Voices in Stone - Emily Diamand Page 0,19

and dad flew in and out of the garden with caterpillars in their beaks. I got into watching, and that’s why I didn’t notice anyone coming up behind me.

Yooooo…

I stopped breathing.

Yooooo…

I turned around, my heart beating like mad. On a stone right behind me was a pale figure, drifting up from the ground. It was the colour of scratched glass and smaller than me by a metre. The things at the quarry hadn’t really had a shape, but this one did have something like a face. Two dark smudges and another below: eyes and a mouth.

Yoooo… Yoooo…

“What do you want?” I whispered, but it didn’t answer, only turned a bit of itself into an arm and reached out with it.

I ran as fast as I ever have, flat-out full speed for the house. I lurched at the back door, flinging myself inside and slamming it shut behind me. The Yale lock clicked and I leaned against it, breathing in gasps.

Then I thought, Don’t stay by the door! I mean, if you’ve ever seen any films, you know that’s the worst place to be. I jumped away, ran into the kitchen and looked for something I could use to defend myself. Except I had no idea what would even work.

I went back to the door, put myself a couple of metres away from it and held up the frying pan.

Nothing.

I waited.

Still nothing.

Mum came out of the living room. “What are you doing?”

I lowered the pan.

“Um, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. What are you up to?”

“Honestly, nothing.”

Mum narrowed her eyes and looked at the back door. She walked towards it.

“No, don’t!”

Mum completely ignored me, which she always does when she thinks she’s on to something I’ve done wrong. She put her hand on the lock, turned it back.

“No! Mum, there’s a…”

She looked me, properly challenging. “A what, Gray?”

“A rat,” I said, desperate. “I saw a rat in the garden.”

Mum pulled her lips tight, and for a moment I thought I’d convinced her. Then she flipped the lock and whipped the back door open.

A square of daylight, the straggly greens of our garden. Mum peered out.

I took a careful step towards the door, hardly daring to breathe.

“If I find out you are up to something…” said Mum, and then she walked out of the back door, right into the garden.

I stood frozen. Then I realised, in films that’s the bit where she gets eaten, and I couldn’t just say inside and watch it happen, could I? I rushed out after her, frying pan up and ready.

“I can’t see any sign of a rat,” said Mum. I ran the length of the garden, looking for the strange ghostly shape. “Mind you, with all the bins out in the alley, I wouldn’t be surprised. Mrs Jenkins’ dog is always at the bags, breaking them open, no matter what she says about it being foxes…”

I even clambered onto the rockery and looked in the nettley gap behind it. Nothing, just our wobbly fence and the apple tree. And a little boy standing next to me.

I held my breath, staring at him.

Mum poked her foot at an ancient Frisbee that was lying in the grass. “You need to tidy up a bit out here,” she said. Not, “Who’s that little boy?”

He looked about… I don’t know, five? Hair cropped really short, sticky-out ears. He was wearing jeans and a Power Rangers T-shirt, and he was staring up at me, his eyes really big and round, that way little children can. He looked scared, but also… familiar. Like I’d met him before or something.

Huuuurrr, he said, like a groan, tinggg.

Mum didn’t even react, just carried on about how I ought to start looking after the garden.

“After all, you’re the one who uses it most, and you’re old enough to use a lawnmower.”

I lowered the frying pan; I mean, you can’t whack a little kid, can you?

“How about you start today?” said Mum. “Since you’re feeling better.”

She couldn’t see the little boy at all. Only I could.

He stretched out his hand. Huuuuuurrrr, he groaned, tinng.

I took a step back, but the little boy didn’t move. He was motionless, like a freeze-frame.

“Mum,” I said, trying to sound normal, “can we go back inside?”

She peered at me. “There are no rats out here, so don’t think you can just slob in front of the telly. If you’re well enough to run around, you can help me with some chores.”

“Fine,” I said, not taking my eyes off the little boy.