Out of School

By Karen Clark

In a cold, distant future, where the Government brings new, harsher laws against truancy into force, fourteen-year-old Nyka Haversham finds that she has nowhere to turn. As the bullying meted out to her by two boys in her form gets worse but is cruelly ignored, so does her phobia of school - and truancy becomes her only means of escape.

She encounters a strange, expressionless young psychic in her local arcade, who warns her not to stay away from school after reading her fortune in his crystal ball, which reveals a sinister-looking man in a black suit and tie. But once the bullying turns physical, Nyka flees home, feeling unable to face the classroom ever again; and from the evening a school attendance officer visits her house with threats that she could end up in juvenile court if her truancy persists, her life spirals out of control, leading to events that alter herself and her future forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728397689

Karen Clark

Karen Clark is a true Renaissance woman with a vast career as an Italian-trained fashion designer, litigation paralegal, carpenter and wood floor mechanic to concert promoter, pet and housesitter, personal historian, landscape designer and IT/Word Processor at the ad agency that brought you the Pet Rock, just to name a few of her adventures. Like most midlife women who have gone through the “Change,” she now spends her time on artistic activities such as writing and spending time with her grandchildren—and yelling at politicians on television. Singing in Silence is her debut novel. Her next book is NestQuest, her memoir of the twelve years it took to write this historical novel while suffering a brain injury from workplace bullying which led to homelessness at age sixty and her continuing quest to find a home. Her journey led to wanting to know more about the history of her brave ancestor’s quest for a home in America, culminating in driving herself through England, Ireland and Scotland in 2015. That journey revealed Mayflower ancestors, including the pilot of that famous voyage and her ten-times great grandmother who was one of the original Separatists and the aunt of Plymouth Governor William Bradford. She has learned to Trust the Journey.

Book preview

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ONE

CHAPTER

N yka gazed through the window of her bedroom; a backward, shy adolescent, prematurely embittered by a world that made her feel trapped. Turning to face the calendar on the wall, the vile word of Monday seeped through her eyes, torturing her adolescent mind, which refused to switch off.

Stumbling downstairs, she entered the kitchen, foregoing breakfast for a Valium she fetched from the drawer; the shameful drug’s name going round in her head as she fetched the hypnotic, yellow card for her appointment with the psychiatrist after school.

School–— . With a trembling hand, Nyka pulled a teacup from the cupboard, which instantly slipped; its fragmented remains pricking her conscience like a curse one could not forget. She cleared up the mess with a dustpan and brush, reflecting on her absences from school, and on how – unknown to her mother – she was still playing truant for the sake of avoiding the lessons that she loathed.

She fetched another cup, pouring hot water from the kettle to brew herself tea which she had to force down, leaving her throat feeling lumpy and painfully blocked. Pushing the cereal packet aside, she screwed up her eyes.

Nowadays, why were school rules so severe? she thought with a sigh, hauling her wretched school satchel up from the floor.

Five years ago, if a pupil constantly skipped school, his parents or guardians would face either a fine, or up to three months behind bars. But since laws had been changed, the truant himself was liable to be punished for the crime. The nature of the penalty was unmentioned and widely unknown; but every pupil had been warned that it was dire. There were rumours, of course, about what the punishment entailed – but whether or not these rumours were true was anyone’s guess.

Nyka took a deep breath; the homework she had failed to complete was due in. She had not understood the questions that the exercise had posed, and was already ‘in her teacher’s bad books’ for having neglected her geography homework for the past several weeks. She washed her cup and saucer in the sink, swallowing hard: how on earth was she going to avoid Miss O’Keefe’s wrath? But prosecution was the ultimate dread – even worse than having to face the horrors of school - and taking another deep breath, she dragged her satchel into the hall and put on her coat, forcing her terrified body into the street as she shut the front door behind her in absolute dread.

In an effort to dampen her fear, she reflected on the films she had watched over the weekend, only for thoughts of her terror of school to stubbornly return. She recalled the morning she tried to eat toast before leaving the house, and–—. Suddenly, nausea struck, causing her to wretch – over and over again - and pressing her back against the wall, she took a succession of breaths, waiting for the spasm to subside.

The nausea passed, and Nyka continued her route; the subway on her left being only a few metres away; but she turned, automatically, to her right. Perhaps she had not looked where she was going, or likeliest of all, perhaps she had turned right because–-.

She found herself in her local arcade, and remembering the ten pounds she had kept in the pocket of her coat, stood dithering on the hard, frosty pavement, staring abstractedly at the shops before her adolescent eyes. One shop in particular attracted her eye; its front adorned with psychedelic letters forming a word she read out in her mind: ZODIAC. Astrology was a subject on which she had always been keen, and before she had the chance to be aware, found her hand firmly pressed against Zodiac’s planet-studded door; her satchel weighing her down as she entered the shop.

She looked, curiously, about her, spellbound by the items on display; her eyes widening at the oriental statues and fragrant sticks of incense on the shelves above her head; the packets of tea leaves, the tarot cards and runes glistening like gems as she ventured further inside. She stared in fascination at the crystal pendants that oozed colours of the spectrum; the books on palmistry, psychometry and dreams, amongst other fey items the store had to sell.

The smell of sandalwood flooded her nose, as a door creeked open in front of her eyes. She started and looked round to find herself staring at a man who lacked all expression - and of roughly nineteen years of age - appear behind the counter; mutely staring back.

Can I help you? he asked as she scrutinized his face. Is there any particular item in this shop you’d like to buy?

Not really, the adolescent stammered, caught unawares. All the items look so nice, it would be difficult to choose.

The young man’s eyes slid towards the door behind his frame.

Would you like your fortune told? he asked; his soft, gentle voice without tone.

Nyka delved into the pocket of her coat.

How much do you charge? she uneasily enquired, fearing her ten pound note would not cover the cost.

He eyed the school crest on Nyka’s coat.

I see that you still attend school, he remarked, the crystal pendants shedding rainbows on his cheeks.

Yes, she replied, blushing as she spoke, abashed by his probing remark.

Then if you’re interested, I’ll charge you less, the man offered as she raided the pocket of her coat, pulling out the ten pounds that had been lodged under her keys.

OK, then – yes, the schoolgirl eagerly agreed. Is this enough? she added, holding the note before his eyes.

The expressionless young man tapped open the till, taking the note from her hand which he replaced with a new five pound coin.

Is this all you’ll accept? I wasn’t expecting any change; thank you; thank you very much! Nyka exclaimed, pocketing her change in surprise.

The man did not respond as he stuffed the ten pound note into the till which he instantly slammed shut. He turned towards the door behind the counter – situated not too far away.

Would you like to come this way? he then said, holding out his young, slender hand, before she followed him down a passage that lead slyly to the door.

Nyka watched in suspense as the handle slowly turned, leading them both into a room barely larger than a hut; its walls adroitly etched with planets, meteors and stars. In one corner stood a statue of Alistair Crowley with his fingers wrapped around eight tarot Ryder Waite cards; each invariably reversed. The psychic and his client sat down at a round glass table covered by a purple, velvet cloth; its centre beset by a large, glassy globe that gleamed in the pallid winter sun.

Nyka gripped her satchel in suspense; she sat, tensely, in her chair, waiting for her fortune to be told, as the psychic scryed the crystal ball with impenetrable eyes.

I see a school, he torpidly began, – and a man in a black suit and tie, who’s calling your name. He is a man of authority, and is connected with education in some way–.

The fortune teller paused, gazing more deeply into the lustrous ball of glass.

You and this man have never met, but you will both do so very soon, as he’s from the future, the clairvoyant resumed, before shutting his eyes, as Nyka listened with intent. This man is sending you a message–, he went on, as Alistair Crowley’s statue looked on, – a message to be passed on through myself–.

"What message is that?" cut in Nyka, somewhat alarmed.

The expressionless young man reopened his eyes, staring again into the ball that dominated the room.

It’s hard to decipher; the man’s message is unclear, the clairvoyant explained, too absorbed in his reading to sense how frustrated Nyka felt. – But he has managed to start giving me a name – a name that he wants you to recall–.

The psychic paused once again; his green, almond eyes staying fixed on the active ball of glass.

"The name of who?" Nyka asked, her curiosity beginning to increase.

It’s not quite clear who, the clairvoyant replied, struggling to get his reading across. "No; hang on; he’s pointing to himself - so it must be his own name that he wants you to recall," he added, after yet another pause.

"What is his name?" Nyka asked in alarm.

He’s starting to spell it with the finger of his hand, and the letters are emerging in chalk, the psychic resumed, concentrating hard. His first name begins with a J, and I read it as Jacob. His surname begins with an S, and I read it as Salt–.

The expressionless man paused again; Nyka watched in fascinated awe, as he probed the crystal ball with his eyes, which turned a luminous white from its translucent glow.

This man is now looking behind him, and is beckoning me to follow him in his tracks, continued the young man; his long, reddish hair radiating as he spoke. He’s turning his back and is walking towards grounds that are surrounded by walls – red, brick walls with barbed wire. He’s now entering the grounds; within them are buildings and blocks–.

Nyka watched the young man with intent, feeling tense as she looked into his eyes; their usually deadpan expression now one of alarm.

He’s walking past one of the blocks, the psychic resumed; his breathing growing faster as he spoke. He’s now walking through an exercise yard and is entering the block on the right. Now he’s entering the chapel at the corridor’s end, and is pointing to the altar, where a girl in school uniform is saying her prayers–.

What does she look like? Nyka fearfully asked, sensing that the reading was an omen that she had to heed.

The young man frustratingly sighed, Crowley’s statue lighting up in the sun.

I’m can’t see her face; she’s kneeling with her back to my eyes, he replied, tightening his hypnotised lips. Her hair is in braids, interlaced with coloured threads. The man in black is placing a rosary around her neck as she rises to her feet–.

Nyka’s shoulders were hunched; her anxiety increased as she studied the fortune teller’s face; its temples pulsating as if something were seriously wrong.

"Hang on - what am I seeing now–-?" he hesitatingly resumed.

The clairvoyant fell silent, lowering his eyes, as Nyka sat, uneasy, in her chair, wondering what else would be revealed.

The man in black exits the chapel - to be replaced by the entrance of a nurse, who hands the girl some pills, he finally resumed.

What’s happening now? Nyka asked with a frown, puzzled as to what was the link between the reading and herself.

The nurse is leading the girl out of the chapel. The girl’s face is still unclear; but it is the face of someone you know, went on the young man, continuing to scry the crystal ball. The nurse is now giving her an injection and is removing the threads from her hair–.

The expressionless man swallowed hard; his face beginning to perspire as he forced out the words.

The girl’s school uniform is evaporating from her body and she’s falling asleep. It looks like she’s undergoing surgery of some sort–. The scene has shifted; everything’s gone blank–.

The psychic paused and looked away; Nyka disturbed by the shock and realisation on his face. She froze as he continued without speech, screwing up his eyes as if affected by the reading in some way. She longed to ask who the girl within the crystal ball might be; but the words would not come, and she lingered in silence, waiting for him to go on.

The suspense pursued as he opened his eyes, which Nyka studied with unease; their deadpan expression failing to disguise his alarm. Then at last, his lips began to part:

The darkness has now lifted. The girl has now had her operation and is leaving the grounds. Her anxiety is gone; she no longer reacts to her fears. She’s disappearing around a corner, throwing her tablets in a bin as she walks–.

Nyka sighed with relief as the reading reached its end.

I’m so glad that this story finished well, and that the girl felt happy in the end; I feared something sinister would happen, she said with a smile.

The clairvoyant lowered his eyes; his young, slender frame growing taut. Nyka frowned as he tightened his lips, emitting an exasperated sigh before meeting her eyes. The reading ended well, yet he seemed to be perturbed – a reaction that did not make sense.

But aren’t you pleased that this girl will finally be happy? she asked, smiling again as she spoke.

The clairvoyant stared into her eyes, brushing his hair behind his ears.

I didn’t say she was happy; I said she was no longer reacting to her fears, he droned, putting her right; his eyes like emeralds in the sun that filtered through the blinds.

I don’t understand, Nyka uttered, frowning again.

I hope you never do, he replied, covering the ball with a cloth. The crystal ball has been sending me vibes that you are not taking steps to protect yourself from harm, he added with concern, as if her supposedly dangerous position touched him in some way.

Harm? Nyka quizzically asked. In what way am I likely to be harmed?

"You will go to school, won’t you? - don’t stay away," he earnestly urged; his eyes penetrating her own.

"Yes, of course I’ll go to school," she replied, bewildered by his cautionary words.

Nyka watched the young man with intent as he lowered his eyes, covering his forehead with his palm as he parted his lips:

I’m sorry! I’m sorry! ‘I’ll give you back the fiver you paid me! I’m sorry! I should have never let you pay!

Why not? she exclaimed, still bemused, "Of course I should have paid you!"

I’m just a wreck; that’s all I am; take back your five pounds, went on the young man, removing his hand from his face.

"No, I insist. Please keep the five pounds; you deserve to be paid," Nyka resolutely replied.

All right, the psychic relented, I’ll keep the five pounds; anything you like – but go to school; go to school.

Disturbed by the young man’s outburst, she sprang from her chair, while he mused in sedentary silence, as if disturbed by her reading in some way.

Bye, then, she stammered, grabbing hold of her satchel with unease; and without waiting for the young man to reply, she exited the shop, utterly perplexed by the morning’s event.

She hurried down the arcade towards a side street to her right – a short cut to the school that fuelled her anxiety and dread. Swallowing hard, she walked on, wrestling with the fact that, out of attending the institution that she feared and meeting the punishment for persistent absence from school, the former was the preferable of the two.

Nyka checked the contents of her satchel, rehearsing an excuse for her absence at the start of the day:

"I was at the dentist’s surgery. It was a last minute thing; one of my fillings fell out and they managed to fit me in this morning. The surgery was busy, which was why–"

Nyka froze, as several uniformed figures suddenly emerged, marching menacingly down the arcade; a few formidable-looking policemen close at their side. Among the figures strode a stark female face - one Nyka had seen many times but had never addressed. It was the face of a woman named Miss Dyson - a sight sending Nyka a warning that she could be caught.

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TWO

CHAPTER

T he uniformed figures drew near; enlarging as each second passed. Miss Dyson‘s eyes narrowed as she and Nyka came face to face; her presence confirming who the uniformed figures might be. Nyka’s heart skipped a beat, the pavement smarting her feet with its vile, hostile frost. Miss Dyson’s deepset eyes penetrated her own; the policeman at her side like a dog, ready to pounce.

Deciding to flee, Nyka turned on her heels; the cry of a solitary crow piercing her ears; whilst the shoppers went about their business, totally detached; the encounter none of their concern. Clutching the strap of her satchel, she started to walk – away from the uniformed figures patrolling her way. The solitary crow suddenly took fright, abandoning the arcade as a voice from behind shrilly echoed in her ears:

Where the hell do you think you’re going? Stop right there!

Nyka drew to a halt; shivers descending her spine, as she turned to face the uniformed figures, ominously closing in on her terrified frame.

May I ask why you’re wandering around this arcade during school hours? the truancy patroller asked, eyeing the shy, cornered schoolgirl from forehead to toe.

I’ve just come back from the dentist, the adolescent untruthfully replied, her breathing growing faster as she spoke. A filling fell out, and the tooth had to be re-filled; I’d been in pain–.

I see. Then can I see your dental appointment card for proof? Miss Dyson asked, searching the girl’s ashen face.

It was a last minute appointment, Nyka answered in haste. The dentist fitted me in after my mother rang up yesterday night; there was no time for the receptionist to give me a card–.

Mmmm; is your mother currently at home? the spinster enquired, swapping glances with the policeman at her side. It would be a good idea to call her and ask her to confirm.

She’s at work, Nyka said, straining to think on her feet.

I see, Miss Dyson replied, placing her mobile phone back in her bag. Can I have your name?

Nyka Haversham, the truant nervously replied.

Miss Dyson wryly smiled; there was suspicion in her predatory eyes.

Oh, yes, she knowingly replied, I’ve heard that name before. Mrs Dalton referred to you the other day; said you weren’t at school for no apparent reason; it was during a geography lesson, I understand.

Nyka shuffled on her feet; her eyes transfixed on the policeman at the stern patroller’s side, who made a note of the schoolgirl’s name as the questioning pursued.

I suppose you were due to have a geography lesson sometime this morning, Miss Dyson surmised, smiling wryly again.

Nyka bit her lower lip.

"Obviously you were, said Miss Dyson with a glower. …which is why you’ve been spending this morning wandering the streets; am I right?"

Nyka lowered her eyes; her breathing growing faster as the panic began to take hold.

I thought as much, Miss Dyson remarked, as Nyka evaded her eye.

Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl! the woman ordered, raising her voice in reproof.

Nyka forced herself to look up; her face white with fear and dismay.

You’re obviously having problems with the subject; how many of the lessons have you missed?

Just a few, Nyka said, in an effort to calm the woman down.

How many is ‘a few’? Miss Dyson asked, the anger building up in her eyes. We can always check up if you tell us a lie.

All right - five, Nyka admitted; her voice about to break, as she feared her plight would get worse.

Miss Dyson and the policeman swapped looks; her lips tightening as she spoke:

No, Nyka; this isn’t good enough, she admonished with a glare. I shall have to draw the matter to Mrs Dalton’s attention as soon as I can. I work in close conjunction with the School Attendance Service, and it’s my duty to hunt out truants who wander the streets during school hours, she went on with a scowl.

Nyka’s legs began to shake; her ears loudly singing as her panic built up inside. Then suddenly, a wave of relief quelled her fear as the policeman held up his hand, addressing Miss Dyson as if he were strictly in charge.

OK, he cut in, There’s not enough evidence at this stage.

All right, the truancy patroller finally sighed. But I’m far from happy about this.

Nyka gripped the strap of her satchel, keen to turn away.

There’s one more thing before we let you go, Miss Dyson said, stopping Nyka from walking away. From now on I shall be keeping a close eye on you, Nyka Haversham. Expect a talk with Mrs Dalton in her office within the next several days. You are most lucky that this is the first time we’ve come across you wandering up and down the streets when you should have been at school; but if we catch you doing the same thing again, I must warn you that we’ll take the matter further. Is that understood? she added, tightening her lips.

Before the truant could reply, Miss Dyson and her colleagues turned away. Nyka stood by the kerb, watching them stride down the arcade, making their way towards its first parade of shops in the January air. Expecting them to exit the street, she got ready to follow the route that would take her to school; but the uniformed figures remained, and she stared in surprise as they stopped outside the shop from where had come, the policeman and Miss Dyson marching stridently inside. Curiosity overcame her and she retraced her steps, turning down a neighbouring street so as not to be seen.

Hovering at the back of the shop near the room where her fortune was told, she heard voices leak out into the air; one of which sounded like that of the expressionless young man.

I left full-time study a few years ago; you’ve no right to check up on me now. I work at this shop; it’s OK with the owner - and I’m doing no one any harm.

Nyka pressed her ear against the fire exit door, which formed the barrier between the shop and the spot where she stood. Straining to listen to the argument within, another known voice met her ears:

May I remind you that you are now no longer one of us. You brought this fate upon yourself by not sticking to the rules. Please be informed that we shall be drawing this matter to your managers’ attention; it is best they are aware – and if they choose not to keep you on, expect your employment on these premises to end straight away.

The conversation between the psychic and Miss Dyson ceased, to be replaced by the sound of footsteps petering out in the seconds that ensued.

Nyka glanced at her watch; time was moving on. She stepped away from the fire exit door, heading for the neighbouring road adjoining the side street on her right that would lead her more promptly to school; her frame walking on, but her mind still in the arcade. She glanced, again, at her watch; the lunch hour was drawing to a close, and if she walked fast, she would reach the school gates just before her next lesson would start.

She hurried on, until reaching the familiar crossroads the school hid behind; a mini roundabout occupying its core. She crossed the zebra crossing as the lights turned red, the hazardous colour catching her eye as she forced herself on. As she continued to walk, the school railings emerged on her left; the kitchen and dining hall beyond smarting her eyes.

A few paces ahead and the school gates emerged, supplanted by visions of her morning in the arcade: the crystal ball and her fortune being read; Jacob Salt - the sinister man in the black suit and tie; the grounds surrounded by walls with spiralled, barbed wire; the exercise yard and the block on the right in the grounds; the faceless, young girl in the chapel saying her prayers; the rosary beads and the nurse supplying her with pills; the truancy patrollers marching down the arcade; Miss Dyson‘s black, hawkish eyes and her threatening words; and having encountered the strange, expressionless young man.

The school entrance re-conquered her vision; pupils hurrying through it as the end of the lunch hour approached. As she walked through the gates, someone pulled her satchel from behind, tightening its strap on her shoulder and causing her pain. She resisted the urge to turn round to see who it was, realising that, had the culprit been one of her friends, the prank would have been less severe. She peered across the school grounds; not a figure of authority in sight, save a prefect submerging ahead; even the presence of Miss Dyson would have proved welcome at this time.

The tug that followed carried even more force, ripping the strap from her shoulder and then down her arm, before the satchel landed at her feet with a loud, heavy thud. There was no need to turn round to discover who had carried out the act; the culprits slowly and menacingly appeared from behind, as she retrieved her fallen satchel from the ground.

Oi, Haversham! yelled the first – a tall, well-built boy named Dean, who was a pupil in her form. Get moving, or you’ll be late – and stop blocking the path! he added, shoving Nyka hard on the back with the palm of his hand so that she stumbled forward and was close to being knocked off her feet.

And why weren’t you at geography this morning? sneered the other, whose name was Mark, tweaking Nyka on the tip of her nose in utter contempt. "Missed it again, didn’t you? I wonder why. Well I can tell you what happened while you were away; it gave us all such a laugh," he sarcastically went on; his pug-like face wearing a menacing smirk.

"Oh, no; let me, obliged Dean, laughing loudly as he spoke. Miss O’Keefe read out the results of last week’s geography test in class–— and you only got three per cent. Miss O’Keefe was far from impressed,"