Synopsis
When Joshua's grandmother hands him a battered old shoe-box on his eleventh birthday, it appears to contain nothing more than a collection of small ebony figures of such poor quality that they can be of little worth, or so he thinks. Later that night in his bedroom, Joshua discovers that the old woman's gift holds an astonishing secret. When he grips any one of the seven figures and thinks the forbidden thoughts a remarkable thing happens, he transforms into whatever animal the figure represents. Trouble is, the carvings are so crude that until he actually tries it, the lad has no idea into what creature he will morph. On his first attempt he explodes into a small brown rat, unfortunately this happens in front of Frank, the family cat who, despite being somewhat taken aback, duly attempts to kill the hapless rodent.
Josh quickly masters the finer points of transformation and decides to use his newfound powers to sort out a rather
tiresome bullying problem he and his best friend, Willy, are having at school. But Josh hardly suspects that in so doing he would attract not only the attention of the press, the TV and the police but also some of the darkest and most terrifying forces on earth.
Prologue
Seven years, three months and ten days earlier.
A cloud sailed across the moon, the old man cautiously raised his head above the decrepit dry-stone wall.
"Ah can't see nothin' at all," he whispered, " now dat dere ain't no moon to look by."
He continued to stare blindly into the blackness, his eyes following the sound of the voices as they ebbed and flowed on the swelling breeze.
The cloud sailed on.
"Ah sees 'em now," he said. "Dere's a whole row o' little black specks just spillin' ower de top o' Clayton Rise. Ah'd say dere was about fifteen, maybe more, an' dey is definately police." Pausing a moment to take out his spectacles, he slipped them on and looked again. "Oh God," he sighed, "looks like some o' dems got rifles too."
Struck by a terrible sense of forboding the old man sank back behind the wall. The situation was getting pretty desperate or was set to, he feared, the moment they spotted his friend.
"What de hell am ah doin' here anyway?" he muttered. "Middle o' nowhere - covered in blood - cow shit an' God knows what - an' now it looks like ah'm gonna get maself shot into de bargain - Jesus, what a mess."
Resting the back of his head against the cold stone he chewed his lip and stared back despondently at the black car with its grisly contents. "What the hell do we do now?" he sighed - then gasped in sudden realisation . "Oh shit! One o' de doors is still open! Yuh can see de light for miles; its gonna lead 'em straight to us."
Without hesitating the old man flung himself to the ground and set off on all fours through the damp grass. In minutes he'd reached the car but found the gaping door blocked by one of the bodies. The legs were trapped under the driver's seat while the torso flopped out over the door-cil at an awkward angle. Try as he might, the old man could not shift the weighty cadaver whilst on his knees. The only way of reaching the interior light without getting to his feet, and possibly exposing himself to some eager young police-marksmen, was to kneel on the blood-soaked chest of the dead man. This was no time for qualms. As his knees sank down he felt the blood seep through his trousers and touch his legs like warm treacle. There was a sharp, expensive crack; a pair of broken sunglasses slid slowly from the dead man's top-pocket and onto the grass. Reaching up, the old man feverishly groped around the cars interior light but could not find the switch. In panic he searched around.
"Dat'll do," he mumbled. Prising the pistol from the dead man's hand, he used the butt to smash the light then quickly
scurried off back to the wall. As cool as it was, the sweat dripped freely off his nose end.
Wheezing heavily, the old man peeped above the fagged row of stones and once again scanned the brows and hollows of the darkened fields; it was hard to see anything, but there was no denying the distinct feel of doom's icy fingers closing around his heart. He turned, swallowed hard and took his friend's head between his palms.
"Listen, Zach," he panted, "ah hopes yuh can understand what ah'm savin' cos dere ain't gonna be no time for repeats. Yuh gonna have to lead 'em' away while ah tries to sort out dat mess." He jerked his head in the direction of the car........"Okay?"
Lowering his head once in a gesture of agreement, Zach swung round and bounded off silently towards the line of trees some fifty metres or so away. Just before reaching it he stopped, turned, and for a moment, eyes burning out of the
blackness, he looked back at his old friend, little knowing that it would be for the last time.
"Don't forget," called the old man as loud as he dare, "dey've got guns."
Zach turned and in an instant had melted into the dark dense wood.
Heart hammering against his ribcage, the old man sat behind the wall and waited; he had never wanted a pee as badly in all his life. Although barely a minute had passed since his friend had gone, it seemed much longer before the approaching voices became agitated. The old man peeped over the wall again. To his dismay, the line of police were now no more than two hundred metres away, but they had stopped advancing and were pointing and talking in hushed excitement. Then
suddenly the line broke and they all hurried off in the opposite direction. When he saw those with rifles sling them from their shoulders and hold them at the ready the old man knew immediately that his friend had been spotted.
Not until the figures became specks again and had started to retreat back over the hill, did the old man crawl back to the car and start heaving the two bodies back into it. In his state of near panic, rivers of adrenalin must have surged through the old man's aging system and given him the strength of ten, for within seconds he had crammed the two dead men into the car's single passenger seat and closed the door. Hurriedly picking up the pistol and shotgun, he patted the surrounding grass with the palm of his hand but found nothing else. The keys were still in the ignition. Sliding his backside across the calfskin drivers seat, he pressed the starter, the engine sprang gently to life and ticked over with a low murmuring growl. Leaving off the lights the old man slipped the car into first gear and with his stiffening passengers, trundled away across the clearing towards the main path.
The black car lurched though a gap in the wall and onto the old path. In the silent, blood spattered clearing a pair of
broken sunglasses caught the moon's hoary beam and glistened darkly in the wet grass.
Incongruous in such a place at such a time, the distant hum of a powerful engine filtered back through the trees, then stopped. A few minutes later there was a loud crash. A few minutes more and there came a muffled, but profound thump. Thick black smoke began to pother from a fierce fire somewhere beyond the line of trees.
A single gunshot rang out, echoing like a whiplash over the still woodland. The old man knew that his friend was dead.
***
