Bryony Pearce - The Weight of Souls

Justin shook his head slowly. “I don’t get this. I don’t get why you can see me when no one else can.”

A Japanese family moved towards me and I pressed my lips together. Then I gestured curtly for Justin to follow me and headed towards the lift.

We stood in silence as we rose towards the fifth floor. Justin said nothing more about engineering, Stephenson, or his Dad and every time he moved, I moved too – away from him, as though we were opposing magnets.

Finally the lift doors opened onto a white corridor with two exits. In one I could see a plastic replica of a skinned cow. I shuddered and turned the other way.

“The Science and Art of Medicine?” Justin frowned.

“I’m betting it’ll be quiet.” I paused with my hand on the door. A security guard glared at me through the glass but I was thinking about the dim lighting. I considered changing my mind and heading for the skinned cow, but apart from the guard, the room was empty; we’d be able to talk.

I opened the door and went in.

The air was cooler and drier here and the low lighting gave the impression, not of age or mustiness, but of importance. The displays were sedately lit and invited long, slow examination.

The security guard lounged on his stool by the door and barely glanced at me as I walked past.

On our left there was an Egyptian display. Perfect. Immediately I led Justin towards the mummified corpse that formed the centrepiece. We were shielded from the guard by a wall and there were no other visitors.

“I thought there’d be a picture of Anubis in here,” I frowned. “There isn’t one. That’s strange.”

“Who’s Anubis?” Justin stood next to me, so close the hairs on my arms stood up.

“Egyptian God of embalming and mummification.”

Justin eyed the mummy in the sarcophagus. “I can see why you thought there’d be something about him round here. Why, does it matter? You aren’t Egyptian are you?”

“I’m half Chinese , Hargreaves.”

“On your Mum’s side, right?”

“Right.”

He hesitated briefly. “Then… why’re you called Taylor Oh?”

“Huh?”

“Shouldn’t you be Taylor Smith, or something, whatever your Dad’s name is?”

“Not everyone takes their husband’s name,” I snapped. Then I looked at the ceiling and took a breath. “If we all keep the same name it helps us keep track.”

“Keep track?”

“Of who carries the curse. ” I cracked my knuckles, hardly able to believe that I was about to speak the words. But Justin was dead; he had no one to tell. If he thought I was crazy or didn’t believe me, what would it matter? Suddenly I was desperate to talk and the words tumbled from me like sand through an hourglass.

“Anubis is meant to be the reason for all this. My ancestor was a member of an expedition of... I suppose you'd call them tomb robbers. They found Nefertiti's tomb but it wasn't empty.” I looked at the mummified Egyptian, my memory taking me back to my mother's book. Scattered lanterns illuminated the bodies .

For a moment the mummy had looked as if it were bathed in blood. I caught a skeptical twitch of Justin’s eyebrows.

“Oh-Fa was the last survivor of the slaughter. Anubis offered him life in exchange for his service. Oh-Fa agreed and now, at a certain age, unlucky members of my family start to see ghosts – murder victims. I was ten.”

“Ten.” Disbelief vibrated in Justin's voice.

I sighed and focused on the bandaged corpse. “It was your first day at school.”

“Oh, please...”

“Really. It was my birthday, remember?” I closed my eyes, allowing the memories to wash over me. “I'd been seeing this clown all day. At first I thought Dad might have hired him – you know, like a really cruddy birthday treat. But it was creepy the way he was hanging around the school. I kept seeing his balloons, but no one else noticed anything.”

Justin shook his head. “You're making this up.”

I pushed my hair from my face. “Why would I?”

He leaned close to the glass case, close enough for his breath to have fogged the glass, but no fog appeared. Then he leaned back. “So then what?”

“I started hearing the flap-slap of his giant shoes. Clown shoes, you know?”

Justin smirked.

“That sound.” I shuddered. “Pete said I could be having a migraine or something, so I called Dad and he took me home.”

“And that was the end of it?”

I snorted. “I wish. Somehow the clown followed us back. Dad couldn't drive me to the door, there was a Volvo or something double-parked at the end of the road. He dropped me off and went to find a space.” I swallowed, the recollection still filling me with a ten year-old’s terror.

“I only had to pass nine houses by myself. I could hear the rumble of the underground line and a dog barking in someone’s garden. Then I heard those damn shoes...”

Flap-slap.

I froze.

Flap-slap.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and I spun around. For a moment I saw nothing out of the ordinary then I caught my breath as a single red balloon floated at head height from behind the house at the end of the road. It bobbed as if it couldn’t make up its mind which way to go, then the breeze carried it in my direction.

The balloon weaved towards me unhurriedly and I took a step backwards, gaze fixed on its plastic skin. My eyes were reflected in its shiny surface, wide and staring. It jerked towards me, as if to tap me on the head and I jumped, snagged my heel on the kerb, lost my balance and fell. I sat hard on the pavement and quickly looked for the balloon. It was floating on past our house.

It’s only a balloon. Get a grip .

I caught my breath and put my hands on the warmed concrete, ready to push myself up.

Flap-slap.

I cried out and turned, one hand covering my mouth. Maybe he had finished toying with me because this time, when I expected to see nothing, the clown was there.

When he saw that I’d noticed him, he started walking towards me again.

Flap-slap, flap-slap… flap-slap .

I scrambled to my feet, stumbled, and with one frightened look backwards, started to run for the house.

Flap-slap, flap-slap .

The clown didn’t hurry, the footsteps didn’t get any louder, but when I reached my steps and looked over my shoulder he was only a few steps behind me.

He was wearing a multi-coloured wig. Underneath the bobbing curls he had bloodshot eyes sharp with purpose.

He reached for me with one gloved hand and I screamed, threw myself up the steps and fumbled for Dad’s keys. My fingers touched the ring and I dragged it out of my pocket. “Go away!” I shrieked. “Leave me alone.”

Flap, slap .

The clown had mounted the steps.

Flap-slap .

He was coming.

I jammed the key in the lock and looked over my shoulder. The clown’s balloons bounced jauntily as he reached for me. His fingers brushed my rucksack, but before they could close and tug me backwards I leaped into the house and slammed the door.

Justin was watching me now, his eyes narrowed. “It wasn't over?”

I shook my head. “I had to open the door for Dad. The clown was standing right behind him. He reached round and touched me – like you did – transferred the Mark. I didn't know what was going on. I freaked out, couldn't believe Dad had let this creepy guy put his hands on me. But as far as Dad was concerned there was no one there.

“Mum came home just in time, before I touched Dad and accidentally transferred the Mark to him. Instead of a birthday dinner Mum took me to the fair on Clapham Common.”