Tell the Story to Its End

by Simon P. Clark

  ‘But you’re not the same.’

  He moves like a mist to be nearer to me. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What do you need stories for? To live?’

  ‘To live,’ says Eren, and he sounds sad, infinitely sad, a small voice lost in the night. ‘Living is the strangest story there is, boy. Try not to forget that. It’s swings and roundabouts in the end. Stories define you, but you are the stories that matter. I’m just an outsider, in the end.’

  Stories feed him. We are stories. He moves like a mist towards me.

  ‘WOW, YOU look awful!’ said Em when she saw me. She was wearing a giant pink sunhat. I stared.

  ‘I … I was sleeping,’ I said.

  ‘Now? Wow, you’re mental. It’s a great day. Come on, come and meet my friend the sun. Looks like you could do with it, you sleepy bum.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, dazed. The sun shone down and I almost winced. ‘Yeah, let’s go. Go where?’

  ‘World’s our oyster,’ she said.

  ‘The forest, then,’ I said. ‘Let’s go there.’

  We called for Takeru and all walked together to the hills. The path was old and yellow, caked mud and dust all worn flat and hard. Takeru and Em chatted and joked and I dragged along behind, hands in my pockets. The distant trees grew closer and taller, until the sky was being held up on their spiky crowns and we could see them spreading out down the hill and up again, like soldiers lined up to attack. The forest felt thick and dark. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘It’s pretty big.’

  ‘This is where you get Robin Hood and goblins and poor Hansel and Gretel walking around all lost,’ said Em.

  ‘All in one place, huh?’ asked Takeru, smiling at me. The path turned into dry grass and rough weeds, swaying and rustling as we stamped through. Insects buzzed and seeds sprayed out in front of us. ‘They’ve got to be old, some of these guys,’ said Em, looking up at the pines. ‘I mean, there’s real history here – myths and all sorts.’

  ‘Actual myths about these trees?’ asked Takeru.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Why haven’t I heard? You’re full of it.’

  ‘Am not. And you never asked. OK, so these aren’t famous stories, but they’re real – ancient myths, ones not meant for children and babies, Tak.’

  ‘And you know them, eh?’ said Takeru. He was walking beside me, with Em leading the way. ‘She doesn’t know anything,’ he said in a hushed voice. I smiled. This open space was good. I felt freer.

  ‘I do know them, because I bothered looking, I bothered finding them,’ said Em, coming to a stop and waiting for us. Our jeans were spotted with grass and dew. The forest was black beyond the first few trees.

  ‘Where’d you find them?’ I asked. Takeru rolled his eyes and muttered something, but Em shushed him and continued.

  ‘There’s a library, and there’s a society for local history – old stuff about the town. I think it’s brilliant.’

  ‘Cool,’ I said. I started walking again. ‘How far in can we go?’ I asked. ‘I mean, how far are there paths?’ I imagined a wolf on our trail. Did wolves even live in England? I didn’t know.

  ‘No paths,’ said Takeru, ‘but it’s pretty easy to walk through most of it. Gets a bit steep on the hills, though, and all the roots make it pretty tough going.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Em. ‘In we go. Charge!’ She ran, letting her battle cry echo through the air as she slipped into the shade. I followed with Takeru, running suddenly as fast as we could, clouds of grass seeds swirling in the wind. The shadow of the trees was cool and felt damp on my face.

  ‘So go on, then,’ shouted Takeru as we ran, all three of us, through the forest. ‘Tell us the myths!’

  We stopped, panting, each leaning against a trunk to catch our breath. The whole place smelled of earth and water and wood. It smelled real. ‘How about the story of Full Lot Jack?’ said Em in a dark, hushed voice, and she crept behind the tree and whispered into the knots, ‘Come out, come out, Full Lot.’

  ‘What kind of name is that?’ asked Takeru.

  ‘Come out, Full Lot, come out,’ she whispered to the leaves. They sighed and danced in the low light. She smiled at Takeru and stuck her tongue out. ‘It’s a name you should be careful of, in these places,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, I think; though maybe it wasn’t, maybe it wasn’t that long ago at all. There was a girl—’

  ‘I’m sure there was,’ said Takeru, looking at me.

  ‘There was a girl and she was walking in the forest. Not at night, not being stupid, just walking, like we are, and she saw something in the trees. It was silver, and even though it was a sunny day, it was shining brighter than anything else. She went towards it. A pool! A puddle, really, not deep – but the water was so flat, so smooth, it was like a spilled mirror, like diamonds you could drink. She stared. “What makes you stare at the puddle?” says a voice behind her. Whoa! She turns around. There’s a man there, dressed strangely. A foreigner, she thinks, ’cause his clothes look good, and well made, but they’re still weird. “Oh, excuse me,” she says, “I was just amazed by the light.” He smiles. “Aye, that’d be a miracle, that. It’s taken me many a moon to collect so much.” “This is yours?” she asks, all impressed and astounded. “What is it?” The man looks at her, weighs her up and down in his mind, and speaks in a strange voice. The girl thinks she shouldn’t be talking to such a strange man, alone in a wood, but she doesn’t want to leave. It all looks so magical. “You want to know?” he asks. “It really is pretty,” she says. She would like to know. So he tells her. “It’s dreams,” is what he says.’

  Em paused to knock on the pine trunk and call into the hollows. Takeru snorted and clicked his tongue, but I was listening.

  ‘“Dreams? How does someone take dreams?” asks the girl. “Oh, you don’t take them. You are given them, by those who are good and honest enough.”’ When Em spoke as the man her voice was low, like the growl of a dog. It made me shudder.

  ‘“Why would a person give up a dream?” “Oh, for a greater prize,” he says. The girl can’t stop now, so she goes on, and she asks him, “What greater prize than your own dream?” The light of the pool dances on the bark of the pines and the leaves, which are light green and young and lively. She feels so excited to be here. “In return for their dreams I give them something they want more,” says Full Lot Jack. “Something they crave, something they are longing for, whatever it might be.”’

  Takeru was silent now as well, listening to Em’s story. She began to move through the trees, ducking behind and swaying against the trunks like a bird darting through mists.

  ‘The girl feels, in her heart she knows, that this man means what he says. She looks at the pool again. So bright! It’s heaven’s light, captured on a forest floor. She says she’d like that, too. What dreams does she have, anyway? A good husband? To see France? She says yes to the man with the puddle.’

  A huge pine was lying fallen on the floor, its branches still covered with green needles. We climbed along its broken back, snapping at the twigs we could reach. ‘How is that the end of the story?’ asked Takeru. ‘I mean, what’s she actually getting? What’s the deal meant to be? That story’s just nonsense.’ He sounded annoyed.

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Em, her voice mocking. ‘The girl wasn’t the only one. There were others. Full Lot Jack always makes the same offer, in the end – every dream you own, in return for your heart’s desire. That’s the legend.’

  ‘Where did you hear this stuff, really?’

  ‘I told you, places. The heritage. I said.’

  They frowned at each other.

  ‘Are there any books, you know, about the myths?’ I said. I jumped down from the broken back of the fallen pine. The ground was carpeted with needles, brown and dead and mouldering.

  ‘Come on,’ said Em, and she started to run off, heading out of the trees.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Takeru.

  ‘You want to k
now all about the old stories?’ she yelled. ‘Then come on!’

  ‘Where does she get all her energy from?’ I muttered. Takeru shrugged, and we chased after her, off out of the woods and into the light.

  * * *

  We ran down through the grass fields, along the dirt path, back to the town where the earth became concrete, fences turned to walls, trees stood in lines with flowers planted neatly at the base. Em went ahead, laughing and singing to herself, and Takeru and I followed, obedient as toddlers. He scratched his head as we slowed to a walk. ‘So…’ I said, trying to think of what to say. ‘So, Takeru’s a cool name.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Where’s it from?’

  ‘It’s Japanese. I already had it when I was adopted.’

  ‘That’s cool. Do you know Japanese?’

  ‘Nah, I’ve never even been.’

  I hoped I didn’t sound annoying. He didn’t seem to mind me quizzing him. We walked on.

  ‘So you’re here with your mum,’ he said. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t quite a statement. We were trying to work each other out.

  ‘I’m here with my mum,’ I repeated, ‘and my dad’s coming later in the summer.’

  In my head, clear and loud, I said, liar.

  ‘He away on a trip?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. I stopped walking. I was glad I could talk, glad Mum wasn’t here, or Rob, with smiles and busyness and silence. ‘He’s some sort of politician,’ I said. Takeru had stopped beside me. ‘He works for the government,’ I went on, ‘but here’s the thing – no one’ll tell me anything, but I know something happened and there’s a mess, I think, that he has to help solve.’

  ‘A mess?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Something. Trouble. It’s stupid.’

  It’s stories, I thought. Stories and whispers. I thought about Eren. Could I tell Takeru that? But I knew the answer. We started walking again.

  ‘Bummer,’ said Takeru. ‘About your dad.’ He tried to smile. ‘What’s he do?’

  I shook my head. ‘I asked once. Mum said it’s something to do with money and how people get paid. He’s cool, man, he has all these people to help him, and they have these awesome cars.’

  ‘James Bond!’ said Takeru. ‘Hope I get to meet him. Think he’ll take us for a ride?’

  I laughed, but nothing was funny. Deep, deep down, I prayed. Let him come back soon, I thought, and we can all race together. Don’t let anything be wrong.

  We walked on. Em, at the corner of the road now, had stopped and turned back to us, hands on her hips, tapping her foot along to nothing but the sound of birdsong. ‘Come on,’ she said.

  ‘Em, where are you taking us?’

  ‘To see the lady who keeps the tales.’

  ‘The lady,’ repeated Takeru.

  ‘The lady,’ I said. Brilliant.

  The road turned into a wider street, and at one of the houses, grand and red brick, we stopped. Em pointed to a tarnished gold sign on the wall. ‘There,’ she said with a firm nod. I read the sign out loud as Takeru looked up at the house and squinted in the sun.

  ‘Coxborough Local History Society, est. 1925.’

  ‘I told you, eh?’ said Em. ‘Let’s see who’s home!’

  She pressed a small doorbell. It only took a few seconds for the door to open and a woman to step out. She was old, her white hair curled and thick, gold glasses hanging around her neck. She was thin, but not slow, and she smiled when she saw Em. ‘Hello, stranger!’ she said, and invited us inside.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Barson. These are my friends. This is Takeru, he lives near me, and this is Oli – he’s here with his mum for the summer.’

  The lady, pink cardigan loose and soft, put on her glasses to see us. Takeru stood awkwardly. I tried to smile and settled for a nervous nod. She laughed gently, quietly. ‘My, what handsome boys. I like that one’s hair…’ she said, and moved her hand towards Takeru. He muttered something and blushed.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Barson,’ I said.

  ‘Please,’ she said, ‘call me Olive. Lovely to meet you, now.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Takeru, recovering and holding out his hand. Mrs Barson took it in both of hers, like a nun receiving a sinner, and then stood straighter. ‘Well, young Em, what can I do for you today?’

  ‘We were just up in the woods and I was telling them about Full Lot Jack.’

  ‘Ohh, yes, yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘And I said you knew all about this place, and all its stories. You’re the town’s historian, I said.’

  ‘Ha! Oh my,’ said Mrs Barson, holding her hand to her chest in mock surprise. ‘Such grandeur! I’m the current president of the society, certainly, and I know a thing or two of the older stories.’

  ‘May we look at your books?’ asked Em.

  Takeru leaned over to me again. ‘Never knew she could be so polite,’ he whispered.

  Mrs Barson led us through to a sunny front room. I’d never seen one quite like it. Takeru let out a soft ‘whoa!’ as we took it all in. The walls were covered with photos, some black and white, some faded yellow, some framed, others stuck on corkboards. Shelves of books in material covers sat either side of the window, and cases with glass doors held rows of crazy things that didn’t seem connected: brass watches, telescopes, stuffed animals – owls, voles – torn postcards, pottery, coins, silver knives, a sword, and a hundred other things I couldn’t even name. In the centre was a table full of maps spread out ready to be studied. ‘This place is awesome!’ said Takeru as he moved around to stare at maps, charts, daggers, pots. I nodded and moved to the books. ‘I’ll get you kids some juice,’ said Mrs Barson, walking out.

  ‘Em, how’d you find this place?’

  ‘It’s not a secret, dimwit. It’s a history society! My dad’s actually a member.’

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘Um … I don’t know. Lots of this stuff has been collected just in case, in case someone wants it, or it’s useful.’

  ‘Mate, look at this, these are bullets!’

  I moved over to see what Takeru was holding. They were round balls of clay, heavy and chipped. They felt cold. ‘Stuff they found in the ground when they were building new houses,’ said Em. The noise of glasses clinking echoed in the house. ‘From the Civil War. Come on, let me show you some books about the woods,’ she said, tugging our sleeves and taking us to a shelf across the room. Local Legends, it said in curly writing. Coxborough, Morey Woods. A few books were standing tightly together surrounded by leaflets and pamphlets – pages of stories, legends of ghosts, of churches, creatures, faeries, goblins, wolves and dark, winged things.

  I thought about Eren. Goosebumps prickled my arms. I put the books down and stepped back again.

  ‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Barson, bringing in a tray of orange juice and biscuits. ‘Now, anything particular I could help with? Nice to have people so interested in the society. Its heyday is long gone. Back in the forties and fifties, this place mattered more, to the locals. Back then there were locals, people whose families had lived here going back generations. Now people move here, or move away, and this place is more a museum.’

  She walked over to see what Em and Takeru had found. ‘Oh, The Myths and Ghosts of Coxborough,’ she said, glancing at the book they were flicking through. ‘Morey Woods used to be a great gathering place for the Little People, you know – goblins and faeries, sometimes a party of sprites. They’ve moved on now, but the echoes remain. You mentioned Full Lot Jack?’

  ‘I was telling these guys the story in the woods,’ said Em.

  ‘Oh, calling up his name, no doubt? But he doesn’t come any more. That shining pool of his is lost to mud.’

  ‘Where did the story come from?’ I asked. Mrs Barson ran her finger lightly along the books’ spines and smiled.

  ‘Where did it come from? From him, I suppose, originally; from Full Lot. But these tales get changed with every telling. Whenever a wanderer met him, they added their own truth
to the fiction, no doubt.’

  ‘How does the story end?’ asked Takeru. He looked at Em and Mrs Barson with raised eyebrows, expectant.

  The old woman chuckled again. ‘You teasing the boys, Em? Letting your tales drag long and low?’

  ‘I told them about the pool, the dreams, the offer, the price. It was the first girl.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Barson, ‘the first girl to lose in that game. Come on, I’ll tell the rest. Let me sit down, though. Drink your juice! Don’t waste an old woman’s effort.’

  We took three chairs amongst the dust, the black eyes of a stuffed owl staring down from a shelf. I realised there were antlers perched on the wall above me.

  ‘So the girl has been offered her desire, hmm?’ asked Mrs Barson, and Em nodded, tucking her legs under her. She’s heard this all before, I thought.

  ‘Well then, let’s keep going. The first record we have says that the girl agreed, all eager and bright, to give her dreams in exchange for a prize beyond her imagination. Full Lot Jack gets his name from the bargain he offers. She has to give him everything, willingly – the full lot of dreams she keeps stored up – and only then can Full Lot give her what she wants. She agrees. Now, depending on which version of the legend you have, at this point Full Lot either turns into a raven and flies away, or he turns into the pool of water himself, or he simply vanishes into the woods. The girl walks home, not saying a word to a soul, and settles into bed, and sleeps. The night passes, dark and silent, and she wakes, wondering only what her prize will be. She goes down to breakfast and greets her family – her mother, father and baby brother. They’re staring at her, in a most uncomforting way. They look strange, she thinks. “What is it?” she asks. Her father speaks first. “Are you well, my love? You seem somewhat … pale.”

  ‘“You cannot be well!” says her mother. Her baby brother ignores her, even as she pats his head. “I’m quite all right, thank you,” says she, and takes toast and eggs. Strange, though – the food seems so tasteless. She drinks tea. It gives her no pleasure. Perhaps she is ill, after all. She fetches a mirror, and her parents watch her, nervously, without turning their heads.