The yellow paper shone in September sunshine. It had to. Otherwise it wouldn’t have caught the boy’s eye. He didn’t know names. Names weren’t important. Names were never important when playing with people. Set up a piece of paper somewhere, wait for the first idiot to walk past and see it, then you’re off. Because after that point they’re in the game too. And they search up the clues, meaningless clues on the paper, and follow a trail that doesn’t really exist, which for some reason he set up hours before, knowing it started and finished right here on this exact spot. He smiled to himself as the boy wandered away. The boy was holding a bottle of milk. Light Blue cap. After a time, he left also. He had to make sure the rest of the sequence was correct. It only worked if they got to the end. Getting lost halfway through wasn’t an option.
The paper was confusing. What was it, and why was it there? He had only got to get milk, but somehow come back home with a renewed interest in the world. Laying it on the kitchen bench, he poured himself some cereal of some description. He didn’t even notice what kind. He was just doing it to carry on some misguided routine. He noticed the yellow paper, seconds before it slid cleanly out of the cereal box and into his bowl. “Get milk” it said. But he’d just done that. So it was pointless. Discarding the outdated scrap of paper, he sat down to eat and mull over the other one. “Silo control room,” it said. He ate the cereal, and grabbed his laptop from nearby. Running the phrase “Silo control room” through Google Maps, only one result showed. In the City.
The boy would follow clues, he seemed smart and interested. Or just plain bored. He was. So he laid the next five clues, all in sequence, all able to be followed, leaving a prize of sorts with each one, a piece of refill paper, a hairclip, a pen. Small, meaningless items. If the boy had a GPS, this would be no trouble at all. He had read about geo-caching, and thought it sounded a good idea. So he was testing it out. The final clue for the boy was placed just off the motorway. If he could get there, the final inconsequential prize would be delivered, direct to his door. Some people called him psychopathic. Never to his face. No-one ever saw his face, but he heard them say it. He’d heard the word stalker too. Couldn’t see the problem.
The boy caught the bus into the City. It really wasn’t hard. Get to Britomart, and you were in. Then it was simply a matter of aimless wandering. He’d made sense of the first clue, and his smartphone was turned on. This game would be easy. He thought. The next five clues were easy. They were just in different places around the city. But the seventh total clue kicked up some fuss. It said “scouts”. That was it. All he got. He’d have to do research. So he sat down at Britomart, near a fast food outlet of some description (again, he didn’t pay attention). He sat down in Britomart and he researched.
The final clue was laid. All was ready. If he got this right, he would receive his final prize. The most extravagant prize he could think of.
The boy stood up. The clue was at a Scouts’ Hall, just off the motorway.
Getting there was easy. The clue just said, “go home”. The boy had no idea what
the clue meant. He supposed people liked to die at home. The boy arrived at his
house just after 6. A full day of following clues. As he descended the drive, he
noticed the package on his doorstep. A bottle of milk. The way this whole thing
had started. Except …
“But, I only drink LIGHT blue”. He heard it from the
distance, and kicked himself. The game, however, was now complete. He walked
away, now, satisfied. For the time being.
The boy was in bed. He didn’t notice the shadow just outside his window.