The Demon of Shoreditch Place

Part 1

When Barry was six, his mother had told him he had been followed by a shadow all his life.

Barry had thought at the time it was because he had been an only child of a single mother, and his birth had been a difficult one. Aunt Grace had told him so even earlier than six; she had been around a lot when he was little while his mother had recovered, and then kept coming around when his mother had to go to a second or third shift of the day.

He hadn't thought much more about it after that day, until he was eight and Johnny from the year above had nearly drowned in the creek. Barry had been playing down at the creek after school with his best and only friend, Ismael.

Then Johnny had come along with his stupid, thick, ugly friends and tried to push Barry and Ismael under the water over again. Johnny was a dickhead - so his Aunt Grace said, although he was never supposed to use that word within the hearing of civilised company - and Johnny deserved whatever was coming to him. Karma, or something. But Barry, scared as he had been for himself, as worried as he had been for tiny Ismael, had worried more when Johhny had slipped and fallen into the deep part of the creek. The clouds had covered the sun for minutes while Barry yelled at Tom and Jack to do something, you gobbers.

But then the sun had come out again, and Johnny had surfaced coughing and spluttering, swearing that he would make Barry's life seven kinds of fresh hell. Barry didn't know what a fresh hell was, or thought it very fair for Johnny to blame him for something Johnny always started, or to blame Barry for Johnny tripping over his own big, dumb feet and falling in. But Barry went home and said bye to Ismael and hi to Ms Williams on the way, and thought about the shadow some more.

Johhny never had bothered him again after that day. Once - when Barry was nearly driven mad with curiosity as to why his life had suddenly become much more peaceful - he had asked Jack when he was alone in art class. Jack had looked sideways at him, eyes focussed a little above Barry's head, and said Barry just wasn't worth it anymore and they had better things to do.

Then the car accident happened.

Barry was starting his first day of high school. They'd been running late because his mother had slept in and there was no one else available to take him to school, the bus driver was on strike and the roads were icy. He could remember his mother swearing at the lunatic on the road ahead of them. Something about the man being probably drunk. Defensive driving skills were employed, but then there was a shout and absolute terror and then nothing.

His next memory had been the wet asphalt, a crackling hiss, and the face of the heavy-set driver watching him from the ground mere feet away. The man's eyes were glassy, and he was too still. Barry had heard a dragging noise, and a man was at the side of their car, trying to get his mother out. Barry couldn't remember how he had ended up out of the car, but the soft calls of the man in the black trenchcoat as he told Barry's mother she would be all right, help would come, he was going to get them out, this would never happen again, he would sort it out - that he remembered.

He never saw the man's face, and in the aftermath he hadn't questioned why the man had known his mother and had come to save her. His brain had told him it would be all right, the man was supposed to be there. The man had pulled his mother out of the wreckage, checked for injuries, pulled out a phone and dialled 911, and began chest compressions while he spoke. Just like we did in health class last year, Barry thought. His last memory had been the man taking a look at his mother before telling Barry he would be back very, very soon with some help, and that he would be fine, and that he would always be with him.

"Barry, I made a mistake. I'm so sorry. Your mother is going to be fine. The paramedics will be here soon, and I'll just be a moment. I need to speak to a friend of mine. I promise I'm not leaving you. I told you before, you'll never have to be alone. Just stay there, and stay still until the ambulance comes. I'll be back."

Barry had blinked, and looked at his mother lying there on the road. The black trenchcoat was laid over her up to her neck. He had looked back up to the man, who had vanished.

Later, when he had slept in the hospital, and his mother had been wheeled in to share the bed next to him, they had asked who had got his mother out of the wreckage. Told him he was very lucky. Shock and some scratches, a minor bump on the head, but no major injuries. His mother would be fine, they said. A bit of recovery time, but she'd be good soon.

He didn't know, he'd said.

He thought there had been a friend who had helped them, but the police who came later mentioned there'd been no sign of anyone else at the scene before the medics arrived. They suggested maybe he'd saved his mother, and the shock had wiped it from his memory.

Barry didn't think so. He knew the man would come back, the man whose face stayed in shadows in his mind.

He had made a promise to Barry.

And if there was anything Barry had learned in his life so far, it was that promises were sacred above all else.