“Morning, petal!” Mrs Baxter chirped from behind the morning newspaper. “Are you all right?”

Jessa was bundled up in her fluffy dressing gown.

“I don’t feel well,” she groaned, holding her head low to let her bedraggled hair hang limply down over her unwashed face.

“You poor thing! Well, you should probably stay home from school today.”

“I think you’re right,” Jessa said pathetically, looking at her mother with big, sad eyes.

“I’ll call the school in a minute. I’d stay home and take care of you but you know we have this big event tomorrow night, and I really need to go into the office.”

“I know, don’t worry about it. I’m probably going to stay in bed all day anyway. I think I just need to rest.”

“All right, poppet. Do you want me to bring you up some breakfast?”

“No it’s okay, I’ll just get a drink,” Jessa poured herself a large mug of tea and poured the milk in slowly, watching the brown and white liquids intertwining.

“Feel better, love,” Mrs Baxter said sympathetically, watching her youngest daughter shuffle her slippered feet out of the kitchen.

Jessa sat, fully clothed on the edge of her bed, supping at her tea and listening to her mother’s morning routine about the house. She listened for the familiar click of the front door key turning in the lock, followed by the slam of the car door, and the car pulling out of the driveway.

She gave it fifteen minutes, on the off chance that her mother would have to return home to pick up something she’d forgotten, which gave Jessa plenty of time in which to splash some water on her face, brush her teeth and run a comb quickly through her hair.

Less than an hour later, and Jessamine Baxter was on the train to Woburn Vale.

She stared out the window at the whirr of English countryside green, and her mind began to wander.

He taught himself those powers. He didn’t even go to school.

So far, Jessa’s parapsychological abilities had become considerably stronger thanks to the Winsbury curriculum.

But could they be stronger?

We only have one parapsych skills class a week.

What if we had more?

She thought about how parapsych students are taught the broad curriculum in lower school, which is supposed to help hone the ability that comes most naturally to them, and those are the parapsych skills they are encouraged to continue in upper school P-Levels.

But what if we could study them all?

One question led to another, until Jessa’s train of thought was interrupted by a very bored-sounding announcement.

“This station is Woburn Vale.”

Jessa stepped onto the platform, pausing for a moment at the still-open doors, suddenly questioning her own actions. But the doors slid shut, and the train accelerated away.

#

“Who goes there?” Mr Jackson’s old voice wavered.

“Hello, Mr Jackson. I visited once before, with my friends, do you remember?”

He studied her closely. “Yes, I remember. A young boy and some girls. With a tall blond man, correct?”

“That’s right,” Jessa smiled.

“You came to ask about Silas.”

“Yes. Would you mind if I ask you some more questions?”

“You’re by yourself this time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose my crossword can wait,” he hobbled back to the living room.

The room was just as she remembered. The fading snapshots of memories, the fusty paraphernalia. It felt cluttered and welcoming.

“D’ya want tea? I have Earl Grey.”

“Earl Grey would be lovely, thank you.”

“Humph,” he shuffled from the room.

She took the time alone to inspect the room closer. She peered into all the shining photographs. The house felt old fashioned and homey, a place where happy people lived. She couldn’t tell if the old man was happy anymore, but by the images of smiling adults and giddy children, it appeared he’d experienced many happy moments.

Jessa found herself drawn to one photograph in particular, of a dashing young man, clearly a youthful Mr Jackson, with three children. Two young girls in flowery dresses perched on his knees, and a very young-looking dark-haired boy sat cross-legged on the grass in front of them. The boy’s inky eyes stared into the camera, unlit and ghoulish.

“That’s him,” Francis said, carefully carrying two over-full porcelain mugs back into the living room. Jessa graciously took the one offered to her.

“I hope you like it milky,” he said gruffly.

He plopped his tired body down into his armchair. “That was taken at a garden party we had one summer. All the neighbours came over; it was quite the bash. So what do you want to know, lassy?”

Jessa thought for a moment, then decided to be honest. She’d come too far and seen too much to continue withholding information.

“Sir, what would you say if I told you Silas was still alive, and had been in hiding this whole time?”

He didn’t look nearly as shocked as she’d expected. “If he’d been hiding for twenty-or-so years? Well, I’d be mad at him for not ever visiting me!”

“Really? Would you still want him to visit, after everything that happened?”

“Of course I would. I always considered that boy family.”

“Why do you still care about him? I mean, he did such terrible things. And if he’s been alive all this time and deliberately didn’t let you know—even though he probably knew how much you loved him—wouldn’t you just be angry and not want to see him?”

“Pah. I’m too old for grudges. He did some questionable things back then, but you have to understand, he truly believed he was doing them for the right reason. And despite his actions, he’s still human, and I subscribe to the much-outdated belief of forgiving all others.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“But… what if…” Jessa stuttered, “what if he was still doing those things? Things that you didn’t even know were possible?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, missy.”

“I’ve seen him,” her voice came out weak and crackly, like she might have been getting over a cold. But there was no illness, just the harsh reality of telling a complete outsider her theory. “Not in real life. Not yet, anyway. But I have these… visions. It’s a type of intuition. I just learned I have some kind of futuresight, and I can also read objects that show me information about what happened around them. And I’ve seen him, and I’ve seen the kind of things he’s doing. He’s still alive, and he’s preparing…”

Francis blinked. He looked sad, and confused, and curious. “What do you think he’s preparing for?”

“I don’t know. But I know he’s learned how to enhance his parapsych abilities, and he’s using them to hurt people. He… ummm… he hurt one of my best friends. The red-haired girl who was here with me last time.”

“Oh goodness, is she all right?”

“She’s in the hospital. It’s bad. He brainwashed her.”

“Really?”

“It looks as though he made her want to commit suicide.”

“Hmm…” he uttered, quietly enough that she barely heard it. A gentle softness came over his wrinkled face.

“Fortunately, we were able to get to Annora before she actually… you know… but yeah, it’s grim.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, feeling the glassy heat from the outside of their mugs.

Jessa finally spoke. “Can I tell you something?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I know I should probably be terrified, but really,” she hesitated, “I’m fascinated by him.” She finished her sentence quietly, as though she was saying something she might be judged for. “Is that wrong?”

“No, it’s not wrong, kid,” Francis sighed. “I always have been. He was such an intriguing child. What kind of four-or-five-year-old disapproves of the school system? What kind of child has so much disdain for other humans? He was such a unique youngster—it’s no wonder he was more powerful than anyone knew, because nobody believed that he could be that powerful. The warning signs were there, and nobody cared to see them.”

“I think he’s planning something big. I’ve seen the sort of parabilities he has. You know him better than most—do you think he can be stopped?”

“Well, I suppose that if he could remain alive all this time, getting stronger and planning some kind of big display, I’d say there’s no chance of stopping him.”

Jessa stared into her half-drunk Earl Grey. “Can I use your toilet?”

“Upstairs. It’ll be the door right ahead of you.”

Jessa exited the bathroom and wiped her damp hands on her jeans. Her hand reached for the bannister, and she was just about to take the first step when she noticed something. A door to her right, closed. And where the light shone in through a small window and hit the surface of the faded door paint, she could see the outline of where childish block letters once were. “Silas.”

She paused, dangling her foot over the step, considering her options. Then, with a short exhale, she pulled back her foot and moved to the door.

The handle moved easily and quietly.

Jessa hadn’t known exactly what she expected from Silas’ old bedroom, but what she saw inside was not it.

Clean, not a speck of dust anywhere, with walls and floor painted brilliant white. Not at all faded. A single bed, topped with contemporary bedding, a divot on the edge where someone had recently sat. A bookcase too small for all its books, as some of them stood in stacks on the top and on the floor next to it. Jessa’s attention was attracted to a large wooden screen blocking the furthest corner from view.

She approached the screen and saw the edge of it wasn’t completely flush against the wall. A conveniently person-sized gap, she noticed.

She gently blew out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Then stepped through the space.

“What the…?” she whispered to no-one.

The reverse of the screen was also painted crisp white. On the floor lay the black outline of a circle. And right in the corner, an old church pulpit, painted in layers upon layers of white paint until every inch of grain was smothered in a smooth disguise.

And there, atop the stand, was the book. Jessa recognised it immediately. The same yellowing pages, the same occultish storybook images, the same lurch in her stomach. But this time, unlike the copy she’d seen in the museum, the book had not been defaced with symbols etched into the pages.

Jessa peeled over a page.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

She spun around with a gasp. Francis Jackson stood in the gap between the screen and the wall, blocking her into the corner.

“Oh… I was just…” Jessa stammered.

“You can’t be in here. He’ll be very upset.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t like strangers going in his room.”

“Who? Silas?”

“Nobody is supposed to see this.”

“I didn’t see anything, though. We can pretend nothing happened. I’ll just go.”

“I don’t think I can let you go now. He’ll need to make sure you can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell, I swear. You can let me go. Please, let’s just go back downstairs—”

“No.”

“Mr Jackson, please—”

“Young people these days have no respect.”

“I’m sorry, I just— What is that? Is that a knife? What are you doing?”

“He said someone would find it eventually, and I said ‘no no no, nobody will find us here. Nobody will find out our secret’, but as usual, he was right.”

“Please don’t come any closer. Put it down, please. Can we talk about this?”

He stepped toward her.

“No! Please!”

Her back was against the wall with nowhere else to go.

“Stop!”

Jessa summoned every inch of her body and in one forceful movement, pushed her weight into the old man. He stumbled backwards, knocking the screen flat onto the floor with a loud thwack, and the weapon disengaged from his hand and flew across the room.

Jessa leapt forward and made a break for the door, but the man reached out his hand with an unforeseen dexterity and grabbed around her ankle.

She tripped and fell forward, just barely avoiding a head-on collision with the wall. His fingers gripped tighter as her legs thrashed and kicked. And then.

Whoosh.

“There you go. Happy now?”

“…”

“Of course not.”

“…”

“It still has all your scribbles on it. Why did you want it back?”

“For the same reason I have the other copy in this room. It’s much easier for me to transport when I use the book. Takes a lot less energy. Now I can keep this one with me.”

“Fair enough. Though I still think it would be easier to use the door.”

“I can’t risk being seen, and you know I don’t like to be outside. The sunlight hurts my skin.”

“Get an umbrella! Or a hat! The transporting thing seems like such a lot of effort.”

“It’s not. Not in here, anyway. I told you I can teach you how to do it.”

“Ha. At my age?”

“A parapsych is never too old to enhance their ability, Francis. I keep telling you that.”

“Pish posh. I’m too old.”

“You’re—”

“Fine, I’m not too old, I just can’t be bothered.”

“…”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“…”

“Oh, Silas, while you’re here, I need some help getting a step ladder from the shed. I know you can’t do it, with your back and all, but maybe when you go, you can send in one of your boys.”

“Yes.”

“I’d be so grateful.”

“…”

“You seem so down today. More-so than usual, anyway.”

“I’m tired. I’ve been transporting a lot, and doing maintenance on my tag connections… You know how it is.”

“I don’t really know what that means, but I can imagine it takes a lot out of you. I wish you’d take better care of yourself, though. You know, you can still move in here.”

“You say that every time I visit.”

“And I mean it every time!”

“Francis, you know I can’t. I have too much to do. It’s all right; I have someone looking out for me.”

“Whoever it is, I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t know why you always look so worried.”

“Because I’m always worried about you.”

“You needn’t be.

“There’s plenty of need. You look paler than ever, skinny as a rake, and knowing where you live and who you surround yourself with, I’m going to worry and you can’t stop me.”

“You’re a good man, Francis.”

Whoosh.

Jessa’s foot wriggled free from the old man’s grasp and she forced herself to stand. She ran down the stairs so fast she had to cling desperately to the handrail to avoid falling completely. Francis Jackson’s shouts turned to cries for help.

“You can’t leave an old man lying on the ground!”

Jessa paused at the bottom of the stairs, heart pummelling around in her chest. She expected to see her attacker come flying after her, but it never happened.

“Help me, please!” came his hysterical lament.

Jessa scrunched her eyes closed. She couldn’t go back. She grabbed her jacket from the living room and departed the house with as much composure as she could muster.

Closing the gate behind her, Jessa felt a wave of nausea. She leaned her body onto a van parked next to the curb, feeling the cool white metal chill her forehead. She took a deep breath and sprinted back to the train station.

“Jessa?”

“Mr Fletcher! Thank goodness you picked up. I was worried you’d be in a lesson.”

“I have a free period right now—I’m just doing some marking. Where are you?”

“I just… I’m really sorry…”

“Why? What happened?”

“I just… I went…”

“Jessa?”

“I went to see Francis Jackson.”

“You what?!”

“…”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No…”

“Son of a… Ugh! Are you alone? Where are you right now?”

“I’m alone, yeah. I’m on the train back to London.”

“Why on earth would you go there by yourself?”

“I don’t know, I just had this compulsion to go. I kept thinking about all this stuff, and I wanted to ask him more about Lynch.”

“Well, did you get to do that, at least?”

“Sort of. I found out that Lynch has been visiting Francis. He goes there regularly.”

“Okay, well that’s something.”

“Yeah but I have to tell you something else.”

“Go on.”

“I was sort of, snooping, and I went in Silas’ room. And then Francis Jackson caught me and tried to attack me.”

“Bloody hell, are you serious? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. I got away. But, umm… he was still on the floor when I left.”

“Oh no… was he conscious?”

“Yes, I didn’t hurt him or anything like that. But he couldn’t get up, so I ran away and went straight back to the train station. What should I do?”

“Nothing. You do absolutely nothing. I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to put more stress on you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Please just promise me that you’re going straight home.”

“I am, I swear.”

“And no more skiving.”

“Okay.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Bye.”