Tricks of the Mind - 1

Prologue

I settled back on the grass, absorbing the peace of the moment, smiling happily, closing my eyes. I kicked my flip flops off, and they landed just near my feet, which were soaking up the golden rays of the setting sunshine.
My hazel hair was spread out behind me, resting on the lush grass, hovering just above my shoulders. I was wearing a pair of black trademark jeans and a t-shirt, my sweater resting just beside me. It was calming to be here, in the glade by the river, which shone crystal clear and serene, snaking off behind distant trees nearby. I came here almost every day, with company, sometimes without. I would stay here all day if I could, with no ongoing chaos of the real world to bother me. My house stood just near the boundary of the forest, which was thought of as the boundary of our small village. It was a peaceful, cheery little place, it was isolated, but that was what was so great about it. The streets were cobbled, and there were tea shops, a town centre, a local church, better known as Hallsborough church, and a small school on the edge of the village, convenient for me, I lived so close to it.
It was a really classic village, the sort you might find if you went back a few years in history or if you looked in a young child’s picture book.
We’d moved to Hallsborough a few years ago, when my dad had suddenly moved away. Mum didn’t want to see him again, for her own reasons (whenever I asked her about it she’d give me a stubborn look and hastily change the subject), and we’d found a place to live in this perfect village, almost cut off from the rest of the world.
It was, when you summed it up, perfect. Life was perfect, school was perfect, my friends, the little family that I had left, and surroundings were perfect.

Just too perfect to last.




1

Long shadows, which are cast by the tall trees, lie across the grass, and I shiver as the air around me begins to get colder. Even though it’s nearing the end of a long, dry summer, this is the first cold day we’ve had in months, there’s a definite chill in the air and I won’t say it’s not welcome. I sit up and run a hand through my hair, its tousled and messy, but what’s the difference? I’ve always had a scruffy appearance, dark hazel hair; I’m quite tall for seventeen, slightly taller than my mum, (but it doesn’t stop me from feeling insignificantly small when she shouts at me!) I’m not skinny, but I’m not chubby either, and I’ll say that I’m satisfied with myself. I clutch a lock of hair in my fingers, winding a petite plait as my hair whips round my face and a cold breeze starts up, stinging my cheeks slightly.
The area around me grows darker as minutes slip by unnoticed, and the shadows from the trees grow more menacing as the sun sets. I shudder to myself, but shrug off any insane thoughts, not admitting to myself that I’m slightly spooked.
I idly pick off some blades of grass that are clutching in the folds of my sweater, then stand up and brush myself down quickly. After pulling on my jumper, I haul my bag over my back with some difficulty, (I have way too much coursework to suffer this week) and begin to walk off through the dim forest, disappearing through a gap in the trees, not thinking to take a backward glance at the river and the quiet glade behind me.
I’ve taken this route home so many times now that my feet guide me and I don’t have to think about where I’m going, and as I walk I’m comforted by the crisp rustling of the leaves under my feet, that have fallen from the trees overhead. I look up to the sky above me as I walk, its twilight, and the stars are just visible, twinkling in the ceiling of candy colours. I sigh inwardly, it must be pretty late now, I’d hazard a guess at about seven o’ clock, and my mum will go mental if she gets back before me! I grin to myself and walk on, quickening my pace as I trudge through the undergrowth of the old forest.
I leave the overgrown wood behind as I step out into the open, the cold engulfs me and I pull my tatty jacket tighter around my shoulders, locking out the chilly night air. I can see the edge of the village just further on; I make out the dim street lamps ahead, which stand out against the inky darkness. I take another glance up at the sky to see that the stars have been blacked out by a large thunder cloud, hopefully I’ll get home before the rain starts, but then a distant rumble of thunder from behind the woods makes me believe otherwise.
I make it down to the village just as a light shower of rain starts; the raindrops can be heard falling softly on the cobbled pavement. I walk past the tea room, which is just closing; I wave at Norman, who owns the cute, classic shop. He gives me a smile and waves back happily as he puts up a closed sign on the wooden door, which swings shut with a tinkle from a bell in the door. Norman is like my granddad, though I don’t actually have a granddad, he’s as good a one I could get. We’re very close, and he helped my mum out when she wanted to move down here.
I’m one of the last remaining people out walking on the dampened street, apart from a young couple, who are walking in my direction, holding hands. In her free hand, the woman is laden with shopping bags galore, and her blonde boyfriend holds an umbrella over the two of them, keeping the worst of the rain off them and their shopping. I knew the couple, the woman was one of my mums friends, and the woman gave me a cheerful smile, which I returned to them both, but the man just gave me a wide berth and walked on. I checked myself down; I didn’t look out of the ordinary…
I shrugged off my thoughts and hurried on home, passing a large cream coloured house with wide windows and a blue front door, which a figure was standing in front of. The tall girl opened the door as a lock clicked, then noticed me and gave a wave as she ducked inside. Hazel was one of my best friends, she gave me the warmest welcome when I entered into her class, and we were instant buddies. She had a great sense of humour, though it became a little annoying at times – yes, I’m a filthy hypocrite – she always had a ready smile, along with a ready laugh.
She gives me a yell as I walk by, I can’t stop though, I’ve already mentioned I have a lot of coursework, due to my unfortunate circumstances. Pity on us teens.
“Amber, see you at school tomorrow!” My backs still turned, but I wave a hand as I walk off, showing I heard her. I trudge on down the road, pausing every now and then to look in shop windows, when, at last, I reach my house. I dig my key out of my bag, (pulling out some other insane objects at the same time, including two toothpicks and a crumpled piece of paper, god knows where they’re from) and stomp up the garden path, looking up at my house as I walk.
Its quite old fashioned, also quite big, but not posh, and it doesn’t give the inclination that we’re rich, which we aren’t. You could say we’re better off than most people, and we definitely have one of the largest houses in the area, cut off from a few of the other buildings by a river and a bridge, which a small stream trickles under, widening out when it reaches the trees, then expanding and flowing into the river near the forest.
Our house was a pale yellow colour, with a dark roof and a wide front garden. It was a timeless house, and though it was very old, it had a modern look about it. I reached the door and let myself in, nearly damn well tripping the slight step as I entered. I brushed my feet off thoroughly on the mat, then proceeded to hang my coat up on the stair banister. This routine had become daily, and kept me sane when there was no one else in the house to talk to.
I wandered through to the kitchen, expecting to see my little brother snacking on sweets, before mum got home, but it was deserted. Peace and quiet. I walked over to the fridge and got out some ham, and bread from the cupboard, and idly began to make myself a well earnt sandwich, watching the rain pour down onto the concrete slabs of patio outside. Our gardens pretty big, with a tall apple tree right in the middle, then flowers growing around it. My little brother insisted on getting a summer house when he was younger, when we first moved in, but my mum was adamant. After a lot of whining and moaning, kicking and screaming, Mike got what he wanted, even though he’s used it, what, four times? I use it more than him, me and my friends had a sleepover a few years ago, and decided it would be fun to put our sleeping bags in the summer house and sleep in there. Though in the middle of the night we could hear the apple tree scraping across the roof of the house, and shadows stalking menacingly about the night outside. In the end we retreated back to the house in fear, like a bunch of cowards.
The fond memory comforted me, and I smiled as I brought the sandwich – my family calls a sandwich a piece of bread folded in half with a slice of ham or cheese bunged inside – up to my mouth, only to miss and get buttery ham down my school shirt. I groaned and mopped myself up, stuffing the piece of ham into my gob, which was followed by the bread moments later. I swallowed, and turned back to the window again, to see that the rain was finally coming to an end. I knew I needed to go and finish my homework, but what was the rush? It was nice to just stand there, watching the rain drop softly onto the grass, watch the clouds gradually disperse as the sun overpowered them with its fiery rays…
I blink, and everything suddenly goes blurry, and I stand stock still, not knowing what’s going on. Colours swirl in and out of the blur, everything is moving, I try to steady myself, but my hands flail out feebly, and I make contact with the glass door. I yell in pain, but my screams aren’t heard, not even by me. I try to rub my eyes, but there’s only a scorching pain, like a thousand knives threatening to cut me in half. There’s suddenly a blinding flash, then darkness. A senseless darkness, where I can’t smell, feel, hear, taste, nothing, seeing is out of the question, its like being blind, I just stare into a grim darkness, threatening to swallow and engulf me. Suddenly, a wave of unexpected cold overpowers me, I shiver, and suddenly a sharp noise pierces the air. It’s the squeal of brakes, a child’s innocent scream, and a thousand angry yells, that make my ears split. I connect with something hard, then jolt out of my reverie, screaming and cursing.
“OUCH!” I yell harshly, as I find that I’ve banged into the kitchen table, I can see a bruise already beginning to form on the slightly tanned skin of my right leg.
“What the...” I whisper to myself, not daring to believe what just happened. What the hell was that? I’m confused, puzzled, scared? I look myself up and down shakily, I’m still here. I pinch myself and give a yelp in doing so, regretting it, my pearly nails are really sharp. I still think I’m dreaming, and I poke myself in the head, rather undiplomatically.
“Cut it out Amber,” I say quietly, giving a groan. Apparently when you talk to yourself it’s the third sign of when you’re going mad. I think the first sign was hairs on the back of your hand. I flip my palm up to face the ceiling tentatively, then give a grimace as I remember that the second sign is looking for them.
I grin to myself as I remember this childish game I used to play with my old friends, and then feel a pang as I remember what good times we had. My old friends, at my old school, before I left and became the new girl. A new house, a new village, a new lifestyle. But why? My dad had left; there was no point in pretending he was ever going to come back. I used to sit staring out of the window for days after he left, tears silently streaming down my cheeks as I waited for his black land rover to pull up on the road that our house stood on, for him to come running up the garden path, for the front door to be burst wide open, for him to come and give me one of his squeezy hugs, and tell me how much he’d regretted leaving us, how much he missed us day to day, second to second. Though it never happened, and none of my friends bothered to keep in contact. I hadn’t had a phone call from anyone I knew back then since the first day we moved.
I snapped out of my thoughts, with my brain now fixed onto more safe things, rather than the fact I was going mad. They should bundle me in a van and whisk me to the mental home now. I glanced up at the clock, with a frown, its getting late, Mike should have been home about half an hour ago. Then, I hear footsteps slowly up the garden path, and I begin to walk out of the kitchen, past the toilet and the lounge and stride to the front door, opening it exactly the same time as my bewildered little brother does. He stumbles backwards, but I catch him by the scruff of the neck in doing so, and drag him inside.
“Cripes Amber!” He shoots at me, as he dumps his bag on the floor, only for me to pick it up seconds later, and throw it back to him. I glare at him, then see his face and start to laugh. I close the front door as he begins to progress up the stairs, dragging his rucksack behind him, I follow tentatively; we both need to start our homework sooner or later. We walk down the corridor, and as I follow Mike, taking care not to trip up on the bag he’s dragging along behind him, I look up at the soft honey coloured walls, which are plastered with photos of our grandparents and relatives, who passed away ages ago. Mike never knew them, sadly enough, though I have a few fond memories that give me comfort. Of course, there are no pictures of my dad, and none of his relatives. Even so, I could remember a lot about my dad, even though he was now a distant memory of my past. Whenever mum had spoken of dad to me, she’d always say how much he had meant to her, how much he cared when they first met at university. Their relationship had been one that fitted in the whirlwind category, but for some reason, when I was about twelve, he had just left, without even saying goodbye. Apparently it was best for us all, though I can’t see whats so good about abandoning your wife and kids, to go off without a care in the world and blot them out of your life, like they didn’t matter, like they didn’t have feelings. Mum had cried her heart out after he’d gone, she wouldn’t speak to us for days, leaving me to look after Mike, who was quite young, at about nine. He didn’t find it as hard to cope, as mature as he was for his age, he still had a sincerity that dad would turn up out of the blue and make our lives perfect once more. I cried, but not as much as mum, Mike didn’t shed a tear. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he’s just brave, and that’s what I love him for. But now, mum even had a new boyfriend, a new job, she’d cleaned up her life, without even leaving a tiny memory of dad, she’d blotted him out of her life as he’d washed her away from his. She didn’t even talk about him any more, I don’t think she even thought about him, to her, it was like he’d never even existed.
I remember walking down the stairs one night when I couldn’t sleep, only to find mum sitting in the lounge sobbing bitterly, with her mascara smudged and cascading down her cheeks, her hands tired from ripping up her last photos of him, throwing his possessions in the fire, cursing his name with every wicked name under the sun. But now, mum even had a new boyfriend, a new job, she’d cleaned up her life, without even leaving a tiny memory of dad, she’d thrown him out of her life as he’d washed her away from his. She didn’t even talk about him any more, I don’t think she even thought about him, to her, it was like he’d never even existed.
At the end of the hall, I walk into my room, and close the door behind me, shutting the curtains as soon I walk over to them, cursing myself when I think of how worked up I’m getting about that stupid scene. It was probably just because I was staring at the sun too long, or something like that. Something like that. I cringe. Maybe its something else, something I can’t avoid.
I jolt back to reality, when I suddenly hear my brother calling me, it sounds like he has a problem with his homework. If he thinks its hard now, as a fourteen year old, he’ll have to wait till he gets to my age, that’s where the fun begins. I roll my eyes to the heavens as I walk out of my room and across the hall to his, opening his door and stepping inside. He looks up at me with a smile as I enter, it lights up his whole face, reaching his blue eyes.
Mike is one of those people that can make you happy, with a small smile, a tinkle of his contagious laugh, anything. He takes after my mother, he’s very good looking, and his features glow in the light from the sun, its gentle rays shining on his gold hair. I walk over to where he’s sitting on his bed, and plonk myself next to him, looking over his shoulder at his maths homework, that resembles a tangled scribble more than anything else.
“Mike,” I groan, he looks up at me with a sheepish smile, and turns his innocent eyes on me.
I try again, sternly. “You really need to get your act together, its no wonder you aren’t getting good grades.” I take his book off him and flick through the pages, smudging the page he recently wrote on. Seriously, it looks like a spider has just walked over the pages with ink all over its feet, classic but true. It’s a mess of scribble and blah, I can hardly read his writing. I try to decipher what seems like a cryptic code, reading out what I’m trying to pronounce.
“You had to find a caring mongoose?” Mike gave a chuckle, then stopped instantly when I gave him an icy look.
“No, we had to find the square root…” I slam his book shut, and walk over to his desk, throwing it into the bin, which lands inside it with an echoed sound and a flurry of paper. I walk back to his bed, and sit down next to him, he’s staring at me, open mouthed.
“Awww Amber!” He moans, giving me a hit on the shoulder, which I definitely don’t deserve.
“I’m surprised your maths teacher hasn’t already thrown it away.” I give him a glare, and carry on icily. “Who do you have for maths?” My question hangs in the air, I can tell Mikes reluctant to answer, and he ponders his reply for a thoughtful moment, before turning back to me.
“He never takes our books in…” he trails off, leaving his answer hovering above us in the air. I could tell by the way he said it it wasn’t true, but mum was worried about him, and so was I.
“Tell me the truth Mike,” I say, quietly and softly, showing I don’t mean any harm.
“That is the truth.” He says shortly.
I sigh, and speak again, more clearly, though more forcefully, “who do you have for maths then?”
“Mr Marshaw…” He realizes the games been given away, and gives a moan, knowing he can’t pretend anymore. When I was Mikes age, I had Mr Marshaw too. He’s a strict teacher, though he’s always taking work in, and he knows straight away when someone’s fouling him. He’s the kind of teacher who has eyes in the back of his head, he knows every student, but by reputation, and he’ll always know if a student hasn’t handed in their book… the answer hits me full in the face, and the colour drains from my cheeks.
“Are you trying to tell me, that you’re bunking off school?” I look at him, and he grins and shrugs, but then sees my expression, and cowers.
“You can’t be serious Mike…” he nods his head slowly, tears springing up in his eyes, something that hardly ever happens.
“Mike…” I groan, standing up, facing him with a serious expression.
“I’m sorry, maybe I should…” he gives me a confused look through the tears that are swelling up, I can see them glinting in the sun.
“Seriously,” I begin, lowering my voice, as if we’re going to be overheard, “you need to sort yourself out. You could get the social services on mum, and Mr Marshaw will be on your case getting you to do extra.”
He groans, “but its because…” he stops short. I give him another of my glares, but even that doesn’t revoke him.
“Mike, what?” I say, trying again, making my voice louder.
He doesn’t respond, just stares blankly up at me. “Mike!” I say his name forcefully and grab his shoulders, shaking him roughly.
“Get off me Amber!” I keep shaking him, and answer back scathingly.
“Not unless you tell! This has been going on for way too long now!
We’re going to sort you out, you need to find a new book, a new bag,” I nod in the direction of his misshapen rucksack, its all tatty, its been sewn up in several areas, and definitely looks worse for wear.
“I’m sorry Amber.” He looks up at me, he is sorry, I can see it in his eyes.
I’m about to reply, when I hear the front door slam, and footsteps walking through to the kitchen. Mums home. I give Mike a weak smile, mouth the words, lets talk later, and run out of the room and down the stairs to greet my mum.
“Mum!” My mother turns as she enters the kitchen, sees me standing behind her and smiles, her infectious smile, that seems to light up the room and even my mood, that’s been quenched with Mikes school problem.
My mum looks like a goddess, I’m not joking. As she walks towards me, arms outstretched, her topaz hair flowing out behind her, bouncing round her in her wake. Her designer clothes match her designer look, she could easily be a model any day. She has a perfect figure, everything about her is perfect, the perfect smile, the perfect attitude, the perfect looks.
“Amber!” She gives me a tight hug, her perfume smells gorgeous, smells expensive too. I hear Mike coming down the stairs sheepishly, does mum know about his school skiving? Obviously not, she gives him a hug similar to the one I just received, and turns to face us, beaming.
“Good days at school?” I nod, and as Mike nods in the same way, I glare at him, in a hannibal-lecter-will-be-in-a-walk-in-the-park-once-I’m-finished-with-you kind of way. Thankfully mum doesn’t notice, just bounds off kitchen-wards with her hair sweeping out behind her. I dutifully follow, while Mike returns upstairs, walking solemnly, he looks like he’s on a death march. I smother a grin as I walk behind mum, we both end up in the kitchen, and mum strides over to make herself a cup of tea. I hear the kettle click, then a low hum as it begins to boil. She puts a tea bag in a cup and faces me, arms folded, as she waits for the kettle to boil.
“Tea?” What a simple question.
“Thanks, seriously, its all I need.” Not a so simple answer. She smiles, and opens the cupboard, grabbing another mug and then slamming the cabinet door loudly, I cringe. She turns to face me, giving me a light smile and crossing her arms, studying me.
“You look terrible.” She says, scrutinizing me. I suppose I do, I look down at myself, there are flecks of mud covering my front, and the hem of my jumper is falling apart, also, my tights have staggering amounts of ladder in them, one snakes right from my foot to just above my knee.
I give her a sour look, and respond with a dignified voice.
“Charming. Looked in a mirror lately?” I gave a wink to show I was joking, and she gives a tinkling laugh, that seems to chime in the atmosphere.
“Fine miss sour puss, tea?”
I give her an appraising look, “definitely.”
I hear the kettle click once, and she turns her back on me and fusses over the tea cups, making a bit of a racket. I sigh, my mums always been noisy, messy, like me, though it manages not to show so much. Despite that, she’s as graceful as a swan, next to her, Mike looking like a ray of sunshine, then Amber like a baby elephant. I look out the glass doors once more, staring out at the garden. There’s no blur, no swirling colours, no bright light. Not even the screech of car brakes or any yells, its like I imagined the whole thing. But I’m sure it was there, it was real, I saw it. I try to make my brain slide to a different topic, but my mind won’t focus. All I can hear in my ears is a fateful squealing of brakes, I can no longer hear my mum, clattering about in the kitchen. I shake my head, and mumble to myself, as if its going to help somehow.
“Cut it out.”
My mums head snaps up as I speak, she gives me a confused look, and I realize I was speaking out loud.
“hmm?” She asks, though she’s gazing at the boiling water that’s flowing into my cup.
“Nothing,” I say, feigning surprise.
“You were mumbling something.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Amber, I think you’ll find…” she was cut short by an angry retort.
“Mum, I was not mumbling, you’re just going deaf with old age.”
Mum shrugs and looks away, spooning some sugar into her cup that’s already full to the brim with tea, I sigh and take my cup from the counter top, clasping it in two hands, bringing it up to my lips to take a sip. I yelp as I realize how warm it is, and mum chuckles.
“I have to go out, there’s a meeting for work.” She rolls her blue eyes, yes, mum is a strict member of the sod-the-meetings-lets-hear-the-gossip club, she’s probably even the head chairwoman. She carries on lightly, “will you make sure Mike gets to bed on time and does his homework?”
I give a nod, and break into her train of thought, “What shall I do for dinner?” She shrugs and walks over to the freezer, throwing open the door and shoving her head inside.
“Um, there’s an unopened pizza in here, from last Saturday when Drew and Hazel came round.” She glances at me over the door of the freezer, her hair glowing heavenly from the light inside.
“That’s fine, Mike can have that, I’ll make myself a salad.” Mum nods, then gathers up the stack of paperwork that lies on the counter, and makes for the kitchen door, where she’ll proceed to her office. She gives me a warm squeeze on the shoulder, a light smile, then walks out, nearly staggering from the sheer amount of paperwork she carries in her arms.
But when she’s gone, there’s a sudden emptiness. I don’t want to be alone. I glance at the glass door again, and fear strikes up inside me, burning up my insides. That wasn’t normal, when my vision went blurry, and everything seemed to collapse, I was scared.
I don’t want to be alone.