The next day Sarah and her children walked into the bowels of the Earth.  They were brought before CID’s Mr Clive Welsh and David was interrogated under caution on police tape.  David was a “suspect” of arson for no other reason than he “talks about fires, has an obsession with Demons” and “writes about evil.”  Sarah was staggered at the police misrepresentation and the character assassination of her ten-year-old kid. The truth was David was innocently answering questions from his textbook, which happened to be about a fire.  He writes about lots of things in the world - good and evil, as part of his Home Education.  The spiritual bit was something that had happened to all the family and it had not been invited.  Surely he wasn’t being accused for being a victim?  Nothing would surprise Sarah anymore, though.  It seemed that because real criminals are too tough a nut to crack, the victims get targeted instead.

            CID began by asking David if he knew the difference between telling lies and telling the truth.  Sarah was bursting to ask D I Welsh if he knew, but forced herself to remain restrained.  She couldn’t resist a little grin though when her son replied, “I’d be telling lies if I told you I had a gun in my pocket.”

            The interview took one hour.  The detective spent most of that time questioning David on his workbooks.  He was concerned that David had written words such as “bastard” in his essays and he was more concerned that his mother had not corrected him on the use of such a word but rather on the spelling of it.  David had written a story entitled “A fly on the wall”.  In it he had described the grubby goings on in the house opposite them.  He spoke of white powder changing hands, big fat grumpy men with wads of ten pound notes, hushed discussions, naked women.... He wrote about screaming ladies and young girls - barely twelve, in full make-up, short skirts and high heels, coming and going at all hours of the night.  He told of car-boots containing boxes of lager and vodka, and he wrote about the ladies he’d seen in the window.... the topless ones… some of whom were bending over.  He saw different men coming up to them, dropping their pants and having sex with them from behind.  Then he described the spankings that he’d seen....

            “Young lads shouldn’t be writing about sex and drugs and you shouldn’t allow it,” said the sanctimonious D I.  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to recommend that David be ordered to attend school.  Wouldn’t you agree Mrs Winterbottom?” he enquired solemnly to the middle-aged, fat and stuffy police social worker, sitting beside him. 

            The stuck-up woman peered poker-facedly over her specs and fixed her expressionless black eyes on the “subject” before steadfastly nodding her agreement.

            “Excuse me, may I express an opinion?” interrupted Sarah as she flew to her son’s aid.  “I would like to point out that the crime here is not that my son writes about such things but that he should be subjected to such smut on his own doorstep since it is our revered authorities who FAIL to deal with the squatters that camp there and they FAIL to arrest the drug dealers and they FAIL to bring to book the pimps - parasites who make slaves of women and live off immoral earnings.  I do believe the ball is in your court Mr Welsh.  YOU are the one FAILING in your line of duty.  Furthermore our neighbourhood [myself included] have campaigned and petitioned tirelessly for the closure of that brothel but it seems that the voices of dirty men in grey macs are louder than the cries of protest from decent, unassuming families which include children.  And as for your desire to dump my child in school, you forget that it is not your job to judge my son’s education.  That is for the Local Education Authority who have already sanctioned our methods, ethos and aims.”

            But the esteemed official was undeterred.  He wittered on about David’s terminology being inappropriate and he even criticized David for using the word “corruption”.  He accused his mother of being a bad influence, then he began blabbing on about Demons and Angels and he asked David to describe what he’d seen and heard regarding his apparitions.

            “He’s obviously a very bright child and mature beyond his years, wouldn’t you agree Mrs Winterbottom?  But it worries me that he sees devils and hears voices.  I think he started the fire because one of the spirits told him to do so.”

            The stout social worker stuck her two-peneth worth in:

            “Yes, probably without him realising the seriousness of what he was doing.  I’m going to have to recommend that he sees a psychiatrist....”

            “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” blasted Sarah.  “My son is being hounded for being honest.  He isn’t the only one who has experienced this weird phenomena.  We all have.  Why aren’t you questioning me? I’d rather you point your self-righteous fingers at me rather than my defenceless child.  For heaven’s sakes, where are your morals?”

            “We’re not charging your son Ms Hawthorn.  We’re concerned about him,” lied the CID official. 

            “Concerned, my foot,” snarled Sarah.  “The only person who cares about my kids is me.  Your type put kids in ‘care’ where kids are raped and buggered and are called liars if they dare to tell.  They haven’t got a cat in hells chance of any justice because men of any clout, men of high standing and authority close ranks to protect their own.... their paedophile pals.  And in any case, you haven’t got one iota of proof that my son started that fire.  You only have your subjective opinion.  It doesn’t count.  It wouldn’t stand up in court.”

            “Well, you’d better have a good lawyer,” snapped the D I. “ Do you have anything else to say before I seal the tape?”

            “Yeah, David is God’s Chosen One,” belched Sarah, so cheesed off at the attitude of the time-wasting, bungling bureaucrats.  Why weren’t they out there making the world a safer place and saving the poor, forgotten, wretched children?  She caught sight of the snooty social worker who by now had her jaw somewhat close to the floor.

            “Miss Winterbottom thinks she’s a goldfish,” sniggered Sarah, quietly, to her kids as they got up to leave.

When they finally escaped the jaws of death, Sarah draped a consoling arm over her kids’ shoulders:

            “Hey you did a great job in there Davie.  I know it’s hard on you both but try to detach yourself somehow.  You know, try to imagine that all this isn’t really happening.  Don’t think of them as picking on you.   And remember you are right, they are wrong.  They are just closed-minded, pompous prats.  You’re special cos God speaks to you, not them.  They’re probably a little jealous.”

            “I didn’t tell him much about the spirits.  Police and social workers don’t deserve to know,” asserted her son. 

            Anna piped up, “Only the good can be enlightened.”

            Sarah squeezed her kids harder.  How proud she was of her stoic offspring.