The Box of Demons

by Daniel Whelan

  ‘Are you having cake, Marie Celeste? That’s nice, isn’t it?’ she said. Mary Rose stuck out her tongue, but Pat had already turned to address Ben’s grandmother in her most sincere tone, the effect of which was total insincerity: ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Robson, but we don’t allow blades in the day room.’

  ‘It’s only a cake slice,’ muttered Ben’s grandad.

  ‘Is that right, Pat?’ replied Ben’s grandmother, a little louder than she needed to. ‘Do you know, I did not know that. I should have pre-cut it, shouldn’t I? Oh well. What a shame. I was just going to send Ben to ask if you’d like a slice too.’

  ‘Ooh, well, I really shouldn’t. Weight Watchers, you know,’ said Pat, unconsciously running her tongue over her lips. ‘But I suppose I have been good this week . . .’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Ben’s grandmother. ‘But however would we cut it? That’s the problem.’

  Pat looked worried for a moment, before a knowing smile passed over her face. ‘I’m sure we can make an exception just this once.’

  Ben’s grandmother took another paper plate, and served Pat a generous slice. ‘Will you sit with us, Pat?’

  ‘I’d like to, Mrs Robson, but as I was telling Marie Celeste this morning . . .’

  ‘Mary Rose,’ coughed Ben’s grandad.

  ‘. . . I have such a lot of paperwork today. I’ll have to head back to the grindstone sooner rather than later. But I suppose it can’t hurt to take the weight off my feet for a bit.’ She picked up her plate, and held it under her downy chin as she took a generous bite of the generous slice. ‘Did you tell your mum and dad about our silly accident with the bottle tops, Marie Celeste?’ she said through a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘Mary Rose,’ mumbled Ben’s grandad. ‘Stupid woman.’

  ‘Oh, Paul,’ said Ben’s grandmother, raising her voice, ‘I’ve left the pop and the paper cups in the car. Can you go and get them for me? Would you like a cup of pop, Pat?’

  ‘Ooh, why not?’ said Pat. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound. If you’re going, Mr Robson.’ Ben’s grandad sighed, muttered something under his breath, and got up from the table.

  ‘Can you bring my magazine?’ said Ben, seeing how things were about to take a turn for the boring. ‘Quest. It’s in my bag.’ His grandad nodded, and slowly walked away, still muttering to himself.

  The novelty of Pat sitting with a patient had attracted the interest of the other residents, and they began to edge closer to the table, either to eavesdrop or in hope of also being offered cake, and so Ben did not notice his grandad’s return until his satchel landed in his lap, and the music of the Box played an expectant trill. ‘I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought the bag,’ said his grandad. ‘Don’t know why you’re carrying that old jewellery box of your mother’s around with you.’

  ‘Um, I keep my models in it. And some paints,’ gulped Ben. He looked round the table. His grandmother was pouring a glass of cola for Pat. His grandfather had settled back into his seat and was now ‘watching’ the television, even though it was halfway across the room and muted. His mother had dipped her finger in a droplet of spilt cola and was drawing fishes on the plastic tablecloth.

  The Box’s music changed subtly, and Ben quietly lay his forearm over his bag to still the demon beneath. A pair of pale yellow hands appeared on either side of the flap and began to hoist themselves up. Ben gently pushed his chair back, and set about undoing the buckles. His mother stopped swooshing her finger about and stared at him. He smiled at her, opened the bag, and pretended as best he could to be looking for his magazine.

  Orff made a deep, wheezing noise as he pulled himself out. The other patients, Pat, the orderlies, and Ben’s grandparents did not notice a thing, not even Ben’s fidgeting.

  Ben’s mother, however, screamed.

  ‘Devil! Give me thy name, that I might send thee back to Hell!’ She stood up, knocking the armchair backwards, and pointed at Orff. Around them the room erupted with noise and laughter.

  ‘Come on, Marie Celeste,’ said Pat. ‘There’s no need for that, is there? That’s Brian, isn’t it? Your son.’

  ‘What’s all this shouting? I suffer with migraines, you know,’ said Orff. ‘Can she see me?’

  ‘Aye, demon, and hear thee too. I know thee. Back to Hell! Back to Hell!’ Mary Rose made a cross with her fingers and waved it at Orff.

  ‘Well, I’ve never been so insulted in all eternity,’ said Orff. ‘All I wanted was a stretch of the legs. Fine greeting this is.’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Ben.

  ‘Ben!’ said his grandmother. ‘Don’t talk to your mother like that. It’s not her fault.’

  ‘Flippin’ heck, Annette,’ said Ben’s grandad. He took hold of Mary Rose’s arm and tried to force her to sit down. Blue smoke began to rise from Ben’s lap.

  ‘Ow ow ow,’ said Djinn. ‘Have we moved? Ooh, the day room. Not been in here for ages. Cake!’

  Mary Rose switched her makeshift cross towards Djinn, who was now hovering in front of Pat. ‘No cake, demon. No cake for you!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Marie Celeste. We don’t want to call the orderlies, now, do we?’ said Pat.

  ‘It’s Mary Rose, you stupid woman. Mary Rose!’ shouted Ben’s grandad.

  ‘Paul!’ said Ben’s grandmother.

  ‘Can she see us then, Ben?’ said Djinn.

  ‘It knows your name?’ Mary Rose shrieked, the tendons in her neck straining. ‘I always knew you were hellspawn. Devil child, repent! Repent!’

  ‘That’s enough now, Marie Celeste,’ said Pat.

  ‘Mary Rose!’ said Ben’s grandfather.

  ‘I don’t think that your aggressive attitude is helping the situation, Mr Robson,’ said Pat in an infuriatingly calming tone.

  ‘Hellion!’ yelled Mary Rose.

  The combined commotion of Mary Rose’s shouts and the chorus of the gathered inmates – including a man in pyjamas who had started joyously repeating the words ‘devil child’ over and over – had brought a pair of burly male orderlies in from the nurses’ office. They started shifting their way through the crowd of patients to get to Mary Rose.

  ‘I’m – I’m – I’m sorry,’ said Ben, shaking. His grandmother rushed to his side, putting a comforting arm around him and rubbing his back.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

  ‘Yes I do. Succubus!’

  It was that moment that Kartofel chose to poke his head over the top of the satchel. At the sight of a fireball apparently rising from the depths of Hell, Mary Rose grabbed the blunt cake slice and thrust it towards Kartofel, who was positioned directly in front of Ben’s stomach.

  Ben’s grandad shoved her to one side, causing her blow to skew to Ben’s left. The momentum of it caused her to fly forward, toppling the table as she did, sending the food flying. The orderlies barged through, descending on Mary Rose, twisting the slice out of her hand and restraining her while Pat prepared a sedative. Ben’s mother thrashed around, calling out names: fiend, shaitan, cacodemon. The needle ready, Pat worked quickly: Mary Rose struggled for a few seconds more before limply succumbing.

  ‘And that,’ said Pat, triumphantly wiping sweat from her now ruddy brow, ‘is why we don’t allow blades in the day room.’

  The demons, seeing the state of Ben and hearing his broken sobs, wisely decided to get back in the Box. Ben’s grandmother hugged him tightly, whispering assurances into his ear, until his breathing calmed, and the sobbing abated.

  ‘I think we should go home,’ she said.

  Chapter Four

  Paradise Lost

  While all that was happening to Ben, Lord Druss of the Great Leporine Kingdom was enjoying his Sunday. Naturally he had no idea that it was ‘Sunday’, on account of his being a rabbit. He had no concept of the division of time. For him, a day was judged by how light or dark it was; a season by how hot or cold. That, and the frequency of his meals, was all he had to mark t
ime by.

  He had been awake since first light, nestling in his straw, watching over his garden kingdom through the bars of his splendid wooden palace. He had been keeping an eye on a particularly cocky black butterfly that had taken it upon itself to flutter about like it owned the place, when the Boy – current Protector and Mucker of the Royal Quarters – arrived and released the front wall of the palace. Lord Druss hopped forward a little to better facilitate the Boy’s tasks, and deigned to allow himself to be handled, that he might be groomed, or else be set down to roam his kingdom.

  The Boy brought Lord Druss close to his head, nuzzling his face in the King’s fur, and whispering what were, Lord Druss had no doubt, devotions into the Royal ears in Humanish. He had never had much of an ear for the Human languages, but had picked up the odd word like ‘tonight’ (less than a day) or ‘lettuce’ (food). He considered learning any more than that beneath him. It didn’t do to fraternise too closely with the servants.

  Once the Boy was finished, and he had the reassuring feel of soil beneath his paws, he began to survey his Kingdom. Rabbits were meant to be on the ground. If they were meant to be at great heights, they would be men, and who would want that? He tolerated the Boy grooming him in mid-air as it seemed to offer him some comfort, but in truth Druss didn’t much care for being separated from the ground. The palace he lived in towered above the Kingdom on long wooden legs, and let anything that breached his borders know exactly who was in charge. But the hollow sound of the floor could not be disguised, reminding him that he was apart from the earth: such is a King’s lot. As Druss lumbered slowly around, stopping every now and then to snack on a leaf or just to rest his ageing muscles, the Boy began the changing of the Royal bedding, the replenishing of the Royal water, and the removal of the Royal excrement.

  He had expected to see the butterfly, but clearly it had been startled by the pomp of his coming, and had wisely retreated to the kingdom of some other rabbit, one less awe-inspiring and mighty than Lord Druss. After he had hopped once around the boundary fence, he stopped to rest, content in the knowledge that all was well in his Kingdom, and that it was safe.

  The Aged Girl came out from the humans’ hutch and shouted something in Humanish. Lord Druss understood the word ‘later’ which he knew also meant ‘less than a day’, and wondered why humans needed so many words for the same things. The Boy called back, stooped down to quickly run his hand through the King’s magnificent fur, and then ran back to their hutch.

  Forgetful, stupid boy, thought Lord Druss. He hasn’t realized that he has left me here unguarded. It is fortunate that I am such a resourceful and hardy king. I shall just have to return to the palace on my own. Perhaps I will produce extra droppings for him to clear as punishment.

  He turned in a wide circle, feeling every day of his reign as he did. He knew he was becoming cumbersome, and that it was only a matter of time before he ceased to be warm. He still had what it took to deal with trespassers though. He did not intend to be the rabbit who let the Leporine Kingdom fall.

  He had barely made it a quarter of the way when the Boy returned. Clearly he had realized his error, and had come rushing back to beg forgiveness, for he brought with him a bounty of delicious greenery. The Boy stuffed the feast through the open palace wall, and then gathered Lord Druss up in one hand. Insulted at being so roughly handled, he instinctively gave a scurrying kick, but soon stopped when it became obvious the Boy was struggling to keep his grip. He had always assumed, rabbits being so vastly superior to cats, that he would be able to survive such a fall and land on his feet. But he had no desire to find out, and so allowed the Boy to move him without further protest. Once he was delivered safely back to the palace, the Boy leaned down, lowering his face so that their eyes met. He put one finger to the bars, at the place that was nearest to the King’s muzzle, and said that strange Humanish word again: ‘tonight’.

  He awoke a little later to the sound of a butterfly beating its wings. A black wisp flitted merrily across his field of vision. Just you wait, he thought. You’ll pay for this arrogance. He took a long drink from the metal tube that delivered the Royal water, and then shuffled back to the food the Boy had left. He ate much of it, and with his strength up, shuffled back to watch out for the butterfly. It had gone.

  He took refuge in the warmth of the palace, hunched up in the straw. Brief smatterings of rain drummed down on the palace roof, echoing around his quarters. He wanted to sleep through them, but could only drift in and out according to the whims of the weather. Mostly he dreamed of great battles and swift running, the ancient tribal memories of his kind, from the time before they had civilized the humans and made them their slaves.

  When he woke for the final time, it was late in the afternoon: the day was losing its light, and a greyness had spread across the kingdom. ‘Tonight’, he knew, drew near.

  He had been woken by the sound of whispered Humanish from beyond his realm. He thought at first that the Boy and the Aged Boy and the Aged Girl had returned, but as the wall squeaked open, three Girls entered. These were humans that Lord Druss had never seen before, and he could not understand how they were using his humans’ wall to enter his kingdom. It should have been sealed from the inside. The Girls whispered to each other, and one of them, clearly the runt of the litter, giggled at such a pitch that it set Druss to grinding his teeth. They were a monstrous sight, like the legendary Ogres of Petshop. They were huge, and they stank of sweat and human food, a terrible stench that threatened to overpower the radiant aromas of his kingdom.

  Once inside, they became more confident. They began to chase each other round the kingdom, running through flowerbeds and kicking over pots. One of the Girls, the one that smelt the worst and had disfiguring yellow markings pitted all over her face, produced something that looked like the Royal water tube, shook it, and began squirting liquid on to the walls of the humans’ hutch. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t water. The tube made a sound like a snake, and what came out of it was the colour of blood. This Pitted Girl – who appeared to be the leader of the herd – made markings all over the hutch until she tired of it and started to spray one of the other Girls instead. Lord Druss quietly backed into the darkest corner of the palace.

  The Runt Girl giggled. She had discovered the vegetable patch beyond the palace grounds. She rudely plucked out a handful of carrots, swinging them round her head before throwing them at the third Girl, who was like a great shaven hamster. The Hamster Girl took hold of the Runt’s head, and forced it under her right arm before using her left to roughly rub the Runt Girl’s head-fur. This led to a struggle, which brought them both to the ground. Together they wrestled on the floor, laughing all the time. In the melee, they rolled over the boundary fence into the palace grounds. Lord Druss’s eyes widened. A long-forgotten tribal reflex kicked in, and he stamped his foot rapidly on the wooden floor, beating out a tattoo of warning and distress to any rabbits nearby. It was done before he knew he was doing it, and the sound echoed around the palace, out into the kingdom beyond. It seemed to Lord Druss to be the loudest sound ever made.

  The Girls stopped fighting at once, and turned their heads towards the palace, their faces lit with joy. The Hamster and the Runt scrambled to their feet, and the Pitted Girl ran to join them. Lord Druss heard the Humanish word ‘rabbit’, which meant both ‘person’ and ‘King’. Perhaps now that they had realized whose presence they were in they would show respect. In moments they were at the palace, clumsily clawing at the bars until they had their hands inside and their huge faces pressed up to the open door. Lord Druss twisted and turned, hoping to avoid the Girls’ grasps, but soon found he had nowhere to go. The palace, which had always seemed generous and spacious, was now cramped and confined, a cage.

  Soon the Pitted Girl had hold of him, roughly, and had raised him above her head, like he was the spoils of some war. He tried kicking out at her, but she had him at arm’s length, held firmly by his middle. His heart beat wildly, blood pounding out a rhythm of
fear that filled his ears, screaming run, run, run.

  He felt sick, and scared, and he began to hear the strangest noises, lapine noises for sure, but he could not tell from whence they came, at least not at first. Disorientated, it took him a while to realize they were coming from his own mouth. He was screaming.

  The Pitted Girl brought him down from the sky, and held him close to her body. He wheezed as he tried to suck in enough air to still his heart. The Girl ran a huge greasy paw over his head, flattening his ears. The other Girls bent down to his level, their big faces filling his vision as they made shushing noises. Lord Druss’s heart refused to calm, and so he started to wriggle and kick. He needed to be on the ground. He twisted his head round to better escape the Pitted Girl’s paw, but still it kept coming, pulling his fur back again and again. He lashed out with his head and bit her hand. His mouth filled with the taste of her horrible bloody meat and suddenly he was running towards the grass at a speed not even his swiftest ancestor could have reached. He hit the earth with a heavy thud, pain shooting through his feet as he landed.

  Silence fell over the garden.

  Druss tried to get up, but he did not seem to be able to move.

  One of the invaders shouted something in Humanish, and they ran off, bursting out of the white wooden wall. Lord Druss tried to stamp a warning, but found that his hind legs were no longer listening to him. With great pain, he dug his front paws into the rain-softened earth.

  He had fallen amongst a patch of pale green blooms. He tried to drag himself forward, but only succeeded in turning himself round in a half circle, scraping what was left of the flowerbed around with him.

  He thought that it would not hurt, or would at least hurt less, if he took a little nap where he lay. The funny human word, ‘tonight’, was stuck in his head. Perhaps the Boy would not be much longer. Perhaps ‘tonight’ would be soon, and the Protector would return.