Darren Shan - Demon Thief (Demonata, Book 2)

Demonata - 02

Darren Shan

People think Im crazy because I see lights. Ive seen them all my life. Strange, multicoloured patches of light swirling through the air. The patches are different sizes, some as small as a coin, others as big as a cereal box. All sorts of shapesoctagons, triangles, decagons. Some have thirty or forty sides. I dont know the name for a forty-sided shape. Quadradecagon?

No circles. All of the patches have at least two straight edges. There are a few with curves or semi-circular bulges, but not many.

Every colour imaginable. Some shine brightly, others glow dully. Occasionally a few of the lights pulse, but normally they just hang there, glowing.

When I was younger I didnt know the lights were strange. I thought everybody saw them. I described them to Mum and Dad, but they thought I was playing a game, seeking attention. It was only when I started school and spoke about the lights in class that it became an issue. My teacher, Miss Tyacke, saw that I wasnt making up stories, that I really believed in the lights.

Miss Tyacke called Mum in. Suggested they took me to somebody better qualified to understand what the lights signified. But Mums never had much time for psychiatrists. She thinks the brain can take care of itself. She asked me to stop mentioning the lights at school, but otherwise she wasnt concerned.

So I stopped talking about the lights, but the damage had already been done. Word spread among the childrenKernel Fleck is weird. Hes not like us. Stay away from him.

I never made man friends after that.

My names Cornelius, but I couldnt say that when I was younger. The closest I could get was Kernel. Mum and Dad thought that was cute and started using it instead of my real name. It stuck and now thats what everybody calls me.

I think some parents shouldnt be allowed to name their kids. There should be a committee to forbid names which will cause problems later. I mean, even without the lights, what chance did I have of fitting in with any normal crowd with a name like Kernelor CorneliusFleck!

We live in a city. Mums a university lecturer. Dads an artist who also does some freelance teaching. (He actually spends more time teaching than drawing, but whenever anyone asks, he says hes an artist.) We live on the third floor of an old warehouse which has been converted into apartments. Huge rooms with very high ceilings. I sometimes feel like a Munchkin, or Jack in the giants castle.

Dads very good with his hands. He makes brilliant model aeroplanes and hangs them from the wooden beams of my bedroom ceiling. When they start to clutter the place up, or if we just get the urge one lazy Sunday afternoon, the pair of us make bombs out of apples, conkerswhatever we can find thats hard and roundand launch them at the planes. We fire away until we run out of ammo or all the planes are destroyed. Then Dad sets to work on new models and we do it all over again. At the moment the ceilings about a third full.

I like it here. Our apartment is great; were close to lots of shops, a cool adventure playground, museums, cinemas galore. Schools OK too. I dont make friends, but I like my teachers and the buildingwe have a first-rate lab, a projection room, a massive library. And I never get beaten upI roar automatically when Im fighting, which isnt good news for bullies who dont want to attract attention!

But Im not enjoying life. Im lonely. Ive always been a loner, but it didnt bother me when I was younger. I liked being by myself. I read lots of books and comics, watched dozens of TV shows, invented imaginary friends to play with. I was happy.

That changed recently. I dont know why, but I dont like being alone now. I feel sad when I see groups of friends having a good time. I want to be one of them. I want friends wholl tell me jokes and laugh at mine, who I can discuss television shows and music with, wholl pick me to be on their team. I try getting to know people, but the harder I try, the more they avoid me. I sometimes hover at the edge of a group, ignored, and pretend Im part of it. But if I speak, it backfires. They glare at me suspiciously, move away or tell me to get lost. Go watch some lights, freak!

The loneliness got really bad this last month. Nothing interests me any more. The hours drag, especially at home or when I have free time at school. I cant distract myself. My mind wanders. I keep thinking about friends and how I dont have any, that Im alone and might always be. Ive talked with Mum and Dad about it, but its hard to make them understand how miserable I am. They say things will change when Im older, but I dont believe them. Ill still be weird, whatever age I am. Why should people like me more then than now?

I try so hard to fit in. I watch the popular shows and listen to the bands I hear others raving about. I read all the hot comics and books. Wear trendy clothes when Im not at school. Swear and use all the cool catchphrases.

It doesnt matter. Nothing works. Nobody likes me. Im wasting my time. This past week, Ive got to thinking that Im wasting my entire life. Ive had dark, horrible thoughts, where I can only see one way out, one way of stopping the pain and loneliness. I know its wrong to think that waylife can never be that badbut its hard not to. I cry when Im aloneonce or twice Ive even cried in class. Im eating too much food, putting on weight. Ive stopped washing and my skins got greasy. I dont care. I want to look like the freak I feel I am.

Late at night. In bed. Im playing with the patches of light, trying not to think about the loneliness. Ive always been able to play with the lights. I remember being three or four years old, the lights all around me, reaching out and moving them, trying to fit them together like jigsaw pieces. Normally, the lights remain at a distance of several feet, but I can call them closer when I want to play with them.

The patches arent solid. Theyre like floating scraps of plastic. If I look at a patch from the side, its almost invisible. I can put my fingers through them, like ordinary pools of light. But, despite that, when I want to move a patch, I can. If I focus on a light, it glides towards me, stopping when I tell it. Reaching out, I push at one of the edges with my fingers. I dont actually touch it, but as my fingers get closer, the light moves in whatever direction Im pushing. When I stop, the light stops.

I figured out very early on that I could put patches together to make patterns. Ive been doing it ever since, at night, or during lunch at school when I have nobody to play with. Lately, Ive been playing with them more than ever. Sometimes, the lights are the only way I have to escape the miserable loneliness.

I like making weird shapes, like Picasso paintings. I saw a programme on him at school a couple of years ago and felt an immediate connection. I think Picasso saw lights too, only-he didnt tell anyone. People wouldnt have thought he was a great artist if he said he saw lightstheyd have said he was a nutcase, like me.

The shapes I make are nowhere near as fabulous as Pablo Picassos paintings. Im no artist. I just try to create interesting designs. Theyre rough, but I like them. They never last. The shapes hold for as long as Im studying them, but once I lose interest, or fall asleep, they come undone and the pieces drift apart, returning to their original positions in the air around me.

The one Im making tonight is particularly jumbled. Im finding it hard to concentrate. Joining the pieces randomly, with no real purpose. Its a mess. I cant stop thinking about not having any friends. Feeling wretched. Wishing I had at least one true friend, someone whod care about me and play with me, so I wasnt completely alone.

As Im thinking about that, a few of the patches pulse. No big deal. Lights have pulsed before. Usually, I ignore them. But tonight, sad and desperate to divert my train of thought, I summon a couple, study them with a frown, then put them together and call for the rest of the flashing patches. As I add those pieces to the first two, more lights pulse, some slowly, some quickly.