Geekhood Read online

  “Here you go, Arch, try these.”

  Tony shoves a pile of weighty tomes into my arms and I give them a quick scan: there’s one on the Grand Canyon, a few classic novels – including Nineteen Eighty-Four and Catch-22, a David Attenborough book with some cool pictures of butterflies in and, right at the bottom, a small, dog-eared book about witchcraft in medieval England. I look up to see Tony grinning at me conspiratorially.

  “She’ll like that one, mate. Maybe you can weave some magic of your own…”

  IM: Shut up, you idiot!

  “Right.” I try and smile back, but the hot flush that’s spreading through my body corrupts the necessary file and I’m sure it looks like I’m gritting my teeth. Which I am. “Thanks.”

  After tea, I take the books up to my Lair and arrange them on my shelves. While they do make my room look a bit more impressive, I can’t help but feel slightly tainted by Tony’s involvement in my plans. It’s like everyone knows what I’m up to – except me.

  After rejigging my shelves to create a more worldly-wise aspect, I survey the rest of my Lair. It’s a mess. So I tidy it. Not one of those cursory tidy-ups that I occasionally undertake to appease my mum, and not like the tidy-up I was more or less blackmailed into when Tony was coming round to the house for the first time. No, this tidy-up is in earnest. Powered by the desire to make things Just Right, I pull clothes off the floor and hang them in my wardrobe, unpack the remaining boxes, hide annuals, old action figures and the damning evidence of a Next catalogue under my bed and surreptitiously dispense with certain CDs. This bedroom now belongs to a Dude.

  Next up is to finish the work on Nox Noctis. With the base colours on, I give each section of the figure a colour-wash. This is much the same as the black wash, but I use deeper tones of each base colour. What you want is for the wash to run gently into the recesses of the model, leaving just enough pigment behind it to act as shading. For the flesh, I mix a reddy-brown and a deeper purple for her clothing. While the wash dries, I turn my attentions to the Gargoyle. Having drybrushed him, I now give him a colour-wash to tone down the highlights. I mix a dark grey and drop in some ochre and green to give a weathered effect.

  Ordinarily, I’d leave the witch for a few hours, but time is against me, so I go against everything I believe in and give her a once-over with the hairdryer. Next up, I decide to employ a self-developed highlighting technique I’ve christened “blobbing”. Blobbing involves creating a slightly thicker version of a wash, but in a colour lighter than your base colour. With one brush, you apply a blob of the watered-down pigment to the most raised areas of your figurine. Then, using a dry brush, you gently draw the edges of the blob across the surface, so that it blends with the shading. The result is that you get a gradation of colour from the deep shadows of your lowlight, blending into the base colour and then lightening into the highlight colour. If you get it right, it looks pretty good. However, because it involves a lot of watered-down paint, there is always the potential for the colour to run and screw everything up. It’s the Geek equivalent of white-water rafting.

  Thankfully, everything goes to plan and I breathe a sigh of relief. The final part, which I’ll do first thing in the morning, is the fine detail: eyes, lips, jewellery and other embellishments that will bring the model to life.

  Mum sticks her head round the door, just as I’m putting my brush down. Her eyes widen as she scans the rugged landscape of my newly tidied Lair.

  “I must be in the wrong house,” she says in mock surprise. “I thought this was my son’s room…”

  “Ha, ha.”

  Mum looks around the room again.

  “I’ll give it a hoover while you’re at school, if you like.”

  Something darkens behind my eyes and a protest hits the back of my throat.

  IM: Hang on; don’t forget that she was a girl too, once. Girls notice that sort of thing.

  The cloud passes and the protest is swallowed.

  “OK.” It’s a multipurpose answer that neither confirms nor denies my feelings on the matter; I can’t appear too eager.

  “Needs a dust too,” she mutters to herself, before catching the sardonic glower in my eyes. “Leave it to me; I won’t move anything important.”

  Unfortunately for my EM, my mother’s enthusiastic trilling is infectious and I can’t help grinning ruefully and shaking my head. She takes the cue, with a huge smile which tells me that the room will have been cleaned within an inch of its life by the time I get home. Whether I like it or not.

  IM: Which you do, really. But don’t let her know that. Give her too much approval and she’ll be in here every day!

  “Love you!” she half sings. “Night night!” And the door is closed.

  I give Nox Noctis and the Gargoyle a quick once-over, before setting my alarm clock an hour earlier so that I can finish the job and give myself time for any touch-ups. Thursday’s going to be a long day, but the effort should be worth it. Racking my brain for shops that sell incense, I climb into bed and wait to be claimed by dreams of Sarah the Beautiful Goth.

  I’ve never really liked Thursdays. They’re just a bit lame. And thanks to a decent night’s sleep with no weird dreams, I’m in Fast Forward mode. I really want to get this Thursday over with, so the countdown to the Game can begin properly. It’s a bit like the day before Christmas Eve – lame.

  Even lamer is the fact that I get up at Stupid o’Clock to do the embellishments on Nox Noctis. At six-thirty in the morning, I can barely see, let alone wield a paintbrush, but I give it my best shot. Last night’s lowlight wash and hairdryer-aided blobbing has turned out pretty well. All that remains is to pick out the details, which will be the bits that’ll be noticed.

  IM: It’s all in the details.

  Using my finest brush, I pick out the witch’s irises in a blue that I mix up to be as close to Sarah’s as possible. Instead of the traditional scarlet-red lipstick that most witches seem to sport in movies and artwork, I go for a deeper hue of the flesh-tone; the only people who look good in bright red lipstick work in circuses. As far as I’m concerned, this is an hour of my life well spent, and it’s one less thing to worry about later.

  Before I head downstairs, I have a flash of inspiration and post my address up on Sarah’s Facebook Timeline, complete with a Google Maps link. And then I add, “Your Quest begins at 7pm tomorrow,” just to try and help get her in the mood. A quick check on my own Timeline shows up a message from Dad, which he’d left last night.

  r u still gud fr fri?

  I’m suspecting he may eventually resort to hieroglyphics.

  After a minute’s hovering over the keypad, I decide not to reply. Maybe if I don’t, he’ll give up.

  IM: Although he did say it was important…

  Yeah, well, “important” can wait till I get my new phone. The Game’s important. Sarah’s important. Making everything Just Right’s important. I get another major lightbulb moment and search for shops in town that might sell incense.

  IM: Bingo! There’s one round the corner from the Hovel!

  I close the computer down and then I try and Fast Forward the rest of the day.

  Which works fine until first break. It’s a warm, early summer’s day and me, Matt and Beggsy are hanging out in the playground. Beggsy gives an eye-witness report of the T-shirt he glimpsed Kirsty Ford wearing in PE this morning. It’s tight, apparently. Once we’ve all calmed down, the conversation is just turning to the Game, when Ravi appears, looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards. Which he might as well have been.

  “Archie!” He arrives, stumbling and breathless, with fear practically spraying out of every pore.

  “Rav – what is it? You OK?”

  “It’s Humphries! He’s looking for you!”

  IM: Oh my God! We’re all going to die!

  “Why? What does he want?”

  Ravi’s shaking. “He wanted to know where you live, Archie.”

  IM: Oh, no.

  Beggsy j
oins in with a low, drawn-out “Du-ude.” Conveys *Oh my God! We’re all going to die!*. To add to the moment, his voice fluctuates, making him sound like a terrified Smurf.

  “And did you tell him?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Ravi’s smile is fragile, like he’s been through the torments of Hell, but kept his mouth shut. “I couldn’t.”

  IM: Good soldier.

  “Thanks, man. You’re braver than I would’ve been.”

  “No.” Ravi shrugs. “I couldn’t; I don’t know your new address.”

  IM: Ah. That explains it, then.

  “OK.” I nod distractedly. “Well, thanks anyway. I’ll text you guys my address tonight; maybe it’s better if you don’t know it right now. That way, Humphries can’t get it out of you.” Others might take this as an insult; Geeks know the truth, so no one argues with this idea, but I’m sure we’re all damning our lack of muscles at this point. “Let’s try and stick together at lunch and afternoon break; we’re more vulnerable if we’re alone.”

  And that’s how the rest of the day goes. We spend lunchtime in the library and afternoon break finding appropriate corners to skulk in. I don’t see Sarah – and part of me’s grateful. I wouldn’t want her exposed to this level of cowardice.

  By the time I get home, I’m tired and depressed. Tony’s out, wooing some client over a pint and a frame, and Mum’s obsessively trying to get more unpacking done. Eventually, I hit the hay, glad to have Thursday done with. And, despite my excitement that the countdown to the Game begins tomorrow morning, I feel uneasy – there’s still plenty of time for everything to go wrong.

  IM: Cheer up! At least you can sleep without fear of being bullied!

  How wrong can you be?

  I’m in bed as the Dream begins. I can feel a surge of darkness from the corner of the room and two burning coal red eyes suddenly blink into life. Unable to move or call out, I anticipate an attack. But it doesn’t come; the eyes just smoulder at me from the shadows.

  Suddenly, two streams of … something … flow out from where my assailant lurks. It’s like a cross between Spider-Man’s webbing and sticky tape. These gluey ropes seem to have a life of their own and they wrap themselves round me, over and over, binding me tight, arms to my side, like a crude version of mummification. The strands operate like tentacles and lift me from my bed to stand me upright in the centre of the room.

  From the shadows, I can hear something like a voice. Having seen the hulking form of my dream-demon in the past, I would’ve expected a deep, resonant growl, but what I get is a sound like a distant shout, as though I’m hearing the fading moments of an echo.

  I stand, bound and trembling, listening to these muted cries, for what seems like an eternity. I wish for a knife or something sharp to cut my bonds, but nothing comes; I’m helpless, entirely at the mercy of the thing in the corner.

  The distant voice stops, fading like smoke into the darkness. The following silence is worse than the weird sounds.

  The creature finally steps from its hiding place and, just before it knocks me to the ground and back into the waking world, I recognize it. Its form has solidified into a craggy, angular mass of muscles and hatred, and it spreads its wings with a gristly creak as it sends me to the floor with a distant bellow.

  It’s my Gargoyle.

  The Glorious Day arrives and I’m knackered. Not even Mum’s excited chirruping can raise my spirits; her extra fiddling with my collar and smoothing back of my hair is just annoying. Tony waves me off with a parting, “Go get her, Tiger,” which sends my IM into apoplexy and it’s only thanks to my well-honed EM that I’m able to stop myself shouting “TOSSER!” at the top of my voice. Although I do mutter the word to myself on the walk to school, over and over, like some sort of mantra.

  It’s not that the Dream scares me; I’ve had enough now to be able to shake them off pretty quickly. But there’s something unsettling about your hobby turning on you in the middle of the night. At least Nox Noctis came out well. I give her a final appraisal before I set off for school. She’s sexy, but not too sexy.

  IM: Is there such a thing?

  But I think what really makes her are the skin tones – the blobbing and the colour-wash have united almost perfectly. This model would be worth entering into the next Games Day Painting Competition, but I think I’m probably going to end up giving it to Sarah. Men usually give flowers; Geeks give miniature witches.

  At school, the gang are excited, but trying not to show it – it’s the Geek way. Partly it’s because you don’t want other people to hear you hopping up and down and saying how you’re going to smite the Foes of Darkness with your Level 4Dwarf, and partly because, secretly, we’re all trying to elevate the Game from what it actually is: a game. Not that we’ve got any illusions that it is anything else, but we’re not settling down for an evening of Ludo. So, rather than slapping each other on the back and shouting about Lazarus Potions, we give each other sly looks and coded comments, preserving what little dignity we actually have. And all the time, we’re on the look-out for Humphries, who remains an unseen threat throughout the morning.

  Lunchtime arrives and I head for the school gates. Beggsy intercepts me before I get there.

  “Dude! Where you going?”

  “Into town, mate. Just to get some stuff for tonight.”

  “Yeah?” Beggsy chucks me a confused look; what could I possibly need for tonight? We’ve got the Game, we’ve got the figures … we’ve even got the girl! Who could ask for anything more?

  “Yeah. Just some stuff.”

  “’K, dude. Catch you later.” He high-fives me and heads for the dinner hall.

  This is the first time I’ve ever been off-premises without permission and I’m already feeling like a criminal. The feeling is enhanced by the others going in the same direction; they’re of a type. This is all going to sound a bit snobby, but people judge me for being a Geek, so I think I’m allowed to pass a few sentences of my own. The people mooching away from the gates seem to be those who don’t really want to be at school in the first place – the skirts are tighter, hoods cowl sloping brows and walks become struts. I’m now a lone gazelle on the Serengeti of Disaffected Youth. My EM ramps it up a notch and I opt for the head-down, hands-in-pockets approach; it’s amazing how interesting your own feet can become when you’re trying to go unnoticed.

  Town feels safer; there are shoppers out and about and office workers grazing on sandwiches – more cover for a solitary Geek to exploit. While the strutting, cackling predators march through the crowds, signalling their approach with hoots and shrieks, I hug the walls, seeking the camouflage offered by gossiping old ladies and mothers with children.

  IM: You’re a regular Conan the Barbarian.

  As I pass the Hovel, I give the window a quick look, taking temporary comfort from the colours and shapes on display. But I’m not headed there today. There’s an alley, not far from the Hovel, and that’s where Google has told me I need to go. If I’m to find incense anywhere this lunchtime, it’ll be there.

  I round the corner into the alley, unseen by the tottering troupes of two-legged baboons from my school. It’s a shabby little shop, bearing the name “Manisha” in the sort of writing you see on Indian restaurants. Knowing my luck, it means something like “Shop For Unrequited Love”.

  IM: There’s that word again…

  An old-fashioned bell tinkles above the door as I go in and I know I’m in the right place. Apart from the rows of shelves selling crystals, oddly shaped candles and statues of Buddha, the smell of incense is overpowering. Although it’s a bit flowery, it creates the feeling I was looking for – already I could be somewhere otherworldly; time seems suspended and I feel my stresses gradually diminishing. The incense is located near the back of the shop, so I wander through, briefly taking in the books about witchcraft and listening to the gentle jingles of the wind chimes that hang from the ceiling.

  The incense comes in either sticks or cones and in a number of different
fragrances.

  IM: Which one?

  Luckily, there’s a chart on the wall giving details of the various properties of each fragrance. I opt for Patchouli cones, which, according to the chart, are “a must for all special occasions”. Unfortunately, even the white paper bag the shopkeeper wraps them in doesn’t completely disguise their perfume; I’ve got to get these into my school bag ASAP, or I’m going to smell like a temple for the rest of the day.

  Fate, however, has other ideas. As I round the corner back into the town centre, I’m confronted with the sight of Jason Humphries and his Pack of Grunts propping up a shop. They don’t get in my way or anything; they’re too busy smoking and grunting with something that might be a girl under all that make-up. Humphries, however, clocks me straight away and while he doesn’t move or speak, he fixes me with his cold, dead eyes, an alligator-smile playing on his lips.

  IM: Oh, God.

  My legs are already filling with adrenalin, readying me to run. But he doesn’t come for me. Instead, the six-pack in his forehead flexes just because it can. I don’t know whether to look away, which might signify disrespect, or to meet his gaze, which would signal some sort of challenge. Instead, I try to do a bit of both, blinking and nodding frantically and half whispering an “all right?” in his general direction.

  IM: That’s it – you show ’em!

  Just as I’m almost out of his eyeline, he responds with a slow, measured nod and mouths a single word.

  “Tonight.”

  IM: Might as well start digging your grave now.

  But, as far as I know, he still doesn’t know where I live.

  IM: Keep praying.

  I do. All through Maths and all through Physics.

  The post-school walk home ought to be an excited babble of what’s going to happen tonight. Ordinarily, my mates would be trying to get clues out of me as to what’s in store in the Tomb of the Sleepless, and I’d be responding with smug teasers and chucking in the occasional red herring. And in the light of recent events, we ought to be discussing The Presence Of A Girl For The First Time. But today my mates are trying to reassure me that Jason Humphries’s threat is an empty one.