Joey's Fire Read online

  JOEY'S FIRE

  CHAPTER 1

  Joey had been very close to his mother. She adored him and he adored her. She always read stories to him at night, before he went to sleep. Wonderful stories, about witches and goblins, giants, princesses and kings. He liked the smell of her perfume and the feel of her hair when she kissed him.

  His father was seldom at home. He worked away. When he came home at weekends he would pick Joey up and swing him around and around until he was quite dizzy and he would fall over when his father put him down. That caused them both to laugh until the tears ran down his father’s cheeks.

  But one day his father said to him that his mother had gone away. Joey thought that it was like his father going to work. But she didn’t come back the next day. Or the next; and for too many days for Joey to count. Or ever. He was only five years old.

  His father didn’t go away after she left. He stayed at home and didn’t laugh any more. He didn’t read him stories, or play with him. His father was always cross. And because of that Joey thought that it was all his fault. Weeks went by. Months went by. Years went by and his father became more and more irritable; And then later he became violent through drinking too much. Too often.

  Joey, now eight years old, awoke with a start on this particular morning. He looked at the bedside clock and he realised that he was already ten minutes late for getting his father's breakfast. He feared that another beating would be waiting for him when he got downstairs. He rushed into the bathroom, quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth, dressed in his shabby clothes, put on his too-small school blazer and his trainers with the hole in the toe and went downstairs. He hesitated at the kitchen door and started to tremble. He took a deep breath to calm himself and opened the door. His father was sitting at the breakfast table, unshaven, tapping his fingers impatiently on the bare oak surface. He stared at Joey with his bloodshot eyes filled with hate. Joey put bread in the toaster and filled the kettle with shaking hands. After making the tea he served his father with the toast and rushed to get his school lunch prepared, then tucked in to some cereal and a glass of orange juice, stealing apprehensive glances at his father. Today, he had not thrown his toast on the floor or emptied his tea down the sink as he sometimes did. Today Joey hadn’t been abused or beaten. Today was a good day.

  That was, until he got to school. The four bullies had made his life a misery at school again as they did every single day. They taunted him about his shabby clothes. They called his father a drunk. No wonder your mother left you, they shouted. Trudging home that afternoon he felt that he couldn't take any more.

  When he got home he had to clear the table and wash the dirty dishes, dry them and put them away. He picked up the empty beer cans from the floor in the living room and took them out to the bin in the back yard. He knew that his father would be in bed and that he would have a couple of hours before he got up. So Joey made himself a cheese and pickle sandwich and opened a tin of Coke from the fridge.

  He made a vow that he would leave home that very night. The beatings he had often received from his father sometimes left him painfully bruised, but always in places that were not visible to his teachers at school.

  CHAPTER 2

  During that night he was awoken by the noise of his drunken father coming home and blundering about downstairs in the hall. Joey looked at the clock. It was two a.m. He dreaded his father coming into his bedroom so he hid under the covers, shaking with fear. Fortunately, his father went into his own bedroom; Joey heard him flop onto the bed and within five minutes he was snoring. Joey lay there for perhaps an hour; then got up, carefully peeked into the bedroom where his father lay fully dressed and snoring loudly. He quietly closed the door, dressed, packed his school satchel with his toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, flannel, some underwear and a shirt and tip-toed down the stairs and into the night. He had no idea where he would go. Anywhere as long as it was far away from his home, his father, his school and the four bullies. He looked back at his house and brushed the tears away from his eyes.

  As he walked along the moonlit country road he heard a vehicle approaching. He looked back and was astonished to see a bus, its outline lit by a shimmering blue-white light, moving slowly in his direction. Joey was puzzled. No buses usually ran at this time of night as far as he was aware. The bus slowed to a walking pace and pulled up a few yards in front of him. The door slid open and the driver leaned out and smiled at him. He invited him to take a seat inside. Joey hesitated. The driver, a tall, slim man, had a black goatee beard and long black hair that was tied back in a ponytail and hung over his collar. He was wearing a long black overcoat and white shirt and black tie. He didn’t look unkindly though, so Joey shrugged and then stepped in, pleased to get out of the cold, damp night air. He looked down the aisle and saw that he was the only passenger. Joey took the front seat in the empty bus, not caring where the bus was heading for. The driver didn’t ask him where he wanted to go or ask him for a ticket or the fare. He didn’t tell Joey where the bus was going, either. He just looked straight ahead, a smile visible on his handsome face.

  Joey looked out of the window as the journey progressed, seeing the trees flash by, illuminated by the blue-white light that emanated from the bus.

  After several minutes the bus stopped somewhere in the countryside, not near any houses that Joey could see. The driver pulled the bus off the road and got out. Joey tensed, not quite knowing what to expect. Smiling, he beckoned Joey to follow him. Joey looked at him properly for the first time. He didn't look at all like a bus driver. He offered Joey to take hold of his hand as he stepped off the bus and led him into a belt of trees. After walking for a few hundred yards he could see a glow of light in the direction that they were heading and hung back a little, not quite knowing what to expect; fear now gripped him, his heart started pounding. The man sensed his fear and stopped. He smiled down at him reassuringly and Joey relaxed a little. He knelt down in front of him. “Do not be frightened little man. I mean you no harm. But I want you to see something that may change your life. Will you trust me?”

  Joey nodded, not knowing whether it was the right decision or not. He didn’t really trust men any more.

  As they emerged from the wood into a large clearing he was confronted by five wooden crosses standing in a line, each with a person strapped to it. The cross in the centre held his father; two of the school bullies on one side of him, two on the other side, each on smaller crosses than his fathers. The same blue-white light that he had seen outlining the bus was shimmering and dancing around all of the crosses, lighting everyone’s figure in a ghostly hue and making their faces appear ghostly and grotesque. Joey had once seen a programme on TV about an aeroplane surrounded by something called St Elmo's fire, and he wondered if this was that same strange effect.

  An empty wooden chair was situated centrally a few yards away and facing the row of crosses.

  The bus driver guided Joey to the chair and sat him down. He stood behind Joey and placed his hands on Joey’s shoulders. Joey felt the warmth of his strong hands through the thin material of his jacket.

  A large screen had been erected a few yards to the left of the crosses, placed so that the occupants of the crosses could see it and so could Joey.

  The screen began to glow and a film in black and white began to play. There was no accompanying sound to the film.

  Joey recognised the scene as his own kitchen. He saw himself cowering in the corner. His father, unshaven and dishevelled, was pacing up and down carrying a leather belt in his hand, mouthing something at him. He started to beat Joey with the belt. Joey was crying and covering his face with his hands.

  The shimmering light around his father on the cross grew brighter and started to crackle loudly. Hi
s father groaned with pain and looked on, terrified, unable to take his eyes off the screen and struggling to be free.

  Joey turned his head to look up at the man and screamed out loud: "Stop, please stop! Stop the film, please!" The film stopped and the screen went dark and the shimmering, crackling light around his father ceased to crackle and became dimmer.

  Joey was crying. His father hung his head, tears coursing down his cheeks. Joey tried to rise and go to his father, but the bus driver held him firmly in the chair, pressing down lightly on his shoulders.

  “You must watch the screen, Joey,” the man said softly. After a pause the screen started to glow again and another film started to play. This time the scene was the playground at Joeys school. He saw himself walking through the gates with his satchel over his shoulder. The four bullies started towards him, pointing and laughing and jeering at him. Joey tried to back away, but the four rushed at him, tore the satchel from his back and emptied the contents onto the ground. His pens and pencils and his books spilled out onto the playground. One of the boys picked up Joey's lunch box and ran with it. Joey chased after him. The boys tossed it to one another, while Joey chased them frantically, trying to retrieve it. One of the boys knocked Joey to the ground and kicked him. He lay there for a few seconds, the breath knocked out of him. He raised himself painfully, stood up and leant against the wall, his head resting on his forearm with his back to the boys, trying to hold back tears. One of the boys took a sandwich from Joey’s lunch box and squashed it against Joey's neck, forcing it down into the collar of his shirt; the other boys tossed the rest of his food at him and walked away laughing. The light around the four boys on the crosses was brightening and crackling loudly. The boys were squirming on their crosses and crying out in fear and pain.

  Joey turned his head again and shouted at the bus driver, desperately wriggling to escape the strong hands that held him firmly to the chair: " Stop! You're hurting them!"

  The film faded and the light and the crackling fire died away. All four boys were shaking with fear and crying, slumped against their bonds.

  The man released his grip on Joey’s shoulders and he wriggled free. He rushed up to the nearest boy and released him from the straps holding him to the cross. He released the other boys in turn, hugging each one as he did so. They huddled together hanging their heads in shame. His father’s head hung down, tears still running down his cheeks, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs as Joey approached him. His father looked into Joey’s eyes and shook his head in bewilderment. Joey released the straps around his ankles and reached up and undid the straps around his wrists. His father sank to his knees. He embraced Joey so hard that Joey could hardly breathe. “My poor, poor boy,” he whispered into Joey’s ear.

  The blue-white light around the boys and his father had diminished to a soft glow and had ceased to crackle. The driver ushered them through the woods and back to the bus that was still shimmering with the dancing light. They took their seats. Joey sat with his father’s arm around his shoulder. The journey back home was made in silence; the four boys were dropped off at their homes, Joey and his father being the last ones to alight from the bus. They nodded thanks to the driver who didn’t speak but just smiled at them before driving off into the night.

  CHAPTER 3

  Joey awoke with a start; the dream, if indeed it was a dream, still vivid in his mind. He looked at the bedside clock but it was only five o’clock. He could hear noises in the kitchen and presumed that it was his father, just home from the pub or wherever it was that he could obtain a drink so late at night. He pulled the pillow over his head, screwed his eyes shut as hard as he could and tried to get back to sleep.

  When he did wake up again he realised that he would again be late getting his father's breakfast. He feared that another beating would be waiting for him when he got downstairs. He rushed into the bathroom, quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth, dressed in his shabby clothes, putting on his too-small school blazer and the trainers with a hole in the toe, and went slowly and fearfully downstairs. He hesitated at the kitchen door and started to tremble once again, wondering as to what would be waiting for him.

  He took a deep breath to calm himself and pushed the door open slowly. He stepped through and then stopped dead, eyes wide open in wonder.

  The kitchen was sparkling; not only clean and tidy, but no dirty dishes in the sink, the worktops shining, the kettle and toaster gleaming and the floor tiles looking pristine.

  On his place at the kitchen table stood a bowl of steaming porridge, a cup of tea and a glass of orange juice. His lunchbox was by his place, filled with freshly cut sandwiches and an apple. His father stood smiling at him, leaning on the table, clean-shaven and smartly dressed in a clean white shirt and a tie.

  Joey wasn’t quite sure how to react; his first thought was that maybe this was some cruel joke, and that at any second his father would turn on him. Joey sat down and tucked into his porridge, eyeing his father cautiously, not daring to speak. While he was eating his father said softly: "I'll take you to school today Joey, OK?"

  Joey looked at him without smiling and nodded. For once he was early, not having had to prepare his fathers breakfast, so he took his time to finish his tea and his orange juice while trying to comprehend the situation.

  He picked up his lunch box and went outside to the car and climbed into the front seat. On the way to school he stole a sideways look at his father as he was driving, baffled by his recent uncharacteristic behaviour. His father stole a look back at Joey and smiled.

  "I saw the fire too, Joey. I saw you hug those bullies from school, too. And I’m very proud of you. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve behaved. Life will be different from now on.” Tears filled Joey’s eyes. “It's Saturday tomorrow and we'll go into town and get you some new clothes. A new school blazer and new shoes as well. And on Sunday we'll go and see your mother and ask her if she'll come back to us. Would you like that?"

  Joey wiped the tears from his cheeks, smiled and nodded furiously, not trusting himself to speak in case he burst into tears. Then at last he started to believe that his father had really changed.

  Joey got out of the car and walked through the school gates. The four bullies walked towards him. Joey stopped, full of apprehension. One of them grinned at him and said: "It's OK Joey. We saw the fire too. Why don’t you come and play with us, eh?"

  Joey turned around to wave goodbye to his father but he had already driven away.

  A tall, thin man with a black goatee beard, dressed in a long black overcoat and black shiny shoes stood by the school gates. He caught Joey’s eye and raised his hand, smiling. For a brief second a bright, shimmering blue-white light surrounded him; then it faded and the man was gone.

  None of the other children seemed to have seen him.

  "Was that St Elmo, I wonder?" thought Joey.

  He shook his head and laughed, then turned and joined his four new friends.

  THE END

 

 

  Brian Peters, Joey's Fire

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