Boy Who Could See Demons Read online

  The other day after lunch I was thinking about the dream I had about Ruen and Granny and I remembered that when Ruen came to the hospital I saw he had a thread hanging down from his black sweater, just like in the dream. I have threads hanging down from my clothes all the time and in the hospital I had a gown on that had a long bit at the back but I could have sworn there was a second when it looked like the thread from Ruen’s sweater was linked to the bit at the back. I don’t know what this means but it makes me feel weird.

  So I decided to tell him that I don’t want him to study me anymore. I thought that it might make him mad. I don’t care about getting a new house. I mean it would be nice and all but I just care that Mum gets happy again and that she doesn’t cry anymore. And I don’t know if being someone’s friend means that you have to do stuff for each other, either. Anya told me that she has arranged for me to go see Mum again very soon and I hardly slept all night because I was so excited about this and also because I was worried in case Mum died before I got to see her. Sometimes I think of the times she took all those pills and I think she actually knew that she would have died if the doctors didn’t fix her. Why would she do that? Why would she want to die? And if she did, who would look after me then?

  I hardly slept last night because I was scared that if I told Ruen that I don’t want him to study me anymore, I wouldn’t have a best friend. But I’ve seen that Mum starts to get worked up when Ruen is around and I think maybe he’s the reason she gets upset. I still don’t know why he wants to study me. It’s stupid actually because I’m just a ten-year-old boy from Belfast not a prime minister or a football player or anything, and also he is starting to scare me lately. He used to be funny and tell me comebacks. Like the time when Eoin Murphy got everyone at school to call me Azz instead of Alex and kept saying I was a psycho. He had the whole class laughing at me and I felt so embarrassed that I couldn’t think of anything to say back, not a single word. Then Ruen came up to me and whispered something in my ear. Next time Eoin was getting everyone to start chanting Azz is a spaz I turned to him and repeated what Ruen had said.

  I said, “Eoin, the zoo just called. The baboons want their bums back, so you’ll have to find a new face.”

  Everyone stopped chanting and Jamie Belsey snickered into his hand. Eoin’s face went red. He looked at me and said, “you think you’re funny, faggot boy?” Ruen whispered to me again and I repeated what he’d said:

  “I heard your parents took you to a dog show and you won.” Then everyone laughed and Eoin got really mad.

  “You wanna fight?” he said, shoving me backward, but I stood straight and said what Ruen had told me to say: “I would love to beat you up, but I don’t like being cruel to dumb animals.”

  Eoin punched me in the neck then, which hurt but I still felt like I’d won somehow.

  Ruen and me have had lots of fun and he’s been a really good friend and we laughed about stuff like that for days. When he was the Old Man he was like a grumpy uncle who occasionally ruffled my hair and dared me to do naughty things, like jump off a bus while it was still moving or copy someone’s homework or steal Miss White’s cigarettes when she’d left her bag on the table. But these days he’s scary and angry and I feel weird when he’s around. I know he’ll be mad at me but maybe he can study someone else.

  It makes me so nervous to tell him this that I get up eleven times during the night to pee. My hands and feet are icy cold and when Woof refuses to get into bed with me I get out from under the covers and curl myself around him on the floor.

  When I woke up this morning Ruen was already downstairs. He was the Old Man and was sitting in Dad’s old blue armchair with his feet up on Granny’s coffee table with his hands folded on his potbelly as if he was waiting for me. This surprised me. The second thing that surprised me was that he was very smiley. He looked like he’d just won a prize or something, twiddling with his bow tie and licking his palm to smooth down the strands of white hair that stuck up from his skull like dandelion clocks. When I came into the room he stood up with his hands behind his back and creaked his mouth into a smile that made him look constipated.

  “Alex, my boy,” he said. “I have some wonderful news.”

  I didn’t really want to hear his news. I was really tired from not sleeping and just wanted to spit out the speech I’d practiced, which I’d cut short to just this: “Ruen, I know we’re friends and all but I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

  I knew he wanted me to ask what the news was so I didn’t. I stood there staring at him until Auntie Bev came out of the kitchen. She was wearing tight shiny shorts and a small shiny vest that showed the skin on her belly, which meant she was going wall climbing. She put her hands on her hips and sighed at me.

  “Do you really have to have onions on toast for the fifth morning in a row? That kitchen stinks.”

  “Yes,” I said, and turned back to Ruen. Auntie Bev was going on about a nice omelet or even some porridge but I ignored her and finally she went back into the kitchen.

  Ruen headed for the hallway and waved his hand for me to follow. I yawned and followed. I walked past the coats hanging on the coat stand—all of them Auntie Bev’s, she’s like a collector of coats—and kicked at the old red rug that’s fraying on the floor. Ruen was standing beside Granny’s old piano, a big stupid grin on his ugly face.

  “Alex,” he said. “I’ve found you a new home.”

  At this my heart started to beat faster and I felt sorry for thinking how stupid he is. “You have?”

  Ruen took a deep breath and his smile grew wider. “Later today Anya is going to tell you that you and your mother will be moving to a brand-new house with a garden and all the things you requested of me.”

  I just didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “You can start by thanking me,” Ruen said, tilting his head to remind me.

  I started to say it, because I was really grateful, but I was still mad at him. He had scared me the other day and I was mad about that.

  His smile turned back to his usual scowl. “What is it, Alex?” he said. “I thought you would be really pleased, now that I’ve given you the thing you wanted most. Don’t you think that’s a tad ungrateful?”

  I looked at the red rug on the ground. It was so old it was just a bunch of threads clumped together, but I kept my eyes stuck to it so I wouldn’t have to look at Ruen. I felt scared in case we wouldn’t really get the house but then I realized that this was Ruen and that he had helped me so much in the past and hadn’t gone back on his word.

  “And what is it your mother hates most?” he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling and clicking his tongue.

  “People who don’t say thank you,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Auntie Bev called my name from the living room. I looked through the doorway to see her set a plateful of onions and toast on the table.

  “You should’ve been raised in France,” she said before turning and walking back into the kitchen. I gave Ruen a look before turning to walk inside. I sat down at the table and looked at the onions. I didn’t feel like eating them.

  Ruen appeared in the seat opposite me. He looked very concerned.

  “Alex,” he said, doing that thing with his hands where he makes a triangle with his fingers, only his fingernails are so long that his fingers don’t touch. “Is this because of the lady doctor, Alex? She is asking a lot of questions, isn’t she?” His voice suddenly sounded like he was really concerned for me and I wondered if he really was. “Is it starting to bother you?” he said. “Maybe I can help with that.”

  I knew Auntie Bev could hear what I said next but I didn’t care. I looked at Ruen and said:

  “Why are you studying me?”

  “What, sweetheart?” Auntie Bev peeked her head around the kitchen door. Ruen glanced from Auntie Bev to me. I felt a warmth around my heart and there was a big fat sob in my throat. I said it again.

  “Why are you study
ing me? I’m not a football player.”

  Ruen laced his hands, making his triangle collapse, and his eyes grew small and angry.

  “I don’t like being studied,” I said. “Not by you, and not by Anya. I just want my Mum home, okay? And I don’t care if she comes home to this house or a fancy house with a fancy garden. So you can stuff your house!”

  Auntie Bev walked toward me and her face looked worried. She looked around at the window behind her, then at me.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  I nodded and told a fib about a bird landing on the windowsill and that’s why I was shouting at it but then there was a big lump in my throat and I felt angry and sad all at once. Auntie Bev knelt down in front of me, which made her smaller than me and I could see the freckles on her forehead.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you, Alex?” she said, and I nodded but didn’t say what I was scared of. She put her arms around me. She held me for a long long time and at first I wanted her to get off me but then I felt as if I could sleep right in her arms. Then I got hot and needed to scratch so I pushed her away gently and she looked at me and smiled.

  “I haven’t held you like that since you were a baby,” she said, wiping my face, and I realized I had a tear on my cheek. “You were born premature, did you know that?”

  I had to think about what premature meant.

  “You were this big,” she said, holding her hands a very very small distance apart. She looked at the small space between her hands for so long that I expected a real baby to appear. Then she looked up at me and her eyes were shiny. “You looked like a little bird. All the doctors said it was amazing that you lived.” She lifted a hand to my face and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I had to go back to work the next day but Granny sent me photos, when she could get around to it. I promised I’d come and see you more often but … well, you’ll know what it’s like when you’re older.” There was a long pause. I wondered if she’d finished but then she took my hands in hers and squeezed them tight. “This I can promise, Alex. I’m here for you now.”

  She was really close to my face and I felt the lump in my throat get bigger and I was afraid I was going to throw up so I pulled my hands free and ran up the stairs.

  “Alex?” Auntie Bev was calling after me, but I ran all the way up my bedroom and locked the door by pushing a chair against the handle.

  A few seconds later Ruen appeared in the chair and I almost jumped out of my skin. He was Horn Head. I could see the blood all clotted on the barbed wire next to his furry chest and I felt trapped because there was no other way out. He had the metal mace in one hand and the light from the window made the spikes glint.

  “Go and study bacteria,” I told him.

  “You want to know why I study you?” Ruen’s voice whispered in my head.

  I wiped my eyes and folded my arms but said nothing. My chest felt like someone had scraped the insides out with a metal spoon and I felt angry with myself for pushing Auntie Bev away. Maybe she could get Ruen to leave. Even if I shouted I didn’t think she would be able to hear. Mum never did.

  “I would have thought you had already worked that one out, Alex,” Ruen whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I hated that he had no face. Sometimes parts of his face appeared: a pair of blue eyes, a mouth like mine. But it was just so weird and horrible that I couldn’t look at it.

  “For whatever reason, we can’t seem to tempt you. None of us seems to have much of an effect on you. And we need to know why that is.”

  I wanted to ask why, but didn’t. I kept my eyes shut.

  “If you simply told me why this is the case, perhaps I might be able to stop studying you quite so intensively,” he continued.

  I thought about it. After a while I forced myself to open my eyes and stare at him. I looked at the red horn coming out of his forehead. It looked like liquid floating upward.

  “I guess I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

  “Admirable. Commendable,” whispered Ruen. Then he turned into the Old Man and I gave a big breath of relief. He stood up and walked to the window, his arms behind his back as usual. I glanced at the door and moved the chair away, but just then Ruen was back in front of me.

  “I promise you, Alex, I won’t tell you what to do. I already know you can’t be tempted, so you have my word. I won’t even try to tempt you. You’re much too strong-willed, even for the likes of me.” He cackled and it turned into a cough. “You will love your new house, Alex. Are we still friends?”

  I thought of the new house and felt happier. “Yes, Ruen. We’re still friends.”

  14

  MISTS OF THE MIND

  ANYA

  I met with Cindy yesterday to ask her questions about Alex’s home life, about his absent father, and also to ask her permission for Alex to be transferred to MacNeice House for about a month. Usually, a parent is the first port of call when it comes to detecting any abnormalities; patterns of withdrawal, any indications of voices or hallucinations, a sudden slipping away from school and friends. But unfortunately Cindy’s own depression has created a veil over anyone’s issues but her own. A history of abuse, both as a child and as an adult, has been compounded by the breakdown of her relationship with Alex’s father. Since then, repeated suicide attempts have been her method of dealing with it. Her “bracelets,” as she calls them, or the many white lines on her wrists from self-harming episodes, aren’t easy to conceal. She thinks Alex is receiving counseling to deal with her suicide attempts, which is partly true.

  For her own treatment, I am pleased to learn she’s in the care of Dr. Trudy Messenger, one of the most experienced psychiatrists in the United Kingdom. She is famous for making her patients feel like human beings after a single consultation. After years of feeling ousted, separate, and vilified by the legions who don’t understand mental illness, these patients experience a kind of homecoming in Trudy’s office. Trudy has seen to it that Cindy is actively engaged in a variety of daily activities, mostly arts and crafts, and when I arrive she is completing a beautiful needlework of a small white dog.

  “It’s for Alex,” she tells me with a small smile. “Woof. He loves that dog. Thick as thieves, those two. I know boys don’t like girlie things but maybe he’ll make an exception.”

  I spend a few minutes talking about the facilities in the hospital before telling her gently that I have some concerns about Alex’s mental health. She looks puzzled.

  “Alex has seen a psychiatrist before,” she says. “But they’ve never had any worries about him, not really. And he’s spoken to Michael. You can hardly expect a kid from his side of town to be tap dancing with joy every day. That’s my fault.”

  “I don’t think he’s depressed,” I say.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  I tell her there are other possibilities that I’m investigating. I assure her I’m optimistic that Alex can be treated, but that I’m determined to ensure he receives the correct treatment.

  “I’d like to know about Alex’s father,” I ask gently, thinking of my meeting with Karen Holland, Alex’s paintings spread across her desk.

  Her face darkens. “Why do you want to know about Alex’s father?”

  My voice is gentle. “A boy’s relationship with his father is important in forming his identity and his place in the world.”

  She sets down her needle and thread and crosses her thin arms tightly. “I haven’t told anyone who Alex’s real dad is. Well, except my mum.”

  “I don’t need names,” I say evenly. “Would you say he was a good father?”

  She looks out the window. A hand reaches for the other wrist, making a circle around it with her forefinger and thumb.

  “He saw Alex once in a while. Maybe a handful of days every month. Sometimes he’d stay with us for a week. Then we wouldn’t see him for two months.” She raises her eyes. “I named Alex after him.”

  I nod. “He was never abusive with Alex?”

  She looks disgusted. “
No, never! He wasn’t exactly overjoyed when I told him I was pregnant but he still provided for us. It was the reason he …” She falls silent.

  “It was the reason he what?” I ask.

  She takes a breath. “He’d take Alex to play table tennis sometimes, said it was good for his hand–eye coordination. He was thoughtful like that. He’d buy him toy cars. Alex hated cars.”

  “When did Alex stop seeing him?”

  She is lifting a hand to cover her eyes, lowering her head. I must tread carefully.

  “If it’s okay for me to ask, what were the circumstances surrounding his departure from Alex’s life?”

  She shakes her head, her hand pressed to her forehead. I crouch down beside her.

  “Cindy,” I say, lightly touching her hand. “I promise you, I’m only asking these things so I can help Alex.”

  She lowers her hand and fixes me with angry, burning eyes. “You think he’s insane.”

  “I don’t,” I assure her. “But he has mentioned some things he can see that appear to be harming him.”

  Her eyes widen. “Someone’s hurting Alex? Is it someone at that theater?”

  I shake my head. “Alex claims he has a best friend called Ruin. Several times now Alex has gotten quite aggressive during our sessions and claims that Ruin got angry. Have you ever come across any marks on his body, any unexplained injuries?”

  She narrows her eyes. “I’m not abusing him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I think it’s possible that Alex is hurting Alex,” I say softly.

  She gasps and searches my face. “Why would you say a terrible thing like that? Why would you say my baby’s hurting himself?”

  I hesitate. I’m confounded by the fact that her own arms bear hundreds of scars from her own efforts to hurt herself and yet she cannot conceive of Alex doing the same. And as if she knows what I’m thinking, she reaches one hand across her forearm where sunlight is making silvery rivers of her scars.