It had been like falling into a vat of tar. He’d been distracted by the girls’ bewitching voices, and while he listened, the thick, heavy blackness had swallowed him – slowly, lazily.

He’d been pulled deeper and deeper, but didn’t seem to find the bottom. He’d hardly struggled. Not even to breathe, because the blackness seeped right into his bones, soothing his body into a booming vagueness, sedating even his drive for self-preservation.

Nevertheless, at the last moment, he’d struggled for a scrap of autonomy, and hit the ground, hard. Apparently his body had survived. He was breathing now, but what foul air! He dimly realised that his rising consciousness would later cringe at his friend’s bland acceptance of it. It carried, what, some sort of oil-based chemical fume, benzene, nitrous oxide…where was he?

The pain in his ribs told him he was lying across the edge of a stony step. His hands were splayed against a gritty surface. He opened his eyes, and gazed uncomprehendingly at two broad, dirty yellow bands congealed onto the shiny black ground, which was inches from his face.

The plaintive voice of a small water-course continued close by, a sustaining message which reasserted itself in between waves of a noise like torpid thunder. Mokey lifted his head, and saw the sad, dust-choked stream disappearing through an iron-barred grid a few feet in front of him. There was no weed, no moss. His heart ached for this lifeless, unloved stream, but as consciousness returned, so did fear. He could only mutter a brief blessing for the deprived water, before turning his attention to more immediately alarming matters.

The dreadful noise was coming from ugly machines which ran past him every few seconds, far too close for safety. He scrambled to his feet, steadied himself against a grey metal pole which was set in the stone by the step. Ah yes, they were cars. The old memories were coming back to him now. And amazingly, he knew his friend had liked these cars. He’d never mentioned the poisonous fumes, or terrible visions of sharp-edged metal crumpling into trapped bodies…

A woman was approaching him, striding purposefully, the folds of her long, brown coat flapping as she walked. He smiled at her, but something was wrong. He cast his eyes down, suddenly shy, as he waited for her greeting. She passed him by. Still leaning on the metal pole, he stared over his shoulder as she receded into the distance. Was he still invisible then? He hadn’t expected that. He saw a man approaching now. The woman passed the man as if she hadn’t seen him, either. Mokey stared curiously into the man’s face as he drew near. For an instant, their eyes met, then the man’s gaze slid off Mokey’s with a hint of confusion. He was visible, then. He shook his head, baffled, until he remembered it was considered rude, here, to notice people.

So what was he to do? How would he find Marcus if he couldn’t ask anyone for help? It was time to take a good look at his surroundings. The path he stood on ran between the black strip which served as a runway for the foul cars, and a row of buildings fronted by some ground-hugging, tortured greenery. A movement caught his eye. A cloth hanging at a nearby window had twitched and a face had appeared for a moment. Mokey was sure it had been…The door at the front of the building was yanked open, and yes, Marcus stood there, an astonished grin breaking through the mass of questions in his pale face.

Mokey scrambled over a low wooden hurdle, and ran to embrace his friend. Marcus struggled, then accepted the hug. Mokey opened his mouth to speak, but Marcus hushed him, dragged him through the doorway, then up a flight of smooth, blue stairs, which were covered in some unforgiving fuzzy stuff that burned Mokey’s feet as he stumbled after his friend.

*

At the college Jess put down her pen and noticed the exam hall’s echoing existence for the first time in two hours. There were 15 minutes to go. Anxiety for Marcus began to swim back into her tired mind, but didn’t yet define itself. Her eyes focused on the broad back of smarmy Steve who occupied the desk in front of her. Steve, who would get better grades than most of them in everything. She remembered how he’d walked into the study room a week ago, and stood looking down at the list of quotes she was learning.

“Don’t learn the whole thing, dimbo. Just remember the relevant authors,” he’d said. Then, laughing at Jess’s baffled stare, “You don’t seriously think some overworked, underpaid examiner’s going to go through some academic’s life work to see if he really said what you claim he did?”

Jess had been shocked, and angry at herself for being shocked. She could see that Steve was right. She could see that he’d succeed in giving the impression of being exceptionally well-read, and she cursed herself for being naive enough to show her resentment. He’d walked off victorious, shaking his head in mock sympathy for her innocence.

Now, Jess glared malevolently at the back of Steve’s sandy, fat head. She’d never known anyone so deserving of one of Bettony’s foul hexes.

The invigilator’s voice made her jump, and she hurriedly listened in, checking, zombie-like, that she’d fulfilled all requirements:

“…Please put your pens down, and no talking until I’ve collected your papers. Check that your centre number and candidate code are entered correctly…”

Codes, numbers, not talking…It was all just too ridiculous. As if any of it really mattered, next to what was happening at home. Was Marcus okay? No-one ever seemed to grasp what was really important. She clutched her answer-sheets in shaking hands, and felt the anger overcome everything else. The lure of uni, the pleasure in a job well done, how pleased her mum’d be…these were nothing weighed against her frustration at the unfair system. No, she could’ve stood that. It was the way everyone, whether they were sinking or flying, accepted the system, even if they only accepted it as a mortal enemy. They called their attitude civilisation, called it growing up, but it was sheer cold fatalism, and it paved the way for people like slimy Steve to steal the show. She knew how Marcus – or even Mokey – would deal with it all. Their anti-social behaviour was, she felt, far more worthy of her respect than anything civilised she’d come across – such as crooked exams, and the grasping careers they led to. Her face set like hot stone, she gripped her sheaf of answers in both hands, and yanked.

“Whoa, steady!” The invigilator prised the stubbornly untorn papers from her hands and studied them anxiously. “It’s okay, I think,” she whispered. “They’re still readable.” She patted the uncomprehending Jess on the shoulder. “I’ll deal with them. Go and get yourself a coffee.”

Jess felt classmates homing in from all sides as they headed for the door. How many of them had noticed her attempt at academic suicide? They’d be eager to sympathise with her supposed failure, and dissect their own exam-room experience. Jess just wanted to get home. If Bettony knew what she was about, Mokey would be really tangible by now.

*

She heard the phone ringing as soon as she put the key in the front door. A moment later she’d dumped her bag, thrown the keys on the table, and lunged for the receiver.

“Bettony?” she gasped.

“Jess, is that you?” her mother’s voice was snappy and high. “Why on earth can’t you carry a mobile like normal girls do? Anyway, I’ve caught you. How did you get on?”

“I did my best not to pass, but I think I blew it.”

“What? Jess, for once in your life, just tell me…”

“It’s okay mum, I think I’ve passed. You’ll be able to face the neighbours. What time are you getting in?”

“Not till seven, I’m afraid. Do you mind feeding Marcus, he’s a bit weird today.”

“D’he go to school?”

“No chance. There’s burgers in the freezer, and…”

“You know I won’t touch that muck,” said Jess tiredly. “I’ll throw something together.”

“Well, as long as you’re both fed. See you later, love!”

She heard a gurgling laugh as she put the phone down, and looked up to see Marcus perched on the top stair.

“Watcha, Pudding-Face,” she said cheerfully.

Marcus giggled a bit more, and said, “Mokey’s been wiv me.”

Jess cocked an eyebrow. “What, been here? Come in the kitchen and tell me all. S’okay, mum won’t be in for ages yet.”

She picked up the phone again, and punched in Bettony’s number. “Hi, it’s me,” she sang, her voice lighter now. “Yeah, not too bad, but I need to talk. Okay, nine o’clock . See you then.”

*

Deb crumpled onto a kitchen chair and accepted a cup of coffee from her daughter. She was beyond tired. It hadn’t been an easy day at the office, and she’d arrived home to discover Marcus shredding Jess’s college folders. By the time she’d kicked those killing shoes off, and changed out of her suit, he’d sneaked out to the garage, forced the supposedly secure petrol cap off the car, and…she dreaded to think what he’d shoved into it. He claimed he hadn’t touched it but he wasn’t vouching for Mokey…

Mokey. It came from Marcus’ early attempts to pronounce his own name, and his sister’d perpetuated it as a nick-name. That’s what kids do, but every time Deb heard them say it, she had to struggle to avoid sliding back into the nightmare. 3-year-old Marcus and 9-year-old Jess play- fighting in the back of Doug’s car. A speeding BMW appearing from nowhere and filling the windscreen. Deb’s own screams echoing in her head. Spinning, crunching, people shouting, flames rising. Firemen, cutting equipment. Marcus, lying by the roadside. Doug, dead. Then a long wait by a bedside, until, three weeks later, surrounded by tubes and bleeping screens, Marcus had opened his eyes and said: Daddy gone, Mokey gone. He’d never been right since. He had absences, he had tantrums. He wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t accept reality, and he wasn’t learning basic civilisation. Give it time, the shrink said. He said it every six months.

“Drink your coffee, then,” said Jess.

Deb shook herself to attention. “Look, Jess, this has got to stop. You encourage him all the time, talking about Mokey as if…as if…”

“As if he matters,” suggested Jess.

“As if he’s real.”

“Mum, Marcus needs him…”

“It’s getting worse,” said Deb. “He’s blaming Mokey for everything that happened today. You know what the shrink said – for as long as he’s not accepting responsibility, he’s got no conscience. He could do anything.”

“But Mokey’s the one with the sense,” said Jess. “He attacked my college stuff because I got frustrated and told them what I thought of the exams. He’s just thrown all the toxic muck from the freezer out into the garden, and of course he hates the car. You know what it did to them.”

“Not my car,” insisted Deb, wincing, “and say him, not them. My son’s not a committee.”

“Listen to them, mum,” said Jess. “Look, here’s our chance.” She nodded towards the stairs where a tousled Marcus could be seen sitting halfway down, whispering as if deep in conversation.

Deb froze. For a moment she’d mistaken the boy’s shadow for…She sighed deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. It was hardly surprising she was losing her grip. This was a long way from being the first time Jess had tried to demonstrate her theory of Mokey and Marcus, but something told her it was going to be worse today. She almost thought she could hear…She shook her head. Something had to be done, and done now, while she still had a semblance of sanity to deal with it.

“Alright,” she said, “but if I can prove that Mokey doesn’t exist…”

“Or if I can prove he does…Marcus, come and have a hot chocolate, hey?”

“Mokey wants one too,” said Marcus, shuffling along the hallway, frowning uncomfortably as he came within range of the kitchen’s flickering striplights…

“Marcus, mum wants to talk to Mokey. Will you help her?” Marcus blinked, then stared at his sister in surprise. She continued, “Mum can’t hear Mokey. You’ve got to help her, show her Mokey’s a person.”

Marcus dawdled across the kitchen, pulled out two chairs, and sat down.

“Now listen to me, Marcus,” said Deb. “Oh hang on, that’s my mobile.”

“Switch it off, switch it off!” howled Marcus.

“I’m trying to,” said Deb, rummaging in her bag.

“Mokey!” yelled Marcus, looking at the doorway.

“What’s up?” asked Jess.

“He’s gone. It hurts him.” And with that, Marcus scurried into the lounge, followed by Jess and, at length, Deb.

“Where is he now, Marcus?” said Deb.

Marcus giggled, and looked at the sofa.

“He’s on the sofa, mum,” said Jess tiredly.

“You’re not telling me you can see him…?” Deb met Jess’s flashing eyes for a moment, then said, “Oh, I get it. He’s wherever Marcus is looking.”

She forced herself to relax, and watched Marcus flump down at the far end of the sofa. She chose a chair facing her son, and Jess knelt on the floor, so that the four of them made a lop-sided circle.

“You gonna talk to him, then?” asked Marcus, clearly looking forward to this.

“Well,” Deb thought for a moment, then said, “What’s Jess’s best friend called?”

“He said, Bettony,” said Marcus.

“What’s my brother’s name?”

“He said, Clarchie,” said Marcus.

“What?”

“He means Uncle Archie,” grinned Jess.

“And who works in my office with me?”

“He said, That slut, Sue,” said Marcus.

Deb frowned.

“It’s what you called her when she got a date with your manager,” said Jess.

“And where did I have lunch today?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Well, there you are,” said Deb. “It seems to me that Mokey knows everything you and Marcus know, and that’s it.”

Jess sighed, “Are you offering that as proof that he doesn’t exist?”

“It suggests he’s your creation,” said Deb. “Look Jess, I know you mean well…”

“Mokey knows what Mokey knows,” said Mokey. He slipped off the sofa and crept softly towards the door. Deb shivered, and glanced nervously at the doorway.

“You’ve upset him!” growled Marcus.

Deb felt her patience reach breaking point. She took a deep breath, but she’d pulled it together once too often today. Diplomacy was dead and buried. She grabbed a cushion and threw it at the seat where Mokey’d been. “For God’s sake Marcus, there’s nothing there!” She stood up, and waved her hands wildly over the empty sofa.

There was a crash in the kitchen, then a strange fizzling sound. They all ran out there, Marcus in the lead. He stood by the table and sniffed. “Smells like someone’s pulled a Christmas cracker,” he commented.

Jess and Deb arrived at his side. Deb swore at the sight of the smouldering remains of her mobile, which were spread across the floor like shrapnel.

“Can they explode?” she gasped.

Jess put her hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Where is he, Marcus? Where is he now?”

“Going to bed,” said Marcus.

“No he isn’t,” said Deb, “He’s gone out.”

The three looked at each other in startled silence. They had all heard the front door open and close. It was a long moment, but before anyone could find any words, Marcus spun on his heel, and stomped up the stairs.

Deb looked to her daughter for help, but Jess shrugged. She was reaching for her coat. “I’m meeting Bettony,” she said.

*

They met at the top of the road. Tall, henna’d and bedecked with silver charms, Bettony was the sort who attracted attention. Jess always felt comfortably invisible when they walked anywhere together. They kept their chat inconsequential as they headed across the estate, their faces golden in the setting sun. Anyone with the skill to see such things would have remarked upon the shadowy little figure that trotted ahead of them, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, for all the world like a dog keeping tabs on his walker. If the girls saw it, they made no comment. Ten minutes later, they turned onto a dusky track behind the playing fields, and fell silent until they reached the field gate.

“So, the lost soul has returned,” said Bettony.

“He certainly has,” said Jess. “But it’s scary. They’re still two people, only instead of Marcus going all dreamy, and saying he’s been with Mokey, Mokey’s here. Like a poltergeist or something. And you know what they can be like.”

“They’re only dangerous if they’re denied,” said Bettony.

“Which is precisely what mum does to Mokey.”

“Then the sooner we fix it, the better.”

“You’re really sure it’ll work?” asked Jess, looking sideways at her friend. “S’funny, but I’m worried what he’ll be like.”

“A fiend from Hell’s the plan,” said Bettony.

“Don’t! I’m serious. They make quite a team as they are: Dedicated to smashing foul technology wherever they find it, despite mum’s attempts to bribe Marcus with computer games…Determined to rescue me from junk food and academic success…”

“Hey up, there’s Sky,” said Bettony, waving merrily.

The young woman known as Sky ran forward to hug Bettony. Amongst greetings and chit-chat, Jess fell silent.

The friends walked, she watched her feet. She could only pray that this was the right thing to do. Lots of people believed they were doing magic these days. Jess’d read a ton of books on it in recent years, but they all seemed to miss out an essential ingredient, and end up waffling on about creative imagination, and the power of positive thinking, whereas Bettony…well, she’d never let Jess down before. Soon, they saw other figures moving through the darkness of the wooded valley as the full moon rose.

*

Anyone watching would’ve seen seven girls standing round a small bonfire waving their arms. Jess saw her sisters, linked to her within a blue-white auric ring. Four pentagrams of light hung in the air around them, and Mokey stood sulkily in front of the fire.

“You are of him, and he is of you,” Bettony was saying. “Marcus needs you, Mokey. He will run to evil without you. Don’t be afraid, go into the flames. We’re going to send you home.”

The sisters began circling again, flanked by shadowy familiars, singing a song of reunion. Mokey listened, his eyes glittering as he watched the fire. Sometimes, he swayed almost ecstatically with their song. Other times, he screwed up his face in denial. Sometimes, he muttered to himself as he tried to make sense of their demands. It was true, he loved Marcus – More, he was Marcus. All he had to do was choke off his elemental instincts, forget his desire for natural order, and accept humanity once more – despite the crash, despite everything they’d done to him…At last, with an almighty screech, he jumped into the fire. The flames reared up and crackled angrily. In the bright-hot depths, charred logs crumpled together with the sound of a distant car-crash, and a boy who’d given up the ghost at the age of three felt himself forced into the world again, aged twelve. Two hands clasped, a twisting plume of smoke rose above the spinning dancers, and the fire burned low.

They slowed gradually, then stood, blinking, seven earnest-faced girls, trying to see what they had done. Bettony alone seemed confident in the result. She paced the circle, stopping at each quarter, bidding thanks and farewell into the night air. The gleaming pentagrams faded as she dowsed the fire, all but the last flame, which she preserved in a dark lantern. Presently, the sisters melted away into the woods.

*

Half an hour later, Jess let herself into the house. She slipped silently up the stairs. She paused on the landing, listening to her mother’s breathing, nodded to herself, then quietly depressed the handle of Marcus’s bedroom door.

“Beat it, weird sister, or I’ll…”

“Marcus, you know what we said about the computer stuff earlier?”

“Yeah, I’ve made a list of the ones I want.”

“Oh, good.”

“And you know what you said about the exam results?”

“Yeah. Changed my mind. If you pass, boff sister, you’ll get a swanky job and you can buy us a wide-screen, and all that stuff on dvd. Go for it.”

*

At seven thirty next morning Deb was hurtling round the house, throwing things in her brief-case. To add to her harassed feeling, the phone started ringing as she rushed past it.

“Answer that, someone!” she yelled.

Jess emerged from the kitchen, munching on a piece of toast, and picked up the receiver.

“How is he?” asked Bettony’s voice.

“Horrible,” said Jess. “A typical, 12-year-old rat-boy. I feel like I’ve lost two friends.”

“It worked then,” said Bettony. “I told you it would.”

_______________________________________________________

‘Mokey” © 2004 by Kay Green appears in the collection ‘Jung’s People’ published by Circaidy Gregory Press ISBN 978 1 906451 01 1 £6.99 purchase details at Earlyworks Press.