The Boy Who Died

The ghost of a tiny babe sits among the ruins of the house he once called home. It was a week ago that he was killed, but the local residents have not yet cleared away the rubble. The bodies were taken away and buried in the local churchyard. But the babe has no idea what is going on. He cannot yet speak clearly - only a few words. And he no longer cries. He will go on with the world, but he will not grow old, as others grow old.

What is the world like through the eyes of a young child? The babe just sits there in his romper suit in the way that he was before he was killed. He remembers his parents, but they have not stayed with him - they have gone on to a better place. They do not know that their son remains on earth. Perhaps the knowledge that he would become a ghost might have pleased his relatives had the boy's killer made a different choice. Perhaps it is better for the parents - that they have not survived to await a far worse fate. But for this child there is perhaps no worse fate than becoming a ghost.

*~*~*

It has been several months since the destruction of the child's home now. The locals have cleared away the rubble and grass has began to grow over it. They did not spot the boy, who crawled away through the ruins and out of site. He has been teaching himself to walk, and to fly. His mind has been developing, even if he cannot speak well he can think. There is no-one to talk to in this lonely place, but the boy does not know where to go. He simply sits or stands and explores his small world.

Flowers grow where the fireplace once stood. They are an unusual green colour, but the boy loves them. He visits them every day, and they seem to enjoy his presence. Unlike the other wild flowers they react when he comes near, stretching their long stalks towards him. The boy cannot touch the flowers, but he can almost feel them when he brushes his small hand through them. He connects flowers in his mind to the warm figure he can distantly remember. He remembers the green light sometimes - cold and harsh, not warm like the flowers.

*~*~*

One day, towards the end of a long summer, the boy - whose name he has long forgotten - decides to wander to the edge of the grassy area where he makes his home. He sees a lorry and several vans. Many people are standing there wearing bright orange cloaks. They are looking towards his home! The boy hides, but they come towards him. He listens to their conversation, but he cannot remember well how to speak after almost a year. But they are going to change his home, he knows that. The boy cannot stop them.

And so he climbs to his feet and walks slowly and unsteadily away from his only home - away from the destruction, yes - and away from safety. He does not know where he is going, he only knows he has to get away. And so he follows his instinct. The boy keeps to the shadows, away from the sight of any person. The last person who saw him had been terrified out of her wits.

*~*~*

A train rattles through the countryside. The final carriage at the end has just two people in it and a ghost baby of just three years old, though he looks one. The babe does not show himself. He hides under a table and looks at the pictures on the front of the newspapers. The Times and the Daily Mail fall down regularly. The boy cannot read the titles, but he looks at the pictures. There is a woman running; there is the face of a strange man; there is a picture of a ball with strange markings on it. The boy does not recognise the image of the globe.

He has been living in the train now for over a year. Outside the weather is sometimes hot and sometimes cold. The boy doesn't feel the cold or the heat, but he watches the people in the carriage and knows how it feels. The people teach him how to speak. It's the only way he knows. Today, something is happening that is different to normal. The people aren't speaking about 'football' or 'cars' or 'work'. The boy has never heard these people before, but he listens in anyway.