The Collector of Remarkable Stories (20 page)

"You," he shouted, jabbing his finger in Margie's direction. "I’ve got a bone to pick with you!"

Far from being afraid, Archie suddenly looked irritated. "They can't hurt us," he sighed, subtly trying to shake himself free of Margie's sleeve "they're just a beastly pain in the backside."

The angry man turned his attention to Archie. "Did I give you permission to talk to me you grovelling little maggot ..." The man seemed to be growing angrier and redder with each and every word that spewed out his mouth. His fist grew tight and as he pulled his arm back to thump Archie – CRACK. The man’s face flew to the side as though something invisible had just slapped it. Hard. The man’s hand rose to his cheek, his expression now one of fear and panic. "No, no ..." he cried, trying desperately to anticipate if or where the next strike may come from. Margie, Archie and The Luggers took a few steps back, unable to take their eyes off the angry man whose arm was now being twisted up behind his back. CRACK went his arm. CRACK. A bruise appeared on his cheek. CRACK. This time it was his leg which seemed to have been snapped in two exposing the bone through the flesh. The angry man was now screaming and begging for the agony to stop.

Horrified, Margie turned to Archie and, grabbing his shirt, buried her face in his chest. "Why is this happening," she cried.

"Mons Morsus," said Archie, awkwardly, his glove still tangled in Margie's sleeve. "It’s the Mountain of Pain. It’s where all the people come who have inflicted pain on others. Physical pain. Emotional pain. That man there was a bully. His punishment is to endure the same pain, inside and out, that he inflicted on his victims."

With a quick flick of the wrist, Archie's glove was freed. Relieved, he took a step back. "Look," he said brightly, only a hint of surprise in his voice, "they've all gone."

For a while she said nothing, still shaken by the images she had just witnessed. She wanted a moment to compose herself; to put her thoughts in order. What's more, she had totally embarrassed herself in front of Archie. What on earth had possessed her to grab him like that? Her cheeks flushed at the mere thought of it. Still, there was nothing she could do now. She would have to carry on as if nothing had happened. She would show him that she could look after herself; that she wasn't afraid of anything.

"I can't believe you tore my shirt," she said testily when she joined him moments later.

Archie rolled his eyes. "Come on Bucko," he said knowingly, "we need to get out of here before there's any more trouble. I know a place where we can camp for the night. It'll be safer there and we won't have far to travel when we wake in the morning."

As they made their way out of the town towards a small rocky mountain, Archie spoke more of Mons Morsus.

"The Mountain of Pain is full of bullies, thieves, liars, hypocrites, predators, murderers ... it’s not really the kind of place you want to be hanging around for long."

"Who chooses their fate?"

"They choose their own. Their punishment is a reflection of their behaviour in life."

"Do they all suffer as much as that man does?"

"Not exactly. Varying degrees of pain to match varying degrees of punishment. Look at my hands," he said. "This is my punishment. I inflicted pain on others by stealing from them. These were the things that honest people had worked hard for. Some of them were priceless. Irreplaceable. This my punishment; never to hold anything ever again. I'll never feel the face of a loved one, touch the grass or hold my own food ..."

Margie stopped and turned to look back at the town from which they had just departed.

"You mustn’t pity them," said Archie, as though reading her mind. "Most get reassigned after a while."

"Does everyone that comes to Limbuss have a punishment to endure?" asked Margie.

"No."

"Then why are
they
here? Why are
we
here?"

"What do you know about Limbuss?"

Margie shook her head. "I know someone collects stories when people die."

"Exactly. Well, most people are willing to hand over their story to the Collector and move on. Others decide they don't want to. They either have unfinished business or they are too wrapped up in the emotions that consumed them at the point of death."

"Can I ask you something?" whispered Margie. "Is this Hell?"

"It's a holding pen. Souls are valuable, you know. They create stories. They create energy. The punishments are an incentive for people to relinquish their story or make amends and move on. It's a way of making people not want to stay. Nothing more than that really. The punishment is not inflicted on them by anyone other than themselves! They can either hand over their story and move on or they can come here and suffer the consequences. Some eventually get sick of it and call it a day. Some are just doomed."

"Doomed?"

Archie chuckled. "By that I mean the evil ones; not you. The one's there's no hope for. The bad apples. They just continue to rot."

"I wish I knew what brought
me
here," said Margie recalling the angry man whose body had crumbled before her very eyes. "Why are
you
here?" she asked Archie, making a special effort to sound unaffected by what she had witnessed.

Archie looked at Margie with a gentle smile and shook his head in a manner that told her not to probe any further. She took the hint.

By nightfall they had reached the base of Mons Morsus which, as predicted, was much less threatening. The Giant, it seemed, had not fared well on the journey. Almost entirely unconscious now, his breath came in convulsive gasps and the flesh between his open wounds had turned a deep purple colour. With no stars or moon to illuminate the sky it was impossible for anyone to see more than a couple of inches in front of them.

"He really needs to be with the creature right now, but it's difficult enough to reach the cave in daylight, let alone in the dark."

"Will he be okay until the morning?" asked Margie, gently stroking The Giant's forehead as he lay on the ground.

"I'm not sure," said Archie.

Margie picked up one of her giant friend's enormous hands and cupped it against her cheek.

Archie knelt down beside her. "I don't mind staying awake to keep an eye on him if you want to get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you."

"That's very kind of you but I don't think I could sleep anyway."

Margie removed her shawl and placed it over The Giant's shoulders. "I think I'll just watch him for a while."

Archie removed his jacket and placed it under The Giant's head. Margie thanked him with a smile. "By this time tomorrow he'll be like a new giant," said Archie. "Just you wait and see. Phagge has an amazing gift."

"I wish I could go with him. Why does he have to go alone?"

"Because Phagge is stupid. It feels threatened by more than one person. It gets confused and aggressive and when it’s upset it does what it does best; it eats. Most of the time it will only eat decay; that’s what it loves best. But it’s greedy and given the chance will try and eat more."

"Poor giant," said Margie stroking The Giant’s head once again.

"As long as he doesn’t frighten or anger Phagge then he will emerge with none of the infections and none of the wounds. The creature's mouth is said to have miraculous healing properties."

"Can it heal anything?" she asked.

"Not everything," whispered Archie, looking at his hands. "Some things just can’t be fixed ..."

Margie nodded. "It's weird," she said. "My back feels different tonight."

"I'd offer to rub it for you," replied Archie, oblivious to Margie's blight.

Margie laughed. "I don't think you'd want to do that. Not with my back anyway."

Archie leaned back and studied it. "It looks fine to me," he said. "I might see more if you removed your shirt though."

Margie shot him a look. "Certainly not!"

For a while the two sat side-by-side in an oddly tense silence as the night settled around them like a blanket. Neither had anything to say but both desperately wished they did.

"It's getting cold," said Margie eventually.

"It sure is," agreed Archie.

Margie shuffled up close to Archie and leant into his shoulder. "Do you mind if I sit close to you?"

He didn't, of course, have any choice.

He looked down and studied the top of Margie's head. He could smell her hair; an intoxicating blend of oil, sweat and nature's own aphrodisiac. It was a smell that he had once been so familiar with; the smell of a pillow he'd once shared. He'd missed that smell; he hadn't realised how much until now. The scent was like a ghost from his past; an aching reminder of a time when he'd woken every morning bathed in the light of the universe. It was a smell that he had all but forgotten. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Had she minded? She didn’t say anything. A tear rolled down his cheek.

For a moment they were both lost in time; all the bad things forgotten. And then came a peculiar rumbling sound from nearby.

"What's that noise?" cried Margie, springing forward like a crazed cuckoo.

"It's only them!" said Archie pointing in the direction of the Luggers who were sound asleep several yards away. Their snores, interspersed with a variety of snorts and grunts, had steadily increased in volume and were now literally shaking the ground.

"Good job I'm not planning on sleeping tonight," quipped Archie. At that very moment, one of the Luggers farted. It was a deep resonant fart that seemed to have no end.

The two could do little to stop themselves from laughing out loud. Their bodies convulsed as they tried all manner of things to stay quiet. But the more they laughed, the funnier it seemed to become until they weren't laughing at the fart at all; they were laughing at each other because they each knew what the other was thinking ...

And that's when it happened. In this outburst of uncontrollable laughter, Archie's ghost-like hand touched Margie's back.

The laughter stopped.

Archie yelled and threw himself back, as if something had bitten his hand and was still trying to attack him. Through Archie's cries, Margie could hear a strange crackling sound which she instantly recognised.

"I'm so sorry," gasped Margie, reaching out to comfort Archie. "It's my fault ..."

And that's when Archie saw it. His once vaporous hand was now frozen solid, like a beautifully carved ice sculpture. "Well blow me ..." he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"I'm really truly sorry," cried Margie, "I should have told you ..."

"Please," replied Archie, "don't be sorry. Look!" With his frozen hand trembling, he reached up and touched Margie's hair. Immobilised by the ice, he wasn't able to move his fingers, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that when he touched her hair, it moved. And for the first time in hundreds of years he felt alive.

What happened next remains a mystery for neither of them could recall what happened in the moment or two before Archie's lips touched Margie's. But touch they did. And like the opposite ends of two batteries that had come together, a great pulse of energy surged through them. Their bodies had long since expired but in that one brief moment they were ghosts with beating hearts. Filled with a dizzy helplessness Margie closed her eyes. She could smell the leather of his coat and the brazen scent of his unwashed body beneath it which grabbed her like a Spanish dancer stripping away all her inhibitions with its teeth. They kissed. And as they did so, Margie was engulfed with a burning need to touch and
be
touched. They could have been anywhere in the world at that moment and Margie would have been none the wiser. Lost in time and space, her hands grabbed and pulled greedily at Archie like she was grappling for her life.

Archie stopped and pulled away. Her eagerness had taken him by surprise. There was a desperation and a loneliness to it that made him feel uncomfortable. Or had he sensed what it was that Margie was carrying within her?

Margie sensed the shift in Archie's demeanour and quickly pressed her forehead into her hands. She had loved a man once, that much she knew. But she had no recollection of the passion they'd shared. She couldn't recall how it had felt when he held her hand or gazed into her eyes or kissed her forehead. She tried desperately to remember him. But he was a stranger to her.

Embarrassed, angry and frustrated she let out a loud sob.

Archie placed his fingers under her chin and tried to lift it. But Margie stubbornly refused. She didn't want Archie to see her face. Next, Archie placed his hand on the side of Margie's neck and playfully pulled her shirt down over her shoulder. Margie tried to brush his hand away with a sideways nudge of her head. But it was an unconvincing attempt and her sobs gradually subsided until there was a stillness and a silence between them. Inch by inch the material fell until, hooked on Margie's upturned arm, it had nowhere else to go.

Margie grabbed the loose material and pulled it back up over her shoulder. She smiled. But before Archie could reciprocate they were interrupted by the sound of a man's voice shouting 'no'.