“Mom, seriously,” I said. She worried all the time about me getting sick. More than once I’d caught her in the store spraying Lysol in the air and sniffing it. I worried she would make me use that instead of perfume.
She snapped off the TV and came into the kitchen to set out paper plates and napkins.
“How’s Alexis?” she asked, then cleared her throat. I could tell the commercial had upset her.
I rummaged in the spice cabinet, glad to have my back to her. “Fine.” When I found the red pepper flakes, I turned around and tried to think of a way to change the subject.
“I told you she was welcome to come over,” Mom said, her voice sounding a little too bright. She was scared about my health, but I knew she really wanted my life to go back to the way it was, even if that meant catching colds and stomach bugs from other kids.
“She’s busy with track,” I replied, hoping Mom would make the connection. Alexis still had her normal life, and I no longer fit into it.
“You could call her anyway,” Mom said.
She was not going to let this go. She was going to keep asking questions about Alexis, because she thought I needed a gentle push to talk about it. I didn’t need a gentle push. That was like giving a nervous woman on a building ledge a gentle push to get the conversation going.
Some things are hard to explain, especially to your mom. And with my mom and me being so close, I shouldn’t have had to explain anything at all. But it was just the opposite.
Maybe I just sucked at relationships.
“Can I eat later?” I asked. “I’m not that hungry. I just want to go upstairs and rest.”
I tried not to look her in the eye as I said it.
“Should I wait for you?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said softly.
But as hard as I resisted, I finally looked up and saw the hurt. There was a wall between us. I walked upstairs slowly, half hoping she would insist I stay downstairs and talk, but she didn’t. I had put the wall up, so she was waiting for me to pull it down. I needed to find a way to do that, but it’s hard to pull down a wall when you’re not sure what needs to remain protected. Xeno and his monsters were strangely like chemo. I had agreed to be the Guardian, but I hadn’t expected all these other problems.
In cancer centers, there are two versions of the word “unexpected.” You can have an unexpected benefit, and that’s wonderful, but most people get unexpected outcomes, and those are all different and usually bad. I still didn’t know which version of “unexpected” Xeno’s book and his monsters were. But he had asked my permission before we began. Since last October, my world had been defined by one word, and it wasn’t cancer. It was “no.”
Alone in the dark, I didn’t really want to open his book. Monsters were the strangest, scariest, ugliest things I had ever seen, and I couldn’t trust myself not to hurt them. I didn’t think I was going to be a good Guardian, especially if I screamed every time I saw a monster.
But being the Guardian was the first chance I’d had to say yes to anything. Since my diagnosis, the whole world had become one big no. I couldn’t walk unassisted, I had no appetite, no energy, and no guarantees about the future. Whatever I wanted, whatever I would normally do, the answer was no.
I had said yes to Xeno for selfish reasons, for a chance to escape, but the kick in the pants was that being the Guardian just brought me right back to the basic problem.
Me.
Downstairs, the heater turned on. Warm air blew from the vent over my bed, but I was still cold when it tickled the hair on my arms. I pulled the bedspread up around me and scooted down under the covers.
Dogs all over the neighborhood began to bark with a sudden urgency. Just like the other night. Had I never noticed them before, or did I now hear animals in a powerful new way?
I reached out for my lamp but then remembered the bulb had broken. Two red eyes were staring at me through the window.
It was back. My eyes adjusted to the darkness around him. In the soft moonlight, I could see the huge square outline of his head, with a face like cement that had hardened in a thick puddle, rough and uneven. The eyes were like two huge dark caves.
We just stared at each other.
He had tears streaming down his face. Again. One huge tear after the other as his breath fogged up the window.
Was he still upset about my reaction when I first saw him? There wasn’t anything I could do except try to apologize again. Under my bed, the book began to glow.
If he had the courage to come back, I should find the courage to try one more time, I thought. I owed him that. I opened the window.
Like a frightened, badly scolded child, the monster crawled into my room and stood, his head hanging low.
The book’s light grew brighter.
A stray snowflake swirled in through the open window. The monster and I watched it flutter in the space between us. It landed softly on the carpet, a hint of sparkle in the moonlight. The monster reached out with one foot, each of his toes as big as my fist. He nudged the snowflake. His eyes were wide with wonder, like the snowflake was a small miracle. In Atlanta, snow was always a miracle, so I grinned, but then pressed my lips together so he wouldn’t think I was teasing him.
I pointed to the night sky.
It whirled with snowflakes, each one falling and landing in a dark place, like a forgotten star.
The monster stared, then looked back at the snowflake between us. I wondered why he would think that just one was special. The whole neighborhood was full of them. Why care about a single snowflake when there were thousands, maybe millions more?
The snowflake melted into the carpet and disappeared. The monster inhaled sharply, witnessing this magic. Its chin began to tremble, like a child who had lost his balloon to the wind.
I pointed to the sky again.
He stepped toward me and one huge arm wrapped itself around my waist. His flesh was warm and hard, like a mug just out of the dishwasher. Before I could scream, he was climbing out the window. I clung to his massive body, my arms barely able to span his chest. He climbed down the side of our house like it was as easy as walking. With two great steps that shook my body, we stood under the streetlight by my house. Snow fell all around us, twinkling like fairy lights. He set me down and nodded like a child waiting for me to open a present.
I didn’t move. It was so quiet. When the neighborhood kids woke up to snow, they’d go nuts. It never snowed this much here. The kids would be dizzy with the realization that impossible things still happened in the world. They had not yet learned to hate the unexpected.
The monster extended his enormous hand, palm up, catching a snowflake to give me. I opened mine and cupped them, trying to catch more. He sucked in his breath, delighted. He was so goofy I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe I could learn to love the world again too.
“Watch this,” I whispered. Tilting my head back, I opened my mouth wide and stuck out my tongue. Snowflakes swirled around my face, landing on my lashes and falling into my mouth.
He tried it, but his mouth was just a black hole. Still, after swallowing at least a dozen, he stamped his feet in pleasure. I wrapped my arms around my body; the cold had started to hurt me. Without a sound, he wrapped an arm around me and we climbed back through my window.
I didn’t have any magic, but he did. And he didn’t just have magic; he saw it too, in the simplest, most ordinary things. I had never believed in monsters, but now I realized it wasn’t just monsters I needed to believe in. I needed to believe in the extraordinary. This monster believed in a world that still had a little bibbidi-bobbidi-boo in its back pocket.
Inside my room, I shook off the snow, still smiling, then reached toward him to brush him off.
He shook his head.
“Why not?” I asked. The monster glanced at me, embarrassed, before hanging his head again. Then he turned, slowly. At first I was afraid he was going to leave, but then I understood. He wanted to show me his back. His raw red back was litt
ered with dozens of little black-edged holes scattered all over his flesh. Each hole was no bigger than a piece of confetti.
Biting my lip for courage, I touched one of the holes. The monster whimpered. He had been so kind to me, and I hadn’t even known he was in pain. He wasn’t just strong in his body. He had a strong heart.
“I know what these are,” I whispered.
I turned the monster around to face me. “You were shot, weren’t you? Was it—a shotgun? A pellet gun?”
The monster opened its mouth and the saddest sound I have ever heard, the sound of every pain, of all pain, the pain of being alive and the pain of wishing you were dead, poured out.
“I know,” I whispered.
I did.
I held my breath. Mom did not call my name. The television volume was too high for her to hear anything.
The book glowed so brightly it almost pulsed, so I dug it out from under the bed. I was moving faster than I ever had in physical therapy, but I noticed this as if from a distance. Right then, it didn’t feel like I was even in my body. I heaved the book out and up in one try. It fell open to the page I needed. Elaborate edging highlighted bold black letters painted long ago. A smudged map was drawn alongside the monster’s image. The names and boundaries on the map had been changed many times.
THE GOLEM
Origins: Created by a Jewish rabbi in the 1500s for defense against enemies. First documented in Prague, the largest city in the Czech Republic. Sightings now range all over the world. His forehead is marked with an ancient language and the Guardian must never touch the symbols, for they contain the mystery of creation and death.
Nature: Fiercely protective of those he loves, the Golem may be injured if humans see him and lash out in fear. If he is wounded by humans, you may use human first aid to care for his wounds. A good and kind Guardian will also do what she can for his heart too, which is the most vulnerable part of the Golem.
Of all creatures, in fact.
The page fluttered and turned over to the next. Here were more detailed notes: what he ate, where he roamed, what kinds of injuries he was prone to and how to treat them. Running my finger down the page, I found what Xeno wanted to show me:
For minor flesh wounds, do not use water. Use alcohol and be most gentle.
“Stay right here, okay?” I whispered to the Golem. “I need to get something.”
He nodded and sat on my bed. It sank deep in the middle, and I hoped the frame wouldn’t break. I had to move fast.
I made my way downstairs. Mom was on the couch, her face red and swollen. She saw me standing there and muted the television.
“Sad movie,” she said, but I knew she was lying. Maybe she didn’t tell me everything either.
“I just need something from the kitchen,” I said. That’s where we kept the bandages and ointments for cuts and burns. With my mom’s cooking skills, the kitchen was the most dangerous room in the house.
“You hungry?” she asked. “Want some pizza?” She started to stand up and I overreacted.
“No! Just watch your movie, okay?” If she saw me getting into the first-aid kit, she would want answers. She’d demand to see the wound.
Her eyes widened and she sat back down. “Okay, then.”
I promised myself I would make up for this in the morning. First, though, I had to take care of the Golem.
Once the movie was back on, I made my way to the cabinet above our mixer, where Mom kept our first-aid supplies. I grabbed a handful of bandages, Neosporin, and a pair of tweezers, stuffing them in my pocket. There was no rubbing alcohol, though, and Xeno said I needed it, but then I spied a few bottles of alcohol. The adult-beverage variety, not the kind used for first aid.
Mom rarely drank, so the bottles were full. I wasn’t sure if I could use them as a substitute, and even if I could, which one? I read the labels. One hundred proof? Eighty proof? Proof of what? The labels didn’t say.
“Whatcha in the mood for?” Mom chirped. I whirled around, a guilty look plastered across my face. She was standing at the kitchen counter. Her eyes narrowed when she saw which cabinet I had open.
I faked a smile. “You know. Just anything.”
“You’re looking at the liquor bottles?” she said, her voice deceptively flat, like a sinkhole.
“Well, obviously I’m not looking for alcohol. Why would I be looking for alcohol?”
Mom didn’t reply, and I realized she was waiting for me to answer my own question. “Where do you hide the chocolate from yourself these days?”
She stared at me, her face set and blank, before she walked over and reached for the cabinet door on the opposite side of the alcohol. Inside was a new bag of chocolates.
“Busted,” she said, and then laughed. The smile didn’t make it to her eyes, though. They were still suspicious.
I grabbed a chocolate and pecked her on the cheek. “We’ll hang out tomorrow. Promise.”
I made my way back to my bedroom with a burning lump in my throat. Mom couldn’t talk to me and I wouldn’t talk to her, and in the middle of all this not-talking, I had to take care of an injured monster.
I sat behind Golem on the bed, my back against the wall, so I would be closer to eye level with the wounds. I had to check each little hole and remove the pellet. The Golem was quiet as I worked. I didn’t want to stick the tweezers in and poke around; that would hurt. I gently pressed with my fingers on either side of the hole, hoping to ease the pellet up to the surface, where I could easily grab it with the tweezers. I did that, one pellet hole after another, until I had removed forty-three pellets and dabbed ointment on each wound.
He whimpered but I kept working, the television blaring the whole time. When I thought the pain was too much for him, I rested my hand on his shoulder and let him gather his courage. I needed some too. What made people so mean? Why would they hurt someone just for being different?
After the pellets were removed, I eased myself to sit beside him and took his hand in mine. It was like holding a big canned ham. The Golem bowed his head, unwilling to look at me. I rested my head against his shoulder and sighed, and even though I couldn’t see it and he technically didn’t have lips, I think he kissed the top of my head.
Then he jumped up and ran to the window, leaping into the darkness.
I hopped up and followed, sticking my head out to look for him, but he was gone. Glancing up, I saw the bright full moon above me, illuminating the street below. A woman stood under the streetlight, face turned in my direction, her long blond hair blowing in the night wind.
I ducked my head back in and shut the window, fast. The night noises grew louder—the barks and growls and howls and slithering things. I looked back out the window, but the woman was gone.
The book was open and glowing, so I turned to the blank page Xeno used for communicating. “Is that what a Guardian does? Takes care of monsters? The ones who get hurt?” I asked. The page remained blank. “Monsters need people sometimes, right?”
In truth, it is people who need monsters. How do you feel?
I chewed my lip for a second before answering. “Better, I think. It felt good to help him. And it felt good to play in the snow with him.” I laughed softly, thinking about his delight in one little snowflake. “But there’s a strange lady following me and there are so many questions I have for you. I have to know how everything works.”
I’ve been alive for over two thousand years and I still don’t know that.
Ask me your first question.
A hundred filled my head at once. It was hard to know which to ask. How did I know which one was the most important? Mom might be coming to bed at any moment. I would run out of time before I asked everything.
“Monsters aren’t like animals—your book says that. People invented them, but they aren’t just stories. They’re real. How is that possible?”
What is underneath you right now?
I was sitting on my bed, but didn’t he know that? “Uh, my bedspread.”
&n
bsp; Your bedspread began as a thought. Someone imagined it before it came to be. The home you live in? Someone first imagined that too. Imagination made the world. Why, then, would you think that imagination couldn’t make a monster too? Did you think the boundaries of imagination stop at bedspreads and buildings? Imagination is the most practical and powerful force on earth.
“But how did a monster go from being in someone’s imagination to walking around on the earth?”
The entire world pulses with wonder and creation and magic. How did your bedspread go from the mind to the mill? How does the painting go from the soul to the canvas? Every one of us does some bit of magic like that every day. Do not be surprised, then, that some people can make their imagination walk out into the sun or howl under the moon. Some people perfect their magic.
“How?” I asked.
I never learned that secret. I studied what was already here, not what could be. That was what the Master asked of me.
Something still didn’t make sense. “But we’re frightened of monsters,” I said. “Why would we make something we’re scared of?”
By creating monsters, we chose what we would be most afraid of. We set limits to it, told it where it could live and what it would look like. We gave fear a place of its own and we were free to enjoy our lives once more.
Mom turned off the television. The sudden silence made me jump. Time was running out for the night, and I had only asked four questions. There was still so much I needed to know!
“How do they find me?” I whispered urgently.
You made a decision to love what is unlovable. They will always be able to find you. You are a light in a dark world, Sofia. But do not trust the darkness. Monsters are not the only things that dwell in the shadows.
The Last Monster Page 9
