Free Mr Mumbles by Barry Hutchison

I’m doing wrong!’ I cried. I was annoyed enough that I couldn’t move the thing. I didn’t need her rubbing it in. ‘I should be at the police station, telling them everything, not here giving it Mr Universe!’
    ‘What?
If you hadn’t listened to me you’d be dead by now!’
    ‘Yeah? Well…’ I floundered, struggling to find a decent comeback. ‘So?’
    ‘So?’ Ameena scoffed. ‘That’s the best you can come up with?
So?
You know what your problem is, Kyle? You’ve got no imagination.’
    ‘No imagination?’ I yelled. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, something I
imagined
was just trying to murder us both! Imagination-wise, I’d say that’s pretty bloody impressive, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘Then move the donkey!’
    ‘But my imagination’s got nothing to do with—’
    ‘Move the donkey!’
    ‘Fine! I’ll move the damn—’
    BOOM!
    In a spectacular shower of dust and plaster, the statue of the donkey exploded before our eyes. I stood, rigid and staring, feeling tiny invisible threads of electricity dart backwards across my head and down my neck.
    For a long time there was no sound in the church, other than the echo of the explosion. Even the wind and rain appeared to pause in their onslaught. At last, the floor gave a faint creak, as Ameena nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She brushed some stone dust from her hair.
    ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I think we can safely consider the donkey moved.’
    I didn’t reply. Instead, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the tingling sensation which still zapped through my scalp. It was a strange feeling. I’d thought it was completely new, but now I realised it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. I’d felt it a few times that night, but it had been there maybe a dozen times in the months before then, lurking quietly at the back of my brain. If I could somehow hold on to it this time – somehow stop it slipping away – then maybe I could figure out what it was.
    The dim light behind my eyelids swirled in slow circles, reminding me of the satellite images of tornadoes I’d seen on the news. Every so often, a spark of white or blue would flash like a fish in a stream, before vanishing back down into the dark waters of my mind.
    ‘Kyle?’ I heard Ameena say, but I ignored her. When she spoke again she sounded distant and garbled, as if talking on a radio that was tuned to two different stations at once. Whatever she was saying, it could wait.
    I focused on the flashes, trying to slow them down enough for me to see them properly. All the while, the electricaltingling crept through my hair. It had changed direction and was creeping forwards again – a silent predator, edging closer and closer to the front of my head.
    Flash.
A white spark shot past.
    Flash.
A blue one passed by, slower, buzzing like a wasp.
    Flash.
Blue again. This time I was too fast for it. As it sparked behind my eyes I concentrated like I’d never concentrated before, focusing all my attention on that one, tiny bright spot.
    The little blue lightning bolt buzzed angrily, trapped like an insect in a jar. It vibrated in the darkness, but it could struggle all it liked. It wasn’t going anywhere. I’d done it. I’d managed to hold on to one of the sparks!
    I was just about to congratulate myself, when the screaming started. It sounded frantic – deranged, even – but it didn’t sound like Ameena. It didn’t even sound human.
    My concentration broken, the blue flash zipped gratefully off into the darkness once more. I flicked opened my eyes, and gasped. There before me lay a vision of hell.

Chapter Nine

THE DARKEST CORNERS
    A lmost at once, the screaming stopped. I barely noticed it come to an end.
    Around me, the church stood in ruins. The imposing brick walls lay crumbled and wrecked; the stained-glass windows shattered from their frames. Just moments ago I had been standing on polished wood, but now a carpet of weeds and grass tangled around my feet.
    The