With a thick wool scarf wrapped loosely around my neck I braved the gale force winds with my hands buried deep in my gilet pockets, my fingers curled around the cuffs of my cardigan to keep warm, and made my way across the wooden slack path towards the beach. The heart shaped pendant around my neck, fashioned out of a piece of the blue wood – that had fallen out exactly as it hung – from the police box, blew wildly. I tucked it safely inside my gilet. That was something I refused to lose; Dad had made it for me.
As I walked past, I couldn’t help starring at the shed and the dim glow that continued to emanate through the thin plastic windows. I hadn’t been able to get it off my mind all night. Even when Lucy had eventually moved away from the window and gone back to bed, I still felt that it might have something to do with the police box that stood in there. Maybe it had something to do with my frequent nightmares too. I had no idea.
It was a quiet day and I had the entire beach all to myself. The birds didn’t even seem interested in it today either so the only thing that could be heard was the crashing waves and the whistle of the wind. It was all too quiet for me. The only reason I’d come out at all was to escape the eerie quietness of the old beach house: Mum was at work, Will was away for the weekend and Lucy had gone over to a friends’ house. I was alone and the quiet was too much for me sometimes.
At least outside I was away from the irritating, monotonous ticking of the living room clock as it echoed throughout the house and the mysterious creak of floorboards upstairs and on the porch.
It was times like this, when the silence got too much, that I wished I could see my Dad. When we were little, he’d never allow for us to even utter the word boredom and would whisk us away and fill our days with precious childhood memories that would erase the mere thought or concept of being bored completely from our minds. It was better when Dad was around.
When he died, the World seemed a much colder, lonelier place. All the colours had disappeared in our lives and the only thing that remained was our memories. Even they were tainted by the fact that we would never be able to share those precious times with him ever again. I missed him so much.
I was seven when the accident happened; in the junk yard, no place less. We’d been told that he was out looking for scrap metal when the twenty-foot pile he was looking through suddenly caved in and collapsed on top of him. A steel pole had wretched itself through his chest and into his heart. He was only thirty-two.
My eyes welled up as I remembered that dreadful day, when the police man had come to the beach house and delivered the disastrous news. Mum had sobbed, Will had put on a brave face, Lucy was still too young to really understand what was going on and I was silent. Too upset to say or do anything.
Today had been another rather boring day so far. Too quiet. However, there were tales of an apparent alien attack on a small town in America today. I’d scoffed to myself when that flashed across the news channel, as a video of a fairly young man in his late twenties – an eccentric, my guess would be – wearing a tweed suit, braces and red bow tie shouted about how everyone needed to get away, run and hide. I hadn’t believed a word of it. He’d had a British accent, which had surprised me with it being in America, but it made me wonder whether or not there was anybody left in the World that wasn’t completely insane anymore.
Aliens weren’t real. If there had been an alien attack, though, they should have come here. At least then I would have had something to take away the silence in my life.