Ghosts on Board (2 page)

I can tell which way Jacob walked by the trail of destruction along the high street. Despite the fact that his mouth burns when he uses his powers, he doesn't seem to be able to control them. Outside the fish and chip shop there used to be a huge plastic ice-cream cone. Now it's sagging on one side, and the sign reads
ish and hips
. We catch up with him on the steps of the library. He's enjoying himself, setting fire to things with his fingertips.

‘Did we have a nice time flying our kite and talking to the birdies?' he says. He sends a sheet of flame at a postbox door, instantly melting the lock and causing the door to swing open, spewing letters over the tarmac. He clutches his mouth immediately afterwards. I know his tongue will hurt, but even so a broad grin spreads over his face.

‘Jacob, you idiot,' says Eric, shooting a flood of water from his palms across the road.

I try and peel escaped letters and postcards from the ground, but they're mostly ruined. ‘You need to be more careful.'

‘Oh do shut up. It's fun and I'm bored. If they build a theme park I wouldn't be bored, and I wouldn't have to set fire to things. Anyway – why can't I do it?' He releases sparks into the air and pops a passing child's helium balloon. The child bursts into tears, screaming madly at his parents. The younger sister's eyes open wide and she too races away from us down the street, wailing and shouting.

‘Because you're upsetting people, and because someone will notice,' I say, pointing at the melted postbox.

‘And? What if they do? I can have the recognition I deserve – can't I? I'm a superhero.'

‘Superheros don't pop little kids' balloons,' I say.

Jacob swings into the library, ignoring us, and we follow him through the bookcases to stop by the large table in the middle of the room. A man and a woman in matching suits stand by a huge model of a fun fair. There are little roller coasters and bungee jumps and everything you'd expect, perfectly made in white architect-y cardboard with tiny people and tiny trees.

‘Gosh – young people! You're just who we need to talk to.' She looks as if she actually wants to eat us, she's so delighted. ‘Welcome to the new Bywater-by-Sea theme park design. This is a small version of the real thing, of course,' she says, addressing us as four-year-olds.

Jacob walks around the model. He doesn't look happy and I really hope he's not about to release a shower of sparks over the cardboard.

‘So, hang on, is this what you want to build on North Beach?' Eric looks appalled.

‘Oh yes,' says the woman. ‘More fun than stinky old birds – eh?'

Eric doesn't answer. He turns away quickly, a mass of hair flopping over his face, and leaves the library. I see him wipe his nose on his sleeve. No one else notices him go.

‘So this will be the Bunny Hop café,' says the woman, pointing at a pair of ears sticking out of the model.

‘Bunnies?' Jacob curls up his top lip. ‘Why bunnies?'

‘I think you'll find this goes down very well with the littlies. We've built three of these theme parks before, you know – bunnies, squirrels and chipmunks – all frightfully popular.'

I notice that Jacob's feet have burned two footprints into the nylon library carpet. ‘C'mon Jacob,' I say. ‘We've seen it now. Let's find Eric.'

Jacob ignores me. ‘But where's the fun in bunnies?' he says. ‘They're all soft.'

The woman glances anxiously at the man, raising her eyebrows and looking uncomfortably at Jacob, who has begun to send up curls of smoke from his hair.

‘Well, young man,' says the man in the suit, coming over. ‘We just  … '

This time I grab Jacob by the arm and drag him out of the library, and a chunk of nylon carpet comes with us. We find Eric sitting on the wall outside, mopping his eyes with the corner of his shirt cuff.

‘Well, I don't think much of that,' says Jacob. ‘Theme park, yes. Bunny theme park – NO.'

‘Any theme park is bad,' says Eric, sniffing. ‘But that one's particularly horrible.'

‘Agreed,' says Jacob, to my surprise. ‘We'll have to make them change it, of course,' says Jacob. ‘We can't have the town filled with little kids in rabbit suits.' He shudders and then, recovering from the shock of fluffy things, begins to skip, shedding sparks all the way along the pavement.

Eric gets to his feet and we wander up towards the model village, passing Jacob's earlier areas of destruction and entering a new zone of unburned things.

‘Seeing that model of the theme park has left me feeling quite unwell,' says Eric.

‘You know what your problem is?' says Jacob, swinging round. ‘You've no spirit of adventure. You're like an old man, Snot Face. Things just need to liven up a bit around here.'

He stamps his foot as if to demonstrate. His eyes flash red and the bag of sweets in his hand flares briefly and melts. ‘Ow!' he shouts, throwing them towards a tiny wooden shed in the model village. The shed, doused in burning sugar, lights in a tall column of flame which leaps across to one of Grandma's precious bonsai fir trees.

We all watch as the tree crackles and burns, leaving behind a sad smoking stick of charcoal and a circle of burned grass.

‘Like that, you mean?' says Eric.

Tiny balls of whirling smoke whizz up into the sky, exactly like burning icing sugar from a toasted marshmallow. In the smoke I see a green flame, a flickering shape, but I can't quite make out what it is. ‘Look,' I say, pointing. ‘What's that?'

‘Maybe it's like the fog down by the pier,' says Eric. ‘Strange atmospheric conditions today.'

‘You're seeing things, Model Village,' says Jacob. ‘First sign of madness.'

‘I don't think  … ' I start, but a voice sounds in my ear, really close, as if it's in my ear itself.

‘We should get away from here,' it says.

I jump. ‘What!?'

‘What?' says Eric.

‘OW! Victor!' says the voice in my other ear.

‘That. Didn't you hear it? A voice?' I stick my finger in my ear and waggle it. ‘Surely you must have done?'

‘And hearing things,' says Jacob. ‘Second sign of madness.'

‘Yeeeooooww!' something completely invisible squeals by Eric's feet.

‘That,' says Eric, ‘is weird. What's going on?'

We all stare hard into the air.

‘Can you see anything?' I ask.

‘No – but I can sort of feel something,' says Eric, dabbing his arms at thin air.

‘This is, at last, something interesting,' says Jacob, leaping upright. ‘If there's anything there, I'll get 'em. I CAN SEE YOU!' he announces, circling Eric and me, protectively. ‘AND I'M A SUPERHERO SO I CAN DEFEAT YOU!' He takes the sweatshirt tied across his middle and flaps it like a cape, before throwing the arms around his neck and tying them together. A huge cloud of faintly glittery dust escapes, briefly filling the air and catching the sunlight.

For a second, three figures and a cat appear caught in the dust. Their shapes shimmer in midair, hovering above the model village, and then they disappear, just as fast.

Eric and I stand silent, mouths open.

I try to speak, but all I can do is squeak at the back of my throat. I know that the dust that came from Jacob's sweatshirt is the magic dust from under the castle, but I've never seen it do anything like that before. Not create people out of nowhere.

‘But,' says Eric.

Jacob leaps forward to embrace the empty space where the figures were. ‘Hey,' he hisses back at us. ‘Aliens! They must be aliens.' Then, turning to address the air, he says, ‘Where are you from? What planet?' He strikes a Napoleon-pose and says, ‘Do you realise how utterly awesome I am?'

The empty space says nothing. No one replies, not even the cat, but something cold brushes my cheek and I notice Eric shiver.

‘Chips,' announces Jacob. ‘What we need after an extra-terrestrial experience like that is chips.'

Jacob joins the queue outside the fish and chip shop. Eric hovers nearby, not exactly joining, not exactly walking away. He's almost certainly thinking about birds.

I stand midway between them, thinking 3 per cent about birds, 3 per cent about theme parks, but mostly thinking about the cold and the mist and the odd people looming out of the glitter. I can't get Eric to concentrate on them – he's miles away with the seagulls.

‘Hello boys.' Grandma appears on the pavement, a basket of shopping on her arm. She prods the huge melted plastic ice-cream cone with her toe. ‘Nice,' she says. ‘Jacob?'

I nod.

She stares at Eric. ‘Anything the matter?'

‘No,' I say.

‘Yes,' says Eric. ‘Everything. They want to build a theme park on the bird sanctuary. It's – it's abominable.'

‘Oh, that,' says Grandma. ‘Don't worry, it's a long way from happening. Surely they can't start until the whole town has agreed.'

Jacob stumbles out of the chip shop, two packets in his hand. ‘One for me and one for you two to share – don't say I'm not generous.' He looks up at Grandma. ‘You don't want any do you?'

She waves the suggestion away and watches as Jacob squeezes past some railings, rolling his stomach in and out. A sort of tsunami of belly fat that crashes over the top of his jeans. He catches her staring. ‘I'm not fat – just well built.'

Grandma shakes her head as if to get free of the vision of Jacob's gut. ‘I wonder,' she says. ‘I'm sure that the theme park won't be allowed. Everyone loves the bird sanctuary. But I'll have a word with the Worthies – perhaps we need to get a campaign together.'

Jacob stares at her as if she's talking Martian. ‘Speak for yourself,' he says. ‘I'd much rather have a theme park. Just imagine the possibilities! We could have a daredevil ride, lit with real sparklers, and a roller coaster that takes people right through the sea, underwater with sharks and jellyfish and stuff and exploding hot dogs and boil-in-the-mouth toffee apples and giant inflatable dogs and  …  what are you all staring at?'

I point at his feet. In his enthusiasm he's melted the tarmac, and is now standing ankle deep in the road, squidgy blobs of asphalt bubbling around his trainers.

‘Jolly good,' says Grandma. ‘Just make sure you take those shoes off before you go through your front door.' She sets off up the hill to the house.

‘Grandma.' I catch her up.

‘Yes, Tom, dear?'

‘Grandma – do you believe in visions?'

She walks another three paces, stops and turns to face me. ‘Visions? Tom – what makes you ask?'

‘Hypothetical – I mean, I just wondered.' I'm now wishing I hadn't asked – Grandma's got that poking around inside your head expression on her face. She's not going to let it go.

‘Has something happened?'

‘No – nothing.' I can't actually look her in the eye.

‘If by visions you mean ghosts  … ?'

I say nothing and draw a circle in the dust with my toe.

‘Because ghosts can be very unpredictable,' she says slowly.

‘Oh?' I ask.

Grandma waves the words away. As if she hasn't said them. ‘Well – I believe they can be. I've heard it said. Obviously I don't know anything first-hand.'

‘Hey! Tom!' shouts Jacob from down the road. ‘Don't you want these chips?'

‘Remember you can talk to me anytime,' says Grandma. ‘Don't do anything foolish though  … '

‘I won't, Grandma,' I say, turning and trotting down the hill. ‘I promise.'

I find a purple frisbee sticking out of a bin and we take it with our chips down to the castle green.

Eric's terrible at playing any game that involves missiles. So's Jacob. They throw hard but in the wrong direction, and if it's coming towards them, Eric runs away from it, and Jacob just stands there expecting it to stop in his hand.

‘Oh come on, you two!' I shout, running the full length of the castle green for the tenth time. ‘Make an effort.' But by the time I've reached them, Jacob's thrown himself flat onto the grass and is stuffing chips in his mouth.

‘That business in the model village – those people appearing – was great. I loved it,' says Jacob. ‘Hey Snot Face, can't you work out what it was?'

Eric takes off his glasses and hangs them over his knee, rubbing his face with his palms. ‘I've no idea what caused it – perhaps some change in the temperature causing an alteration of the molecular structure of the air? A hologram?'

‘Or perhaps someone around here's got powers we don't know about,' I say.

Jacob sits up. ‘Really? Awesome. Who?'

‘Half the village has powers from catching meteorites,' says Eric. ‘But I don't think I've ever heard of anyone conjuring people.'

‘Well, I think we should check for strangers. Perhaps someone here on holiday has managed to develop powers.'

Eric nods. ‘Good idea.' He holds a chip in the air, halfway to his mouth. ‘But there hasn't been a meteor storm recently. So no one could have picked up a meteorite.'

‘Exactly,' says Jacob, a look of incomprehension crossing his face. ‘What?'

I listen while Eric explains to Jacob for the millionth time that the person who catches the meteorite develops the powers, but only inside the boundaries of Bywater-by-Sea. And that each meteorite only works for the person that catches it.

While he's droning on, I put my hand up, so that my finger and thumb make an O and frame Jacob's chips. They'd look dead cute, small. I could use my own shrinking power to make a packet of mini chips, but as I look through the gap between my fingers, one of Jacob's chips rises and falls all on its own.

‘Did you see that?' I ask. ‘One of Jacob's chips moved on its own. I'd swear it.'

Next to me, Eric leaps up and backs towards the castle wall.

‘Do you think we've got an invisible alien here?' Jacob hauls himself to his feet, staring hard at nothing. ‘That would be awesome.'

I scrabble back, stumbling upright, watching the pile of chips. They don't move again.

‘Um,' I say. ‘Perhaps it was the wind or something. Anyway, suddenly I don't fancy any more chips.'

‘Funnily enough, nor do I,' says Eric. ‘And d'you know, you're right. I saw it too. I can't explain it and I don't like it.'