by Ben Walsh
Chapter Five
“He’d be proud of you, you know that right?” a soft voice uttered. “Your first broken nose!”
Stan opened his eyes and saw a figure leaning over him, a woman. He thought it must be his mother, although that would mean he was dreaming, as she had died almost five years ago. The figure bent forwards to dab his face with a wet cloth. As she moved, the sun shone through the space she had been sat in and onto Stan’s face, hurting his eyes. He closed them again.
“Edgar first came when he was a lot younger than you, but better late than never,” the voice continued. As Stan grimaced from the pressure of her hand, she took the cloth away. “All done. The break was a nasty one though, you’ll keep the scar for life most likely. My mother says so anyway, and she’s very knowledgeable when it comes to these sort of things.” Stan detected a hint of pretentiousness from the last part of the comment, and sensed his company was someone of high prestige, but let it pass.
Stan opened his eyes again as she leant back, more slowly this time, and he began to recognise objects in the room. There was an empty bed next to him, identical to the one he lay in. The walls were low; a tall person would need to stoop to stand without banging their head on the door, which reminded him of the room he and Edgar shared at home, with his brother always having to duck to fit in. The thought of his brother brought his mind back to life - his brother, the dragon, where was he?
Stan opened his mouth to speak, but found the back of his mouth too hoarse to do anything other than croak out air, unable to produce a sound.
“Here, drink this, it’ll help,” the unknown speaker added, pouring a glass of water to his lips, “you’ve barely drunk for days.” Stan sipped at the water, swallowing as much as he could before he moved away.
“Days?” Stan asked, able to speak more clearly now, “how long have I been here for?”
“Well, today’s Tuesday, and you were carried here on Friday,” the girl paused to think, “So this is your fifth day here. I’ve been sat with you most of the time, you’ve been quite boring to be truthful; all you’ve done is sleep! Although you were given a medicine to make you sleep, apparently you needed the rest, so I guess it’s not your fault!”
Stan swallowed some more water, managing himself this time. Her voice, he thought, I recognise it.
“My brother, where is he? When’s he coming to see me, is he alright now?” he asked, hoping it was soon.
“Oh Stan,” the girl started, unsure of how to answer, mopping sweat from his brow while she thought. “Your brother didn’t make it. I’m so sorry”
“No,” Stan mumbled, unsure of how to proceed, sitting up as he did so, “that can’t be right. You must have the wrong person. Edgar is my brother, we took him to Maximus and he was going to save him!” Stan cried, his tone becoming desperate.
“He couldn’t do anything Stan, I’m so sorry. He was too badly injured. They buried him this morning. They say the farewell was beautiful, but I stayed here with you,” she added, turning away to compose herself.
Stan felt tears forming in his eyes, and slumped back into his bed, wishing he was simply in a nightmare from which he could wake. After losing their mother, Edgar was the one who was there to help him. He had got their lives back on track. When their father became retreated and silent, sitting in the corner staring out of the window all day, Edgar had been the one to go out and fish, to catch enough to feed them every day. Now he was gone.
He realised then that the reason the room felt similar to his and Edgar’s was because he was in his own bed. Stan glanced over to the neighbouring bed, his brother’s, with his extra thick duvet which he had stolen from Stan’s bed during the winter. The two hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards, until Marvin had banged their heads together and made them forget about it. He smiled at the thought for a moment, until he remembered that his brother would never sleep in it again.
The girl stood and came round to sit on the edge of the bed. Stan turned his head to look at her, and began to make out more of her details. She was short, with big wide eyes and pointy, pixy like ears. Her most distinguishable feature though was her bright red hair, which flopped down to her shoulders. Only one girl in the whole of Oadford wore her hair like that.
“Roxie?” Stan asked, already aware of the answer.
“My Dad sent me to watch over you for the first night, and I couldn’t leave you,” and with that Roxie slowly broke down, tears streaming down her face. Her father was the Mayor, the man responsible for keeping Oadford running. She was Stan’s age, and occasionally played with them down by the lake, although most of the time her father forbade it.
Stan sat up and held her, trying to comfort her.
“Roxie I’m ok now, everything will work out fine,” he whispered in her ear, but before he could help himself he joined her in sobbing, the two of them holding each other tightly, not wanting to let go.
After a while they separated, and Roxie dabbed Stan’s eyes dry.
“I need to go and see my father, to tell him you’re awake. Promise me you won’t go anywhere, you need to rest. Everyone is incredibly worried about you,” Roxie said, wiping her own eyes dry while trying to force a smile. Before Stan could ask her to stay, she rose from the bed and edged her way out. Again she tried to smile to Stan as she left, but only managing a half-hearted mouth movement that ended up as more of a grimace.
As soon as she left Stan swung his legs over the bed, wincing with pain as he did so, his body aching all over. Stan pushed any thoughts of pain to one side; he had been cooped up in his room for several days, and he needed to get out for some fresh air.
Gripping onto his bed, he slowly and carefully pulled himself to his feet. To Stan’s horror, he nearly collapsed to the floor, only able to prevent himself from doing so by grabbing the chair Roxie had vacated mere moments before. He cautiously dragged himself back up, and one painful step at a time he shuffled towards the door. With each step Stan grew in confidence, and he was soon out of the small house. He had crept carefully past the lounge, which he knew would contain his father, stooped over his window, drinking something foul.
As he emerged out of his front door, Stan took in a view he had seen hundreds of times before. Mrs Fitch’s small wooden hut was opposite, where she was balancing atop a kitchen stool, plucking apples from a large tree in her front garden. A winding path led down to the small dock, where the men tied their boats overnight after a long day’s fishing in the Great Sea. In the distance, the skyline was hidden behind a thick group of trees which marked the forest, which seemed to stretch on forever, and just beyond was Mount Smouldotion, which poked out over the treeline. The sight of the towering mountain sent a shiver running down Stan’s spine, and for a moment he completely blocked out the noise of children running round with happiness in the street, as he thought of the events that had taken place there. This helped him decide where to go, and he headed for the Great Sea, before taking a sharp turning onto a small pathway. This took him down a steep slope, at the bottom of which sat the Walandik Lake. Normally the lake took Stan’s breath away, but today he barely glanced at it as he trudged down the hill in the direction of the lone boy sat on the lake’s far bank.
After half an hour or so, Stan reached the boy, who had seen him coming all the way but had not moved, either towards or away from him.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Stan shouted as he continued to approach, his voice straining to be heard over the sound of the wind, “Marvin I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called you names. I wasn’t fair.” Marvin carried on staring straight ahead, playing with a stone in his hands.
“I understand if you don’t want to be my friend, I was horrible to you, and I never should have got you involved in the first place,” Stan persevered, still shouting over the wind which had picked up out of no-where, “But I need you right now Marvin. You’re my best friend, without you I am alone in this world. I’ve not got my brother or my mother, my father doesn’t talk to me, Marvin
please I need you!”
Stan sat down next to Marvin, and for the first time the plump boy turned to meet his eye.
“Stan you’re my best friend, I’m here for you now and always will be,” he replied, before hurling a stone into the lake.
“So why was Roxie the one in my room when I woke up, why not you?” Stan asked cautiously, as he watched the ripples created by the stone fade away.
“I’ve been by your bed every day, with Roxie, but I came down here after your brother’s burial. I knew you’d find me here when you wanted me. This was the exact spot we launched our raft last summer. Do you remember? We’d been working on it all summer. And we got all the way across?” The boy smiled at the thought for a moment, before his face slumped back down into a frown.
“We’ll be alright Stan. Your Dad’s awful but one day, when we’re old enough, we can just go. Me and you, we can pack up our things and get out of this place,” Marvin said, with hope in his voice as he played with the grass.
Stan thought for a moment, before he offered Marvin his hand to help him up. When both boys were on their feet, Stan paused for a moment, before he said,
“Marvin, that sounds like the most perfect plan I’ve ever heard.” He had no idea how it would work, where they would go, what they would do, but all that mattered was that he knew now that he wasn’t alone, and never would be. With that thought in his head, Stan embraced his best friend, hugging him tightly while he gazed out over the lake towards the Great Sea. For the first time since they had left for Mount Smouldotion, Stan allowed himself to smile.
That was when the screaming started.
