Tell Me I'm Wrong

1 Riley Markham wiped the snot from under his nose as he watched the football bobble along the rutted ground towards his friends. ‘You out tomorrow?’ one of them called to him, kicking the ball back. ‘Might be. Have to ask Mum,’ he said, walking away, the football now under his arm. Mum would let him. She always let him. He’d often heard her telling Dad that it was better than having him sitting around playing computer games all day. Mum liked her peace and quiet, working from home. And Riley liked playing football with his friends. He was getting quite good at it now. He’d been playing football in the garden with Dad since he was two. He was rubbish at first. But he’d been playing every chance he got in the five years since then, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before one of the scouts came calling. Maybe Arsenal or Manchester United. That would make him really famous, but secretly he’d quite like to play for Crystal Palace. He really liked their kit. It had been hot today. It was always hot at this time of year. That was why he loved the summer holidays. That and not having to go to school, obviously. He tried to remember what Mum said was for dinner tonight. He’d be back in plenty of time so it wouldn’t really matter. Fish fingers, he thought. Something like that. Afterwards they’d watch some telly, then he’d go to bed. Mum and Dad let him stay up until eight now. Then all the boring grown-up programmes started, like Holby City. It wasn’t far from the field to his house. Nothing was far in the village. That was the best thing about it. Except when they had to get something that you couldn’t get in the village, which was quite a lot. Then they’d have to drive out, which would take ages because the village was miles from anywhere. But Mum and Dad liked it because it was safe. By that, they meant it was so far away from anything that the bad guys just didn’t bother coming here. Riley didn’t like bad guys. No-one liked bad guys. Everyone liked the good guys, like Superman and Scooby Doo. They would never do bad stuff. All the kids round here played in the field. It was great. They could play football, hide in the bushes or just ride their bikes around. The houses were all pretty nearby. Riley’s was, anyway. He had to walk back past the stream, over the footbridge and in through the back gate. ‘Keep on the fence side, away from the water,’ Mum would always say. Riley thought this was daft, because the water wasn’t very deep anyway. It probably wouldn’t go past his ankles. Definitely not past his knees. Unless it rained, and then it was deeper. Sometimes people’s gardens would flood. Riley thought that was great, because it all looked like a swamp where monsters might live. But he wasn’t allowed down that way when it flooded, which was rubbish. The ground was really dry at the moment, because it had been hot for a few days. Riley could see it starting to crack in some places, and he imagined it cracking more and more, until the whole ground opened up and revealed a huge underground cave. That would be great. He could go down and explore it, or keep it to himself so no-one else knew it was there. It could be his secret den. It was almost ten minutes after leaving his friends, and he would be home soon. There was a little bridge over the stream a little further up, then he’d walk through the footpath and up the road to his house. He almost didn’t see the person in front of him. He saw the shoes first, then quickly looked up and saw the familiar face. ‘Oh, hi.’ ‘Hello,’ came the response. It didn’t quite seem right. They didn’t say anything else. Just looked at him. To get past, Riley would have to walk closer to the water — something his mum never liked him doing — but he didn’t have a choice. This was getting silly. He stepped to the side and went to carry on walking, but the arm around his waist pulled him backwards and upwards, the other hand clamping across his mouth as the person dragged him off into the bushes. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t. The person had clamped their big hand right across his nose and mouth and he was struggling to breathe. He felt himself get winded, the air rushing out of him as he landed flat on his back on the hard ground, the prickly bush digging into his arms and head. He could feel the sensation of blood trickling down from his head — something he’d not felt since he cracked his head open falling off the swings a couple of years ago. The arm that had been around his waist was now pressing down on his throat, crushing his windpipe and pushing all the life out of his young body. A high-pitched whistling sound started in his ears and his vision started to go watery. Before long, black edges started to appear, and he was no longer able to fight. Everything went black.