Free Submersion by Guy A Johnson

tales frightened me, I shared my cousin’s sinister fascination with them.
    ‘The dogs it is,’ he agreed, smiling, sitting up straighter to ready himself. ‘Just no telling that mother of yours.’
    The storytelling had a consequence: Tristan was still resident when my aunt woke and when Mother and Great-Aunt Penny served dinner. His presence at the meal table created a frostiness with some – specifically Mother and my great-aunt – but the chilly atmosphere was worth it to see a trace of a spark in Aunt Agnes’ eyes.
    When I woke on the third morning, Tristan had gone again.
    Fearing another attempt by Mother to enlist me in transforming my aunt’s cosy home into something quite the opposite, I escaped as early as possible to what had become my regular haunt: the Cadley house. I was thoughtful enough, this time, to leave Mother a note, explaining where I had gone, so as not to worry her unnecessarily. I just hoped she didn’t send Great-Uncle Jimmy down to haul me back.
    She didn’t.
    As usual, upon hearing my entrance, Old Man Merlin popped his head out from the back, just to check if the young man pulling off his safety gear was friend or foe.
    ‘Just to be safe,’ he explained, habitually. ‘You can never be too careful.’
    Then he was off again, leaving me free roam of his den.
    And for the majority of the day, I was left to my own devices. In the music room, the second cabinet – the one that housed the records and their playing machine - was locked again, but I was still able to operate the digital box in the other cabinet. I had the idea to find The Count of Monte Cristo from the library and take it up to the music-filled room, combining my favourite Cadley house activities.
    The games room I ignored; Solitaire aside, there was little I could do by myself and the mere sight of the dressing up box put me in mind of Elinor. I had already grown tired of the model railway, and the room with the dead computers served no interest at all.
    So, I submerged myself in reading and music, quickly oblivious to my surroundings, distracted from my family tragedy for the vast majority of day. Even Old Man Merlin kept out of sight, busy with his televisions, no doubt.
    That is, until quite late in the day.
    If the old man hadn’t come storming up two levels of the spiral steps in search of me, I may have completely lost track of the time. Other than to change the music – I was finding my favourites, the Beatles in particular – I kept to my spot in one of the comfy armchairs for the entire stretch of the afternoon.
    ‘Boy, boy!’ he cried, dashing into the room, a look of alarm in his face. ‘Found something, come on!’
    And he was out the room just as quickly, disappearing down the steel spiral in a whirl, moving at a youthful speed that defied his years.
    ‘Follow on!’ he insisted, as he stepped into his rear quarters, sweeping through the area swamped with televisions and to another smaller, narrower fourth ground-floor room beyond that I hadn’t really noted before. It was somewhere between a kitchen and what I imagined a science laboratory would look like – science laboratories feature frequently in Tristan’s stories. It was a thin room, with cabinets and appliances to the left and right and a path of brown tiles down the middle, leading to a rear door, which appeared to lead outside. As well as a cooker, a refrigerator, a kettle and a toaster, other smaller apparatus occupied the sides. Tubes and jars, some empty, others with liquids and powders in them, a compact microscope and a trio of gadgets that Merlin later identified as Bunsen burners. Yet, the item that had triggered his urgency was none of these – it was a small plastic container, with the lid sealed.
    ‘I found this on my back step,’ he explained, pointing to the rear door.
    I couldn’t see much beyond it, but I guessed the old man had a rear veranda. Some of the newer houses, those built with the floods in mind, had steel decking