Tell the Story to Its End

by Simon P. Clark

  We were quiet for a while, not looking at each other.

  ‘You’re special, y’know,’ said Eren. I snorted and sniffed. ‘No, no, you are,’ he said. ‘Your mind. Your heart. I don’t play with just anyone, you know. Not just any. But you … you’re my kind of boy.’

  ‘I’m rubbish at these stories,’ I said, almost sorry for it. He laughed with bright, wide eyes.

  ‘Ha! No, oh, no, no, no you are not. Your friend, little Emma, she’s good – could be great, one day, with the right little push – but you’re better. A natural, all ready for the plucking. She’s pure and light and … innocent. You have the fire. The mark. I see it. I know it. There’s nothing rubbish about you, lad.’

  ‘Hers are better. Her stories,’ I said, more hesitantly this time. Eren shook his head.

  ‘Nope. You have the sight to see the darkness in the tale, boy. You’re one of the ones I can use. Yup, you’re one of ’em. Really!’

  ‘Are there others?’ I asked. The things he said made me happier. I smiled at him for a second and he puffed out his chest. He shrugged.

  ‘There have been. Some are special and some aren’t. You get to see me, you lucky pup! I had another friend, y’know, years back, way back when. Right here. She’s gone now, though. Too long ago. You know how it is.’

  I didn’t. ‘What?’

  ‘This same house, you know. Years ago. Hundreds. She saw me and knew me. She wrote in her diary and the stories danced and we played together and laughed in the moonlight. She’s gone now.’

  ‘Why?’

  Eren laughed. ‘Hundreds of years, Oli! She died, for sure. I stayed. Sometimes I meet people who are like you and are … are … fun.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No dwelling on the past. It pains me, my child. Ha! But you read some of her diary, little spud! She used to write for hours in her diary, telling stories and sharing secrets. It’s how I got in, how I met her. You even read some of the pages when I huffed and puffed and blew them. You plucked them from the air … and then I knew – oh, boy! – I knew another player had arrived.’

  ‘The pages in the street, that blew around the car?’ It was crazy to think of it, but it made so much sense, and as he nodded I just smiled again.

  ‘Her diary. And it found you. A nice link, no? All very neat. I was pleased with that.’

  ‘Tell me about her!’

  ‘No,’ he said, holding up his hand with such speed I stepped back, and knew, without question, he wouldn’t say any more. ‘The past is gone. It’s you here now. Oh, yes. You and me, mouse. Good times, eh? You’re the one who’s here now. You tell the stories. Go on with you, now.’

  Dust and silence filled the space between us. My mouth was dry, or too filled with old words. I nodded, spat, and climbed down the ladder.

  EIGHTEEN

  His eyes are close to mine. He’s chuckling, I think. He’s breathing in my ear.

  ‘I can leave this place,’ he says. ‘In the end, time gets hold of everything. You know what an animal has to do, to get out of a trap? It has to wait. In the end, springs rust, bricks crumble, walls fall, and all you have to do, to escape any trap, is exist longer than it does.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘When I first met you,’ he says, holding up an arm to stop me, ‘you asked me why I didn’t just leave this place. Why I didn’t go and do things for myself.’

  I’m nodding, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  ‘Well, we’ll have our answers soon enough,’ he says, and smiles. He leans back and lets me continue.

  THEY KNOCKED on the door while we were eating lunch. Mum was playing with her salad, moving the fork around the bowl and resting her head on her hand. Uncle Rob turned his head in surprise, and Bekah’s eyes moved to his.

  ‘That scratch,’ said Mum in a distant voice, still leaning on her hand, ‘when did that happen?’

  She ignored the knocking. I looked at her, smiled. ‘Just playing. With Takeru.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Three more knocks sounded. Bekah put down her tea.

  ‘Wonder who that could be…?’ she muttered, then stopped as Rob stood up. I watched him, chewing on my bread. The room was tense suddenly, as if we were hiding from the world. Rob went to the hall, shutting the kitchen door behind him.

  ‘Probably selling something,’ said Bekah into the silence. I nodded. Mum scratched her fork against the bowl and fiddled with her hair.

  Uncle Rob’s voice, loud and angry, sounded from the porch.

  ‘What on earth…?’ sighed Mum, but as she stood she froze, her eyes fixed suddenly on Bekah, shaking her head. Rob’s voice was muffled but he was talking fast, almost shouting, and then the door was closed with a slam that shook the frame.

  ‘Oli, stay here,’ said Bekah and she ran to the corridor.

  Pushing my chair back I followed her, then turned, went over to Mum, put my hands on her shoulders. ‘You all right?’ I asked.

  She turned to face me, smiling weakly. ‘Tough times, Oli,’ she said. ‘Tough times.’

  The kitchen door opened again. Uncle Rob came back in, followed by Bekah. He was breathing hard.

  ‘From the papers,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘I knew it!’ said Mum. ‘I bloody knew it. It was always going to happen.’

  ‘Judy, please,’ said Bekah. ‘No need to worry – Rob sent them away, and they don’t have the right to just—’

  ‘Vultures,’ said Uncle Rob.

  ‘They’ll just wait. They’ll just – damn it. Sorry, Oli.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said.

  ‘You can stay,’ said Rob. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong; they can’t harass you like this. I’ll call my lawyer.’

  ‘We’ve been stupid,’ said Mum.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I shouted, and my voice echoed on the tiles. They all looked at me in surprise. ‘Why are there reporters here now? It’s about Dad, isn’t it? Come on, I’m not dumb. Tell me!’

  Mum fell into her seat again and looked at me with an empty face. ‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to know about it all.’

  ‘You keep saying that but it isn’t true!’

  ‘I just—’

  ‘You can’t pretend any more! I don’t need protecting!’

  Mum had tears in her eyes. She sniffed. ‘Your dad…’ she began.

  Uncle Rob raised a hand and put it on the table. ‘Judy, perhaps right now isn’t the best—’

  ‘Shh, honey,’ said Bekah, taking his hand in hers.

  Mum fixed her gaze on mine, her voice just a whisper. ‘Should I have told you right away?’ she said. Her voice caught in her throat and she stopped for a second. Uncle Rob stared at her, barely moving, barely blinking. Bekah leaned against him.

  ‘It’s so complicated,’ she said. ‘So big. Reporters, yes. Asking about your dad. Wanting to know what we know.’

  ‘Em’s dad. A couple of others … they knew. All along they knew how bad this was. But you kept it a secret.’

  ‘If they follow the news, and they saw us, they’d work it out,’ said Mum. ‘George, Emma’s dad, he already knew. He and your dad have argued for years. George always hated your dad’s success.’

  Rob snorted and Bekah hushed him again.

  ‘Your father’s not coming here. We might not see him for some time. And now the papers have found us…’

  Her voice trailed off. I looked at her. I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’ll phone my lawyer,’ said Rob, again. ‘They can’t badger you and get away with it. I won’t allow it.’

  Mum nodded and picked up her fork again. She looked frail.

  ‘You should have told me,’ I said again. ‘From the start.’

  ‘Oli,’ said Rob, ‘this whole thing—’

  ‘You’re not my dad, Rob,’ I said. ‘You’re not. Stop acting like you are!’

  ‘Oli!’ said Mum.

  ‘You should have told me! You shouldn’t have lied!’r />
  Mum’s eyes were watery, her voice all soft and strange. ‘Maybe,’ she said. Then, ‘Yes. I shouldn’t have lied.’

  ‘Dad might need me,’ I said.

  Mum gave a strange, shuddering sigh.

  ‘I know about it,’ I spat. ‘About the pensions. I know, even though you don’t think I do. I’m not stupid! I worked it out.’

  The kitchen was quiet. Rob coughed, opened his mouth, but said nothing. I glared at him. Bekah was fidgeting with her hair.

  ‘You know?’ said Mum. There was no fight in her suddenly, no passion, no anger. I glared at her, balling my fists. I wanted her to fight. I wanted her to shout back.

  ‘You don’t care if I know,’ I said.

  ‘They just – we just wanted to keep you safe,’ said Bekah. I snorted.

  ‘You don’t even care whether I know or not,’ I said.

  ‘I thought it was for the best, for you, Oli,’ said Mum.

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘Coming here,’ said Mum. ‘One last summer. One last good memory. To escape. To avoid it all. Can’t you see?’

  ‘You lied,’ I said. ‘To me. You lied!’

  ‘Oli…’ said Rob, but I turned away from him, to Mum, to nothing.

  ‘I’m going out,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe you should stay,’ said Bekah, ‘and we can—’

  ‘No!’

  Before anyone could move I threw open the door and stormed out.

  * * *

  My mind was hot, a swarm of buzzing, a pounding pressure. I ran down the street straight to Em’s house, heard someone shout behind me, jumped the fence. There was someone in the road, calling my name. The apple trees were duller than the last time I’d seen them. In the corner of my eye the tail of a cat flickered and disappeared.

  She was sitting reading in the kitchen, her back to me.

  ‘Em!’ I hissed, tapping on the glass with my knuckle. ‘Em!’

  She looked up, startled, then relaxed when she saw my face pushed against the window. She giggled, tutted, came to open the door. ‘You coming in?’ she asked.

  ‘No, come out, come on,’ I said, stepping back into the garden.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You OK?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know. No. No. Maybe.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said, and went to fetch her shoes. I was alone in the trees, and the wind blew cold. I looked up, across, at the attic window. I nodded, smiled, like I was part of some big joke, and looked away again, at the grass.

  ‘OK, mysterio,’ said Em. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Can we go through the flap?’

  ‘You would use the Portal?’ she asked, gasping dramatically, clutching at her heart. ‘Are you of pure heart? Do you seek knowledge … or revenge?’

  ‘Em, come on … I seek knowledge, OK? You want to know about my heart?’

  I grabbed her hand and pushed her palm onto my chest. My heart was racing, filling my world with drums and noise. She nodded.

  ‘The Portal,’ I said.

  ‘The Portal.’

  We pushed through the bushes, through the leaves and branches, to the dark where the soil was still damp. The fence was green and dusty with moss, but the hinge was good, and the flap worked as perfectly as ever. ‘Not bad, right?’ asked Em. ‘It’ll work till the end of the world, you know.’

  ‘I believe you,’ I said. I did.

  * * *

  We hunkered low in Takeru’s garden, moving quickly, sticking to the border. Em filled her pocket with three small stones. ‘Three shots,’ she said. ‘All I need.’

  ‘Thanks, Em. He’ll be in, you think?’

  She shrugged. ‘Let’s find out!’

  She chucked the stones with a grin, bobbing her head slightly as they pinged off the glass above. We waited.

  ‘Too hard,’ said Em, ‘and I’d break the window. But too soft and he won’t hear. Got to be careful.’

  ‘Why don’t we just ring the doorbell?’

  She sighed and touched her elbow to my ribs. ‘Isn’t this more fun? ’Mazing!’

  The sound of a door being opened made us freeze, and we turned to look up the path towards the front of the house.

  ‘You think you’re being subtle,’ said a voice, ‘but seriously, come on…’

  Em grinned wider. ‘Tak!’ she yelled as he came round the corner. He smiled at me, stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky.

  ‘Wow! I totally didn’t see you coming up the garden.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Em.

  ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ I said.

  He looked at Em, confused, and chuckled. ‘Who knew I’d made such an impression. Y’all right, Oli?’

  I sighed, kicking at the ground with my heel. ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘You’re acting kind of weird. Even by your standards.’

  I looked into their faces, saw their eyes, honest and friendly, felt their gaze on me, and the sun high above, shining and solid.

  ‘My dad,’ I said, and the way Em shuffled her feet told me enough. She knew. Takeru didn’t say anything. I walked forward, the gravel on the path crunching under my feet.

  ‘It’s a massive mess,’ I said. I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I just wanted to talk. ‘I think we’re supposed to be hiding, kind of. Because of Dad. I don’t know what you know, but it’s bad. Some journalists came round, they’ve found out where we are.’

  ‘The men in the car,’ said Em, then stopped. We all looked at the ground.

  ‘I might have to head away again. I don’t know. It’s all kind of weird.’

  ‘My … my dad has said a bit,’ said Em, in such a small voice it surprised me. ‘I think he’s angry at the government. He said your dad’s been found out.’

  Her voice died away again. In the trees, the leaves whispered and giggled as the wind raced through. Deep in my mind, I saw the darkness of Eren’s eyes.

  ‘What do the journalists want?’ asked Takeru.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You, probably,’ said Em, nodding towards me. ‘Lies. Words. Gossip and lies and songs.’

  ‘Don’t think they’ll want songs, Em,’ said Takeru. She stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘There once was a man,’ she said, ‘who collected words. He put them in a special glass jar he had, whenever he found one he liked very much.’

  ‘You what?’ said Takeru.

  ‘A story,’ I said, hushing him. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘Well,’ she smiled, raising her eyebrows, ‘he had a glass jar. And, if you were talking to him and you used a new, exciting word that he liked, he would scoop it up, put it in his jar, and carry it off. He was a collector, I guess. Like an oologist.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Collects eggs.’

  ‘Like a campanologist,’ said Takeru.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Collects bells,’ he said, knowingly.

  ‘Stop being smart,’ said Em. ‘This man collected words, all the new and bright words he heard. So he was a … a lexologist. The problem, though, was that if he took a new word from you, he locked it up so tight that no one else could use the word ever again – not even you, who’d shown it to him in the first place. He was obsessed – he wanted them all. At night his bedroom shone like the Milky Way, the jars on his shelves dancing and spinning with trapped, silvery, exotic, beautiful, fancy words. People complained to him, of course, but they couldn’t stop him. No one knew how his jars worked, see, and there aren’t any laws against bottling up words – no one owns them, no one sells them. But people knew. He took the word “constellation” and trapped it in a jam jar. Astronomers didn’t know what to do! He heard the word “peahen” and gobbled that one up too, and then all the visitors to the parks and zoos didn’t know what to say when they saw one. He took “gobbled” too, actually. All by magic.’

  She paused, looking at us in the half-light of the path. Takeru waited for her to keep going, a slight smile on his face. The wind ruffled my hair
and I swear I felt Eren’s claws on my cheeks. I pushed the thought away, listened to Em, watched her spin the web.

  She’s good, Eren said, a whisper in my ear. You’re better.

  ‘Well, one day a man came to his door,’ said Em. ‘He was young enough, but his clothes were old, and he had a beard that went well past his chin. The man greeted him with a great big smile and a bow. “I have an offer for you,” he said.

  ‘“And what might that be?” asked the word-hoarder. He was suspicious enough of visitors, who might want to steal his words back, but he could never pass up the chance to talk to someone new, and someone so obviously from far away. Imagine what words he might have …

  ‘“I know of your collection, and I admire your work,” said the man. “But I wonder, does it not sadden you not to possess the Greatest Word?”

  ‘“The Greatest Word?” asked the man. He shook his head and chuckled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What rubbish! I’ve no time for this…”

  ‘“Then watch this,” said the stranger, and he opened his mouth to speak—’

  ‘Oliver Munroe?’

  We all turned, surprised, towards the road. A man was looking down the side of the house, peering through the shadows. ‘You guys know an Oliver Munroe? Just wondered if I could grab a quick word?’

  ‘You leave him alone!’ shouted Em, so loudly that Takeru jumped.

  The man stepped backwards, looking around the street. ‘All right, sorry kids,’ he said, turning away. ‘Made a mistake, that’s all. Have a good day, now. Just a mistake.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Em. ‘Back through the gardens.’

  Takeru nodded and pushed me back down the path, into his garden and down the lawn. ‘My parents aren’t actually in right now,’ he said. He shot me a look. ‘No need for all the sneaking. Just make sure those guys don’t see.’

  I looked back, watching the road as Em and Tak disappeared into the bushes.

  NINETEEN

  ‘When you tell a story, you expose your weakest heart,’ Eren explains. I don’t know if he’s moving his lips. Maybe his voice is in my head.