The Boy Who Could See Demons Read Online Free PDF Page B

tiles and pulled out a notebook and pen from my satchel. Alex fidgeted a bit, glancing at Michael, who was sitting on the sofa at the other side of the room. Eventually, Alex sat down opposite me.
    ‘Do you mind if I take notes during our conversation, Alex?’
    He made himself comfortable, crossing his legs and holding on to his ankles. He nodded. ‘I write stuff down, too.’
    ‘You write?’ I asked. ‘Stories? Poems? A diary?’
    At the third attempt, his eyes lit up.
    ‘Me too. I find writing things down helps me clarify them,’ I said, holding up my notebook, but he was still staring at the corner, deep in thought.
    ‘How did you get that?’ he said when he spotted my facial scar.
    ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, fingering the jagged groove on my cheek, reminding myself to keep my emotions in check. ‘Have you ever fallen off your bike?’
    ‘I cut my knee once.’ A long pause while he reflected on this. Then: ‘Why are you wearing a bottle top for a necklace?’
    He was looking at the silver talisman around my neck. I showed him. ‘It’s not a bottle top. It’s called an SOS talisman. It’s to tell people what treatment I need in case I experience something called an anaphylactic shock.’
    He repeated the words anaphylactic shock . ‘What is that?’
    ‘I’m allergic to nuts.’
    His blue eyes widened. ‘Even peanuts?’
    ‘Yep.’
    He considered this. ‘And peanut butter?’
    ‘That too.’
    He cocked his head. ‘Why?’
    ‘My body doesn’t like them.’
    He held me more firmly in his gaze now, inspecting me like I might explode at any moment or grow a second head.
    ‘So what would happen if you ate, like, a Snickers or something?’
    I would probably stop breathing , I thought, but instead I said: ‘I would fall straight to sleep.’
    His eyes widened. ‘Do you snore?’
    I laughed out loud. ‘Michael tells me you’ve got some great jokes. I love jokes. Can you tell me your favourite?’
    He looked back at me and, after a moment of contemplation, slowly shook his head. ‘I can’t,’ he said, very seriously. ‘I’ve too many favourites.’
    I gave him a minute to think, then: ‘Shall I tell you one of my favourites?’
    ‘No, I’ve got one,’ he said, and cleared his throat. ‘Statistically, six out of seven dwarves aren’t Happy.’
    It took me a second or two to get it, but when I did, I laughed so hard that Alex’s face lit up like a Chinese lantern.
    ‘I didn’t write that one,’ he said quickly.
    ‘You write your own jokes as well?’
    ‘It’s for a play I’m in. I’m playing someone called Horatio.’
    ‘You’re in Hamlet?’
    He informed me that the play was a modern version of Shakespeare’s original, that he would be performing it at the Grand Opera House in a few weeks and would I like to come along?
    ‘I’d love to,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘I bet your mum is really proud. Have you shared any of your jokes with her?’
    He nodded and looked immensely sad. ‘She hasn’t laughed in a long, long time.’
    ‘Sometimes people don’t laugh on the outside,’ I offered, ‘but they still laugh on the inside.’
    He contemplated this, but I noticed his right hand had crept up to his shirt collar and was tugging at it as if it had suddenly become too tight. I allowed the silence to move past the point of discomfort.
    ‘You mean, people laugh internally ?’ Alex said at last. ‘Like, internal laughing instead of internal bleeding?’
    The association took me aback, a little. I let him continue.
    ‘I think I know what you mean,’ he said slowly. ‘I used to laugh internally when my dad was still alive.’
    I tread lightly on this topic. ‘Can you tell me what you mean?’
    Alex glanced at me warily. His hand had not dropped from his collar.
    ‘Sort of. Or more like, I’d do stuff that I liked to do but when he was around I’d do it quietly. Like writing and drawing. That made me happy in here,’ he pressed a fist against his chest, ‘even though