Game Over.

Game Over

We're sitting in front of the TV and Joey's playing his Playstation. It's too loud and too bright and makes me feel as though the world is spinning faster than usual. But I have to play, that's what's normal. It's what I'm supposed to do. We don't play proper games anymore, we're not allowed.

"Boy's don't wear tiaras," Gran said when she caught us pretending to be kings of a long lost city in the clouds.

"But it's my crown," I protested as she pulled the makeshift piece of costume from my head. I started screaming, turning around in circles and trying to snatch it back.

"Don't be stupid Jakob," she said, crumpling it into a ball, "You've got that Playstation in the house and footballs out here. Your grandad even organised goalposts for you, what do you need these daft bits of paper for? Now go inside."
I do as I'm told.

"It's not fair," I wail to Joey as soon as she's out of earshot, "King Hatenhag was about to gain control of the rainbow pool"

Joey shrugs and unwinds the controller for the Playstation.

"She's right though," he says, "It's not real Jakob, and it's not normal. I'm not playing anymore."

He begins to shoot at a dragon, playing an overly muscular warrior. It's screaming, blood pouring from its scaly body as the arrows pierce its skin. The dragon dies, and I die too.

Game Over.

Joey spends more and more time in front of the TV, slaying dragons, wrestling dinosaurs, doing all the things we used to do together. But it's boring now, there's nothing left to imagine. I still play in secret, hidden away in the attic with a chest of drawers pushed in front of the door to stop all the magic from escaping. I run and climb, with old curtains for capes and fishing rods for swords, and I feel as though I can do anything. But something is always missing now that Joey doesn't play. He's too safe now, you can always turn off a Playstation but I can't turn off my thoughts. They buzz around my bed at night, stinging like wasps and leaving me trembling as I think about my Dad, alone and probably as frightened as me. I try to stay King Hatenhag, able to kill the wasps with a single glance, but then I hear the buzz of Joey's TV and I know the games aren't real. I'm not a king and I can't save my Dad.

Game Over

We visit him. It's grey and scary outside, with gates that seem to stretch for miles above me. I always thought my Dad was huge; he could lift Joey over his head as easily as King Hatenhag could a rhinoceros. But now he looks smaller. He's pale and thin and all the sparkles left his eyes. I hang back, terrified of the guards and the other men with their bald heads and big muscles.

"Come on then," Gran says, pulling me forward, "You make enough fuss about missing your Dad, and now you're here you act as though you're going to the dentist."

She grabs my wrist and pulled me over to the table where Joey and Grandad are already sitting. My Dad doesn't want Grandad there, but he can't make a fuss or the guards will take him away again. I sit in a chair, finding my feet don't touch the ground.

"Say hello to your Dad Jakob," Gran says, poking me in the back. It hurts too, and suddenly tears are falling down my face. My Gran's got sharp nails.
"Stop that," she says, "Behave yourself."

I can't stop. The tears are dripping onto my lap, water rushing around me like I'm drowning. I can't breath, I'm spinning around in circles and it won't stop.

Game Over.

"Oh God!" Gran screams, "He's choking!"

Someone rushes over and tells me to take deep breaths and stay clam. But I'm looking at my Dad and he's crying and Joey's looking at me like it's all my fault. I'm suddenly terrified and look around for someone, anyone, to grab onto. Only there's no one, I don't have anybody left. I feel strangely tight all over, like I'm being suffocated by my own skin. There are more people around me now, but I feel more along than ever.

And then Gran is pulling me up and dragging me out to the car. I can't see properly, everything is blurry and fading in and out of view.

"You're old enough to know better than that Jakob" Gran says, "Things are bad enough without your nonsense. All these silly games and daft stories, and your stupid tantrums."

I stare out of the car window at the monstrous building and watch Grandad leading Joey out, his hands on both of my brothers skinny shoulders. Joey's laughing, bouncing his ball while Grandad grins at him. He always swore he hated out Grandparents, but now they're out in the garden every night playing football. And I'm up in the attic, being King Hatenhag and casting spells on the most feared monster in the land. Suddenly I see his horns poking from Gran's carefully curled hair, his long blue claws sprouting from her pattered gloves.

Joey gets in.

"Can you see it?" I hiss.

Gran turns around, her face tinged with green, her teeth pointier than I remember. She glares at me, warning me not to tell.

So I wait.

"See what?" Joey asks, turning on his ipod. He always said he hated them, but now he's so absorbed in his music that he hasn't noticed our Gran's a monster.
I shrug and stare out of the window, silently willing myself to become King Hatenhag. I can do it in the attic, my body stays the same but inside I fear no one. Only now that Joey won't play and I can see the front windows beginning to steam up with Gran's heavy breathing, I'm terrified. I used to cry when I was little when ever the lights went out, thinking there were monsters lurking under the bed.

"Nothing there Jakob," my Dad would whisper, "You can always smell a monster before you can see it."

I inhale deeply and the sour stench of rotting meat fills my nostrils.

Game Over.

I'm dead. I nudge Joey, knowing have to tell him, warn him.
"What?" he says, tugging out his headphones.
I nod towards Gran, carefully avoiding her eyes in the mirror. Joey looks over at her, then back at me.
"Grow up Jakob," he mutters, going back to his music.
I am alone, abandoned.

When we reach the house, Gran sends us in ahead of her with Grandad. She says she wants to be alone.

I know she's lying; she's taking time to prepare the monsters most deadly attack. Something I refused to pretend even with Joey on my side. It seemed too real and gave me the same sick, shaky feeling as Joey's Playstation. Only now I don't have a choice, and it's not a game.

I run to the attic, throwing on the cape and pushing the chest of drawers in front of the door so quickly it scratches the floorboards. Closing my eyes, for the first time in my life I pray that the magic will stay out, instead of staying in. I grab my sword, almost forgetting it is a battered old fishing rod.

And I wait.

She's not in a hurry, it's half and hour before I hear the unmistakable sound of a monsters feet squelching over the wooden stairs. My hand tightens over the sword as the doorknob rattles.

"Come on out Jakob" my Gran calls, "Dinner's ready."

She sounds normal, but I don't dare move.

"Open the door," she says, "Open this door now."

I forget how light empty drawers are, and within moments she has the door open and one clawed hand around it. I breathe deeply, holding the fishing rod above my head. Another hand follows, then a ghastly face, rotted away by the monsters evil. Writhing serpents entering the ears, poke their ugly head out from her mouth, slipping over her long tongue. Her eyes, now wide with fury, glow a deep menacing yellow.

I raise my sword higher, bringing it down on her demon infested head. It collides with her horns; a horrid grinding noise that makes me recoil in fear. And then I remember something King Hatenhag told me, a long time ago.

"Know when to fight Jakob, but know when to stop."

I drop the sword

"Gran," I whisper

Game Over.