Headstone

by R J Dent

I walked up the hill from school and found it.

          It wasn’t like finding money – you know, when you start to sweat and look around, feeling guilty because your good fortune is someone else’s misfortune, but glad and elated at the same time. No, it wasn’t like that at all. This was more like an intense feeling of recognition, almost as though I’d always been looking for it and it had – at last – turned up. I picked it up quickly and, after making sure no one was in my immediate vicinity, studied it carefully.

          It was a skull-shaped, brown stone. It was about the size of an egg, although it weighed a little heavier. I liked the natural marks on it; two small indentations that looked like eye sockets, thin grooves that served as rows of teeth. It looked like a miniature human skull.

          It felt comfortable in my hand, which gave the impression that it somehow belonged to me. I also felt, despite it only being a stone, that it was somehow special. So I gave it a name: Headstone. That’s what it would be known as – by me – from now on. The name fitted it perfectly and sounded right too.

          Clutching my precious find, I continued up the hill, then turned into the street in which I lived. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts about Headstone that I didn’t notice David and Carl Evans until it was too late. I was pushed from behind and went sprawling on to the ground, scraping my knee and my left hand. Despite my surprise, I managed to keep hold of Headstone. Outraged, I scrambled to my feet, my heart sinking when I saw who my attackers were.

          The Evans twins were the toughest boys in the school. They had that title because there were two of them and the always fought as a duo, even against one person – which was usually the case. As they stood there, waiting for a response, David – the eldest by half an hour – noticed that I had something in my right hand.