Chapter 3 - The Hamster

Keith brings a hamster home but when he accidentally kills it, the man in the shadows suggests he start a collection of dead things.

Keith was so happy he could burst. He'd been picked out of the entire class to take Jeremy the hamster home for the holiday. He'd watched it playing every day in the corner of the classroom and now it was going to be his, like a pet of his own, for a whole week! He just wished he didn't have to give it back when half term was over.

His mother wasn't happy when she saw him carrying the cage out into the playground. "You realise you'll have to feed it every day don’t you? I'm not going near the thing. They stink and they bite."

"No they don't. And of course I'll feed it."

"Well it’s going in the boot on the way home. I'm not having it shitting on my seats."

When they got to the house, he carried the cage straight up to his room and gave it pride of place on his desk. The next week was the happiest of his life, just him and the hamster playing together but all too soon Sunday came round and tomorrow he'd have to give Jeremy back. He thought hard, how could he keep it forever?

He hadn't planned to cut the hamster's legs off, it just sort of happened. He'd been holding it in his hand when it decided for no reason at all to bite him. A tiny droplet of blood formed where its sharp teeth pierced the webbing between thumb and index finger.

Furious with the hamster he reached out as it scurried towards the edge of the desk, grabbing hold just as it was about to dive off the end. He looked up and saw a figure in the mirror on the wall. Turning round he wasn't surprised to see the man in the bedroom doorway, hands held behind his back. "Hello."

"Hello Keith," the man said. "I see you've made a new friend.” The hamster squealed and tried to work its way loose from his hand

"He bit me."

"Oh dear," the man replied, taking a step into the room. "That's a shame isn't it?"

The man held out his hand, a pair of wicked looking scissors dangling from the end of his thumb. He passed the scissors to Keith. "God punishes all sinners doesn't he Keith?"

Keith nodded, his bottom lip trembling as he gripped the scissors in his spare hand.

"And you want to please God don't you Keith?"

He nodded again, the hamster quivering in his hand as if it knew what was coming.

"Then punish him Keith."

Keith looked down at the hamster and then up again. The man had gone. He thought about what the man had said. He did want to go to please God. Forcing the hamster's legs through his fingers he took a deep breath. You did want to keep the hamster after all, this way you can keep him forever.

He couldn't help crying afterwards. Mummy took the remains of the hamster away when she saw what he'd done and he had to wait until she was asleep in front of the TV to retrieve it. He'd climbed out of bed and bum shuffled downstairs, looking through the balustrade at her slumped on the sofa, head tilted back, mouth open, empty bottle of wine by her side.

He found the hamster on the side in the kitchen, sitting on a square of kitchen roll in a small pool of dried blood. He felt warmth spreading through him. He'd done what God wanted and it was his forever now. It would be the star of his collection.

He was carrying the hamster back through the lounge when he noticed the man was sitting next to mummy, remote control in his hand and flicking through the channels. He settled for a sermon. A furious old man with a beard was proselytising to a roomful of unbelievers.

Keith wasn't sure what to do but the man tapped the sofa next to him, motioning for Keith to sit down. He sat, the corpse of the hamster in his hand. As Keith listened to the sermon, his heart filled with devotion to God as his mother snored loudly from the far side of the sofa.

When the sermon finished the man turned to Keith and smiled. "You did well Keith." His mother stirred and the man got to his feet. "But you better go back to bed now."

Keith nodded and climbed the stairs. When he looked back down the man had gone. He carried the hamster into his room and opened his wardrobe. He peeled back the corner of carpet and lifted the loose floorboard, revealing his collection. It had only held flies and insects up to now but the hamster took pride of place in the middle of them all. He took one last look before replacing the board and carpet, climbing into bed and sighing happily. As he drifted off to sleep his last thought was to wonder how long before the man would visit again. However long it was, he knew it would be worth it to spend some time with his only friend.

Keith didn't see the man again until he was about to turn 13. His collection was outgrowing the space under the wardrobe by then and he needed somewhere bigger to keep it. He'd spent about a week mulling over the options but none of them were quite right. He was walking to school through the park when the man appeared in the distance, waving to him from the copse that backed onto the phone company buildings.

Keith didn't mind being late for school, it might mean Ben Davies and his gang of cronies might already be inside, rather than waiting for him on the bridge. He walked over to the man and followed him down into the valley, carefully making his way over the sprawling brambles until the man stopped and pointing at the ground.

"For Derek," the man said before turning and walking away.

What he'd said made no sense at first but as Keith kicked the bramble aside and saw what was there, he realised it would be the perfect place not just for his collection and for Derek.

The next morning he was up earlier than usual, wanting to be sure he'd have long enough alone with Derek. He was in luck. Robertson's newsagents was barely open when he pulled up on his bike. Mr Robertson was running late, yawning as he unlocked the door and collected the stacks of newspapers from the bin outside, nodding a good morning to Keith. Together they carried the papers round to the corrugated steel shed that leant against the side of the shop.

Keith staggered into the shed, heaving his pile onto one of the wooden trestle tables that lined the wall. Mr Robertson left without another word, leaving him alone. Derek's wheezing breath announced his arrival as he appeared in the doorway, looming over Keith and flickering his cigarette into the gutter outside.

He licked his lips and smacked them together before speaking. "Morning Keith, seen page 3 yet?" He laughed chestily and hacked something up into his mouth, swallowing it again as he pulled out his pocket knife and sliced through the plastic cord that held the bundle of newspapers together.

Derek was well known amongst the other paperboys. He was the reason why they all turned up half an hour later, none of them wanting to be alone with him and his stinking and stained wax jacket. He scratched himself, too often for any itch, as Keith sorted his own papers.

"Derek, I've found something in the woods and I'm not sure what it is. I wanted a grownups opinion."

"Well my boy," Derek wheezed, rubbing Keith's shoulder with a calloused hand. "I'm a grown up. What do you want to know?"

"Could I show you maybe? If you've got time. I want to keep it secret from the others."

Derek rocked on his feet as if fighting to hide his excitement. "Of course you can and I might have something to show you. Look at the pair of her eh?"

Keith nodded politely at the topless woman on show before picking up his fluorescent paper bag and hoisting it over his head.

"Lead the way my boy," Derek said, following him out to his bike. They walked together into the park, passing out of the glow of the streetlights and into the blackness beyond. Keith flicked on the light on the front of his bike, shining a weak yellow onto the grass as he led Derek across to the treeline.

"It's just in here," Keith said, aware of Derek's laboured breathing on the back of his neck as he stepped over the brambles and moved further into the copse before stopping.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" Derek asked, unzipping his wax jacket and scratching the front of his trousers. "Or shall I show you something first?"

"Just down there," Keith replied. "I think you'll like it."

Derek shuffled past him. "Is this a game?" he asked, hunching over and squinting at the dark patch in the grass where Keith had pointed. "What is that?"

As he peered into the blackness, Keith stepped behind him and shoved as hard as he could. Derek shouldn't have fallen down the hole, he should have gone sprawling on the grass but he was taken by surprise and his head caught the rim of the open manhole. He saw stars, his body sliding down the concrete shaft into the bunker beneath.

Keith was behind him, looking at his legs sticking up in the air as he disappeared from view, his head hitting each iron ladder rung as he fell, landing with a splash in stagnant water far below. He still might have survived if he'd landed face up but his head had slammed into the concrete floor under the water as Keith climbed down the ladder, bike light in hand. He didn't notice the man already knelt down beside Derek's body and by the time he stepped off the ladder into the chamber the man was gone.

Keith presumed this was an air raid shelter, a relic from the war, perhaps connected to one of the nearby office buildings. Maybe a fallout shelter built by some paranoid citizen during the Cold War? He looked down at Derek's body with mild curiosity, presuming the torn flesh on his face was the result of his fall. The air stank of mould and dampness, the floor covered with at least six inches of oily dark water. Keith splashed through it, working out the size of the space down here, the light from his bike light barely piercing the pitch black of the bunker.

He offered his thanks to the man for being given such a gift. This would be a perfect place for his collection to grow, a collection that now included Derek. After he'd finished looking round, he climbed back up the ladder and pushed the manhole cover back into place, surprised by how light it felt. He dragged branches over the cover until it was hidden from view and with his feet still soaking wet he climbed onto his bike and set off to start his paper round. As he rode along Ashby Close, he passed Mrs Grimsby, his old primary school teacher, out walking her poodle.

Mrs Grimsby stepped aside as Keith rode along the pavement, barely controlling a shudder. There was something about Keith that she didn't like. He might attend services every Sunday without fail which was more than could be said for most children but there was something unholy about the way he spent the whole time staring at the vicar with his mouth open. And when he'd looked at her then, she'd felt like a fly trapped in a spider's web, his eyes not seeing her as a person, only seeing her as potential prey. It was the look her husband had on his face before he'd killed himself. It was the look of the damned.