The Warning

The rain had hammered down for days, and the ditch had turned into a river, hurtling round the usually sleepy bends and splashing up the banks. The swing still hung over the deeper part of the ditch; the sides indented by the pathway worn by children’s trainers which was now a muddy slope instead of the usual dusty groove.

The rope was soaked through, slippy and a bit slimy but just as tempting as ever for small hands. Being indoors was no hardship with games to play and the new Xbox that arrived on Christmas morning still shiny and new, but even that gets stale after a while when you are 11, and as the watery sun broke through the January rainclouds, James was ready to run around and do something else. He texted two of his mates, but when he got to the swing they were not yet there. Hurray! He had it all to himself and would be able to get several swings in before anyone got there. He scrambled down the bank, jumped up and grabbed the loop tied into the rope. It took a few goes, and once he slipped and sat down hard in the mud, but his Mum never made much fuss about dirt, so he didn’t stress about it. He grabbed the rope and climbed back up the muddy slope, sliding a little as the mud squelched into his trainers and socks. He stood poised on the top of the bank, holding the rope, and pulled it as far back as he could be ready to make a massive swing.

The river, swelled by rain still falling up in the distant hills, rushed past, the rocks below hidden by the silver sparkling water.

Then he saw the man. Tall, with a shock of silver blond hair and very blue eyes. The man had not been there before, it was as if he materialised on the other bank which was thickly wooded with no paths. The man looked straight at James and smiled a slightly lopsided smile, and then shook his head. James heard a voice, in his ear right next to him. Don’t jump James. Don’t jump. Come back another day.

The river, swelled by rain still falling up in the distant hills, rushed past, the rocks below hidden by the silver sparkling water.

James was, in many ways, a fearless child. His mother had always let him climb that tree, splash in that puddle and ride his bike as fast as he could. She was always there if he fell out or got wet or fell off. He was suddenly intensely aware of being quite alone, even though he could see the blond man on the bank. Mum was over the field and down the footpath, which oddly seemed like a very long way away now.

He thought for a while, and then let go of the rope. As it swung away from him, he saw that the man was no longer there, James was not sure he had ever been there. He heard shouting behind him, Mikey and TJ were calling him over to the football pitch behind the houses. That evening his Mum fluffed his shock of silver blond hair, still sticking up from his much needed bath, and smiled into his bright blue eyes. “Did you have a good day son?” she asked. James smiled in his characteristic lopsided way. “Yep”. It had been a good day….