The summer holidays passed in a blur
of pleading, sobbing, begging and home improvement. Basically me doing the
pleading, sobbing and begging and mom and dad doing the home improvement.
They had booked me in for a month of
intensive counselling sessions five times a week at some weird mental-health
place in town. I was just glad that I didn’t have to change schools because of
the move. The last thing I wanted was for nine or ten years of trying to get on
with things to have been in vain.
The first day back at school was easy
enough. I just grabbed a desk on my own at the back of the class (near a window
– great!) and took out one of my substitute writing notebooks. Mom and dad
didn’t know about most of my extensive collection of notebooks for every
occasion, thankfully. I was planning to sneak them into school in my schoolbag
and try and squash them all into my locker with my other books.
The day more or less flew by. Just a
few hours of me, being invisible, students, exchanging holiday gossip, and
teachers who had given up trying to teach us anything. I dreaded the following
day, which, after school, would be my first counselling session.
We never get homework for the first
week, as half the class don’t have the right books yet, and most of them are
still hyper, so I put Monday evening to
good use by researching.
Researching the angels.
On finding hundreds of pages on the
subject, I narrowed it down to ‘evil angels.’
Most of what I found was just horror
novel and horror movie websites, stuff about that episode of Doctor Who with
the weeping angels, gravestone statues, Gothic graphic-design and animation
characters and sci-fi films. Though I love all things sci-fi, horror, animated,
Gothic and Doctor Who related, these were no help whatsoever.
I typed in ‘evil angels that live in
my attic and attack me.’ This had fewer results, just three in total.
One was a website with information on
hallucinogenic medication, one was the official website of a rock band ‘The
Fallen Angels’ but the last one was what I was looking for.
Just as I clicked on it, my laptop
battery died. I suppressed an anguished scream, but I did hit my laptop hard
with my fist, only hurting myself though, bruising my knuckles.
I placed the laptop back on my desk,
spotting camera as I did so. It’s black with neon purple, orange, blue and
green stripes and I love it, I love photography.
Then an idea struck. Photographic
evidence was exactly what I needed. It would be worth braving another trip up
to the attic if I uncovered the evidence that would make mom and dad believe
me. I wouldn’t need to wait to get the photographs developed, I could hook the
camera up to my laptop and import them. Then I’d show them to mom and dad,
they’d believe me and the counselling could be cancelled! The plan had to work!