Leona Charles: Dead Ends

2 weeks as a teacher. 3 weeks as a Silent Falls resident. I have to say, it's not quite what I imagined it would be. Maybe it was the student lifestyle that made me really believe I would settle here so easily, enjoying dinner and drinks with my new friends almost every night, finding out more about the town every day.

But 3 weeks in, I can't say I have any friends. I've passed Chris on the stairs a few times, and he just says hello. Other than that, it seems that no one really wants me here. I go shopping and no one acknowledges me. I go a walk to the park and it's usually empty. Even if there is someone there, they'll usually avoid me. It's like I have a disease.

I was grateful when my second Monday as a teacher rolled around. I hadn't quite known what to do with myself over the weekend. I'd called a few friends from home but none of them wanted to visit me. It was like I spent the two days just watching the time pass. I felt so alone that I almost wished for another weird dream about Oliver.

I hadn't dared to tell anyone about the dream. Innocent or not, it never looks good for a teacher to say that they're dreaming of pupils climbing into bed with them.

He was quiet that Monday. I knew that he was always quiet, but I found it unsettling how he did not want to play with the other children, or even join in any class discussions. But I didn't want to get too close. The little punctures on my neck were almost gone, but they reminded me of the dream.

There was no drama until the Wednesday of that week. It was PE, and the Primary 1s and 2s were enjoying a game of rounders in the gym hall. Oliver stood in the corner of the room, a little red vest over his white t shirt, concentrating as a Primary 2 girl stood with the bat in her hand. The boy standing opposite her threw the ball and she missed. Some of the other children sighed as the ball was collected and returned to the boy. He threw the ball again, and she managed to hit it this time, running through the bases as the ball was passed frantically between the other team. As she ran to the final base, the ball went towards Oliver, who attempted to catch it, but missed, the ball dropping at his feet.

“Oliver!” a voice shouted, as Connor – also from my class – ran towards him. “You lost us the point!” He pushed him towards the wooden floor. He landed with a soft thud.

“Connor!” I called, running towards them. He looked at me, his angelic face contorted into pure rage.

“He always makes us lose!” he said, pointing at Oliver, who was now scrambling to his feet. “You're pathetic!” he said.

“That's enough, Connor,” I said, turning to look at Oliver. “Are you okay?”

Oliver nodded.

“Apologise,” I said firmly. Connor folded his arms and shook his head. “Apologise to Oliver or you'll go back to the classroom and write some lines.”

“I'm sorry,” Connor mumbled.

“Okay, play nice now.”

He nodded, as I walked away, prepared to let the game continue. When I heard the growl from behind me. I looked back, and there was Connor, pinned to the floor by Oliver who was punching his face. The rest of the children gathered around, cheering. As William and I ran over to the boys, I could see the look of hatred in Oliver's eyes as he kept punching Connor. There was blood on Oliver's hands as William tried to pull him away. He resisted, paying no attention to William's shouts. He was trying to kill him.

“Oliver!” I shouted, but my voice just blended with the cheers. I stood in front of him, looking down at Connor's bloodied face. “Oliver!” I said again, grabbing his tiny shoulders. He froze then, looking at me with those dark eyes. The crowd silenced and the only sounds in the room were Connor's sobs. “Stop it,” I said firmly, grabbing his hands and pulling him off Connor. His hands were like ice, and suddenly I was filled with the image of him standing by my bed, gripping my hand.

“What were you thinking?” William shouted. Connor was sitting now. His hands covering his face.

“He pushed me,” Oliver said quietly.

“And he apologised!” William said. “There was no need for it!”

Oliver was sent to the classroom to write some lines. Connor spent the rest of the morning in the medical room.

“Another nose bleed?” Mrs Hassel had said with a giggle as Connor climbed up to the bed, his hands and blue t shirt covered in blood.

“What do we do?” I asked William.

“He's done his lines, hasn't he?” he asked, sitting back in the hard sear in the staff room.

“Well, yes, but that behaviour.”

William shrugged. “He was bound to snap eventually. But unless Connor's parents ask for further action, or if there's another incident, there's not any reason to involve Oliver's grandparents. If you want to call them to discuss the behaviour, you can. But we can't drag them down here.”

I sighed. Why did I want to see Oliver's parents so badly?

After school finished, I sat at my desk, looking down at Oliver's file. It was fairly thin. Today's behaviour report and the set of neatly printed lines were the first of their kind. His tests from the year before took up most of the space. I looked at the contact details for his grandparents. Catherine and Samuel Joseph. 4b Carlton Court. I tried to picture it, my geography of Silent Falls not being great yet. I was sure it was the block of flats I passed on the way to school, just five minutes from me. I was reminded again of the image of Oliver in his pyjamas, standing by my bed.

I looked at the phone number, the area code and the six little digits. My hand reached for the phone at the corner of my desk, but I couldn't bring myself to lift up the receiver. The image of Oliver by my bedside stayed in my head long after I returned home last night.

I looked through Mum's notes while I ate dinner – a plate of tuna pasta with salad – wondering if there were any stories about weird children like Oliver. Children who just so happen to cause bad things, obsessed with blood. Vampires. I pushed the thought away as soon as it entered my mind. Even looking through Mum's things, I still didn't believe in vampires, I thought, rubbing the spot where my little puncture wounds had been. I found a little girl who'd murdered her family, but she'd done that with a knife. A scary story, but Oliver was different from that. I remembered the day that Bradley had his nose bleed, and how Oliver had just stood and watched the blood, fascinated.

I felt myself beginning to dose as I looked over the notes. I'd already scoured them from start to finish, knowing that there was nothing like Oliver. I wondered how old Mum's stories really were. I'd never known her to visit Silent Falls. Had there been new stories?

There's so much more to this place than Mum has in her little folder, it's been growing all this time that she's been gone. I thought of her obsessing and researching over the materials that she had, completely unaware of all of the events that she was missing, just by not being here. I sat in bed, trying to jot down all that I knew about Oliver. I would find out more. Tomorrow, I would call his grandparents and I would find out what his story was. Most likely he was just a strange little boy, but I didn't want to let this story get away from me.

I lay in bed, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Oliver's cold hand woke me a few hours later, clasping mine. I bolted upright in the bed. The lamp was still turned on, and I wondered if I'd forgotten or if Oliver had turned it on. His hair was tousled, and he wore faded grey cotton pyjamas. There were circles under his dark eyes as he looked at me.

As soon as my eyes met his I was filled with a sense of sadness, feeling so alone as I held onto his tiny hand.

“Oliver,” I said. I knew I had to be dreaming again.

“Please don't tell,” he said, holding my hand tighter now. “I'm not supposed to draw attention.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“They'll run us under the ground,” he said. “Again. Just like before. I don't like it there. I hate the rats, the dark. And it's so cold.”

“Who would do that do you?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment, looking downwards, then back up at me, his eyes shockingly dark. “You did. All of you.”

I shook my head, feeling fuzzy with the conversation.

“Just don't tell them,” he said. “Promise you won't tell.”

He was climbing into bed with me again, his cold body curling up against me, and I could already feel myself falling back asleep as I whispered, “I promise.”

I awoke with what felt like a hangover the next day, and once again, I was glad to see that I was in bed alone. I wondered if I was having some weird maternal meltdown, looking at Oliver and wanting to care for him. When I looked in the mirror, there were two fresh puncture wounds on my neck.

I got to school to find things as normal, yesterday's incident completely forgotten. Even William made no mention of it as we ate lunch and chatted about the events of the morning, his biggest drama being a scraped knee, mine being a lost workbook. I had convinced myself that I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

There were only twenty minutes of school left, when Oliver handed me his completed spelling work. I looked at the sheet, at the perfectly printed words. Car, cat, can, cone. Dog, dark, dot, drive.

“This is very good,” I said to him with a smile. He didn't react. His dark eyes remained fixed on me. “I'll give this a gold star.” I reached over to my stickers, sticking a star on the corner of the page.

“Is all of your work going to be this good?” I asked, just desperate to hear him speak.

He nodded, with a small smile. “I promise.”

The words made me feel cold as he headed back to his desk. He didn't look back at me as he sat down, placing the sheet in his tray.

After the class left at three, I sat at my desk again, looking down at Oliver's file. Why was I so desperate to speak to his grandparents? I wanted to know that he was okay. Those dreams had rattled me, as I imagined a neglected little boy all alone in a flat, fending for himself. I was going to do it. I lifted up the receiver, looking down at the numbers, my hand reaching for the keypad. I thought for another moment, almost ready to put the phone back down. But I pushed, and dialled the number.

The sound of ringing was almost instant. One rings, two rings, three. There were more rings, but no answer. Was Oliver really there on his own?

I gathered my things and started the walk home. The children had already gone, and the playground was empty. The town was silent as usual while I walked home. I saw no one stopping to say hello, or even talking on the phone. I found myself stopping at the block of flats near mine. Carlton Court. This was where Oliver lived. I looked up at the building. Four floors high, and made of grey stone. All of the windows seemed to be covered throughout the building. I sensed no movement from within. Oliver was the 4^th floor, I thought, as I approached the main door.

There were no locks on the door, and I entered the building, standing on the ground floor landing for a moment. The floor was black, the walls tiled in shiny dark green. Two doors stood on either side of a staircase. I stood still, listening. There was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no music, no dogs barking. Was the whole building empty? Feeling uneasy, I climbed the stairs. Every floor looked the same. No one left shoes at doors, there weren't even welcome mats. Maybe because you're not welcome, a voice whispered inside my head. It might be right.

I reached Oliver's floor. I knocked on the door, and listened hard. He should be home, I thought. He left school an hour ago. There was no movement from behind the door. No one came running up the hallway to answer the door. No keys rattled. I knocked again, sure that someone would answer.

Nothing. I walked back downstairs, out of the building, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency. I wanted to be out of here. I needed to see life, I realised stepping onto the street. I walked hurriedly down the hill towards my own flats. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a man across the road walking a dog.

There was someone watching me, I realised, sensing a presence behind me. I turned around, surprised to see that there was no one behind me. I looked up at the Oliver's flats, sure that I had saw some curtains moving. I walked a few more steps and turned again, sharper this time. On the fourth floor, I could see three figures, two tall and one small.

“You promised!” Oliver's voice echoed in my head.

I rushed home, locking the door behind me. My heart was racing I realised. I tried to watch some TV, but I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed me home. It made no sense, but nothing about Oliver made sense.

I shouldn't have done it, I thought. I should have left well enough alone. Why am I so stupid?

I lay awake in the dark, sure that I would get a visit from Oliver that night. I didn't know how long it had been when I felt his cold hand touching mine, as he climbed into the bed. I couldn't see him, but I knew that he'd be in his pyjamas, looking at me with sad eyes.

“You promised,” he whispered. I couldn't tell if he was crying. “You promised you wouldn't tell.”

“I didn't tell,”I said, letting him cuddle into me. “I didn't tell anyone.”

“They all saw you,” he said. “They're angry.”

“Did they hurt you?” I asked.

“No. They won't hurt me. I'm one of them.” He was silent then, and I was waiting for sleep to come when he spoke again. “I need a mummy. Can you be my mummy?”

“I can't be your mummy, Oliver,” I said. “I wouldn't be a very good mummy.”

“You have to stay away from there,” he said.

And that was when sleep came.

I was feeling drained when I got to school the next day, my puncture wounds were clearly worse and had been covered with concealer. I stepped into the classroom, knowing that something wasn't right as I read through the register. I got to Oliver's name, and no one answered. I looked at his desk, empty. Why hadn't I noticed?

It was at lunch time, that Miss Kyle approached me. “Miss Charles,” she said, as I watched the class file into the lunch hall.

“Yes,” I said with a smile.

She handed me a sheet of paper. “Oliver Joseph has been transferred to a school in Glasgow. Could you pass on his assessment details?”

“Yes,” I said, again, looking down at the sheet of paper, and hoping it was true. I emailed the details to his new headteacher.

As I walked home that night, I stopped again at the flats where Oliver stayed. The windows were covered, but I was sure that someone could see me. I didn't dare step inside, remembering what Oliver had said as I continued my walk home.