My Midnight Boy

Chapter Three

The lack of sound was the first thing I recognised as I awoke. But it wasn't so familiar at least it wasn't supposed to be. The house was normally full of the voices of my parents and the melodic buzz of the radio downstairs. This morning nothing. So different that the silence deafened me.  

I jerked upright in bed.

Mum and Dad should be home.

"Good Morning Hayley Luffkin." My head whipped round at the sound of his melodic bass voice to where he stood tall and full of majesty in my doorway.  

Aelfric. His name was Aelfric.

I was perplexed. I'd forgotten him, how could i forget, well, him?

He was enormous, filling the entire span of door frame like some Norse God. His hair was long, silky and pale on the margin of silver and gold. His skin was pale and smooth as thought carved from stone and his eyes were pale as chipped ice.

"Aelfric, your still here." Way to point out the obvious. I gasped. “Aelfric! You're still here!”  

"Have I over stayed my welcome?"  His eyes became wider, his lips dipped down into a concerned frown.

"No no, my parents will be home anytime!" I worried and threw the covers off of me to look out of my window onto the drive below.

No car. Safe for now then.  

"There's a box downstairs and its making an odd noise and it has flashing lights." He informed me seriously. There was genuine concern in his voice, like he was actually afraid.

I was just becoming used to his naivety about everyday life. "That would be the answering machine." I pushed a hand through my hair and slunk passed him down the stairs and into the hall where the answering machine beeped an alert of a messages presence. Aelfric followed and crouched down to sit on the bottom steps of the stairs and watch as I pushed the button to hear the message.  

My parents were having fun in France. They were extending there trip to go digging through French antique shops. They would be home in a week or twos time. My mothers voice wished me well and then cut off with a resounding beep and computer voice telling me "End of messages." I deleted it.  

"That was your mother?"  

"Yes." I padded into the kitchen and brought down two bowls.  

“Is she trapped in there?” He asked, alarmed.

“In France?”

“No! In the box?”

“No...She's in France...” I couldn't keep the mixture of confusion and derision from my voice.

“Then how did she get in the box?”

“She's not in the box. She's in France.” I repeated the last part slowly, as if speaking to a young child.