Colm & the Ghost's Revenge (9 page)

It was several hours before Camus had the strength to gather up the two keys and drive away, leaving his fallen employees behind without a second thought. Even though he was weaker, more frail than he could ever have imagined, he would complete his task. His hands were dry and flaky, but he hadn't time to think about that. He would fly to Ireland and deliver the keys to his master just as he'd been told to do.

It was only when he left the dirt roads behind him and reached the motorway that he glanced into the truck's rear-view mirror and saw the face of an eighty-year-old man looking back at him.

‘W
hat are you doing lying on the floor and why are you wearing those stupid pyjamas, ya big eejit?' The Brute asked.

The Brute was Michael James McGrath, Colm's first cousin. They didn't like each other. Not even a little bit. The Brute didn't like his cousin because he thought he was wimpy, needy, whiny and boring. Colm didn't like The Brute because he thought he was a bullying thug who had more t-shirts than brain cells.

The Brute had once spent a fortnight with Colm and his parents and for Colm it had been the worst two weeks of his life. Their last night together had been the one they had spent at the Red House Hotel. After that they'd both developed a small bit of respect for each other. But they still didn't like each other. Like didn't come into it at all.

Colm had seen Michael only once since then, when they'd both attended a dull family get-together. The Brute had insulted Aunt Maggie's new baby boy by telling everyone he reminded him of Gollum from
The Lord of the Rings
. Their fiery young cousin Isobel had stood up for Aunt Maggie and kicked The Brute in the shins. It had cheered everyone up.

Colm would have almost preferred if it had been a burglar, or even just your ordinary common-or-garden assassin, who had arrived at his house in the dead of night. It would have been much less embarrassing than The Brute seeing him like this. Of all the people he didn't want to find him lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of milk while dressed in a pair of girl's silk pyjamas dotted with pink love hearts, The Brute was number one, two and three on the list.

‘I fell,' Colm replied after what was possibly the longest ever pause between a question being asked and answered.

‘That still doesn't explain the pyjamas,' The Brute smirked.

Colm picked himself up off the ground and ignored the comment. ‘What were you doing climbing through the window like that? I thought you were a burglar. You nearly gave me a heart attack.'

‘Boo hoo. You're still alive, aren't ya, so stop whingeing. Anyway, I rang the doorbell seventeen times. It was rude of you not to answer.'

‘I didn't hear it, I was asleep.'

‘You were too scared to answer it, is what you mean,' The Brute said. He opened the fridge door. ‘I'm starving. What have you got to eat?'

‘You still shouldn't have climbed through the window,' Colm said.

‘We're family. That means we can do whatever we want.'

‘No, it doesn't. Family means we have to look out for each other.'

‘Where did you learn that? From Barney the Dinosaur? Look out for this,' The Brute said, flinging a natural yoghurt at Colm.

It caught him right on the nose, the carton bursting open on impact and covering Colm's face with its healthy gloopiness.

‘Ow.'

‘I told you to look out. It's not my fault if you have the reflexes of a drunken goat.'

‘What are you doing here anyway?' Colm asked.

‘None of your business. Where's Auntie Mary?'

‘That's none of
your
business,' Colm replied, cleaning his face with a tea towel. ‘You're such a jerk. You promised you wouldn't hurt me again.'

‘Doesn't sound like something I'd say,' The Brute replied. ‘Anyway, who gets injured by yoghurt? There must be some decent food in the house. Where do you keep the crisps?'

‘We don't have any. And you
did
promise me you wouldn't be violent any more. The night you found the Lazarus …'

The Brute's face was suddenly ablaze with fury.

‘Don't ever mention that night,' he roared. ‘Ever.'

‘OK, OK. Relax.'

‘DON'T TELL ME TO RELAX. I AM PERFECTLY CALM. DON'T I LOOK CALM TO YOU?'

‘Well, your eyes are popping out, your face is bright red, and you've just spit all over your own chin. So to answer your question, no, you don't look calm,' Colm said.

The Brute burst into laughter. ‘I'd forgotten what an annoying mammy's boy you are.'

Colm was taken aback by his cousin's sudden transition from anger to what appeared to be good humour, but he held his ground. ‘You've also forgotten you promised …'

‘I haven't forgotten. I have an excellent memory. You told me not to hit you. You were acting all tough and after … y'know, that night … I took pity on you.'

‘I'm telling you now: don't ever hit me again.'

‘Oooh, I'm scared.'

‘I've been learning karate,' Colm said.

‘I know. I heard you busted some poor guy's nose. Snot a good day for you.' The Brute laughed at his own joke.

‘It was an accid–'

‘Sounds cool to me. OK, you get me something to eat, I promise not to hit you again,' The Brute said.

‘Are you crossing your fingers behind your back?'

The Brute held up his hands. ‘Nope. Straightforward promise.'

Colm climbed onto the kitchen counter and reached up to the top of the cupboard where his mother kept her ‘only for special visitors' biscuits hidden. He threw a packet down to The Brute, who ripped the foil open and stuffed three of the cookies into his mouth.

‘Good lad,' he spluttered.

‘So no hitting. No more daily digs.'

‘Definitely no hitting,' The Brute said. I never mentioned kicks, throws or trips, he thought, as Colm hopped down.

‘Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?' Colm asked.

‘Sure. Change out of those pyjamas first. I can't talk to you when you're dressed like that.'

‘Now I can look at you without laughing,' The Brute said, after Colm had changed into a shirt and jeans. Then he started laughing. ‘No, seems like I can't. It's your stupid face. Cracks me up every time.'

Colm began to wonder if getting a dig in the arm would be better than The Brute's feeble attempts at humour.

‘Can you stop stalling and explain why you came here in the middle of the night?'

‘Might be past your bedtime, Geekmeister General, but it's not the middle of the night.'

Colm peered over his glasses.

‘Right, right, I'll explain,' The Brute said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd made in Colm's absence. He'd recently begun drinking coffee because he thought it made him seem cool and sophisticated. He also thought that it would make girls like him. He didn't realise that changing his personality would have been a better road to travel.

‘I've run away from home,' he said. ‘Seanie was doing me head in. He was always telling me what to do and all that, but since he married me ma, it's got way worse. It's been hell.'

‘Really?' Colm asked. That was serious. Poor Mich– … he caught himself. He'd started to feel sorry for his cousin. This had been a road
he'd
travelled before and it always ended in either an insult or a punch. He wasn't going to let that happen this time.

‘Can you explain the whole “hell” thing?'

‘Yeah, I have to clean my room and do the ironing and stuff. That's Mammy's work.'

‘Mammy?'

‘I mean me ma,' The Brute said, reddening at his mistake.

‘But I have to do stuff like that all the time,' Colm said.

‘That's 'cos you're a girl.'

‘No, it means … forget it. It still doesn't seem like a reason to run away from home though. Shouldn't you give them a call? Let them know where you are.'

‘I left them a note. Told them where I was going. They know where to find me if they want to talk. Where are your folks? Thought they'd be downstairs by now, all concerned and stuff,' The Brute said.

‘Dad's working. Ma's out.'

‘And they left you here on your own?'

‘Something like that.'

‘Wow, things have changed around here,' The Brute said. ‘So when's your ma coming home? I presume she'll want to give out to me for running away.'

‘Of course she will, she's …'

‘Not interested any more. You've bored me so much I'm surprised I haven't fallen asleep already. I'm going to watch TV.'

Colm followed him into the living room. The Brute threw himself onto the couch and pressed a button on the remote. The television came to life. One of the shopping channels.

‘Rubbish,' The Brute said, changing channels. A sitcom.

‘Seen it,' he continued.

He flicked from station to station, a comment of disapproval for each one. It wrecked Colm's head. There was nothing worse than someone with a short attention span being in charge of the remote. Now The Brute had found a late-night horror movie. A bunch of zombies surrounding a shopping mall. Pale blue faces. Slow, jerky movements. Pawing at the doors trying to break through to the regular humans locked inside.

Finally, thought Colm, something The Brute would enjoy. His cousin was always banging on about how much he loved scary films. The more blood and guts the better. Colm couldn't stand them. Yet another difference between them. He wondered how two sisters who had loads in common could have two sons who were polar opposites. Life was strange.

He wondered if he should sneak out and phone his mother and his aunt while Brutie Boy watched the film. It seemed a bit of a tell-tale thing to do, but at the same time he knew his aunt would be frantic with worry about her little boy – although calling him a little boy was a bit of a joke. There were some WWE wrestlers with less muscle mass than his cousin. He'd grown taller and stronger since the last time he'd seen him. His little moustache had grown less wispy as well. And Colm also noticed, now that he came to think about it, that his skin was sort of orange. Was The Brute actually wearing fake tan? He'd never understand him. Never. Colm still hadn't decided whether or not to make the call when he noticed that the television had been switched off.

‘Why aren't you watching the film? I thought you liked horrors,' he said.

‘Didn't feel like watching it,' his cousin replied, but he didn't meet Colm's eyes when he said it.

Then it hit Colm. There were zombies in the movie. The creature that had come after them the night of the Lazarus Key was like a zombie. Normally, he wouldn't have said anything, but he'd made a habit of saying things he shouldn't today, so he said it anyway.

‘Is it because there's zombies in it and it reminds you of …'

The Brute didn't allow him to finish the sentence.

‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO MENTION THAT NIGHT. HOW THICK ARE YOU?' he roared.

Colm didn't reply, letting the question of his intelligence remain unresolved. After a moment's silence, The Brute spoke again.

‘The creature that night. It wasn't a zombie,' he said.

‘Yeah, what was it so?'

‘Dunno, but it wasn't a zombie.'

‘Zombies are people who die and come back to life. Hugh DeLancey-O'Brien died, was buried and came back to life.'

‘Yeah, but zombies also try and eat people. They eat their brains and stuff. It's where they get their nutrition. Must be a lot of protein in brains, I guess. That thing just wanted to take our life force and make itself young or live forever or something. Remember the way the rat-faced guy shrivelled up when the DeLancey creature wrapped itself around him. It didn't start chewing on his arms or face or anything,' The Brute said.

‘Good point. And now that I think of it, I don't think zombies are supposed to be bothered by the light,' Colm said. ‘Remember the way the sunlight freaked it out?'

‘Vampires can't stand the light.'

‘But they suck blood, so we're back to the whole eating thing again,' Colm said. ‘Maybe it was some sort of hybrid.'

‘What do you mean?' The Brute asked.

‘Like the way a liger is a cross between a tiger and a lion. Maybe this was a cross between a vampire and a zombie.'

‘That makes the creature a vambie.'

‘Or a zompire. Or, like, if it was lying there unmoving for a hundred years it could have been a mummy,' Colm said.

‘True. What could we call it then?'

‘A vamumzompire?'

‘Weak dude, very weak,' The Brute smiled.

The smile disappeared faster than it had arrived.

‘Listen,' he continued. ‘I didn't ring the bell earlier.'

‘No problem,' Colm said. Climbing through the window wasn't really an unreasonable thing to do when you were Michael James McGrath.

‘There's a reason I'm telling you this. I snuck in because … well, because there's something weird happening.'

Of all the people The Brute could have spoken to, Colm was one of the few who could possibly understand what he'd gone through. That sucked. Lauryn was another; he'd have much preferred to talk to her, but she was in America and hadn't answered her phone, even though The Brute had rung her about forty times. He hopped off the couch and began to pace up and down.

‘When I left home today, I thumbed a lift to Killarney, then I got the train to Dublin,' he said. ‘I should have been here hours ago. I mean I got the right bus and all. The 16a. But I didn't realise they went in two directions, so I ended up in Rathfarnham. Had to get another one back to the city centre. Of course by then the buses had finished for the night and I hadn't enough money for a taxi, so I had to walk here.'