Category Archives: Uncategorized

It was quiet after the battle for Ni’Challan’s space station.  Somewhere, on the skin of the habitable zones robots, welded, glued and replaced sections blasted by Doctor Strangelove’s forces. Still, others polished away scorch marks and cleared up damaged exhibits inside the structure.  In the control centre, the gravity was correctly orientated, and the broken perspex replaced.  Inside the secured room, Algernon, Peggy, Bruce and Rain rested.  The only sounds were the grumbles and complaints from Ni’Challan as he saw the extent of the damage done to his sanctuary and collection.

Rain was still mulling over Algernon’s revelation that he’d never been a child and never experienced growing up.  Even his assumed 15 years was more time than he currently remembered and all at the hands of the elusive Doctor Strangelove.  Though Rain was missing a large portion of his early life, he remembered fondly all the people who had seen him through from age seven to his mid-teens.  Glancing over at the console he recalled the little old man who, one Christmas, had given him…everything.  A far cry from the taciturn stranger alone with his space-bound collection.  

Could I have built him up to be something more than he was?  Rain thought.  It was possible.  It was amazing what the human mind did with memories that it thought were important.  They acquired a magic quality, the etherealness of better times.  The further back the memory went the more stardust the memory seemed to collect.  

“Can I help you?” Ni’Challan said in a tone that stated the complete opposite. Rain realised he’d been staring, lost in his thoughts.  He stood and joined Ni’Challan at the console as he continued his work.

“I just want to be of assistance, sir.” Rain replied, falling into the same formal patterns of speech he always did when conversing with Ni’Challan.

“And yet you refuse my invitation to join my Found Gentlemen,” Ni’Challan said nonchalantly enough, but there was a tone of reprove and a disappointment.  Rain had assured the Ni’Challan that under normal circumstances he would have been happy to take the position, and Ni’challan had accepted the refusal graciously at the time.  But, rejection is still a rejection, and time tarnishes negative memories as it exalts positive ones.

“Mr Cudo, why are you here?”

“Because we knew you needed help.”

“And you’ve given it, and I appreciate your efforts even though it is by your mismanagement that aid was required.  What I want to know is, why are you still here?”

Rain looked over to the party, still resting from the battle.  It would have been easy to blame their lingering on the hard-fought fight.  Bruce himself was not doing well after the blood rush had faded.  It would be simple to say that was their reason for lingering. It would be the truth, most of the truth, but not all of it. 

“I…sir, when I received your card I thought only of Bruce and his father.  Even then, though flattered, I knew I had no place among your Found Gentlemen,” Rain paused a moment, weighing his words, ”Then I discovered you were Mr Samuels, the man who gave me my life’s vocation, a reason to keep on living.”

Ni’Challan made a derisive sound, “You overestimate my actions. I gave you a trinket on the off chance I could recruit you at a later date.  And to that, you have made yourself very clear.”

“You may have never intended it, but in your actions, you gave me the greatest gift; hope,” Rain could see Ni’Challan squirm under Rain’s sentimentality.  But this was the moment he’d wanted to say since discovering that Mr Samuels still lived, “Sir, I can’t be a Found Gentleman, but I’d like to be a friend if that’s at all possible.”

Ni’Challan’s brow’s furrowed, and his hands faltered on the console.

“Friends?” He asked, glancing sideways through his thick eyebrows at Rain, “What is it that you think we have in common?”

“Virtually nothing,” Rain admitted candidly, “A moment twenty years ago, we’re both alive and living this incredible life amidst the Strange, that we collect…”

“Collect?” Ni’Challan interrupted.  It surprised Rain what Ni’Challan knew of him.  His entire history was an open book to Ni’Challan, whereas it was a vague and confusing nightmare for Rain.  Ni’Challan knew that Rain was a wanderer with only what he could carry in his pockets and his backpack to his name, but knew nothing about what he found important.

Rain nodded, but didn’t answer the question directly, “Tell me, sir, why do you collect your…pieces?”  Ni’Challan picked up on Rain’s ambivalence to his collection and frowned, “They are valuable…artifacts, “He added the appropriate amount of reverence, “Important to Earth and every recursion they’ve spawned.”

“A bit of broken boat? “ Referring to a piece, the Titanic, “A motorcycle from a fictional world?” Algernon’s beloved Akira bike sprung to mind.

“They are tangible and irrefutable links to their moments in time.  One thousand five hundred died on the Titanic. Millions died in Tokyo 1988 and many hundreds of thousands in 2019.  And you too, are a link to your own tragedy, though you do not remember it. What was that number again?”

“Eight thousand, three hundred and seventy-two,” Rain supplied breathlessly.  It always had that effect.

“Exactly, you are a living link to all those who were lost.  You are an important remnant of that history.”
“History, his story, her story, their stories…” Rain toyed with the words, “You find your worth in the.. .preservation of those stories?”

“I do,” Ni’Challan said proudly, “I preserve the truth.”

“You are given purpose.  You find comfort in your small part in those stories?” Rain added, moving through his argument.  Ni’Challan looked at Rain suspiciously as if he suspected some con.

“I suppose.”

“Then we are more alike than you realise.  You connect and collect the stories of people through their artefacts. I do it through my interactions with the people themselves,” Rain gestured to his group and back Ni’Challan himself, “It is our own small piece of immortality.”

Ni’Challan huffed derisively again and went back to his console, the work of fixing his space station and collection.

“Rain, are you ready to go?” Peggy called as she and Algernon formed a circle with the unconscious boy and the distracted Bruce.  So busy with Ni’Challan, Rain had not noticed the group getting ready to leave.  

Without a thought, the black puzzle box appeared in his hand.  It had ceased to be a comfort to him, though its role in preserving and shaping his life was undeniable.  But, if it could soften the heart of an avaricious old man, it was a gift worth the giving. Placing the puzzle box down on the console, Rain moved away to join his party.

“What this?”  Ni’Challan picked it up, puzzling through its many movements without opening it, “But I gave this to you.”

“Yes sir, “ Rain looked back at the box, his one and only companion from that first meeting to this moment, “It’s meant a great deal to me over the years, but I don’t need it now.”

“Oh?” Ni’Challan looked genuinely confused by the revelation, “But it’s yours.”

“It reminded me of hope and magic.  I don’t need it now. I have both in here.”  He tapped his chest and his head. He went to turn away again, sure this time the box would be taken and returned to Ni’Challan’s collection.

“But…it’s just a box.  There is nothing significant about it.” Ni’Challan pondered, more to himself.  He held the box up as if examining it closely for something he may have missed.

“Oh, I disagree.  It was magical then, and it’s magical now.” Rain smiled for the first time in that conversation, “Let me show you.” 

Facing Ni’Challan, he moved his hands in front and behind the proffered box in a smooth, practised pattern.  One moment in Ni’Challan’s line of sight, the next hidden for a fraction of a second.  Suddenly the box disappeared without Rain seeming to touch it.  For the next few minutes, Rain made the box appear and disappear in various locations including Ni’Challan’s pocket, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on the old man’s.  

At first, the Ni’Challan observed Rain’s hands carefully looking for the deceptions, the misdirections and the covers that sleight of hand artists used to convince their audience that illusion is real. Slowly though, as Rain moved the Strange through his routine, the tricks became wilder and more impossible even for an experienced eye.  Rain spun and manipulated the puzzle box until Ni’Challan chuckled in surprise and from that moment, the gentle old man twenty Christmases ago was there in the room.

“See, not such a simple box.” Rain finished, placing the box into Ni’Challan’s age-worn hand. 

“No, only for you.” Ni’Challan held it out to Rain, “Your clever box would never do those things for me.  You’ve taught it that.”  

When Rain didn’t take the box back, Ni’Challan reached out, cupped Rain’s hand in his own and placed the box on the flat of his palm.  The moment was so like the one when he first received his gift from Mr Samuels that Rain knew he had remembered true.  He hadn’t imagined more than there was, the moment shared then as now.

“There, back where it belongs,” Ni’Challan said with finality, “Now go, your friends are waiting.”

Rain nodded, not trusting his voice in the moment. As he turned to go once more, he heard Ni’challan.

“I suppose you’ll be back, won’t you?” 

“As soon as I can,” And Rain smiled, a flush of emotion for this silly old man and his trinkets washing over him, “Farewell…Ni’Challan.”

“Yes, yes.  Leave me to clean up your mess.” Ni’Challan grouched, but now it seemed more tempered.  A crusty facade.  Scratch the surface, and you’d see the rust was no more than surface deep.

Rain joined the others in the circle as Peggy started the translation.  He had come to the station a mess of grief, fear and doubt. His grief was still present, a raw thing that often took him by surprise, there was a sense that life continued, and it could be worth living.  It was another rock in Rain’s shaky foundations, an absolute truth to base a life.  

The translation blotted out everything, and he was only aware of the Strange,  his part in the mechanics of travel, and being happy.

“Nyarlathotep . . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .
I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard.”

H.P.Lovecraft, Nyarlathotep 1920.

As shown in Peggy’s studies, Nyarlathotep has been busy on Earth for a very long time. It has many names and forms, but the one it is best known for on Earth are Nyarlathotep, The Crawling Chaos, The Black Pharaoh or the Black Man. On at least one instance Nyarlathotep has assumed the role of The Devil, complete with cloven hooves.

From my chat with the jeweller, Nyarlathotep often assume the form of a human man, tall, thin and joyless. They are the servant of the Outer gods, but I couldn’t find out who these Outer gods were. I wonder if they are not the nameless thing that Algernon can not speak of?? Or possibly the ellusive Nakarand? (though the similarity in name between Nyarlathotep and Nakarand is not lost on me). They make real the will of these Outer gods and is the Outer gods’ messenger.

It seems Nyarlathotep’s agenda is not just destruction of the human race, but he delights in insanity and chaos. I feel I know this fellow from old. It seems they are also very clever, deceptive and manipulative, something they have more in common with us than their Outer god brethern.

One of their practices is to gather followers to do their bidding. We’ve certainly seen that with the Lang. Are the Spiral Dust and Bywindine other ways Nyarlathotep has brought people to them?? They have also been known to use the words and practices of science to draw people to them. Whatever works, right?

He seems to have the power to make people fall asleep and into nightmares. There, I guess, it has absolute control to do with people as they will.

They’re not the only one.

“Hello?  My name is Samantha Anderson.  Is this Mrs Morris?”

“Yes, what is this about?”

“Sorry to trouble you.  I’m currently fostering Tobias Cudo.  I understand he spent some time with you.  I’m just trying to get a little background.”

*Silence*

“Hello?”

“Yes, sorry.  I’m not sure I can help you beyond what I told the social workers.  He always behaved perfectly in front of Mr Morris and myself, but he never seemed to fit in with the other children.”

“It was more to do with his mental health.  Was he always so…”

“Evasive?”

“I understand why you’d say that.  No, had you not felt his…sadness?”

“You’ve read his background.  Horrorifying!”

“And what impression did you get about what he thought about his past?”

“Frankly, we never saw any sign that he knew about what happened.”

“You never broached the subject with him?”

“Why bring up something so horrible if it’s not remembered.  We instead raised him in a positive christian way, to put aside the past and live for today.”

“I…I can appreciate that view, but even if he doesn’t remember it, it has an effect, one that could be at least understood with openness and councilling.”

*More Silence*

“Sorry, if that sounds like a criticism…I only meant….”

“It was a  criticism…but, I accept it.  Maybe we didn’t do all we could for Toby, but we did all we knew, if that makes sense.  I was sad to lose him when my husband past, but I just couldn’t keep all the children alone.  Out of children I had at the time he seemed the least likely to….the most capable to move on.”

“Yes, he does give that impression.  But he hides, sometimes for hours when there’s a difficulty of some sort, and his fingers always fidget with a little black box.”

“Oh?  He has always cherished the box.  I once gave him a crucifix to put in the box hoping that it  would give comfort.”

“I’ve never seen inside.  I’ve never wanted to pry.”

*Silence again*

“I hear his stay in the group home was not a good one. I’m very sorry for that.  But, I’m pleased to hear he has another loving family.”

“Thank you, we try.  He won’t speak about the group home.  He’s actually very good at putting on a brave face when he thinks we’re watching.  He’ll even make up jokes and do silly impressions, but if you ask him for stories he’ll have nothing to say and will put on another show as a distraction or demonstrate one of his magic tricks as a change of subject.  But I think there’s real pain there.”

“Life for these children is pain, or at least the part before they come to us.  All we can do is help them live with the past, and demonstrate a better way of living.”

“Yes, that’s what I hope to do.  Toby deserves that much, the rest is up to him.”
“Quite.”

*Silence from both sides* 

“Is there anymore I can help you with?”

“No, thank you.  Sorry for disturbing you.”

“Not at all.  If you think it proper, say hello from me and remember Mr Morris to him, please.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.  Goodbye.”

Being smaller than average had its advantages.  A sliding door storage space that most people wouldn’t consider, becomes a safe refuge.  The linen press that I currently hid was just inside the study where Sam Anderson (she’d told me to call her Sam) had phoned the Morris’ old home in Slough.

It had become a sad house after Mr Morris died suddenly at work.  He’d been, maybe not a father, but a patient and giving uncle to me and to many others.   In the end, I’d been happy to move just to escape the complete feeling of helplessness and loss.

I must have fidgetted with the box, clicking the secret doors and slides until the first compartment (only compartment I’ve ever opened) revealed and disappeared again.

“Toby?”  Sam’s voice rang out clear and startling to both of us I think in the silence of the study.  I froze and the clicking ceased.  There was a moment of silence and then the shuffle of cloth and the sudden bright light as the sliding door opened.

“Oh, Toby.”  She sighed more than said, “Did you hear all the phone call?”

I nodded, there wasn’t any sense in lying, she’d caught me, embarraingly in this secret hiding spot.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.  Sometimes it’s hard to hear things about ourselves.”

I said nothing as I consciously processed her statement.  She wasn’t sorry to talking about me with Mrs Morris, to say I hide or make up distractions just so I don’t have to talk about things.  She was sorry I’d heard.  Did it matter?”

“Look, you must be cramped in there, would you like to come out?”  Sam suggested and suddenly I realised, I couldn’t feel my legs.  How long had I been in the linen press?  Long before the conversation.  It was after Max had set off the chinese crackers he’s swiped from the local grocery store’s Luna New Year celebrations.  It had been fun, until it hadn’t been.  It was then I had to leave.  

Carefully, I dragged himself out of my hiding spot and into the well lit study.  My eyes scan the rows and rows of books, all dogeared and note flaged, all on child psychology and development.  I’d have liked to look further but I could feel the pins and needles  running up and down my legs and it made me wince and turn away.  Slowly I stood, shakily taking to my feet that were just lumps of lead on the ends of legs that were alive with sensation.

“Toby, do you have any questions about what you heard?”

What had I heard?

Sam asked Mrs Morris about my metal health.  We’d learnt at school about iron deficiency, but I didn’t know of any deficiency.  There was something to do with my past, and talk about the group home.

Something dark and ugly uncoiled in my stomach, something that sometimes wrapped itself around my heart and made it hard to breath.  I must have looked ill because Sam made me sit down in one of two reading chairs.

“What is a metal state?” I eventually asked in the stilted English that sometimes came out when I was nervous.

“Mental state.” she corrected, “ How you feel about yourself and as a result, the world around you? ”

“Bit stupid for being caught in the linen press.”  I joked and was rewarded by a smile, but Sam would not be distracted.

“Why do you go into the linen press?”

I shrugged, the universal teenage language has so many uses.

“Well, why today?  What happened today that meant you ended up in the linen press?”

That was easy.  I told her about the firecrackers on the way home from school, but not who’d had them.  Then I told her something he’d never told anyone.

“Somethings wake up the dark worms.  When they wake up, they eat me and wrap around my heart and I can’t breath.  I need to hide until they go back to sleep.”

“Dark worms?  Can you tell me more?”  She looked concerned and I was surprised how comforting that was.  I took a deep breath and continued.

“They’re inside me, all the time.  Sometimes they wake up just because, sometimes loud noises, sometimes…gun fights on TV or when the guys play…”  I made a pistol with my finger and was surprised to see my hands shake.  Quickly I slipped it behind my back.

“No wonder you find a quiet space.”  Sam replied seriously after a few minutes, “You can always come into the study, I’ll let the rest know to leave you alone…”

“NO!” I said more loudly than I meant to, “I mean they’ll only think I’m weird or getting special treatment or something.”

“You’re not going to fit in the linen press forever.  Maybe there are other things we can do to help make the worms sleep.”
“Really?”  Until this moment, the worms arrival was always a matter of enduring, holding out until breath returned, until I knew I’d survived one more time.  

“You do some of it already, with your box and in finding a calm space.”  She pointed to the puzzle box clutch in my exposed hand. Sam brushed the sweat encrusted hair from my forehead and I felt a giddy thrill at the attention.  I wanted it to feel like this all the time.

“You also need to find the quiet space inside you as well.  A place where there are no worms.”

A quiet space inside?  Like a linen press inside my chest?  I must have looked puzzled.

She smiled again and sat square with me so our knees were touching. She took my hands, the puzzle box between us, and closed her eyes.

“Now, close your eyes and think about your box.  All four sides, the top and bottom.”

Confused and unsure where this was going, I complied. I knew my box, every chip and scuff.  I knew the shiny black lacquer and the bright red of the compartment I could open.

“Set it spinning, slowing so that you see one full side and then it turns, “She took a breath in, “and disappears to show another side.” Slowly she breathed out.

This was harder.  I was becoming aware of Sam.  Her hands on mine, the dampness between and the smell of her perfume. I started feeling this was stupid, that if someone walked past they’d laugh or worse.  I wriggled uncomfortably, but she just repeated the suggestion in the same calm tone and eventually the box spun in time with my breathing.

“Good.  Now, if that doesn’t help we can go deeper by opening your box.”

My eyes fluttered open in suspicion.  Nothing good ever came from wanting to look in the box.  She must have sensed something, maybe a clenching of my hands, a sudden intake of breath. She opened her eyes.

“I meant in your head.  I don’t need to know what’s in your box unless you want me to.”  She said seriously once more and I believed her.

I closed my eyes, and under Sam’s direction set the box slowly spinning.  This time when she suggested the box open in my mind I saw the bolts, switches and slides that opened the first compartment.

“This time the inside of your box is full of light and joy.  There’s a cool breeze and plenty of room to run around in.  This is your safe place, make it what you want.  Expand it until it fills a world, or is as small as matchbox.  Fill it with detail or keep it blank and simple, it is all up to you.

I thought about what she said.  Light wasn’t hard, the motes of dust in sunlight playing through my fingers always seemed like magic.

Joy…that one may need to wait.

The cool breeze turned cold.  I could feel something sticky running down his face and the smell of the fireworks…

No.  No worms here.

Warm breeze, like at the beach on a sunny day.  Warm enough to melt your ice cream if you weren’t careful.

Now the joy, showing people my latest trick.  Making someone smile and laugh.  Feeling people around me enjoying my company and me theirs.  Yes, that was good.  Almost as good as a cool hand brush my hot brow.

It was dark and I was lying down.  Outside my window, crickets were starting their evening chorus.  I sat up and my lacquered box slipped off the bed and spilt its contents tinkleling all over the floor.  I rolled over and looked at the item scattered about.  A shiny pebble, the only thing I had to remember Mr Morris, a few shells from the beach, a couple of shiny coins I did his magic with, a button made of mother of pearl and a small silver cross.  It wasn’t the one Mrs Morris had given me, that had Jesus all bloodied and broken.  This was a simpler cross, and completely empty.  I liked it better that way, a reminder that bad things don’t last.

One by one I picked up my treasures just as my body registered the smell of dinner from downstairs.  Gently, I placed them in the box and closed the compartment.  Maybe later , when the others were busy or asleep I’d show Sam inside the box, then maybe I would ask her what my records said.  

But right now it was tea and a boy’s growing can not wait.  Jumping out of bed I ran down stairs just as the food arrived at the table.

Tobias stood outside the office after the funeral. Mrs Morris was on the phone to someone as Mr Morris’s wake happened elsewhere.

“…I just can’t cope…no…no there’s no problem with the children…no…I’m all alone now and …I’m not saying I don’t want to foster anymore, but it was more Robert’s vision than mine…look, I just wanted to organise a talk about what happens next…that’s right, I won’t be able to keep all three…I don’t know…I don’t know, look I need to get back to the wake…yes…let me know when you’re available…okay, thank you…yes, I actually don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”

Mrs Morris hung up and sat alone behind her big wooden desk as Tobias looked on from the hallway. He couldn’t have said why he was there. Certainly the wake held no interest, but Mrs Morris’s grief caused him pain.  He rubbed his chest now, his heart raced under his hand and he wondered, not for the first time, if you could die of a broken heart. 

Mr Morris died at work ten days before. They’d been no signs of illness, nothing to show anything was wrong.  In one sudden moment, the light and life of the Morris’ house had gone out.  Now all that was left was Mrs Morris’s stoic coolness and a hole where Mr Morris had been.

“Toby?” Mrs Morris was standing in front of Tobias, a damp handkerchief in her hand, her eyes red rimmed and unpainted.  “Toby, why are you just standing there?”

Why was he standing there?  That’s right…

“Grandmother said it as time for speeches and to look for you.”  He replied.  Mr Morris’s mother had always told the foster children in their care to call her grandmother.  Never nanny or Grandma, she was Grandmother.  Having no family, Tobias was glad to have someone he could call anything familial.

“Of course.” Mrs Morris replied dully.  It seemed she wasn’t enjoying the wake anymore than Tobias.  “Will you accompany me, Toby?”  She offered her arm like the ladies on the historical television shows she liked and Tobias took it gratefully.

The autumn sun was warm and inviting after the cold interior of the house.  The wake was being held in the garden as it was the only place that held all the people.  Late blooming flowers and the turning leaves made a backdrop worthy of a good man’s send off.  And if the crowd was an indication, Mr Morris had been a very good man.

Over twenty years he and Mrs Morris had taken children into their large sprawling home.  They had provided safety, stability and love for 82 children and supported 67 families.  It seemed all of them were there with their spouses, children and extended families to pay their respects.

“…Mr Morris, Robert, didn’t  tell me how to be a better person.  He showed me through his quiet ways.” Said one of the ex-foster kids now an adult in a dark suit, “He always had time, though there were five of us then and none of us were exactly ‘house-broken’”

The crowd laughed companionably.

The speaker dug into  the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small polished stone, creamy white, blue and grey.

“He shared his passion for geology and lapidary.  And much like his rocks, he took us in and carefully smoothed out the rough edges, showing us how to rub-along together.”

Tobias thought of his puzzle box and the piece of polished petrified wood warm and smooth.  He scanned the crowd and noticed quite a few others also with small polished stones mounted on chains or just in their hands.

“So here’s to Mr Morris, assuredly in heaven.  May the many pebbles he left behind follow in his legacy.”  The glass of wine, beer or soft drink  rose and the group roared their agreement startling Tobias.

“Toby, go find the other children, will you, I have to talk to our guests.”  Mrs Morris let go of Tobias’ arm and straightened herself.  Now the host, Mrs Morris walked into the crowd and was swallowed up by the well wishers.  Tobias put his hands in his pockets and stalked around the outside of the adult group looking for the other two.

Tim (called Tam because of his half Scottish heritage and love of the chocolate biscuits ) had found himself a quiet spot in the garden.  Tam had acquired a pile of treats from the table and was currently working through a small meat pie when Tobias sat down beside him.

“Want something?” Tam offered from his pile of sweets and savories.  Tobias’ stomach lurched and it was all he could do to keep his mouth closed.  He shook his head.

When he thought he could speak without being sick, Tobias said in a low voice only for Tam,  “She’s going to send some of us away.”

Tam’s mouth dropped open and his half chewed pie fell into his lap.

“No!”

“I heard her, on the phone to the agency.”

“She wouldn’t.  Where else are we supposed to go?”  Tam had now completely forgotten his food and they both sat in the Autumn shade in communal misery.

“Who do you think she’d pick?” Tam asked after a while.  He was a very fast eater, but not so fast at thinking.

“For what?”

“Staying, of course, what did you think I meant?”
“Who’d she’d pick to go.”

“Oh God, that’s even worse.”

The two boys looked over the wake, spying Jancy and her school friend who’d been invited so she’d have someone to talk to.  Both had set themselves up under the food table and were taking it in turns to sneak out and find something tasty to share.

“Well, it won’t be Jancy for sure.  Her Aunty lives nearby and you know how Mrs Morris always prefers the girls.” Tam scowled, not his usual kindly expression, but dire times called for dire expressions. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, ” Tobias thought back a time before Tam when Jancy had been caught lying by Mrs Morris.  Jancy and Tobias’s relationship had been complicated after that.

“Oh man!”  Tam sat up in realisation, “That means me, they’ll get rid of me!”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, I have both my parents, though they’re bums.  You have no one.”

Kind hearted Tam had noticed last Christmas when no one came to see Tobias, didn’t  even send a present or a Christmas card.  He’d given Tobias one of his presents, though he hadn’t opened it or anything.  Tobias hadn’t forgotten that kindness, and was more patient with Tam’s melodramas than Jancy or even Mrs Morris.

“You have family nearby.  That I have no one make it more likely I’ll be the one to go.”

That made Tam cry and the two of them sat in companionable silence as he wept and Tobias decently ignored it.

Days went by and it was clear the heart of the household had been cut out by the loss of Mr Morris.  Mrs Morris treated the children as she always had, but without the tempering gentleness of Mr Morris, she came across as a school principal and not the head of a mix-matched family.  Tobias found he couldn’t get comfortable anywhere.  When he was at school he thought about the empty house.  When he was at home spent his time aimlessly roaming the house peering into echoing rooms looking for somehting that wasn’t there anymore.

When  the day of the meeting with social services arrived, Tobais asked to see Mrs Morris in her office.

“What is it Toby, I have to get ready for this meeting and you know that…Mr Morris was always better at  dealing with these people than me.”  She looked stressed and tired and for the first time Tobias realised she was just like him, missing the comfort of Mr Morris.

“It’s about that I want to talk to you.  You shouldn’t have to pick which of us has to go.”

She stared at him like she wanted to cry.  Instead she sighed and ushered him around the desk to her side.

“You heard that phone call didn’t you?”  You don’t have to hide it, Tam’s be walking around here like the world is going to fall down on him.”

Tobias nodded and so did Mrs Morris

“I probably won’t get much of a say, the department will probably determine whose best to stay and who could go somewhere else.”

“Well…you can tell them I’ll go.”  Tobias blurted out in a rush, “I mean, I want to go.”

Now he thought she would cry and that was somehow more disturbing that being yelled at.

“Don’t….you like living here, Toby?”

“Yes.  You and Mr Morris…you have been my only parents…” He was going to say ‘ I remember’, but thought better of it, “…here in England.  You taught me everything, but…”

“It’s not the same anymore, is it?”

“No.”

‘“No.”  She repeated, placing her hands on the desk.

“Thank you, Toby.  I’ll let them know.”

In the end everyone agreed that to relieve stress on the family one of the children would be relocated to a suitable family.  As Tobias had no links in the community, had no serious friendships and had volunteered he would be the one to go.

Tam was inconsolable and even Jancy showed distress at the family being broken up.  Mrs Morris was beside herself with guilt over the decision and spent many hours either talking to the social workers or working on her private finances to somehow afford to keep Tobias.  Only Tobias seemed calm and philosophical about leaving.  If anything, now that the decision had been made he was almost looking forward to the move.

Eventually, due to the distress it was causing on the household as a whole, it was decided to move Tobias to a group home for a week or two until a place could be found in foster care.

The morning of the move, Tobias was packed and ready, standing in the front door.  His worldly posessions fitted into a suitcase (his clothes) a box (a few books, including those for school) and his backpack (snacks, drink bottle and puzzlebox).  He scanned the street for the social workers car as behind him Mrs Morris ushered Tam and Jacy foward to give their goodbyes.

Jancy looked bored, there was no love lost between Tobias and her, but for his part he was willing to forget their differences.  It’s not as though they were ever likely to meet again.

“Bye Jancy, don’t give Tam a hard time, okay?”

Tam started crying again.  His eyes were already red rimmed, the skin around them puffy.  He’d wiped his nose on the back of his hand so often there were shiny snails trails. Jancy looked at him in disgust.

“I wouldn’t touch him.”

“Tam, come with me for a moment.”  Tobias took Tam’s damp hand just as the social workers card drove up.

“I’ll put your things in the car,”  Mrs Morris said, picking up his box and suitcase, “You two take your time.”

Tobias led  Tam down the path away from Jancy at the front door.

“I don’t want you to go.”  Tam said quietly, he had no energy left for wailing, “Everyone always leaves.”

“Well, remember I’m not leaving you, they’re moving me on.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“All the difference in the world.  Adults make stupid choices, what are us kids going to do?  Cry?  Get angry?  Na, I say make the best of it…” At that moment he stomped down on the head of a garden rake he’d placed there for just this moment.  The rake handle lifted, hitting and turning the garden hose tap.  The hose jumped as the water pressure ran along its length to the nozzle held in place by two bricks behind the rosebushes.  

A jet of fridget morning water sprung out of the garden bed beside the front door and drenched Jancy.  Tam looked from Jancy to Tobias and back to Jancy his mouth moving but no sound came out.  Suddenly the tears were forgotten and he roared into uncontrollable, well needed laughter.

All this took but mere seconds.  When Tam turned, laughing at the screaming Jancy flailling at the high pressure water, Tobias quickly bent down, turned off the tap and pressed the button that automatically wound up the hose.  The water stopped with one last gout and slithered backwards through the grass to nestle safely in its plastic nest of hose reel.

Mrs Morris, who had her back turned talking to the social workers, swung round to the screams and laughter.  There was Jancy soaking wet, there was Tam no longer crying but laughing outrageously, and there, of course, Tobias looking on at the chaos, the slightest smirk on his angelic face. But how? There was nothing to show, but a rake and a few bricks in the garden?

“Jancy, go in and get changed, you’ll catch your death.  Tam that’s enough, thank you.  Tobias…”  She gestured for him to join her at the car. “…I probably should be glad that I wasn’t at the door with Jancy.”  Mrs Morris said low enough for only the two of them to hear.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Morris.”  Tobias relpied, his face the image of innocence.

“Hmm…well I think you have guaranteed that you will never be forgotten.”  She put her hand out, her fist closed.  Tobias put out his palm and Mrs Morris dropped a small silver cross, one with Christ still nailed to it.  It hit Tobias’ palm with a solid ‘thunk’.

“Mr Morris and I always tried to show you the hope found in Christ.  This is for you in rememberance of that.”

If there was hope in Christ, why are you sending me away? Tobias thought bitterly.  Christ isn’t a symbol of hope but an example of how the world treats the good.  He folded his fingers around the image and nodded, saying nothing.

There wasn’t much more to be said after that.  A few hugs, especially from Tam who was still giggling and then Tobias took his seat in the car, all he owned laid around him.  Tobias tried to think back to the time he’d been brought to the Morris’.  That time his entire possessions were a few changes of clothes and an illustrated English dictionary.  He’d had almost no language, no idea of where he was or what was going to happen to him. 

The Morrises had given him that and more.  

He rummaged through his backpack until he found his puzzlebox.  He flipped it open and placed the cross with the other pieces he’d collected during his time in the house.  The car drove off and he waved goodbye, now not with a sense of loss, but with a sense of purpose.

Okay, let’s go and see what the world has to offer.

Afternoon sunlight washed the oak floor golden as Tobias made his way to the office.  Behind him, the sunlight poured through the open door where the other children played in the backyard.  He lifted his hand and with delicate fingers he let beams of light slip through, highlighting in gold the dust motes.

“Abra-ca-dabra!” He whispered under his breath as his fingers fluttered, making the light and the dust motes spin.

“Toby?”  Mrs Morris’ head poked around the corner of the office doorway,  “Toby, day-dreaming again?”  She asked in exasperated tones.

Tobias quickly brought his hand down and he put on his sweetest puppy-dog expression.

“Mr Morris said you wanted to see me?” He said it like a question, but they both knew there was no question about it.

“Yes Toby, come into the office please.”  Mrs Morris stepped back and Tobias walked in and plonked himself on the worn leather lounge like he belonged there.  Mrs Morris, who had hoped to use the authority of the office desk to instill a little fear, now had to move her notes and a small black box to the coffee table.  Tobias eyed the little black box, but said nothing.  He swung his feet back and forward in a disarming way.

“Toby, is this your box?”  Mrs Morris picked it up gingerly like it was some exotic creature.

“Yes, “ He replied simply.  It was his, everyone knew it.

“Yes, it is and I would not have usually taken it out of your room without permission but Jancy has lost her bracelet, the one her mother gave her before she past.”

Mrs Morris always talked about people having past instead of saying they were dead.  Tobias wasn’t sure if it was lying or not.

“Well I didn’t take it.” He protested, his large eyes creasing and his rosebud lips quavering only slightly.

“It’s just she was very sure she saw you put her bracelet in this box.  If you didn’t do it, the bracelet won’t be inside.”

Tobias nodded with the sensible logic, but did not move to take the box.

“Toby, please open the box.” Mrs Morris thrust it out and place it in Tobias’ lap.

Now the box wasn’t just any box.  Just two Christmases before he  had received it from an old man who had shown Tobias the one secret he knew and assured him there was more to learn, with patience.  No other secrets had appeared, yet, and knowing that sometime in the future they may appear made the box all that more special.

The small worn book that had come with the box was gone. Michael had been angry one weekend when his mother hadn’t come though she’d promised and promised.  He’d made a bonfire in their bedroom out of magazines, school books, other paper and bedding.  Tobias has saved the box only because Michael had been unable to grab it from Tobias’ quick hands.

It hadn’t mattered.  Tobias had learnt all he could from the book and afterwards he’d had the room to himself.  What was important was the box.  He looked at his box and then up at Mrs Morris, his eyes now shining with tears.

“But… they’re my specials.”  He said in a hurt childish voice nothing like his more confident tone.

“I know Toby, but the bracelet  is Jancy’s special and you know what God thinks about stealing.  If you could please let me have a look…”  Mrs Morris’ voice trailed off.  She didn’t look or sound confident she was doing the right thing.

Tobias looked back down at his black box and carefully picked it up in his slim dexterous fingers. 

What happened next, Mrs Morris could never say later.  One moment Tobias was twisting a corner and pulling out a secret pin, the next the lid of the black box flew across the room skidding across the polished wood surface of her desk and onto the floor.

While Mrs Morris fetched the lid, Tobias pulled a fine gold chain out of a secret compartment and just as quickly slipped the chain down the sleeve of his jumper.  The whole action had taken a fraction of a second and Mrs Morris returned with the lid of the box none the wiser.  

“Could I look inside please Toby?”  She said not gesturing for the box.  He could see a timidity in her, a shyness now that the box was open.

She doesn’t want to do this. He thought, and the thought gave him a ugly sort of happiness.

Slowly, reverently, as if revealing something precious and rare, he turned the box to Mrs Morris.  There were a few coins, some foreign, a shiny brown pebble that Mr Morris had helped him polish up.  A shell button found a trip to the city and no bracelet.

She sighed and handed back the lid to the box, “I’m sorry I had to ask you to do that.  Thank you for being so honest.”

Mrs Morris stood up and returned to her desk where she felt more comfortable, as the little boy carefully put together his puzzle box, wriggled off the leather lounge and walked out of the room.

“Oh, and Toby,” Mrs Morris called now back in her seat of authority. “I hope you know you too can always come to Mr Morris or myself if you need help.  I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone.”

Tobias just looked back at her, his large brown eyes now genuinely glistening and turned to go upstairs to his room.

 It was days later, and the incident of the missing bracelet had seemingly been forgotten by the Morrises.  Tobias waited for the perfect time to find Jancy alone.

She was pulling the petals off a yellow rose and laying them between sheets of newspaper for drying.  Her attention was totally absorbed with pulling the petals off whole, she did not notice Tobias until something gold glittered just to the edge of her vision.

“My bracelet!” she exclaimed grabbing for the glittering tricket, but only grab at air.

“You said you’d see Christine eyeing it.  You’d said you wanted it kept safe!”

Jancy’s face darkened, the remainder of the rose crushed into yellow pulp in her fist.  “Me and Christine made up, and then you ate the last piece of toast at breakfast.”

“So you thought to get me in trouble with the Morrises?”  Toby boiled inside though, on the outside, he looked to be having a polite conversation.

“They like you….they love you.”  She teased, “They’re all… ‘Toby did this…and Toby did that…’ ”  Jancy’s quite pretty face crunched up into something wicked and mean, her dark eyes squinted so only pin-prinks of black could be seen.

“You were jealous…of me?” Tobias’s voice became low and menacing, though his expression remained serene, “You have a grandmother who still visits, but I have no one.  Why would you be jealous of that?”

“I…oh it doesn’t matter.” She gave up her indignation with a sigh, looking down at the now crushed rose in her hands, “Are you going to give me my bracelet back or what?”

Tobias glared down at Jancy, his anger now clear, the bracelet still swinging from one finger.

“What a good idea.  ‘Or what’ seems a very good idea to me.”  He smiled maliciously, “I’m going to use my magic to send your bracelet into a pocket space where nasty girls can’t get to.”  And with that, he swung the bracelet once more around his finger, flicking it up, slingshotting it directly into the sky. With two hands up he went to catch it in his right, but secretly let it slip through, palming it in his left.  As he dramatically opened his right hand and showed Jancy the bracelet wasn’t there, he slipped the bracelet down his sleeve of his jumper again.

Instantly, Jancy grabbed his empty left and then looked around on the ground, but the bracelet had disappeared, just as promised.

“I’m telling Mrs Morris on you!”  She balled and ran inside without a second’s thought to the inevitable scolding she’d receive about telling lies.

Later, months later, while making a floral decopage card for her grandmother, Jancy would find her mother’s bracelet pressed  and waiting for her, between yellow rose petals.