But I was glad, all the
same, that I wouldn't be sleeping in that house another
night.
Coley's da was in the yard when we went back
out. Coley asked him for the chainsaw and he gave me a
long, hard look. Then he said to Coley, 'You know the
rules.'
'I do,' Coley said.
'And you both have to stick to them.'
'We will,' Coley said. And then he said to me, 'You
have to set the wood up right every time. And you have
to keep the work area clear. And if you're not working
the saw you have to stay four paces away. And you have
to wear goggles all the time.'
They both looked at me, expecting something.
'Sure,' I said. 'Fine by me.'
We crossed another yard with more sheds and
barns. In the open bay of a huge steel lean-to, the bottom
half of a man was hanging out of the bonnet of a Land
Rover.
'My brother Matty,' Coley said. 'He's a mechanic
down in Ennis. At the weekend he fixes up old cars for
a hobby. He's a greasoholic.'
'Cool Land Rover,' I said. I had a thing about Land
Rovers and was always trying to rob one, but we never
got the keys to one.
'It's mine,' Coley said. 'My uncle gave it to me. It
needs a lot of work.'
'And can your brother fix it?' I said.
'He can fix anything,' Coley said. 'But I'd say I'll be
married by the time that thing is up and running.'
'Can I see it?' I said.
'You can,' he said. 'But maybe some other day. If
we don't get that wood cut soon the woodlice will have
it all ate.'
As we walked back down the road, me with the axe and
a can of petrol, Coley with the chainsaw, I said to him,
'Is it true? That story about the child?'
'It is,' he said. 'It's as true as that mountain is standing
over there.'
But when I looked at the mountain I couldn't make
it seem real at all. That whole place, with its smells
and its sounds and its stories, was just like a long, green
dream.
15
I was grand so long as it was light, but once it got dark
the things Grandma Dooley said came back into my
head. I got up and drew the curtains against the darkness,
which was a thing I never done in my life before
that.
My ma didn't notice. She was sat beside the fire,
same as last night, under her duvet. There was one of
those serial-killer films on the TV. There seemed to be
one on nearly every night. If there was as many serial
killers as there was serial-killer films we would all be
dead inside a year.
'You'll give yourself nightmares,' I said to my ma.
'I know,' she said. 'But it's a good one, isn't it? I
think the cop is doing it.'
I could see Dennis struggling to keep awake on her
lap because he knew that once he went to sleep she'd
carry him up and put him in his own bed under the
sloping roof.
There was no wind that night but the house still
made noises. Not big ones but little tiny ones. A click on
the stairs. A scuffle in the roof. A rattle from the bathroom.
The dog came in and sat by the fire, looking at my
ma. I wondered if she'd remembered to feed it.
It was the thought of the child that gave me the
creeps, howling with pain and giving orders in the night.
I kept thinking I heard her and I kept looking round at
the door. What could have been wrong with her that
they had to hide her away like that? And how did they
kill her? What did they do with the body? What if it was
still in the house somewhere?
Dennis was dozing, then jerking awake, then dozing
again. The dog pricked its ears and sat up and looked
towards the window. What had it heard? With a horrible
shock I remembered I'd left the axe leaning up against
the side of the hayshed. I meant to put it away but I'd
ended up walking most of the way home with Coley and
I didn't think of it again after I got back.
It definitely couldn't stay there. You never knew
what kind of weirdos might be wandering around in the
dark. I put my jacket on and went out. I thought I'd have
a smoke but once I got out there I didn't want to hang
around. The moon was out and looking at me. Something
moved under the hedge.
I grabbed the axe. I was going to put it back in
Learning to Kill: Stories