Ginnie’s Diary, 13th September 1974
I want to cry. I didn’t want this boy here at my party. Why did she let him into the house? There wasn’t meant to be anyone sitting on chair number 13. I wanted luck, loads of luck. This was meant to be a good day. It’s my birthday. I’m 13 today, it’s the 13th, and, bloody hell, it’s a Friday as well. I said that to mum.
“Don’t swear, my darling,” she said in that salty voice she uses when she treats me as if I was an out of control five-year-old. The boy grinned and winked at me. There wasn’t meant to be a boy. It was to be all girls. Just ten of the girls from school, the ones I like best or hate least, and her, my mum, and me.
She doesn’t understand, when does she ever. She thinks I’m just angry because Cathy left with him before the chicken bone hunt and that I lost interest in playing the game then. It was him, Henry, he ruined everything. Nothing went as I had planned it after he turned up and she let him in. Girls are just so stupid. They were all giggling and batting their eyelashes at him. All I wanted to do is not see him, make him disappear.
When he sat down beside me, he made me shiver. It was like he brought cold air with him, a bit like when you open the fridge door or when it’s winter and you’re sitting in your warm house and your mum comes home from work and walks over to you to give you a kiss on your cheek before she takes her coat off.
“You’re hiding in that old rag you’re wearing,” he said. I told him that I hate dresses and, no thanks, I’m fine wearing washed out jeans and granddad’s old shirt.
“Tell me if you ever want to disappear altogether.”
Oh no, I won’t. I’m not going to tell him anything, ever. He is just so scary. He wears black clothes and he’s really skinny. It’s like you can see his bones sticking out from under his clothes. His hair is black and dead straight. It’s thin and oily and long. And his eyes, his eyes are scary. Cathy thinks they’re magnetic, she said so before she left my party, stupid cow. But they’re scary, so black that looking into them makes you feel like you’re being pushed into a deep dark hole in the ground.
“I can make things disappear and then reappear in unexpected places. I can do that with anything or anyone,” he said, “You’ll see.”
I’m scared of him.
© Ash N. Finn, 2016