Tell the Story to Its End

 

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For Gran,

who would have liked this,

I think.

 

ONE

‘Tell the story to its end,' says Eren with a grin. His yellow eyes are glowing like embers in the night.

‘When I reach the end,' I say, ‘what happens? You'll have the whole story.'

‘Pff!' he laughs. ‘Have it? Have it and own it? Boy,' he says, ‘I am the whole story.'

‘Then what happens if I tell you the last bit?'

‘
When
you tell me, you mean. What happens then?'

I nod. He's huge. There's no attic now, no window, no lights. Just Eren. Eren, and nothing after that.

He's thinking about something and he smiles. ‘Hmm,' he says, looking at me and licking his lips with a dry, grey tongue. ‘What happens then? Why don't we find out?'

Somewhere in my stomach I feel cold and sad. I'm lonely, but the story goes on.

‘There were things you missed,' he says. ‘Eh? Weren't there? Stick with those feelings. The sadness. The hunger. The bump, bump, bump of confusions and hurtings! Oh, boy! Oh, yes. Stick with them. They're good. I like those ones. The dark ones. The real ones. Let me hear those. Tell me 'bout that.'

I nod. ‘Dark ones?'

‘Tell me.' He leans forward, eager, like a child that can't hold back.

I think there's a way out of here. I'm not sure yet. I have an idea, a flicker of something there in my mind.

Well, what's left of my mind.

I think there might be a way. Eren would never tell me, but if you go into a room, there has to be a door, right? Maybe I can leave. Maybe Eren knows that.

He needs me more than he says.

I start to talk, and I hear my voice in the blackness. What am I saying? I hear my voice. ‘I remember the moon. It was bright and slim. It looked like a knife in the sky…'

He licks his lips and laughs and listens.

T
HE MOON
was bright and slim as a knife, a scratch of light in the sky. It glinted off the water on the road. Clump, clump, clump. Another jolt, another bump. I reached forward to squeeze Mum's hand. ‘What a ride!'

She smiled and nodded. She didn't want to talk. ‘Yeah. Quite a ride. Can't be long now, though. There soon, I'm sure. There soon.'

I fogged the window with my breath. Moonlight was shining off the branches of the trees outside. Mum always hated travelling. Anything was better than this road, all rocks and grass and puddles and nothing like London. She was clinging to the seat so hard that her knuckles had turned white. The forest went on and on. It was huge, black, all pine trees and shadows stretching up from the road and rolling over the horizon, crashing into the sky.

‘Not long now,' she said again.

‘Not that either,' said our driver, and he slowed the car right down. Mr Pugh smelled of smoke and sang songs while he drove, all under his breath with a grin spread wide on his face. I heard him muttering in his croaky voice, ‘Easy, now! Whoa, whoa! Steady, gal,' talking to the car like it was a horse.

Weird.

I looked back out the window, searching around. The trees were clearing away and I could make out the lights of a village ahead. Ever seen the way light catches on fish when they splash and jump in water? They looked like that, the houses and everything, all sitting in the valley, shining out, blinking at the night sky.

‘We're on the last stretch now, ma'am,' said Mr Pugh, ‘so I'd think, eh, ten minutes, give or take. Should be less bumpy from now.'

‘Thank you, Mr Pugh,' said Mum, and she sighed with relief. Her cheeks were flushing red. She turned in her seat to face me, smiled again and winked. ‘Soon there, he said! Better get your scarf on, Oli, it's a cold night. Can you believe it's July? If it gets much worse it'll kill the poor flowers.'

I pressed my nose against the glass. I made myself not think of London, not think of everything I'd miss. I stared into the night, just stared and stared and waited. I could feel every flinch of Mum's hands.

‘There's, like, no buildings,' I said.

‘Ha! No
tall
buildings, perhaps. You're spoiled in the city, Oli. Coxborough is big enough. And you get to meet Rob at last. And see how the house looks.'

My Uncle Rob and his tiny country town. I'd never been here, never met him before, never even heard his voice on the phone, but suddenly here we were, on the way to my grandmother's house.
Our new home
, Mum had said.
For now
. I'd heard about the fun she'd had there growing up, about the games and the food and the light, and then about Gran's sickness, and the quiet and the dust and the sadness. It'd been empty for years, but Uncle Rob had moved back in, to build a life and make things better.

‘Ah, it's been too long! I really wish we'd brought you out here before. If only your father would just—' She stopped and tutted and looked away.

‘When's Dad coming?'

Mum sucked in her breath and sat up. ‘Soon! Honestly, where's your spirit of adventure?'

I knew I was supposed to be excited. I sat back again and let my mind wander.

*   *   *

I jumped out of the car as soon as we stopped. Mr Pugh got out slowly and walked around to Mum's side, nodding a little as he gave her his hand to climb out. He winked at me and touched his hat. ‘Ey up, little master!' he said. The wind whipped around us, and for a moment we all just stood and stared up at the house. It was
huge
. Three floors of wood and stone, black sets of windows covering the front, small, smoking chimneys jutting out of the top. I raised my eyebrows as I craned my neck right back.

Mum laughed, then shivered. ‘Just as I remember. The same door – my word, the same paint! Nothing changes.' The front door was red, a fantastic, mad red, with a faded silver knocker shaped like a cat in the centre. She looked down at me with a smile.

‘Well, come on then, inside with us! Mr Pugh, could you get the first bags?' She pulled her shawl over her shoulders as we walked up the front steps. Mum tapped the door with the back of her hand three times. She stamped her feet on the mat. ‘Can't make his own family wait too long, can he?'

There was a sound from inside, a rush of paws and a small, excited bark, then a thump on the inside of the door. Mum sighed. ‘He's still got that thing, then.'

‘I like dogs,' I said. The dog barked and scratched at the other side of the door.

‘Jasper!' came a deep, sudden shout. ‘Jasper, down, boy! No clawing!' More noise, of tapping feet and a small scuffle nearby, and then with a tiny creak the door opened wide. The man standing in the hallway was holding the door with one hand, and gripping the dog with the other.

‘Judy!' he beamed, smiling at Mum as he pulled Jasper back.

‘Robert, it's been so long,' she said, kissing him on the cheek and bending forward to look at the dog. ‘Still keeping bad company, I see.'

The man grinned and rubbed his head with his free hand. He was taller than Mum, but with the same dark hair, the same brown eyes. ‘You know how it is, I get attached. And this…!' he said, turning his eyes to me, ‘this is my nephew! It must be. He looks just like me, but much more handsome. Oli, right?'

‘Nice to meet you, Uncle Robert,' I said. He shook my hand and laughed loudly as Jasper pulled against his collar, trying to lick us. Mum rolled her eyes and stepped into the house.

‘Don't make us wait out here in the cold, Rob.'

‘I've done enough waiting of my own, you know,' he said. ‘But you're both welcome here for as long as—'

‘As long as we can,' said Mum. ‘Busy days, you know how it is…'

‘Well,' said Rob. ‘All back together again, now.'

‘Together. Yes…' said Mum. She snapped her head up. ‘Mr Pugh's getting the bags. Help him, would you, Rob?'

‘Certainly, ma'am!' said Uncle Robert, clicking his heels together and saluting at a funny angle.

As soon as he was free Jasper jumped up at Mum, crouched down, sniffed her skirt. ‘Come on, Oli,' she said, calling me in. She laid her hand on my shoulder and led me down the corridor. ‘Let me show you your bedroom.'

*   *   *

That first night was hard. The dreams were rough. I faded in and out of sleep, running from shadows and noise. I heard Mum's voice drifting through the house, and a telephone ring, and a sob, and raised voices. It was later that Uncle Rob looked round the door, and stood for a moment when he thought I was asleep. ‘Poor lad,' he said, ‘and bad times.'

I frowned and ignored him and fell back asleep. I dreamed, and something shifted, maybe, somewhere in the dark.

 

TWO

He laughed the first time I told him that nobody believes in fairy tales.

‘You think stories are lies?' he asked.

‘They're not, then?'

‘Ha! Spittle-mouse. Shows what you know.'

We looked at each other, me and Eren. He grinned and rustled his wings. ‘I'm hungry,' he said. ‘I need a story.'