can’t be… This isn’t real.”
Wesley J. Harding’s brows knitted together and his eyes lost their shine for a moment.
“You could say that, I suppose. Yes, you could say that.” He twiddled his moustache and the sparkle returned to his eyes. “Come on, laddie. Can’t dally. Tiger-men on the tail, what, and you don’t want them to catch you in the open, mark my word.”
He took hold of my elbow and led me off through the trees toward the red disk of the setting sun. I had a zillion questions, but he started to run and it took all my breath just to keep up.
“Tell me, laddie,” he called over his shoulder. “Have you ever tried a bed of nails? Look like you could use a good sleep, what.”
“Sleep?” I said. “I can’t sleep.”
He stopped and took me by the shoulders, nodding and frowning.
“I know, laddie. Forgive an old codger. Course you can’t sleep after what you’ve been through.”
I pulled back from him, all tensed up and ready for a fight.
“No, it’s not that. I’m hungry, is what. Really, really hungry. Starving.”
“Ah,” Wesley J. said, slapping the barrel of his rifle. “And I think I know just what you need.”