Move (9 page)

Every year our school has a show. The big hall is filled with the entire student body, sitting in rows that seem unusually neat and respectful for a concert audience due to the fact that we are all in uniform. Standing by the walls of the room, teachers slowly track us with watchful attention, like security cameras, knowing that if we get bored we will get restless. Then, it’s up to the older classes to entertain the highly sceptical audience.

Sometimes the show is pretty good, like when there are bands on. Often, though, it is awful: Miss Day’s recorder class springs to mind. This year Five A2 had a couple of acts. Some of the class, including Tara, were doing a spoof news programme. After them on the program was ‘Inextreme’. That was our band, Zed, Deano and me. We were going to do a version of
‘Gangsta’s Paradise’, a really good kick-ass punk version.

All day, we had worn woolly hats, which people had assumed was part of our act, but really it was because we had been at Zed’s house the previous night and had used his older brother’s electric razor to shave our heads close, with the remaining fuzz forming neat designs. The school was in for a shock when we hit the stage.

Standing in the wings, the three of us were impatient to get on, with Zed and Deano acting like stars and making dismissive comments about what was currently happening in front of us. The girls had a mock news studio set up and actually I thought they were pretty funny. The audience liked them too and were laughing at an interview between the reporter, Tara, and Michael Clarke, who was pretending to be the Monk. Michael was stuttering in horror as he responded to the news that the government had abolished homework. When they finished there was generous applause. The stagehands ran on to clear away their props while Mr Kenny went up to the microphone.

‘Next we have another performance from Five A2. Brace yourself for something extreme from our latest pop group: ‘Inextreme!’

‘Hats off, here we go.’ Zed led the way on to the stage and set up behind the drums. I plugged in my guitar and faced out towards the upturned and expectant faces. There were whistles and laughs as people saw our near-bald heads.

‘1, 2, 3, 4.’ Zed clicked his drumsticks together and he and Deano set up the backline.

At first it was a total blast; we were having exactly the desired
effect. The kids were rocking, the teachers looked concerned, especially the headmaster, and Mr Kenny was scowling. We ruled. I looked over to where Tara had left the stage, in the hope that she had stayed to watch. Just as the thought occurred to me that the lyrics of the song were curiously appropriate to my situation, I felt the odd wrench that comes with a move.

My guitar was hopelessly out of tune and I was hitting all the wrong notes. In fact, I had forgotten what the right chords were. This was awful. I had to stop. Deano and Zed were
keeping
up their parts, but I was stuck.

‘Dude, what’s going on?’ Zed hissed at me. Deano just looked down at his feet and shook his head. Eventually they had to halt too.

‘Boo! You suck!’

‘Extreme garbage!’

From glory we faced humiliation. Our whole bald-headed thing just called attention to us and, worse, it was going to
continue
to do so for weeks, until our hair grew out again. The entire school was watching as we made a complete hash of our show. Now their entertainment was in trying to drive us off stage by jeering and shouts. This was rapidly becoming the most embarrassing moment of my life. The look of satisfaction on Mr Kenny’s face made me furious. He saw me glaring at him and raised his eyebrows, as if to say: well, what next?

What next was that I was not going to accept this without a fight. Unlike with the Valentine card, and the shock when Mr Kenny drew on my face, I was ready to strike back. Weeks of practice at meditation meant I didn’t panic. I could calm myself
and see my way out of this universe.

The hungry ghost was close. I could feel its implacable enmity and its rejoicing in my humiliation. It was hard to
concentrate
, with that evil presence in my mind and the growing sounds of mass derision from in front of me. It didn’t help that Zed was shouting at me too, so I closed my eyes. All the
alternate
universes that I could see were equally bad; this is what I’d expected, but it was still disheartening that the ghost was
powerful
enough to block me in completely. Still, I was much better at moving than on Valentine’s Day, and much more prepared to respond to the crisis.

Out there in the darkness was a universe in which Inextreme had continued with a great performance. We were still playing, less than a minute had passed. It took more effort than I’d ever before put into moving, but eventually I found a cluster of
universes
where all seemed well. Trying to focus on them was like trying to read a small sign on a train that was rapidly moving away, having to run at a sprint, ignoring everything around me, looking at the sign, bringing it into focus, making sense of it. It was nearly there. I could almost touch it. I could make out some words. Then, with a sickening jerk, I was taken hold of and flung through millions of universes. It was as though all the time I had been striving for the ones I wanted, I had been running in a harness attached to a long thick elastic band. That elastic had violently pulled me away from my desired goal and I had rolled out of control through millions of possibilities.

My head was whirling. Where was I? Not in the large hall at all, but in our classroom along with everyone else. When I put a
hand to my head I felt hair. Everyone was crowded around the windows, crying out with amazement.

‘They’ve got it this time.’

‘No way, look at it go.’

An extraordinary roar shook the whole school. It was the deep reverberating call of an angry elephant. By standing on a desk like Deano was doing, I could look over my classmates to get a view of the events outside. In the courtyard that was formed on three sides by our school buildings was an elephant. A tattered streamer lay on the ground: ‘Fossett’s Circus’. Men, presumably from the circus, were trying to appease the
elephant
, which swayed its head ominously.

‘Mad stuff,’ observed Deano.

‘Hey, Deano. Isn’t the school show today?’ I asked, still bewildered by the way I had been thrown here.

My question made him take his eyes off the spectacle outside and he turned to me with amazement.

‘Man, that’s next week. Remember, the Monk postponed it. Good job it wasn’t today, hey? We’d have been upstaged by this guy.’

‘Deano, you know about our plan to shave our heads?’

‘Yeah?’ His attention was back on the courtyard, where one of the handlers had the elephant by its ear and seemed to be able to exert some control over it.

‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea. If something goes wrong, it’ll make us look pretty daft for weeks.’

‘What could go wrong?’

‘Well, my amp could go, or yours. Or anything.’

‘Could do, I suppose. I don’t really mind either way.’ There was nothing more to see from our angle so he got off his desk and ran his hand through his fringe, to spike it up a bit. ‘Come on though, Liam; just think how Dog Face will freak. It’s gotta be worth it for that.’

‘True mate, but let’s just weigh it up before we make fools out of ourselves.’

Deano just shrugged.

That afternoon I was exhausted and panicking. The hungry ghost had tried to pin me to a horrible, embarrassing experience and while I had broken out of that hold, it had been at the cost of being flung around, completely out of control. Was it always going to be like this from now on? It was terrifying to think that the hungry ghost was just going to keep after me, draining me, forcing me to taste shame, pain, fear and who knew what
misery
? The nature of the hungry ghost meant it wasn’t going to let up. I felt that for certain. If only I’d listened to my doubts when I’d first moved, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.

My miserable state of mind wasn’t improved by the bus
journey
home, because as soon as I took my seat I began to drowse from mental exhaustion. There, in my dreams, I was subject to another terrible journey through the dark underside of the metaverse. While I was submerged in those frightening oceans, something happened which I’ll write about here, although I didn’t experience it at the time. It’s a reconstruction, but,
looking back, there’s a part of me knows how to put this down exactly as it happened.

Ahh, planet Earth, so good to be back, and so much better that I am no longer human. Is there any place like it in the metaverse? I think not. Six billion or so human beings and all mine to feast upon. Especially those gathered here, in this city. Perhaps there are other parts of the planet where there is greater distress and sorrow, stronger emanations that would provide me with greater sustenance. But the people on the streets of this city will serve me well.

Departing the bus, I placed myself at the heart of the throng, by leaning against the wall of a bridge while the humans streamed past in both directions. The experience was immediately rewarding. They did not meet my lustrous hungry eyes, or if they did, they ducked their heads sharply. Too late, though, for I had delved into their emotions and sought out the shame, fear, cowardice, greed and hate that I needed to fill me and to give me the strength to remain on the planet.

So many people, like several herds of cattle travelling in
different
directions, all trying to pass through the same field. I intended to become powerful enough to carve them apart for the energy I need, to crush them under the weight of their own weaknesses, but as I was newly born and yet to have my full powers, I settled for what came to me freely.

While the planet’s yellow star began to descend towards the 
head of the river, I inhaled and inhaled, obtaining one particular flavour of replenishing energy that flowed from nearly everybody that passed me: anxiety.

Oh how anxious they were, all these souls. Packed together in their hundreds, almost brushing against one another as they filled the pavements. Yet divided from each other to the point where they felt distaste and even fear from the touch of a stranger. If I were in a harsher environment, where the human beings were struggling against deathly cold or ferocious heat, there would be none of this emptiness and despair. A city is an excellent home for a creature like me.

What did they worry about? Money. Appearance. Status. An elderly man passed and I followed in his wake, for the trail of rage and frustration that poured out of him was strong. The world was leaving him behind and he had done nothing with his life. Inside a dry cleaners he leaned on the counter for support.

‘Is it collection?’ A young Chinese girl worked behind the till.

‘Don’t hurry me!’ The old man glared at her and she quailed at the unexpected ferocity in his voice. Under his breath he swore at her, just loud enough that she could hear it. They waited then in silence and the longer the moment, the more her confusion grew as to what was expected of her. This was the effect that the old man wished to create and he savoured it as he continued to mutter. Nor did she get any reassurance from the fact that I stared avidly and with evident pleasure at the rheumy eyes of my man.

‘Do you have ticket?’ Finally, she dared to speak up,
encouraged
by the fact that another customer had entered the shop.

My man spat out another obscenity, but internally he was
intimidated
by the newcomer and could no longer outstare the girl behind the counter. As he reached for his ticket, I left.
Somewhere
in this city were truly evil people, not just bitter defeated old men. If only I could find them and feast. O the hunger. I had to keep eating, for I was barely able to sustain my presence here.

Across the street a woman in a business suit had something for me. It was a place at which several humans had gathered to smoke. She was amongst them, large-bellied with a difficult pregnancy.

When I stopped in front of her and looked up into her watery eyes, she took the cigarette out of her mouth and spat,
provocatively
close to me.

‘I know what you are thinking, kid, but beat it. I’ll smoke if I want to.’ Her voice was more tired than angry. I laughed, savouring the guilt especially, before leaving her, drained and disheartened to the point of tears.

From person to person I moved through the streets, gathering what sustenance I could, sometimes breaking into a run to reach a particularly attractive source of energy. It was never enough.

At last, a darker, richer vein of food reached my senses. It was coming from deep inside a hospital, but no one stopped me as I walked rapidly along corridors that reeked of detergent. A sad waiting room contained five women, all unhappy to various degrees. The bright, frothy magazines that lay on a table only made them all feel worse, but they were not why I was here.

In the adjacent room was a surgeon who hated women. Taking 
a chair, as if I were the child of one of those waiting for a
consultation
, I closed my eyes and drew strength from his passion. Did he understand his own nature and gloat in it? Not
consciously
. To the best of his knowledge he was acting for their own good.

The beast within, however, ruled him. O how he gloated that the delicate forms in front of him would lie with utter vulnerability beneath his knife.

He commiserated with them, consoled them, convinced himself the operation would be necessary. And all the while, with
unacknowledged
rejoicing, his dark soul filled him with pleasure from the anticipation of the fact that in due course he would be able to cut into their helpless flesh. Perhaps, one day, I would stand
beside
him when he went to the operating theatre. That would be rich feeding.