feart

I’m no’ really feart of the devil until it’s dark, but Dracula’s much worse because he’s got big fangs, hisses and is on the telly. I’m no’ allowed to watch him unless I’m sneaky-pete and I make the long walk from our room, all the way past Mum and Da’s room, past the girl’s room, where Phyllis is in her bed slobbering and snoozing, down the hall and into the living room. Mum and Da are at the Singer’s club. I slowly push open the living room door and Dracula music humps and jumps and slips out to meet me. Stephen’s sitting in Da’s chair, with his feet out in front of the orange glow of one bar on the three-bar- electrical fire. His neck swivels and he looks across at me standing in my bare feet, and takes in my matching pyjamas, with whorls of purple and red, buttoned tight as a knuckle to the neck. He doesn’t bother saying anything. Just goes back to looking at the telly. Stephen’s not scared of anything. He’d just punch Dracula right in the nose. Our Jo’s sitting near the living room window on the edge of the chair, face frowning at the telly, mouth open, dark tights covering feet on the fading splashy flowers of the mud coloured carpet, as if she’s ready to start running. The couch from the old house, grey mottled material chewed up as an old teddy bear, is behind the door and helps block her view of me. I take a slow step forward into the living room. The kitchen door is open. Wind rushes through the glass and the rusting metal frames of the windows banging against the Venetian blinds and creates a draught beneath my feet. I smell fag smoke and look to see if Mum’s in, but she’s no’.

‘What is it?’ Our Jo asks. ‘Do you need the toilet?’

God’s hanging on the wall looking at me with his downcast brown eyes. His heart's pierced by a yellow light as if He’s shooting everybody that looks at Him with a ray-gun and can’t miss. He’s showing me His hands. They’ve got a big hole in them, but He’s quite cheerful about it and because He’s God and got long hair and a beard, it doesnae hurt. He doesn’t want me to lie. He’s there on the mantelpiece as well, a wee statue of Him with a red robe on and a pair of sandals. Big Ben the clock is in the middle. I can’t tell the time yet, but I know it’s dark and late. The Virgin Mary is on the other side of the mantelpiece. His mum’s looking up towards Him, keeping an eye on Him and heaven. It’s a secret. Somebody’s knocked her head off. It wisnae me. It was probably my brother Bryan, because he’s aye daeing things like that cause he’s only wee and he’s daft. The Virgin Mary’s only got a stuck- up, stuck-together chalk head, but she doesnae want me to lie either. There’s another metallic statue of Joseph and baby Jesus in one of the alcoves in the fireplace. God is everywhere.

‘Aye.’ I peer at the telly and shiver. Dracula’s up to no good. He’s turned into a bat.

‘Goin’ then.’ There’s a threat in my brother’s eyes.

But I stand my ground because I’ve got Our Jo and God on my side. Somebody is chasing after the bat that is also Dracula. I don’t like bats. Although I’ve never seen one, I’ve never liked bats. If I seen a bat I’d just kick it. When I was wee I didnae even know what a bat was. My Da’ said wee ‘Charlie Porter was blind as a bat’. I kicked him until he was greetin’ like a crybaby. My big brother and Jim McFadden, my big cousin, were there, round the back-court of the old tenements we stayed in. They said I did well.I wasnae even at school. I’d never seen a bat, but I’d seen a worm. So I just thought a bat was like a worm with wings. I imagined a worm-bat swooping through the air to get me and I just squashed it. But you cannae really kill a worm. Dracula’s back to being Dracula and shows me his blood soaked fangs. I’m no’ scared. Not really.

Our Jo’s neck’s a twisted elastic band as she watches the telly and walks towards me. ‘C’mon then.’ She blindly reaches for my hand as the scary music kicks in. I quickly make a grab for it.

She flicks the electric light on. It’s outside in the hall, on the same side as the cupboard where we keep the ironing board and hoover. Sometimes there's a ghost in there as well. We hang our jackets on the cupboard opposite where Jo stands waiting for me to begin peeing. I shut the door over a bit, my head meandering round to see if she’s sneaked away. She hasn’t, but her feet are slipping this way and that on the linoleum, I can see she wants to. Sometimes when she’s having a bath I tell Mum that I’m needin’. Mum bangs on the door and tells Our Jo I’ve got to get in. Our Jo’s in the bath and shouts at me to hurry up. She stands up and covers her tits with one hand and her hairy fanny with another, but I can peek at them. I know that’s a bad thing and God doesnae like it. I’m finished peeing and flush the toilet.

Our Jo shouts through at the same time. ‘You finished in there yet?’ She rushes in and turns on the hot water tap on the sink beside the window. The hot water tap is the cold water tap unless the boiler’s been on for about three hours. But she doesn’t care, just makes a grab for me and pulls me towards the sink. She’s a hand washing fiend.

‘I’ll do it myself.’ I pull away from her, soaping my hands and running them under the tap. She picks up the purple towel lying on the side of the bath panel and hands it to me.

‘You be alright now?’ She’s dying to get away, it’s in her voice.

‘Aye.’ I take my time drying my hands.

‘You want a cup of tea before you go?’

‘Aye.’

Our Jo darts away through into the kitchen and puts the big kettle on the electrical ring. I drag my feet following her through, standing at the door between kitchen and living room and watching the telly. Stephen sparks up a fag. He looks at me. He knows I won’t tell. And Our Jo doesn’t seem to care. She’s Dracula mad. He could set the couch on fire and she wouldnae notice.

Dracula’s getting an eyeful of some woman wearing a white dress with sticky-out tits. She’s at the window, gawping out. Dracula’s decided he’s had enough of that kind of carry on. He crawls up the wall like a spider. The lid on the kettle makes a hissing noise behind me and I jump forward into the living room.

‘I don’t want tea.’ I tell Our Jo.

I rush down the hall, into our room and put the light on. My wee brother Bryan is sleeping in the middle bed. My bed’s near the cupboard and Stephen’s bed’s near the window. He can put the light out when he comes in. I jump in beside Bryan. If Dracula gets by Stephen he can bite Bryan and I’ll run away. I wrap the blankets firmly around my neck and kick my wee brother with my feet until he’s at the window side of the bed. I should have brought a big gigantic cross with me, like the one you get at chapel, but that will have to dae.