Operation Dauntless: A hair-raising action thriller - Introducing Billy Boone !, #1

By Ashton Lincoln

THE DISAPPEARANCE

An eccentric old man, a world renowned explorer and recluse, goes missing in the Saint Fuchs cemetery, triggering a series of events, throwing the town of Rockwell into chaos.

 

THE BOYS

Billy Boone, an 11 year old kid, and his best friend K-Pop, set off to unravel the mystery of old man Rowdy's disappearance. But with the threat of a freak hurricane set to strike at any moment, they must work fast to reach him.

 

THE HUNT

Tread carefully. What should have been a routine manhunt turns into the stuff of nightmares, the stuff that keeps children up at night and the rest of us blind to monsters...

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: ATMOS BOOKS GROUP
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9789918006915

Book preview

1

He moved at breakneck speed through Saint Fuchs.

Clutching his beaten up cowboy hat as he ran, and trying desperately to get away, he knew he was in trouble.

It was the middle of the night, and his ancient knees ached as he charged through the trees and past the tombstones, but that didn’t matter right now. He had to get away.

The ground he ran along was soft and mushy, and his leather boots, dried, cracked and worn, sank into the mud, they tugged at his feet in protest, slowing him enough to allow his pursuer to gain ground.

The old man was sure it was close, but he couldn’t see its face in the darkness, nor its glowing sinister eyes. He lifted up a sodden woolly collar high over his ears as they burned from the cold, its awkward dragging foot scrapes nearing closer. Each step pounding into the ground sending splashes of sludgy mud and water into the air, the crunching of tree branches under its legs could be heard as it clattered after him.

Help me, somebody! he screamed.

He was gasping for breath, his shoulders slumped, his knuckles turning white as sweat poured down his face, fear coursing through him, electrifying and seizing his muscles. Terror urged him to bolt into a new direction.

Mustering up more strength, and sinking deeper into the mud now, destroying the freshly laid turf from a burial site just days before, he blurred through the dark night, off again in the direction of Saint Fuch’s Central Mausoleum. A giant old wooden cross nailed to a tree led the way before he was enveloped in darkness once again. Giant magnolia trees and decrepit tombstones, all shapes and sizes, flanked him on either side.

A loud thunderclap announced a raging storm as another flash of lightning struck up ahead. He had never expected such a harsh, stormy night to batter the sleepy little town he called home. However, hurricane Lucie was right over the sea, with the eye of the storm grilling the Howie Peninsula, and slowly making its way up to the mainland.

The old man made a mental note to be more careful next time, if there was a next time... How could he be so careless!

Fear gripped his body, it was suffocating. He felt the rain drench him as it fell from the skies and ran down his hairy face like mill sluice water, soaking through his jacket and into his chunky boots.

The usual tranquil setting was broken by the ravaging storm and a creak of an old wooden door on the cemetery grounds, the sounds of its loose and rusty hinges echoed around the cemetery as it clanged against what he presumed was a pile of the Groundskeeper’s tools. It caused the old man to turn and twitch, paranoia setting in.

Then he heard it.

A loud, long sinister breath, shot out across the hallowed grounds, as though it was using it to locate him, like echolocation, calling out into the environment to locate its prey.

Chilling the old man, he dove between a row of overgrown mausoleums, each one rose some 6 feet into the air and were being strangled by ivy and weeds. The breath began to bellow out again, harsher this time, sending the leaves around him into a whirl.

He had made it into the heart of Saint Fuchs, the Grand Central Mausoleum that housed the bones of the Fuchs family, the town’s patron saints and original settlers.

His mind ran through all the problems, the twisted things that had led him to this place. He didn’t know what waited for him in the darkness of the catacombs, deep from within the crypt. He had to try.

The eerie breath inched closer, growing louder and louder, assaulting his ears and warming the whistling air around him. It gave the storm a new lease of life, increasing in strength and power, making it appear more dangerous.

The old man jammed his hand into his pocket, hoping he could reach what he needed in time. The rattling of coins, scratchy against his palm, alleviated the rising terror in the old man’s mind. His fingers wrapped around the cold, metallic object, the item he needed most. He leant into the shadows and began frantically jotting something down, before lifting his eye over the collar of his soaked jacket, checking to make sure the coast was clear before setting off again.

Strain fixed on his face as he bolted for the stoop in front of the central mausoleum. The crypt door, which was hanging on aged hinges, refused to budge. A giant ancient lock fixed into place, a fast and vicious clang of the lock and chain ripped out into the darkness as the old man tugged on it with all his might, followed by a pained groan of rusty iron.

The shadowy figure was upon him, the rattling breath was clear and slow, focused.

He trembled in fear as he held his breath, and stared into the shadows, twisting his head to look over his shoulder again.

He frantically grabbed the rusted metal handle and yanked it down, hard. But the handle had seen better days and snapped! He looked up at the giant mausoleum doors blocking his way, his eyes wide, his mouth even wider and dry as a bone.

A flash of lightning struck the mausoleum tower as he dropped the broken handle to the floor, defeated. The ground shook as parts of the tower were blasted into pieces, sending debris everywhere. He spun awkwardly to avoid the blast, desperately looking for another way in, but it was too late.

He was out of time.

Darkness flooded his vision as something ghastly loomed close, it cast deep shadows in every direction. It was monstrous.

And it wanted him.

The old man cowered in its presence, out matched and out sized, he knew there would be no escape from it. Its lower jaw suddenly ripped open, slowly at first in the bleak night, stretching way beyond any human being’s, cheek bones cracking and snapping, rips and tears appearing across its jagged gaunt face.

He stared into the face of hell, clutching again onto his lucky hat and squinting as more debris was thrown in his direction by the harsh wind.

What... are you? he blurted out, his face displaying pure terror before letting out a slight whimper. What do you want from me!?

He was doomed, and he knew it.

The thing was no person, and no mortal man could have performed the feats it did. It seemed to dematerialise for a moment and reappear, it glowed like hot blue iron.

The old trailblazer threw his arms out, as far as they would go, his fingers pruned around the cold metal in his clenched palm, submitting to it.

Then it, and the hot, rank breath of it washed over him, burning his skin as it went in for the kill, its jagged gold teeth jutting forward at him. The old man’s terror was so high, it made him ill as his mind shrieked out to all corners of the earth for help.

It wasn’t me!! he yelled again, his voice breaking at the end. Keep back, back I say! The creature gave him a savage snarl, the sound of its spine popping as it extended itself over the old man’s head, before smashing its fist into the mausoleum wall behind him.

He ducked, attempting to flee.

But the thing was faster. It grabbed him by his throat and jaw with its other giant, bony hand, lifting him off the ground and dragging him painfully up the rough iron gates. The old man heaved as he fought for breath, his eyes bulging from the creature’s death grip. Then he did the only thing he could think of to save him.

He pulled the pin.

A small pin out of a silver canister he held in his hand, the item he had been searching for.

A flash of green light sparked and fizzed into the night, a dazzling display that rocked the old man so violently it blew his hat off his head causing his white thick hair to flurry in all directions. The thing released him from its grip immediately, reeling back in an instant in a clash of blue and green light. A whoosh of pale acrid smoke followed that stung the old man’s face and seared the skin off of his hand and arm as it burned through the sleeve of his coat.

He flung out his other hand, clutching on to something else tightly. the creature appeared slowly from beyond the fading green smoke in front of him, surrounding it was a violent blue light that moved in a circular fashion, throwing out sparks of cosmic electricity. The angered beast twitched erratically, clearly uncomfortable from the old man’s flash canister.

But it was too late.

Its jaw dropped again, a full foot now before letting out a bright white and blue hot light from its mouth, blinding him in an instant as the cemetery grounds seemed to roll in on itself, sucked into the cosmic vortex consuming them both and portions of the surrounding tombstones.

And then they were gone, leaving the storm to rage on above Saint Fuchs.

Something could be seen falling to the ground, a bloody note. It fell slowly, tossing around in the wind and rain, swinging from side to side delicately towards its final resting place- the Grand Mausoleum stoop.

Below it a shadow burned into the ground, still fizzing and sputtering as the rain attempted to put it out.

The shadow left behind was that of old man Rowdy.

2

It was a school day but Billy Boone had no intention of getting in early, he had an errand to run first.

He zoomed around the hot, sweaty kitchen, taking a handful of cold Pop Tarts, gripping on to one packet with his teeth and stuffing the rest into his backpack.

The family’s scruffy Pomeranian, scampered around behind him as the boy raided the fridge for the last of his sister’s Coca Cola, shoving a bowl of last night’s crawfish to one side. As Billy was about to leave, he looked down at his scrounging friend who sat there quietly, licking his lips and blinking his big eyes. His hair around his head stuck out in all directions making him look more like an admiral.

Alright Nelson, but don’t tell mum, the boy said, before grabbing a box of dog biscuits and emptying the entire packet out onto the floor.

The front door clicked quietly, closing behind him, and Billy was off!

He grabbed his bike and swung a leg over the frame, straddling the piece of junk, and pedalled furiously as he rode away, not before fumbling down the porch steps and taking a dodgy shortcut through his neighbour’s immaculately kept hydrangeas.

He’d always hated Mrs Sternum. Just last week she had told-on-him for launching water balloons tainted with Hotzilla Apocalyptic Sauce, directly at the mailman. The mailman had snitched on him for sure, and subsequently he was put on trash duty for the rest of the week, the mailman’s vision eventually returned in time.

Not to worry though, her flowers would feel his wrath today, the miserable old bat. Just as he was bouncing over the neatly trimmed verge, set below an ornate iron fronted porch, Mrs Sternum swung open her front doors, gasping at the act.

You there! I see you trampling my hydrangeas you little brat, she rolled her R’s with her tongue, in a terribly posh fashion, don’t think I won’t tell your mother! She shouted as she ran out down the wet porch steps into the immaculate lawn that stretched only 4 feet, her pink nightie dragging behind her, her rollers still in.

Billy let out a cheeky laugh and hustled like he’d never hustled before, looking back to see a protesting Mrs Sternum waving her newspaper frantically at him as though she were being attacked by a swarm of bees.

Chewing on his first Pop Tart of the day, he rode the chopper-style bicycle down the empty wide road, dodging the murky puddles created from last night’s downfall, he had the sense of freedom every kid enjoys on a bike. His parents had bought it for him on his 10th birthday last year, and he had been going to and from school on it ever since. Its frame stank of brand new coral-red and white spray paint and Billy had big plans for his new found independence. The sound of the Kelloggs wheel clackers were enough to wake anyone up this morning, as was his intention.

He arrived at a sprawling mansion, swinging open the large iron front gates with a loud creak and a bang, then pumped the bike up and along the long winding driveway to where a large silver station wagon was parked. On top was a huge satellite dish and an array of radio and search equipment, all beyond his understanding.

Billy skidded to a stop, letting the bike and his backpack fall in a heap on the driveway and raced around to the rear of the house.

There were two large, black garage doors that had been left open.

That’s odd. He thought.

He strode into the garage, on to his second tart of the day. It was packed to the gunwales with electronic gear, expensive equipment still in its original packaging, boxes of cables and tools were littered everywhere. Piled up against one side of the garage was an assortment of hunting equipment Billy had never seen before. The place looked like it was about to be cleaned out, but this was how the old man liked it.

Billy ducked under a large hydraulic ramp, held up by two large rams, the type of ramp used to inspect the underside of a vehicle. He looked over to the space beyond, holding on to the top of the ramp, unfazed by the dirt and oil that was everywhere, and now seeping into the skin on his fingers and palms.

There wasn’t a car to be seen.

Mr Rowdy, sir? He called out, unsure where he could be, Old Ben, you home?

Nothing.

Ben Rowdy was an early riser, Up at dawn, when the squirrel farts he used to say, it was common to find him either in the garage tinkering with his equipment or in his study in the mansion at this time of the morning, investigating some weird new artefact he had acquired at the auction house or on the black market. It was all very fascinating to Billy.

He climbed up on the ramp and took another bite of his cherry tartlet, swinging his legs for a moment, waiting for his friend, when the ramp beneath him began to rumble.

Woah! he yelled, looking at the large gear lever in the middle of the ramp, which was structurally attached to the concrete floor. It was pulsating violently, moving back and forth under his weight. He jumped quickly off the ramp moments before it came crashing down behind him!

Jesus! He gasped. The ramp is a death trap, and the sticky note on its lever confirmed it. It read:

NO RIDING THE RAMP BILLY, PROBLEM WITH HYDRAULICS. SHE’LL CHEW YOU UP, BEST STAY OFF UNTIL I GET HER FIXED, OK? - BEN

You weren’t kidding Billy replied, throwing the sticky note to the floor.

Billy moved to the interior garage door that connected the large four-car garage to the main house.

Where could he be? The boy said to himself.

He twisted the vintage door handle but it was locked.

Craning his neck and standing on tiptoes, Billy smooshed his face up against the stained glass set into the oak door to look inside the property, cupping his filthy hands on either side of his temples to get a better look. Stuffed between himself and the door he held a parcel wrapped in silver gaffer tape with his belly, from time to time the old man shipped items to Billy’s home address to throw would-be antique or relic hunters off his scent.

Mr Rowdy, you home? Delivery! he called inside, his hot breath steaming up the glass.

He got no reply.

The boy stepped down from the doorway and looked around the garage some more, killing time before the old man came through with bush tea, as he usually did. It was an impressively large space, with paint peeling in places here and there, and it was riddled with old discarded radios, beakers and filters, boxes of knick knacks, old newspapers, machine parts wrapped in more old newspapers, and an array of tools on stands or floor standing tool chests. Billy loved it here. At the far end he saw an ancient petrol generator, covered in dust and sun bleached from being out in the field for centuries probably; it sat on two large caterpillar tracks.

Cool. Billy said, a smile creeping on his face at the sight of it. He had no idea what it did, or why the old man needed a generator of this size but yep- he wanted it. This thing looked like a tank!

Billy thought about what he should do and ran around to the front of the mansion, launching up the stoop stairs, 3 at a time, nearly slipping on the wet leaves at the top. He banged on the worn out double doors as hard as he could.

Hey! Mr Rowdy! Open up, it’s me.

He lifted up his cap and scratched at his head in confusion, the old man clearly not home.

Ok! I’ll leave it under the wagon, he shouted through the letterbox, I gotta get to school. Shoot- I’m late!

As he sprinted away, hurling himself down sprawling steps towards the wagon to stash the parcel under its wheel, a large gargoyle knocker on the house doors creaked and groaned, and if one looked carefully, they could see it slowly turn to watch him leave...

* * *

Rockwell Elementary School. Billy’s arch nemesis.

The school was on the corner of a busy intersection, the streets around the school run-down and littered with old cars, 18th century street lamps and far too many overhead power lines. The school however, was grand and newly built, a big cream coloured modern building that sat atop a small, quaint hill; and even though it had been built with Federal money, the state had yet to declare it an official public school, so it was a privately run institution. But so much more than that. It was unique.

It was in complete contrast to the old Colonial style wooden properties that were found all over Rockwell.

It was also a 20 minutes ride away from home.

His parents had fought tooth and nail to get him into the school, as they did for every other school in the region. It ended up being Rockwell and Billy had been institutionalised ever since.

He hated it here. Having recently moved to Rockwell a year ago he was still relatively new to the neighbourhood, and struggled to make friends easily. Upon entering the gates of the school, being from out of town, he was assaulted by a sea of taunts and funny looks from other kids.

Billy shuddered, checking his watch. It read 8.36am, pretty late.

He had been late to school for 4 days on the trot now, and his mum had warned him earlier in the week that if he was late again he would be taking the bus from now on; no arguments, no phone calls to his friends, no excuses, but worse of all- no bike.

He sighed at the thought of what he was about to walk into.

Come on Billy, get a move on! a voice said. It was Miss Prendergast, one of the teachers Billy actually liked, she waited by the gate, hurrying the late comers inside.

You really must try to be on time Billy, Quickly! One more minute and I would have to tell your mother, and we wouldn’t want that now would we?

No Miss. Sorry Miss! Billy replied, as he bolted past her clumsily, late for class.

He raced to class using a different set of doors today that twisted around a central garden. Billy didn’t know any of his classmates on this side of the school. However, today was pickled egg day, and the home economics teacher had changed all of the classrooms around, to give everybody a chance to take part in this rather horrifically sticky, yet equally delicious tradition.

Billy loved pickles, especially deviled ones, how bad could it be, really?

Entering the classroom, he ran to his only friends, K-pop and Ting, who were seated in the middle of the room. At the back, he heard the giggles, saw the scowls and the looks of disgust from the Rich Boys Club. He ignored them.

Right! A voice boomed out above the chatter, commanding everyone’s attention, Billy, sit down will you, everyone’s waiting.

Sorry! Billy replied.

Sorry what? She replied, leering at him over her crescent shaped glasses, waiting for the right words to come out of his mouth.

I’m sorry, Mrs Bergers.

Fine, just sit down, will you. Hurry along.

Billy got himself settled, sweating profusely from the run in.

That was close! Where have you been? K-pop hissed, laughing at his near miss with the teacher, who was apparently in a better mood today, for now at least anyway.

I had to drop something off. Billy replied, scooching into his seat and making far too much noise while he did so.

Not the old man again... What is it with you and him anyway? K-Pop asked.

We’re friends, that’s all.

Yeah right, nobody sees him come and go, except you. Famous explorer and fortune hunter- my arse. K-pop replied flatly.

More like- famous crazy person. Ting added.

He is not! Billy hissed back, laughing and defending the old man.

QUIET! The teacher erupted, her mood returning to her usual self. She was clearly not going to tolerate any of this behaviour today, not while she was in charge. The boys sighed.

Turn to page 12 in your cookbooks...

Class was now in session and the art of egg pickling underway.

Now, did everyone remember to bring in their eggs from home? The teacher asked.

Shoot!- Billy forgot his, his mum even left a big note on the fridge. It read:

DON’T FORGET YOUR EGGS FOR PICKLING TOMORROW. HAVE FUN, PICKLE X

Damn it! They were right there! he blurted, in the fridge, next to Tabatha’s treasured Coca Cola. He suddenly thought about how mad his sister was going to be when she found out her coke stash had been raided, spirited away, to be enjoyed later in the playground. He brushed the thought off, fearing Mrs Bergers instead-

Billy, where are your eggs? She demanded.

Umm... We were all out, sorry miss. He replied, his mouth went dry as he prepared himself for a good telling off.

Funny, that’s not what your mum told me when we were at the store together yesterday- buying eggs.

The whole class erupted into laughter. Billy didn’t think it was that funny.

He laughed along with the class, but he just wanted to hide, or die, and so he melted into his chair instead, a liquid puddle of embarrassment.

You’ll have to go without then, I’m sorry Billy. She said flatly.

Nah, it’s cool, I can get some next week. he replied, not thinking.

We won’t be pickling eggs next week young man, what’s wrong with you?! You there, Kyung-Po, you’ll have to share with Billy. She referred to K-pop, sitting next to Billy, his best friend ever since he moved to Rockwell. K-Pop’s cousin, Ting, shared a few classes with them too.

Uh, no problem Miss, I guess. K-pop stuttered, realising he would now have to divide his egg hoard.

Billy could feel all eyes of the classroom on him, his eggless basket on the table reminding him of his shame.

After a careful round of boiling and de-shelling, the class turned their attention to pickling. In an instant the room was filled with a sharp, pungent tang, as the kids began pouring vinegar into empty jam jars, followed by the dumping of all kinds of herbs and spices into it.

Suddenly, K-pop was hit in the back of the head with a wet boiled egg, knocking his headphones off of his head. He didn’t even look back, he knew who it was- Kacey Adams, leader of the Rich Boys Club of Douche, this is what Billy called them anyway. K-pop plopped some bay leaves into the jar, choosing to ignore his tormentors instead.

Pssst! Hey Kwang! Kacey said, trying to get his attention and laughing with his buddies.

It’s- Kyung. K-pop replied, talking to the idiot behind him.

I think there’s too much ‘tang’ in here, maybe you in the ‘wong’ class? He mocked, in a ridiculous Asian accent.

Billy didn’t like the look on K-pop’s face, he knew his friend was about to explode, in a real angry, teary way, not his usual passive aggressive, sarcastic-way.

Ha! he replied, that’s funny! You should be a comedian! K-Pop countered pathetically. Can you believe this guy? He asked Billy.

It was clear that K-pop was getting rather uncomfortable with the exchange, his agitation rising. But he wasn’t a fighter, so he left it alone, bowing his head in defeat and pretending the exchange wasn’t happening at all.

Kacey and his cohorts continued to goad him, this time their leader picked up a jar of vinegar, he leaned forward over the table and began pouring it over K-pop’s head.

What’s the matter Kwaaang? Sum ting wong, brah? Kacey laughed.

K-pop, just looked down at the floor, his clothes soaked through and stinking of white vinegar. He just wanted to cry.

Billy couldn’t stand it any more- he launched himself at Kacey, tugging at his outstretched arm still holding on to the empty jar, and pulled him completely over the table towards them!

Kacey landed in a heap on the dirty classroom floor, Billy on top of him.

What the- Billy! Get off me you little punk! Kacey screamed, as they pulled and kicked at each other, locked in a fierce fight.

Suddenly the class exploded in the commotion.

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight The kids chanted, as one. This would be the highlight of their week.

Billy Boone! Get off him, this instant! The teacher barked, racing in like a boxing referee to break up the ruckus.

But miss, it wasn’t me! He started it! Billy pleaded, pointing at the embarrassed Kacey, now separated from him by his classmates.

That’s enough! The pair of you, to the Headmaster’s office- RIGHT NOW! She yelled, whipping her head to one side, pointing her nose towards the door, her arm and finger rigid and serious.

But miss- Billy tried to explain.

I don’t want to hear it! Young man, you are in deep, deep trouble this time. Off you go.

Billy turned to Kacey, his face screwed up and mad as hell.

Better go, Billy. Kacey mocked.

Billy wanted to beat his head in so bad, one final thump to wipe the smirk off of his stupid face.

I don’t know what you’re smiling about, Kacey. You’re going with him. Mrs Bergers said, looking rather pleased with herself.

Oh come on! You saw what he did!-

Mr Adams! I will not tolerate your tone in my classroom! Out. Now. Both of you. Be gone with you! She screamed before fixing and plucking at her hair.

Billy turned to Kacey, still mad as hell. The boy threw up his hands in disgust.

Well done Billy, you’ll pay for this! Kacey threatened.

Kyung, get yourself cleaned up will you? Your cousin can help you. Mrs Bergers ordered, ushering him to go with them, shooing them all away.

Yes, Miss... K-pop replied.

K-pop gathered his things together, holding up his headphones which were now soaked in sticky vinegar, he felt responsible for everything. Billy picked up a jar of pickled eggs from the table and smashed it on the ground before storming out of the room.

Kacey was stunned, he’d never seen Billy lose his cool like that.

He loved it.

* * *

Billy sat in the car, he didn’t dare say a word. His mum was furious.

Billy, how could you?

But mum, he was picking on K-pop, everyone just sat there, laughing!

I don’t care! You can’t go around fighting anyone that upsets you, you hear me!

But mum, it wasn’t my-

I’m not finished, she huffed, do you know how many schools we had to go through before settling on this one?

... Five. Billy replied, rolling his eyes, he had heard this lecture before and he was about to hear it again.

Exactly! This was the only school that would take you. Billy’s mother stopped the car at a red light, turning to face her son. As she spun around, her gold bangles and large earrings banged and clattered together, her giant fake boobs pointing straight at him, they always made Billy uncomfortable, causing him to wince with embarrassment. She could see Billy was genuinely upset, his face covered in dried old tears and grime. She felt a pang of guilt. Sorry kid. I’m just concerned, I want you to do well this time. She pressed her finger against his lips to shush him, before spinning around again quickly again to check her makeup in the door mirror.

I know, I know mum, I’m trying. It’s just that he was picking on K-pop, again. You should have seen his face mum...

I understand, she replied, fixing her dark maroon lipstick for the second time, I’ll speak to the boy’s parents. Kacey will get what’s coming to him one day, but not from you, got it?

Yes mum...

Telling-off temporarily over for now, she leaned forward, sniffing at Billy’s filthy head and shirt, turning up her nose and picking bits of gunk out of his hair. Her oversized chest thrust into Billy’s face once again.

Ugh! You’re a mess! Look at your shirt! And what is that foul smell, Billy?

It’s vinegar, we were pickling eggs... Billy replied weakly, pulling his shirt up towards his nose- yep, he stunk alright.

Of course it is.

The light went green and she put her foot down hard on the gas, causing the car to lurch forward on its bouncy suspension. And they were off again.

Well, It’s straight to the tub for you when we get home, then you’re to stay in your room. Your father will have something to say about this too I bet, don’t think you’re off the hook Billy.

He wanted to cry but he was still super angry, he didn’t want her to see him like that so he looked out the window instead, dropping his chin onto his arm, sulking. But his mum wasn’t done with him. Billy wondered how long the grilling would go on for.

They wanted to suspend you Billy. She said in a fierce tone, shaking her head from side to side, rattling her earrings, suspension Billy, again! The thought made her visibly cross and flushed.

Billy looked across at her, his bottom lip trembling, scowling as the sun lasered into his eyes as they shot passed the many oaks that hung low into the pot-holed street.

I felt bad for K-pop, so I took his side. That’s when Kacey grabbed a jar of vinegar and poured it over me, laughing at me. Billy glanced at her and cringed at how pathetic he sounded. She knew it was K-pop that had been dunked.

That’s not how it happened, Billy, stop lying to me. Running from the truth... What next? I am your mother and you will not lie to me. Besides, the rate you’re smelling, I’d guess you were both rolling in it. She grunted loudly, that Kacey Adams is a spoiled brat.

Billy looked at her again, tearing up as frustration set in. Mum was beyond mad today, it scared the hell out of him. I mean, she was scary anyway, in a trailer trash-Hollywood diva kind of way, but seeing the wrinkles around her eyes and forehead creak as she shouted, the wrinkles she so desperately tried to conceal, scared him even more.

Kacey’s always picking on us mum, that idiot deserved it! I’m innocent here. Billy screeched, his whole body shuddering as he attempted to build his case.

I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Billy... She muttered under her breath, completely ignoring his excuses.

Billy stretched his arms out in front of his face, covering his eyes- feeling a wave of disgust at himself as he began to sob weakly. He had no one to turn to at home, his father was always absent or away on business and his mother was too concerned with herself, or how this would reflect on her. There was no escaping the anger she felt for him. He had screwed up again, big time. Home life was going to be difficult for a while, that was for sure.

But mum, please-

Enough! I don’t want to hear another word, Billy. Your father will deal with you, he’s calling later. Her words were final now as she focused on steering the bouncing car.

Billy pulled his arms in close and blubbed into his elbow.

Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, he stared out of the window, breathing heavily as he tried to calm himself down. Sitting on the curb outside the local store was a man with a grey pony-tail, a long grey overcoat and long muddy boots. He looked like a homeless person. He was speaking to a little boy, about ten years old, in brown shorts and a purple California Raisins t-shirt. Suddenly the man stopped and turned quickly towards their car as it slowed for a particularly large pothole. Billy felt the man’s bulging eyes bore into him, watching him carefully as he passed, the man mouthed something slowly, as though he was trying to tell him something.

Billy felt a pang of fear from the ogling old dude, startling him, so he stared down at the door handle to avert the man’s gaze.

With a deep frown the creepy guy shook his head and turned back to the little boy as the car passed them, bound for home where Billy would likely spend eternity, banished to his room forever.

3

Sat in the dark at the back of their small family house, Billy sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at the empty void on his dresser that once held his TV and his beloved Nintendo. All that remained was dust balls and memories, moonlight washed in between the slatted windows as though it cut through the downpour deliberately to highlight the