Tuesday
“And breaking news from the USA.” The newsreader said. “Several extremist endtime sects in Wisconsin have barricaded themselves in their compounds and have threatened to fire upon anyone who approaches. Police negotiators have attempted to begin a dialogue as there are children in the compounds…”
“Now there’s a thing.” His Mum said as she turned away from the TV. “Shouldn’t be allowed guns.”
Phil grunted, his standard ‘I don’t want to talk in the morning’ gambit, it was bad enough having to get up in time for school without dissecting the news into the bargain.
“Where’s Clare?” His Mum asked in an exasperated tone. “She’ll be late.”
She went to the bottom of the stairs and called up them.
“Clare ! Come on luv, tha’ll be late. Hurry up.”
A minute later his little sister crept into the kitchen, looking warily around the door, her face pale and worried.
“Whatevers tha doin’?” His Mum fussed. “Tha alrait luv?”
Clare shook her head and then burst into tears, that got Phil’s attention, Clare rarely cried, she was a bit of a tearaway normally.
“Whatevers t’matter luv?” His Mum asked in concern and gave her a cuddle.
“Ghosts.” Clare whispered. “I’m scared o’ them.”
“Ghosts?” His Mum queried. “Havin’ nightmares luv?”
“Ghosts.” Clare repeated desolately. “I see ‘em in t’road, in t’house.”
She broke into a fresh flood of tears and there seemed to be no end to them.
“There, there luv.”
His Mum looked up at Phil.
“Get us me mobile, I’ll ring t’school.”
“Okay.” Phil replied with a sigh, Clare was pulling a sickie worthy of an oscar.
He handed over the phone and shrugged on his jacket, he still had to go to school.
“I’m away.” He called from the front door and didn’t wait for an answer.

Walking along the road it all seemed a bit quieter than usual, then it twigged, there were hardly any little kids about, they should be on their way to school too. He shrugged to himself, maybe some bug was going around, shit happened. He reached the road junction in time to see a bus nearly smash into the rear of a car that had stopped very suddenly. The bus driver leaned out of his window and made a caustic remark about the driver’s eyesight but what made Phil stop and take a longer look was the fact that the driver was very young and looked as though he was about to be sick. He was right, the man threw open the door and vomited on the road wretchedly, must be a bug. The bus driver had no time for such antics and made a great show of overtaking the now stationary car, swerving about it unnecessarily savagely and throwing his passengers about like twigs in a gale.
By the time Phil had reached the school gates he had witnessed three more near misses, each with much swearing, horn sounding and violent gestures, this was getting weird.
Normally Phil wouldn’t pay much attention to the lower years, just kids in the way, but this morning he was alert to anything different. There were definitely fewer of them around and some of those who had turned up looked very pale and would nervously look around for no apparent reason. When one stopped dead in front of him in the corridor Phil collided with her and sent her sprawling.
“Sorry.” He mumbled as she got up.
But she wasn’t looking resentfully back at him, she was staring ahead fixedly and then with a sob she turned about ran into Phil, bounced off him, skittered around him and disappeared along the corridor.
“Hey, yuh stuff!” Phil called after her but she was gone.
Bending down he scooped up the bag and collected the spilled books, then wondered what he was going to do with them.
“Nice bag yuh gay.” Max joshed him jovially.
“Some girl just dropped it an’ legged it away.” Phil explained. “Wha’ shall us do wi’ it?”
“Dunno, Mrs Hatch?” Max suggested.
In the absence of any better suggestion Phil carried the bag quickly to the school secretary’s office and knocked on the door.
“Its open.” Mrs Hatch called out and he peeped round the door.
“Hullo Phil, what is it luv?” Mrs Hatch enquired as she turned away from the distraught girl she was comforting.
“I…she dropped ‘er bag.” Phil replied recognising the sobbing figure.
“Thanks luv, just pop it behind the door there.”
Phil gratefully shed the load but he couldn’t help looking at the hunched up shaking girl, he had never seen someone so visibly emotional.
“She alrait ?” He asked quietly. “Looks like she seen a…” His voice trailed away as Mrs Hatch gave him a silencing look.
“I’m away then.” He said lamely and backed out of the office.
Things were definitely getting weird.

He checked the time on his mobile, he was late for his next class.
“Shite.”
It seemed to set the pattern for the rest of his day, odd things went off all around him and he lurched from one class to the next in a growing haze of vague alarm.
Back at home Clare was curled up on the couch watching the TV but something in her posture told Phil she wasn’t comfortable and he retreated from the room rather than face an unpredictable situation.
“Tea in twenty minutes Phil.” His Mum sang out from the kitchen.
“Okay.” He responded and went upstairs.
Switching on the TV he tuned to the news and watched as the catalogue of strange and disturbing was paraded across the screen. Whales beaching themselves, three unexplained plane crashes, multiple pile-ups on the motorways and unrest in some major cities between gangs of youths.
“Tea luv.”
He was jerked back to reality by those two words, tea, life went on.
Before he had finished eating his phone pinged him. He read the text message from Al. He wanted to meet down in town in the Peace Gardens. Phil wasn’t sure he wanted to go; Al’s behaviour of the last day or two had been very antagonising, if not a little mad. But then it had been a mad day, why not?
The city centre was pretty busy for a mid week evening. Lots of people were drinking outside the pubs and bars even though it wasn’t that warm; the air was full of their loud chatter and drunken shouting. As he passed one bar a scuffle broke out and he speeded up to be away from the place as it exploded with violence. He took one glance over his shoulder as he was about to round the corner and saw that a large crowd was forming around the bloody brawl, throwing insults and bottles at the fighters. That just wasn’t right.

He slowed as he walked into the Peace Gardens and looked around for Al, there were groups of older people here, huddled together and talking. He spotted his mate over by the fountain. Al was standing just at the edge of the frothing columns of water as they shot up into the air and he was getting pretty wet from the spray, yet the oddest thing was that he wasn’t even looking at the fountain. He was staring up over the security fence at the tower crane on the hotel building site.
“Al?” Phil said as he approached him.
“Still there.” Al answered him without taking his eyes off the crane.
“Course it is.” Phil snorted. “Hotel won’t be finished while summer.”
“’ll never be finished.” Al replied. “Dun’t matter. I’m away owt of here.”
“Where?”
“Cum on, ‘s bin movin’.” Al said in answer and started towards the security fence.
“Yuh what?”
Al didn’t stop or reply he speeded up as he neared the fence, jumped and caught hold of the top to pull himself up and over it.
“Tha’s mad.” Phil shouted at him. “Got dogs in there.”
“Cum on Phil.” Al called back to him as he jogged round the piles of timber and rebar.
“Al!”
It was no use; Al had reached the base of the tower crane and with only a brief pause to look skywards he began to scramble up the ladder.
“Shite.” Phil muttered and got himself up and over the fence.
He had to get Al down before he did something really stupid.
Reaching the crane Phil was horrified to see Al clamber out of the relative safety of the ladder onto the open bars of the tower and, hanging on with one hand, stretching out with the other.
“Al, tha’s gowin’ tuh kill theesen! Get down!” Phil yelled up at him.
“Can’t reach.” Al said and began to climb even higher up the outside of the tower.
Phil looked around, no sign of any security guards, he began to climb the ladder in pursuit of Al. When he next looked up he saw that Al had stopped and was turning around to put his back to the crane, a smile of anticipation on his face as he looked down below his feet.
A chill went through Phil, his friend was going to jump off the crane. He looked down in a panic. He needed help and fast.
“Al, whats tha doin’?”
“Gettin’ owt Phil, gettin’ owt o’ this shittin’ place.” Al said with almost delirious joy. “I ent gowin’ tuh hell, I’m gettin’ owt.”
With that he began to tense himself, preparing to launch himself into the air.
“Al! Tha’ll kill theesen! Get down!” Phil yelled at him desperately. “Stop, don’….”
Al looked down at him, a look of pity on his face.
“Tha’s not fadin’ Phil but tha’s gowin’down.” He said sadly.
“Not me.” He added defiantly.
He faced outwards again, staring at a piece of air somewhere below him, gathering himself, ready to launch out and down.

Cries were coming up from the ground; Phil’s shouting had caught the attention of the people in the Peace Gardens and they were all running up to the fence. One had the presence of mind to phone for the police and was describing the scene to the distant operator.
“Al!” Phil shouted hoarsely.
His body uncoiled as he released his grip on the bars and sailed out in a shallow arc, arms swinging ahead of him to reach out with open hands as he began to fall. His face a picture of joy as he reached and grabbed empty air. As he fell past Phil his body went slack and his face lost any trace of emotion, it was as though he had died in that instant. There was silence. Silence from the crowd. Silence roaring in Phil’s ears. Silence as Al hurtled towards the ground.
The silence ended with a thump, gasps, and distant sirens.
Blue lights strobed the darkening air, flash lights played over the body on the ground, sprayed Phil with white beams as he clenched onto the ladder halfway up the tower. But he didn’t see them. All he saw was the broken shape that had been his friend, still, silent, dead silent.
He didn’t know how he got down from the crane, couldn’t say anything to the police or firemen, couldn’t drag his eyes away from that lump of flesh and bone until it was unravelled and placed in a body bag. He had no idea how long he was there or how he got home after being at the police station. Had he given a statement? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t begin to care. His friend had killed himself.
He was given something to help him sleep and he slipped blankly into chemical oblivion.