Purple Stone

Dark short story

'WHAT HAVE YOU got there?'

'Look, Mum, it's beautiful,' said Patch.

'I hope you're not planning on taking that home?'

'Yeah, it can go with my collection.'

'Patch, you got dozens of rocks and shells. Why bring more?'

'Because, Mum, this is different.'

'What's different about it? It is just a rock.'

'That's what you think. Look again; lift it so it's in front of the sun.'

'It, it's black,' said his Mum, gaping at the lump.

'No, it is dark purple, look again.'

'Yes, you are right. And it's warm.'

'Yes, not only because the sea water is hot. It remains warm even if it is not touching the water.'

'Put it back in the rock pool; come on, your Dad will be hungry.'

Patch splashed with his foot then followed his mother up the beach. He was slipping his rock into his shoulder bag as his Mum turned.

'I thought I said chuck it?'

'You did, but I want to keep this one; I'll throw out some others when we get home, okay?'

'Oh, I suppose so.'

'Dad, we are home. Are you hungry?'

'Yes and no. We need to shop for your school uniform, and then we can all eat.'

'Okay, just popping upstairs for a minute.'

'Where is he going?'

'Oh, he's got a new rock; I guess he's putting it with the rest,' said Mum.

'I'd better go and look, show him I'm interested.'

'I'd be happier if he binned the lot; at least we can keep the room dust-free.'

'What have you got, Patch?'

'Look, Dad, we found this today. A purple rock.'

'A purple rock, are you sure? Can I?'

'Yeah, it is warm.'

'How can it be warm? Did you wash it with hot water?'

'No, Dad, it is always warm.'

'Let me see. Strange. Anyway, let's go.'

Patch placed his treasure in precisely the same spot.

'Dad, it moved,' Patch said.

'Don't be daft; you must have knocked it.'

'Thai schools are a pain. You have to get this in this shop, you have to get that in that shop, and the blazer, we have to order. Christ, this list is endless.'

'Are English schools any easier?' asked Mum.

'No, I suppose not,' said Dad, laughing.

'I could go to an American school; they don't wear a uniform,' said Patch.

'Food, then more shopping and then home.'

It was getting dark when they unpacked their goodies and humped the bags indoors.

Patch ran upstairs and squealed, 'Who moved my rock?'

'No one has been up there. We've all been out together, remember?' said Mum.

'Well, someone moved it, look.'

Mum and Dad traipsed up to witness the crime.

'What? That's where you put it,' said Dad.

'No, it wasn't, I put it there.' Patch moved it two inches to the left.

'Maybe it wants to be in the moon's glow,' Mother snorted as she pointed at the gap in the curtains.

'Yeah, must be. I'm going to search Google and then sleep. Dad, do we have any nuclear reactors in Thailand?'

'Um, no, I don't think so. China, Korea, and, of course, Japan; maybe you are getting mixed up about the accident they had over there? Why do you ask?'

'Maybe my rock is purple because of a nuclear reaction?'

'So, how do you think it got here from Fukushima?'

'On a fishing boat, then chucked overboard by a sailor, then washed up on our beach?'

'Okay, whatever you say, get to sleep. Sweet dreams.'

After ten minutes of tossing and turning, Patch dropped off, snoring gently. The full moon shone its gleam through the gap between the curtains.

'Why do you think that rock has such a strange colouring?' Patch's Mum asked.

'I've no idea; I'm going to Google it and see if I can't find out.' He was busy tapping on his phone.

'Here, look, “these rocks often contain trace amounts of minerals that give them their distinct purple hue. The wide range of purple rocks, minerals, and gems makes them sought after by collectors and enthusiasts. These objects can be used to create stunning jewellery or admired for their unique beauty." There you are; Patch may have found something worth keeping for a change.'

'Or it can be more like the rusty bolt, "Oh, Mum, it came from a pirate ship," or the split golf ball, "It must have been one of the pro's balls when he was practising bunker shots," or the conch shell, "Granny got it for me in Greece," or the hundred other bits of rubbish up there.'

'Don't worry about it; it is good for a lad to have a hobby.' They both laughed and opened a large bottle of beer.

Upstairs, a scraping noise broke the silence; Patch stirred and turned, and the purple rock slid into the moon glow as if basking. It throbbed, in and out like an athlete panting after a 10,000-metre race.

Patch sat up and looked around, he was alone, but it felt like someone was watching him. Rubbing his eyes, he crept to his cabinet. Where was his purple rock?

Looking closer in the moon gloom, the rock had flattened. Now, it appeared to have changed shape completely, similar to a beached jellyfish, a purple one. He scratched his head and peered closer, daring to touch the oddly shaped pancake.

'What is it?' he breathed as he dared to poke it with his index finger; it sank in until he touched the wood beneath. He opened his palm and gently squashed down. The jelly squiggled sideways. Then it toughened into an eggless omelette, which now felt like rubber and strong with hidden power.

'Get off me,' he whispered. The jelly caught each finger, sucking and pecking at each digit as it moved up and over his wrist; the immature hairs on his forearm stood as if to pay attention to the wobbly staff sergeant. Patch froze, and his eyes were glued to purple sludge.

It leapt, covering Patch's face and flattening from ear to ear, from hairline to chin. It sucked and sucked; Patch stumbled backwards until he was sitting on his bed. He couldn't breathe. He grabbed the bedding into knots.

A cracking broke the silence as nose cartilage, cheekbones and teeth splintered. Then, the purple sludge regained its shape.

The rock sat there as if looking and listening.

'Wake up, Patch,' his mother shouted as she climbed the stairs, 'Breakfast is ready; another day beach combing if you want,' his mother burst into his room and screamed.

A thumping storm of heavy footfall chased in, 'What's the matter, all the screaming?'

She pointed at their son, lying on his back, sightless eyes aiming at the purple rock.

Patch's face is boneless, flat, and deflated like a kid's punctured ball.

Patch's father tapped the emergency number on his mobile, handed it to his wife, and she shouted in Thai for an ambulance.

They hugged and waited. Father then bent and picked up the purple stone, not noticing it was warmer, heavier and more extensive. He placed it back in its place. Then, he sat with his wife and cried.

The END

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