An Undead Boy

I'm in my room, flicking through an old draft of an essay I wrote a few years ago. It is Christmas Eve and I wanted to get Danielle something. Not just any something though; something special and meaningful. The more I look at it, the more I realise that Christmas has turned into a battle of possessions; everyone brawls in the shops to get gifts for their loved ones but those plastic materials mean nothing. They're not personal, not from the heart which is how it should be. Nothing I have come across seems appropriately purposeful.

What could I do to show her how much she means to me? She's shown such astounding courage in befriending me, there's so much we don't know about my condition but she's willing to take that chance. I owe her everything; I would not have lasted this long if I were still on my own, unbearably isolated. There have been no thoughts of death - true death, to cease my existence - since that conversation in the library. I feel that I have become noticeably cheerful, almost back to my old self again. I think even my Mum has been watching me these past few weeks; those sort of stolen looks from behind the newspaper or over her mug of coffee.

I drop all the paper I'm holding and fall back onto my duvet. I go to bed resigned.

***

It's Christmas day and I'm awake before my mother. Well, I'm always awake. I haven't really mentioned my sleeping patterns, have I? The thing is, I don't need to sleep anymore. I find that I can stay awake for a week and not feel tired. I experimented the first couple of weeks in the hospital - I felt that I had the right to, seeing as everyone else was carrying out tests on me. They might have monitored me during these nights but I could never tell; I was in a room with one of those mirrors you could see through. I remember because I thought they only existed in films, not in my life. Like everything else though, I go through the motions to feel like me. Plus, being awake all the time gets boring. Lying back on my bed, I think that my brain still sort of shuts down because I'm not actively doing anything except for thinking about what life could have been. It's my version of dreaming.

Danielle and I agreed to meet outside her house at six, first thing. We're taking a risk but her family shouldn't be awake until at least half past seven - so she's told me. It's still dark outside and I prepare for the half hour walk, pulling on a hat, scarf and gloves to appear normal. I don't need these, it's all just for show but there's something oddly comforting about feeling like me again that I revel in it.

There is no morning ritual. I do not look into the bathroom mirror in the desperate hope of confirming that I am still me, having Danielle as a friend is somehow enough for me now. I wonder how I coped before I knew her. I certainly don't remember her in the hallways of the school, or even in my English class. How is it that I paid so little attention to her before? How did I not notice those inquisitive, round eyes before? Perhaps back then, I wasn't someone she needed to help. I wish she had talked to me though.

Hopping down the stairs, I stop by the living room door and stare at the Christmas tree. I didn't feel like I should intrude on my mother for the task of decorating so left her to her own devices. As usual, she has excelled. There are golden baubles, streamers and tinsel and it is the picture of happiness and Christmas spirit. If only we weren't lying to ourselves.

Just as I'm about to leave, I spot a sole present under the tree. Knowing that I hadn't gotten my mother anything, curiosity draws me in. As I crouch down by the side of the tree, I pinch the label in my gloved fingers and see my name.

"Charlie - from Mum."

No kiss, no special wishes for a merry Christmas. But it's a present.

Quickly peering over my shoulder to make sure she wasn't on the stairs watching me, I peel off the paper and a hand-knitted scarf tumbles out. She makes these every year for me but I didn't expect this. Not this year. I'm overwhelmed by a sense of mixed emotions: guilt because I hadn't gotten her anything, hope that she still cared enough to make me a scarf, fear that she may feel like she has made a mistake in giving this to me. I yank off my other scarf to replace it with the home-made one. I feel lighter, bouncier yet weighed down at the same time. If only the circumstances were different.

I leave the house eager to tell Danielle about my present. But this halts me and I stumble back from the weight of my thoughts. I still hadn't gotten her anything. Would she care? Would she mind? I think that she wouldn't but I'm nervous to go any further.

No. This is stupid. She'll be waiting for me outside and I can't just leave her there because I'm scared she'll be annoyed at having no gift from me. She's not that person.

The walk is long and slow on my own. Mist envelopes and curls around my feet as the sun begins to rise, the first birds starting to chirp as I pass by. I pick up my pace, trying not to slip on the frozen puddles on the pavement. It doesn't feel like Christmas though; there's no snow or flying snowmen or jolly, bearded men in the vicinity. It all looks gloomy, despite the efforts of a couple of houses - electric blue lights hang limply from the windows and roofs, appearing more tacky than festive.

Finally, after walking along a deserted, icy road with no pathway and nothing but fields on either side of it, I reach Danielle's house. It's large and old-fashioned but charming. Though there are no fairy lights outside their house, it's the most picturesque place I've seen the entire journey. Completing the picture, Danielle is waiting at the bottom of the driveway, a dressing-gown pulled tightly around her and for the first time since I have known her, her hair is loose around her shoulders. She is wearing a red beret, probably to inject a little Christmas cheer into the grey morning. There is a shiny, silver parcel in her hands. My stomach drops at the sight of it but I carry on walking my steady pace.

"Charlie" she breathes merrily, a cloud snaking it's way from her mouth. "Merry Christmas!"

I smile but show her my empty hands. "I haven't got anything for you. I tried but everything seemed so inadequate."

She waves a hand carelessly through the air and presents me with the parcel with all the cheer in the world. "It's perfectly fine, Charlie. I don't need a present, you're my friend."

I still don't take the gift.

"I'm not sure that's fair - "

Danielle shoves the present into my hands and folds her arms across her chest, refusing to take it back. "No, take it. If it bothers you that much, you can get me two birthday presents next year." she says with a small smile.

I huff out a breathy laugh and tuck the parcel under my arm. "Thanks. And I will."

I'm about to tell her about the scarf from my mother but something up at the house catches my eye. The curtain moves in the window and my gut clenches.

"Were you the only one awake?" I ask, looking from her face and back to the house again.

"I was, yes. Why? What have you seen?" she asks urgently, turning on the spot to stare up at her house with me.

"The curtain - it moved. I swear it did."

Danielle pales and she grips my shoulders, half pushing me away and half pulling me closer. I can feel her hands trembling so I prise them gently off my jacket and meet her petrified gaze dead on.

"Danielle, listen. Go up to the house, get inside. Whoever it was might not have seen anything, they might not know who I am. Just get back up there and I'll see you soon, okay?" I'm trying to reassure her but I'm confident everyone in town knows who I am and what I am.

She is nodding, her eyes glazed. The beret is slipping off her hair.

"Go, please. I don't want to get you in trouble." I repeat to her, backing out of the driveway and motioning with my hands for her to go inside.

She turns on her heel, almost slipping on a patch of ice and scrambles to the front door. She turns and waves, her figure still ghostly white before vanishing behind the wood and bricks. Her own tomb.

As I'm hurrying away down the road as quickly as I can, I realise I should have said something more encouraging, or offered the next available day to meet, or at least gotten a definite answer from her about whether she would want to meet up again after this. It was too dangerous, we should never have chosen to meet outside her house. What were we thinking?

I stumble, my legs tangling up in themselves, and I fall face first into the gravel. The present slips out of my hands and slides across the road into a puddle. I don't think of my face, or the pain I should be in, or the green ooze that is dripping onto my new scarf but scurry on my hands and knees to save Danielle's gift. It's sodden and muddy and inside, I can feel sharp fragments, like a glass jigsaw puzzle. Without hesitating, I wobble to my feet and take off running as best as I can again, the whole time fearing that a car will see me.

Or even worse, Danielle's parents will hunt me down.

I make it back to my house in record zombie time, my mother not in the living room or the kitchen. Still blissfully asleep and unaware of the potential gossip Danielle and I have caused.

In the safety of my room, I tear open the silver paper and shards of glass tumble out onto the floor. If I had a heart that still worked, it would have jolted. It was a picture frame, the glass now ruined. It looks like Danielle had made it herself; plastic gems and an uneven coating of purple paint. The corner has come apart from the fall and I push it together as hard as I dare. It clicks back into place and amongst all the wrapping paper, I find a piece of card. A message from Danielle.

For future memories.

I'm still clutching the broken frame and the card when I hear my mother stir a few hours later.