Then came the scourge of The Preface

NEAR ...... -LY FINISHED

PREFACE

The pain from the shredded skin, torn by the razor points on nature’s barbed wire – the thorn and bramble thickets – sapped all that was left of my strength. Gasping and shaking, I scrambled to the summit of the mound that marked the resting place of some long-dead, warrior-chief.

I dragged shallow breaths into my aching, ice-scorched lungs. Time was running out and I hadn't yet delivered the warning.
I remembered Caleb standing with his hand outstretched – the intensity in his amber eyes and the longing in his wistful smile. He’d warned me that evil twined itself into his life. But, when he said he had to fight it, I hadn’t realised he meant that literally. If I had known would, I still be standing here, facing what I saw stalking slowly towards me, or would I have decided to give a different answer?
I imagined myself in alternate realities – each one different based on the choices I’d made. My mind agonised over questions while my heart found the answer. Certainty, warmth, excitement, and the knowledge that I knew the real him, enveloped me.
I smiled, and even though he wasn’t there with me, I reached out my hand to where I pictured him standing.
Then took a deep breath and screamed.


CHAPTER 1
NOT ALL CHANGES …

Dad parked in front of the familiar redbrick building. Even there I could see that things had changed. Above the white stone entrance there was a new school crest with a beast standing on two legs. It had sharp teeth, a lolling tongue and limp front claws; it leered down at the visitors to school.
“D-ifferent!” I commented as I hurried around the car to join Dad.
“Umm! Mr Jenson’s ‘lost’ toupee isn’t still flying from the flag pole?”
“No-one ever proved I was responsible,” I squeaked but my footsteps faltered.
Dad smiled at me but with a steely glint; he put one hand on my shoulder to keep me walking forward. We stepped into the reception area, pressed the buzzer by the viewing window, and waited. A tall woman, with two biros stored in the bun at the back of her head, marched over from her desk at the back of the office.
Her unusual hair accessories distracted Dad, “G–ood Morning. I’m Simon Trainer, and this is my daughter, Jess. We’re here to see the Headteacher.”
She whipped a pen out of her bun and tapped it on the desk as she checked the Head’s diary, “Mr McIntyre is in his office. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. Please push the green button and I’ll let you in.”
Dad and I exchanged glances that condensed his lectures and my promises to small, but significant, facial twitches. I pushed the buzzer and felt the lock release. We walked into the brown, tiled corridor and sat while we waited.
“Mr McIntyre will see you now,” called the assistant as she approached.
We followed her into the room dominated by a long, curved desk. We saw mid-brown hair and the jacket of charcoal suit as Mr McIntyre turned to reach into a low drawer in the filing cabinet behind his desk. He seemed to freeze for a moment. I watched him draw a deep breath before he swivelled around.

My hands felt hot and uncomfortable – a sickly, nervous sensation began to twist, worm-like, in my stomach. How could I make a good impression with the person in-charge of my old school records?
He stood and walked around his desk towards us, “Please join me here, where we can sit more comfortably.” As we made our way to a collection of soft chairs that surrounded a low table, he held out his hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Mr Trainer.” He looked speculatively at me. “Jessica.”

ps Happy Birthday to me!!