Willow: PSI-Kids, #1

By Rob Parnell

Willow Barke is thirteen - and psychic. She lives in foster care in a recently condemned inner city flophouse. Willow is super-smart and tomboy beautiful, though she's sometimes reclusive by nature, a product of her bad experiences with unsuitable foster parents over the years.

When we meet Willow she's feisty, willful and eager to prove herself to her peers and mentors.

The sudden suspicious death of her favorite magazine editor, Leo Forrester, inspires Willow to uncover the truth about Leo – and ultimately the mystery surrounding her own birth...

• Language: English
• Publisher: R&R Books Film Music
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223072997

Book preview

Willow

Rob Parnell

R&R

Willow - A PSI-Kids Adventure

First published Magellan Books, an imprint of R&R Books Film Music

Republished 2012 & 2013, 2014, 2023

© Rob Parnell. All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, graphic, electronic or mechanical without express written permission from Magellan Books.

Cover Design: Rob Parnell

An R&R Production for Magellan Books

Church Road Warnertown SA 5044

Contact: [e-mail]

Prologue

Willow Barke hit the ground with a bone crunching splat. Oblivion should have taken her but she forced herself to concentrate, to ignore the excruciating pain, and called out.

Come.

She sensed their vile presence.

Out of the plane of darkness came an army of black shapes, rushing, chattering.

She willed her mind to be calm, pushed away the terror that threatened to grip her heart, and destroy her sanity.

The Forlorn kept moving, relentlessly closer, ever more eager to claim their prize.

Chapter One

It’s said that old buildings retain memories of the people who live in them.

Memorial House: a towering Victorian tenement constructed in the late 1890s was once an upscale city base for a respectable firm of shipping and freight lawyers that grew fat on the burgeoning trade between South Australia and the rest of the known world. Now, the grand offices long since sub-divided, there were twelve rooms, each occupied by a ‘difficult teen’, plus a large communal space and kitchen on the ground floor. A new gym had recently been added out back. The rest of the building was hopelessly rundown but Willow liked the tatty informality. Okay, so the walls hadn’t exactly spoken to her yet but she did possess her own TV, a comfy bed and a writing desk, even a Wifi internet connection. What more could a thirteen-year-old girl want

‘Where are you off to, Willow?’

She tried to sneak past the reception desk but Beatrice, the secretary, was on lookout. Willow’s heart pumped.

‘Going for a walk,’ she said and blushed. ‘It’s a lovely day.’

‘You’re up to something.’ Beatrice frowned and stood up from behind her computer. Willow studied the overly made-up face – a mask. ‘Should I tell Mike you look guilty?’

‘Tell him what you like. I’m not doing anything wrong.’ Willow tried to sound breezy.

‘We have a group meeting at eleven. You’ll be back for that, I trust?’

‘Another meeting?’ Willow sighed. ‘What’s this one about?’

‘You’ll have to be there to find out, won’t you?’

Willow stared at Beatrice, who now seemed ill at ease. Willow smiled at the secretary and waved her hand.

‘I’ll be back by eleven,’ Willow said. ‘Easily.’ She unlocked the catch on the front door and stepped outside into the rain.

So much for the lovely day.

Memorial was situated on South Terrace, opposite the parklands. The view across the street was pleasant, rural. The weather was usually warm in early December but today was different. Gray clouds obscured the sky and a light drizzle filled the air like fog. Overhead, tall gum trees rocked and bowed towards the ground. A cold wind bit through the summer clothes Willow had, perhaps unwisely, decided to wear that morning. She pulled up the collar of her cotton blouse and turned to her right, heading towards Jim’s cafe. It wasn’t far. She’d be in the warm soon.

On the corner of King William Street, Willow turned right again and paced towards the neon sign that announced the frontage of Jim’s Cafe.

The interior was cozy and familiar: soft Pan-pipe music, red ochre walls and large abstract murals. Not too many people, the weather must have kept them away. Jim sat behind the counter next to the coffee machine, reading The Advertiser. He looked up as Willow approached.

‘Hey, princess, how’s it going?’ Jim asked. She smiled when she recognized his Cockney twang, an affectation from his roots in London that twenty years in Australia had failed to diminish. Willow liked Jim, always had.

‘Great. It’s freezing outside.’

‘Looks it. Banana milk?’

‘Thanks, Jim.’ Willow scanned the small rack of magazines next to the cigarettes. ‘Is it here?’

Jim frowned as he heaped yellow grains into a large milk glass. ‘You haven’t heard?’

‘What?’

‘Occult News has gone under.’

Willow’s jaw dropped. ‘No way. It can’t be. Leo Forrester would never let that happen.’

‘Didn’t have a choice. He died last Tuesday week.’

‘Oh God.’ Willow’s heart beat angrily. ‘I didn’t know.’

Why didn’t I know? Willow thought. I’m supposed to be psychic.

‘Yeah, terrible story. Apparently he topped himself at Belair Park. Drowned in the lake. His wife’s beside herself.’

In a daze, Willow found a chair and sat down. No more Occult News? Impossible. Leo had been producing his magazine monthly, without fail, for as long as she could remember. He was a good man, a happy man, you could tell that from his writing. Perhaps recently his issues had been a little darker, but there was always a positive edge to them. And he’d mentioned in his editorial that he’d gotten married to the ‘love of his life’. There was no way Leo would kill himself. No way on Earth.

Occult News was Willow’s salvation – the only thing that made sense in her life. Without her monthly fix, she’d be lost. Where else would she find kindred voices, writers that understood what being empathic – psychic – was like? This was awful. Willow resolved to discover more information. Whatever the outcome, she would find out what had happened to Leo Forrester.

Chapter Two

Willow flicked through the pages of her favorite book, a ragged paperback edition of Sigmund Freud’s, The Interpretation of Dreams. She tried to make sense of the numerous notes and annotations concerning mother symbols but wasn’t having much success. So many passages were cross-referenced it was easy to get lost.

At seven minutes past eleven Governor Mike entered the communal room. A dozen teenagers stopped talking as one. Willow put down her book. Mike noticed her. Unusually, he didn’t smile at her – at any of them.

Uh-oh, thought Willow, what have we done now?

Mike stood with his back against the notice-board, as he always did during meetings, and placed his hands together in front. He pursed his lips. His face was stern, the lines around his eyes and forehead uncharacteristically deep. His white hair was dirty, as were his stained white T and jeans. Though an oldie, he tried to dress like a kid. Acted like one, sometimes, to get on their level, Willow assumed.

‘Bad news, guys,’ Mike said. ‘Council wants to shut Memorial down.’

A murmur of shock ran around the room. Mike held up his hands to quieten everyone.

‘Not forever. Just for a while. The Health and Safety people have some issues with the foundations – and the walls. Apparently they’re crumbling.’

‘Where are we going instead?’ Daniel Pascoe spoke. Willow liked him, though most of the others didn’t. They thought he was ugly and mean, but Willow understood that, like her, he just wanted to be left alone.

Mike sighed. ‘Salisbury.’

‘Oh no,’ Willow said, a sentiment that was echoed by the rest of the group. ‘That’s miles away.’

‘I know, I know,’ Mike said. ‘But it’ll just be for a few weeks, while they fix this place up. You’ll be back in time for the new school year.’

‘But Salisbury’s such a dump, sir,’ Daniel said.

‘Now listen. They’ve found us a good space at Elizabeth General. It’s spacious and there’re plenty of fine facilities there. Salisbury Teen Care has a very good reputation. They’ve got a lot of activities planned for us. You’ll hardly know—’

Willow cut in. ‘What about Christmas, sir?’ The roomful of teenagers hushed, awaiting the response.

‘I’m sorry, guys, we have to be out in two weeks, by December fifteenth at the latest.’

Willow hung back after the meeting and hovered near Mike. While she waited to get his attention, she gazed around at the walls and the furniture. She supposed things did look a bit worn out.

‘Hi, Willow.’ Mike turned to face her. ‘Problem?’

‘I don’t know. Why now, sir? Why this sudden interest in our health and safety?’

‘Beats me.’ Mike ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Just like always, Willow, you know exactly what’s going through my mind. They’ve ignored this place for years. Now, for God knows what reason, we’re a priority. I can tell you, Willow, I’m not at all happy about this either.’

It’s just a shame about Christmas. It won’t be the same.’

‘Could be better, you never know. Elizabeth General—’

‘—is a hospital.’

Mike took in a deep breath. ‘It’s not ideal, I know.’

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this, sir.’

‘What do you mean, Willow?’

‘I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel right. How do we know we’re ever coming back?’

Governor Mike shrugged and, at last, smiled at Willow. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’

Finding Leo’s former home had been easier than she’d imagined. His address was in the White Pages and a quick Internet search had supplied the location within seconds. She’d caught the train from Adelaide to Pinera station and walked the rest of the way to Clover Street, Belair.

Leo’s house was large but old and somewhat shabby, as though no work had been done on the place in years. The home was two stories high and built into a steep hill that overlooked the Adelaide CBD. As Willow approached from the road, she noticed a swimming pool to the right hand side. Surrounded by tall gums and flanked by a high fence, the construct was in need of repair. Two deckchairs sat either side of a low table which supported empty glasses and a vodka bottle, seemingly abandoned.

Willow wondered whether anyone was inside the house. There was no car in the driveway and she detected no movement through the windows. She approached cautiously, aware that she had no real reason to be trespassing on someone else’s property. She bent her head down to get a better look through a window. In the half-light within, she saw a cooker, a fridge and a bench-top littered with food and containers.

‘What are you doing?’

Willow’s body lurched upwards. She turned to face the voice behind her. A young boy, a teenager, stood a few meters from her. He was dressed in denim dungarees and clutched a schoolbag with Ben Ten Alien Force emblazoned across the front. His face was pale and his brown hair cropped.

‘Sorry,’ Willow said. ‘I’m looking for someone.’

‘Mrs Forrester?’

‘No. Her husband.’

The boy’s forehead crinkled. ‘He doesn’t live here anymore. He’s dead.’

‘I know.’ Willow raised her eyebrows and moved towards the boy. He stepped back, pulling his bag up to his chest, presumably for protection.

‘Then why are you looking for him? If you know he’s dead, why would you do that?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you—’

‘You don’t.’

Willow cleared her throat. ‘I’m a fan of Leo’s magazine.’

‘So am I,’ the boy said as he rifled through his bag. He pulled out a crumpled copy of Occult News and held the magazine up to show Willow.

‘Isn’t it a bit old for you?’

‘I’m twelve. How old should I be?’

‘I don’t know, maybe fourteen, or a grown up.’

‘Why?’

Willow looked at the boy. He was hard to read. Fear flickered across his face. His eyes widened as his gaze fixed behind her. Without speaking again, he took off and ran towards the house next door. Willow sensed a presence over her shoulder and she turned.

‘What do you want?’ An overweight woman dressed in a huge floral dress filled the doorway to the house. Her face was moon-shaped and her short hair was concrete gray.

‘Nothing,’ Willow said.

‘Then go away. Go on.’

Willow blushed and averted her eyes for a moment. Then, she summoned up more courage. ‘Are you Mrs Forrester?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘My name is Willow Barke.’

‘Sure it is.’

‘No, really, it is.’ She stepped closer to the woman, to shake her hand.

‘Are you selling something?’ The woman eyed her hand suspiciously and refused the outstretched palm.

‘No, I just wanted to ask you some questions.’

‘I don’t have time to do some dumb survey.’

‘It’s about Leo,’ Willow said. The woman flinched and her eyes misted with, what, sadness? Anger?

‘Mrs Forrester is not at home.’ The woman moved her bulk backwards and began to close the door. Willow moved in but the woman held up her hand to halt the younger girl’s progress. ‘And I’d advise you, miss made-up-name, not to come around when she is. Now go away and leave us alone.’

The door closed in Willow’s face.

The boy was crouched behind a bush when Willow came back out onto the street. He stood up and motioned for Willow to follow. She did. A few paces on, beneath the shade of a gum tree, the boy stopped to face her.

‘Scary lady, huh?’ he said.

‘Who is she?’

‘Mrs Forrester’s sister, Rose. She’s always in a bad mood.’

‘I can tell.’ Willow frowned. ‘Who are you?’

‘Harley. Nice to meet you.’ The boy had lost some of his former shyness. He pointed to the house next door to Leo’s. ‘I live there.’

‘Do your parents know you’re out – talking to strangers?’

‘Are you a stranger?’

‘My name’s Willow.’ Harley placed his bag on the ground. They shook hands. ‘Guess I’m not a stranger anymore.’

‘Do you want a drink or something? Mum makes lemonade – with lemons from our tree.’ Harley pointed back towards his home.

‘Why not. Sounds nice.’

Chapter Three

They wandered around the back of the house and in through the kitchen door. There was a lady in the garden, on her knees, digging through the earth with a trowel. She looked up and waved as they passed. Willow assumed she was Harley’s mother.

The kitchen was bright and clean. The wood cupboards, steel sinks and appliances looked new.

‘Have you lived here long?’ Willow asked. She sat on one of the two high chairs at the centre bench top.

‘Couple of years.’ Harley opened the fridge door and pulled out a large glass jug filled with a yellow drink. He placed the jug on the bench top and went to find glasses.

‘So you knew Leo, then?’

‘Uh-huh. He used to give me free copies of his magazine.’ Harley poured two glasses and handed one to Willow.

‘Cool. I always wanted to meet him one day.’ She sipped her drink. Delicious.

‘He was a really nice man. Except recently. He stopped chatting to me, like there was something on his mind.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, he was depressed. You know how grownups get. Sort of dark and grumpy.’

‘What’s his wife, Mrs Forrester like?’

‘Abigail.’

‘Is that her name?’

Harley sat on the other high chair and said nothing. He stared into his drink. Willow wanted to press him but sensed he was troubled and arranging his thoughts.

‘She killed him,’ Harley said. Willow was too stunned to speak.