The Dead Have No Shadows by Chris Mawbey

Author:Chris Mawbey [Mawbey, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-28T22:50:08+00:00

Chapter 17

When Mickey awoke the following morning he had aged six years. It took his older self a few moments to establish who, where and when he was. He then retreated to the back of his younger mind to see what happened next.

The fifteen year old Mickey sat up and looked around him. His was not the typical bedroom of a teenage boy. Most boys his age had posters of film, sport or pop stars pinned to their walls. Others, the nerdy sort, had model aircraft suspended from string pinned into the ceiling. There would be piles of books and games, of records or CD’s and DVD’s. The luckiest ones would have their own television sets and games consoles or computers.

Mickey’s room had none of these trappings of youth. A lack of money in the family contributed to this but the overriding factor was Mickey’s father. Terry wouldn’t allow a television or hi-fi system in Mickey’s room because he would make, ‘too much fucking noise’. He never gave Mickey permission to hang posters on his wall. Terry argued that he didn’t decorate the room just for Mickey to cover the walls with pictures of over-paid footballers or poncey film stars. The joke here was that Mickey couldn’t remember his father ever decorating this room. The wallpaper was faded and discoloured with age and the ceiling was a dirty yellow. None of this was helped by the dark wood wardrobe that was a hand me down from one of Mickey’s grandparents. This was an old person’s bedroom, not that of a healthy and happy teenager – but then Mickey wasn’t a happy teenager.

A loud click drew Mickey’s attention to a strange man sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. The shock of finding someone in his room was fleeting as the elder Mickey moved forward in his younger self’s consciousness. He fumbled for the man’s name for a second or two. It finally came to him when the adult Mickey nudged his younger self. Pester – that was it.

“You don’t look very comfortable,” Mickey said.

“I’ve had worse,” his travelling companion replied. “At least I’m in the dry.”

There was a crash and a shout from downstairs.

Mickey leapt out of bed and jumped into the school uniform that lay strewn across the bedroom floor. The fifteen year old persona took complete control of the boy’s body, completely forgetting about his older hitchhiker and the presence of Pester the guide. The guide became invisible and resumed his spectator role.

Mickey descended the stairs steadily. Charging downstairs would make a lot of noise which would inflame what he expected to be an already tense and potentially violent situation.

The argument was taking place in the kitchen. Then again it wasn’t an argument. A true argument involves contributions from both sides and is, though sometimes heated, a debate over opinion and counter-opinion. This was not an argument. This was Terry Raymond haranguing his long suffering wife. It would be over something innocuous. Terry would be

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