At the Edge

by Lee Murray

  I find an old IKEA lamp in a bag next to the charity bins at the servo. A plastic one with a clip on one end and a long bendy neck. No idea whether it works, or if that even matters. Not like my goblin’s got anywhere to plug it in. He grumbles a bit when I give it to him, about how it’s a desk lamp and what the fuck is he supposed to do with a desk lamp, but takes it all the same.

  After dinner, Dan’s watching the footy, so I play with Jessie in our room. Out the window I can see my goblin, the lamp attached to the back of his chair and shining a spotlight on the driveway. I wonder if he’d like a book to read?

  ‘Time for Jessie’s bath,’ Mum says, softly, from the doorway. She enters and scoops him into her arms. He giggles, and she flinches at the sound.

  ‘Mum,’ I say, just as softly. ‘Can we watch a video on the weekend?’

  All we’ve got is this old video-player, doesn’t even play DVDs, just worn-out tapes. There’s only one I want to watch anyway.

  Mum perches on the edge of my bed, Jessie balanced in her lap, and reaches back to touch the poster stuck to my wall. David Bowie glowers from the faded and folded paper, crystal ball in hand.

  ‘There are other movies in the world, Em,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s not healthy to be so obsessed. Believe me. I know.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Labyrinth is my favourite. It used to be Mum’s favourite too, when she was growing up. It used to hang on her wall, when she was a kid, and she passed it on to me. The video’s hers too, the tape is fuzzy, and hitches, because she watched it over and over again. Just like me.

  ‘We’ll have to see what the weekend brings,’ she says. ‘Whether we have time.’

  She means, what mood Dan is in.

  I nod. ‘Okay, Mum.’

  With any luck I’ll have found a sofa, and he’ll be dead by then.

  *

  I wake to the noise of our bedroom door opening. Jessie’s sound asleep, I can hear his regular breathing. Mouth open, snotty nose, I can tell all that just from the sound. I’m pretty used to hearing it.

  Dan sneaks in through the door and goes to Jessie’s bed. I’m pretty used to hearing that, too. I squeeze my eyes shut but that makes no difference. Because it’s dark. And I can hear him breathing.

  Dan doesn’t ever notice me. But Jessie’s his little man.

  ‘Please,’ I whisper. ‘Stop him.’

  ‘Can’t do it,’ my goblin whispers back. His voice is close, his breath smoky against my face, like he’s lying right beside me.

  ‘But I got you the lamp.’ My voice is so quiet only he can hear it. ‘And you stopped Dan last time.’

  ‘That’s because it was you, Emma,’ he breathes. ‘Furniture’s yours, so I’m here for you. Not Jessie. Not no one else.’

  ‘But you can’t.’ Tears run down my face now. Dan would be so mad. ‘You can’t just lie here. You can’t just … just…’

  I can hear them breathing.

  ‘What else will you give me then?’ he asks. ‘The sofa and the lamp are for Dan’s life. What will you give me for your little brother?’

  I don’t even think. ‘Anything.’ I mean it, with all my heart, and I hope he can hear it in my whispered voice. ‘Anything you want.’

  ‘Now that’s an interesting bargain.’ His fingers are cold and slightly damp, as he traces them across my cheek, down to my throat. ‘I can hardly turn that down, can I?’

  The mattress shifts. I hold my breath and stare into the darkness. Dan grunts. I hear rustling, bodies moving. Then the door opens. There’s a faint light in the corridor, the moon peeking through the glass panels in the front door, and my goblin is silhouetted against it. He’s holding Dan, all limp, by the back of his shirt.

  The next morning Dan’s got this black eye and a terrible green look about him. But he’s still alive. Jessie’s smiling and happy to eat his breakfast. It’s worth it, I know, as I watch my little brother shove toast and jam into his mouth. He’s worth anything the goblin asks of me.

  *

  ‘Not just any old sofa either. Not some piece of shit like that lamp, you hear? Something nice. Something with style.’

  My goblin followed me to school today. I didn’t realise he could do that. Spent all day lecturing me about the kind of sofa he wants, and listing all the things wrong with the chair and the lamp I got him. He seems animated, energetic, and I wonder why. He hasn’t given a shit until now.

  Don’t do much listening or talking at school anyway, and most people can’t see him. There’s this one teacher who went all white when he entered the room, but she didn’t say anything. If she can see him it means either she’s got her own, or she needs one. Just like I did. Makes me wonder what for.

  I glance at the old bloke and his pretty goblin as we walk past on the way home. The goblin’s sitting back in his chair, and the old guy … I stop, squint at them. He’s stretched out across the goblin’s lap, his filthy shirt and layers of jackets unbuttoned, opened. The goblin’s doing something to his chest but I can’t see, I don’t understand.

  ‘Just keep walking,’ his goblin says, without looking up. He doesn’t sound so sweet today.

  ‘Unless you’re planning to steal some of this shit for me,’ my goblin says, crouched and whispering right by my ear. ‘This ain’t got nothing to do with us.’

  ‘But—’

  He gives me a little shove. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  Then Joyce calls from her front door. ‘Emma!’ Her voice is warbly and thin. ‘Oh, Emma. There you are.’

  I turn into her driveway. My goblin sighs and rolls his eyes. ‘No thank you,’ he mutters. ‘This you can do all on your own.’ He digs cigarettes out of his pocket and vanishes as he sets one alight.

  The silence is strangely deafening. Suddenly my ears feel full of cotton wool.

  Joyce fusses over me. ‘Put your bag down, sweetie, you’ll do yourself an injury.’ She’s always got her handbag out the front with her, and digs around in it. She thinks I’m carrying too much stuff? I’ve never seen a bag so full of crap as hers. Lollies of so many different kinds, tissues, tissues, millions of tissues. Lipstick, hand cream, plastic bags rolled into balls and an ancient-looking purse.

  She hands me a barley sugar and I’m staring at that damned bag. That ancient purse.

  ‘You look tired, dear.’ Joyce drops the lolly in my hand and folds my fingers around it. ‘It’s no good nowadays, all the books they make you carry and the homework. Kids your age should be running around outside.’ She always worries about me, does Joyce. Once, she saw the bruises on my arm and went all quiet. Just kept giving me lollies, one after the other.

  ‘Now then.’ She pats my hand. Her skin feels like paper. She’s losing her hair but combs it over like a man to try and hide it. She doesn’t do her lipstick very well, and her eyes are always watery. ‘Now then.’ Sometimes, she gets confused. Loses track of whatever story she was telling me. Repeats herself. ‘Would you like a juice?’

  I never say yes to the juice. I usually just sit here and eat her lollies and pretend to listen to her stories that make no sense.

  ‘Yes, please.’ The words come out in a squeak.

  ‘Oh!’ She seems surprised. ‘Well, yes then, of course.’ She pushes herself out of the wicker chair with a groan. ‘What kind? I’ve got apple, and orange, and cranberry.’ She walks slowly, limping. One of her shoes is bigger than the other, and has a brace attached. ‘And apple.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I manage to say, as she shuffles past.

  ‘Just a moment. Just a moment.’

  She disappears into the house and I stare at that purse. I sit on the floor, back against the wall, draw my knees up, tuck my skirt in. Feels like the world is watching me.

  I slip my hand into Joyce’s handbag, and unclip her purse. The amount of money inside is a bit of a shock. Never seen so much in one
place in all my life. Mum used to complain about Grandma, back when they were still talking, about carrying all her pension money around and how it was just asking for trouble.

  Well, I don’t want it all. More money than I’ve ever seen but I don’t want it all.

  I finger through until I find a fifty. It slips out easy, and I tuck it into my pocket. Purse is back in her bag and it looks like nothing’s the matter long before Joyce returns. She walks so slowly, with her strange shoe.

  She’s brought me a glass of milk.

  ‘Here you go, sweetness.’ She settles back into her chair with the same groan, but smiles at me. ‘Good for the bones.’

  I drink as quickly as I can, and listen as she murmurs nonsense. Feeling hot the whole time. Feeling like it must be obvious what I’ve done.

  The next day after school I head to Vinnies. They don’t care how I got the fifty bucks, they just want to know how I plan to get the sofa home. I take it in pieces, the cushions in a couple of big plastic bags, the frame I half carry, half drag. Lucky the sofa is old, and cheap, and not as heavy as it looks. No one offers to help, and I wouldn’t accept anyway. The street furniture is my offering, and mine alone.

  My goblin says nothing as I set up the sofa under the tree, beside the chair with its clipped-on lamp.

  Together, we wait for Dan to come home.

  *

  He insists on being close, right up against me, so our legs are touching. I’m nervous, but I try not to show it, tangling my fingers in the hem of my skirt.

  ‘Second thoughts?’ the goblin says. He’s leaning back and looks calm, relaxed. Smoking slowly, drawing each breath in deep.

  ‘No,’ I say, quietly, my voice calm. After today, Mum won’t be sad anymore. After today, Jessie will be safe. We’ll all live in Dan’s house, and we won’t be hungry or cold, just he won’t be there.

  Dan’s car rattles down the street, and I straighten. My goblin places a hand on my bare knee. ‘Any preferences?’ he asks.

  I shake my head, and stare intently at the driveway as Dan pulls in. His old station wagon is spewing black smoke and the engine makes this squealing noise. He can’t see us. Not yet. I’m not sure where the line is, between the hidden world of my goblin’s room and the out there where anyone can see. Turns off the car, gets out all whistling and slightly pissed. I know Mum’s at the window, watching him, sussing out his mood. She can’t see us either.

  I’m glad about that. My goblin will do what he needs to do but she doesn’t need to see.

  Dan passes by the chair and my goblin’s up, moving faster than the wind, stops right in front of him and slams a hand down on Dan’s shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he says, with a grin. And I realise he’s got these little sharp teeth, at the back. Never noticed them before.

  It’s over quick.

  Never seen a man die before. He flinches, shocked. Then my goblin spins him, wraps an arm around his neck, and drags him into the room. Dan kicks and he gasps and he struggles. My goblin’s grip on his neck just tightens and he lifts Dan up, feet off the ground, until he stops moving.

  My goblin lets him go and he falls heavy, onto the grass. I stand slowly, legs shaking, and stare at his body.

  ‘He didn’t know it was me,’ I say. ‘He didn’t even know why.’

  ‘That’s all a second-hand IKEA lamp gets you,’ my goblin says, and lights a fresh cigarette.

  ‘Can you get rid of him?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want Mum to find him here.’

  ‘Not part of the bargain, kid,’ he says. He starts poking Dan with his foot, shoving his body away from the furniture. ‘Remember, it was a couch and a lamp to shuffle him off the coil.’ He stops, and turns to me. ‘And anything else I ask, for Jessie. Because I kept him safe.’

  I nod, but swallow hard, suddenly unsure. ‘He is safe now,’ I say. ‘Without Dan, he will be safe.’ Even as I say the words I’ve got this terrible sinking feeling. He would have been safe anyway, once Dan was dead. It was only one more night. I promised my goblin whatever he wanted, just for one more night.

  ‘Pity you didn’t think of that at the time,’ he says. And suddenly he’s right up against me. His face is in shadow, the cigarette a burst of flame at the edge of his terrible, sharp-toothed smile. I know how quick he is, I know how strong he is. I just watched him kill Dan.

  ‘What do you want then?’ I ask.

  ‘All of you.’ He breathes out smoke and strokes the back of my head. His fingers feel strange, long and cold and dragging me closer, closer. ‘You promised me, anything I want. And I want all of—’

  He gasps, suddenly, and staggers back. The hand that held me moments ago is pressed to his side. There’s blood, which seems so strange, because there was no blood when Dan died. My goblin’s blood isn’t even red, it’s black, and it spills across his singlet and his torn jeans like a stain. He drops to his knees, stares at me, mouth open. Then he falls forward, and it happens so fast he nearly lands on me. But an icy hand grips my shoulder and pulls me out of the way.

  I look up, and can’t believe it. David Bowie stares at me. It can’t be. But he’s got the hair, and the make-up, and the jacket with all the sequins. He releases my shoulder, and glowers at me with disdain.

  ‘There,’ he says, glancing over his shoulder. ‘It’s done.’

  I step to the side, look behind him. Mum’s there. She looks pale and thin in her trackies with a stained apron over the top. Her hair’s pulled roughly back so the yellowing bruise on the side of her face is visible. She doesn’t usually wear it like that.

  ‘Mum?’ I whisper.

  She’s looking at me, but not with thanks. I got rid of Dan. I protected Jessie. And yet…

  ‘So, this is your daughter.’ David Bowie glances between us, and smirks. ‘She’s hardly got your sense of flair, has she?’

  Mum’s got a goblin?

  ‘Oh, Em,’ Mum says. She’s shaking, her hands knotted together. Her nails are bitten so far down they’re bleeding. ‘I didn’t want to do this. Never, ever again. But you made me.’

  ‘I—’ I hold her gaze, not sure what’s happening.

  ‘I knew your mum a long time ago,’ her goblin says as he crouches in front of me. ‘She filled my room with beautiful furniture, even made me this jacket.’ He tugs at the sequins. ‘Wasn’t much older than you are now, at first. But we were friends for years and years.’ He laughs, and I feel like someone’s dumped cold water all down my back. It’s not a friendly sound. Not a nice sound at all. ‘Really good friends.’

  ‘I finally got rid of him,’ Mum whispers. ‘When your Dad came along. Paid off my debt, paid it well and truly. Left him to his pretty fucking furniture and got the hell away.’

  ‘But why?’ I ask. ‘If you had a goblin all this time, why not ask him to get rid of Dan?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ the goblin asks, with another laugh.

  ‘You think Dan was worth giving yourself to a goblin?’ Mum shakes her head sharply, almost violently. ‘Because you don’t understand what you’re offering. You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in the room you created, with the creature you summoned, at his mercy. The world walking past you and not seeing, not knowing. You offered him everything. In the end, that’s what they always want. And that’s what they take. There are pains worse than bruises, Em.’

  ‘But Jessie—?’

  ‘I could not go back there!’ she cries. ‘Not for Dan, not for me. Not even…’ she lets out a little sob, chokes on her words ‘…not even for Jessie. Not until you put this stupid chair out on the curb. I gave my childhood to him.’ She very nearly spits at her goblin. ‘Could not let you do the same.’

  ‘Enough with the hysteria,’ Mum’s goblin interrupts. ‘You called me, I’m back. Too late for regrets now.’ He picks my goblin up by the hair. ‘You know the deal. I’ll have a new room, thanks, for getting rid of thi
s.’ He shakes my goblin roughly, and he groans. His eyes are open and he stares at me with hunger, with anger. I take a step back, and Mum’s there. She wraps arms around my shoulders and holds me tight.

  ‘Prettier than last time,’ her goblin continues. ‘And bigger. And right here.’ He stamps his foot. ‘I want one right here.’

  Mum’s nodding, and crying, both at once. ‘And what do you want to keep him?’ she asks, little louder than a whisper. ‘So he can’t get to her. Even if she calls again, no matter when, he can never get her. She will be free. She has to be free of him. Forever.’

  ‘Just like last time,’ Mum’s goblin says, with that same hunger, with that same smile. ‘Anything I want.’

  Call of the Sea

  Eileen Mueller

  Selina’s pudgy legs race towards the slide, wind whipping her hair across her eyes. Turning, she smiles. ‘Nudda wun, Mama?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ I push Aihe on the swing with my paint-smudged hands. Sea hisses on sand.

  Fat fingers grasp metal rungs as Selina climbs to the top and manoeuvres her bottom onto the plastic chute. My dark skin, his light hair. Something from each of us. A gust flings sand grains across the playground. Squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden assault, Selina shoots down the slide, laughing.

  Enjoying herself.

  ‘Nudda wun?’ Up she goes for another turn.

  Wind moans through the tunnel on the deserted playground. The ropes on the massive climbing frame jerk. Grey waves thrash the shore, flinging spray over the naked sand. The pōhutukawa dance, the silver underskirts of their dark green leaves flashing, like shy debutantes – as if to tempt an unsuspecting fool into loving them.

  My hands itch for a brush and canvas.

  Breathing deeply, I shove the swing harder than I need to.