by Gary Fry
“Oh, don’t say that, ” she snapped back, but then started opening the book. “Not a ghost, no. Something else. ”
——
They’d put their daughter to bed the following evening before they had another chance to talk about the book Tanya had found in her late mother’s attic. Freda was seven years old and already more aware of what went on around her than Tanya thought was good for her. After playing with a few dolls found in the Dales bungalow, the girl had gone to sleep cuddling them, leaving her parents to retreat to their own room and discuss what had been on Tanya’s mind all day.
Before Oliver could say anything, Tanya opened the book at its contents page and reread a list of stories whose words felt like tiny stabs to the brain.
“The Crab that Snapped …A Reign of Rhinos …Vultures Ahoy …”
Despite his wife’s sullen expression, Oliver couldn’t help chuckling at these titles. He’d spent most of the week dealing with debt crises among a number of underprivileged families, and despite his wife’s recent bereavement, he was in no mood for the tinsel terrors of her cushy, rural, two-happy-parents-and-one-blissful-child upbringing. He said, “It sounds like a funny book. Was it supposed to be?”
“It was, yes, ” Tanya replied, but while paging carefully through as if she had a specific page in mind, she added, “But to a young girl with no siblings, and who lived out in the middle of nowhere, it didn’t always seem to be. ”
She’d reached a page whose heading read The King of the Urban Jungle. Underneath these boldly printed words was a sketch of a lion standing upright on its hind legs, with a long mane flowing like some madman’s beard and its front paws pushed forwards, as if out on the prowl.
Tanya shuddered in response.
Oliver reached across for her, stretching one arm around her shoulders. He was still feeling grouchy from long days at the office, not to mention all the hauling he’d done at his in-law’s place yesterday, but he always knew when his wife needed support…and this was certainly such an occasion.
“Are you okay, love? Hey, look, you’re getting goosebumps. ” He pulled her closer, held her tight. “Want to tell me about it?”
Clutched in his embrace, Tanya nodded, wiped her face with the back of one hand—God, was she crying? Yes, she was—and finally sat up again. “They were all just silly tales about monsters…well, not even monsters. Just everyday animals dressed up as humans and committing naughty acts. But this one…” She stabbed a finger at the page on display: that creepy lion with the mane of golden hair which had ascended to walk in bipedal fashion. “…this one always terrified me for some reason. It scared me to death. ”
Oliver looked again at the sketch. The creature was certainly unpleasant in appearance, its claws sharp and unyielding. But these days it was no worse than stuff the average child saw daily on TV. He tried to imagine their daughter reading the story, and found it hard to believe that it would scare her. All the same, the standards of his and his wife’s childhood—the more innocent seventies—had changed so much lately it was scary to think about.
“Hey, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be scared of now, ” Oliver said, stroking Tanya’s back. He knew from his caring profession that she was going through a complicated grieving process, coming to terms with the past. Although he’d always felt resentful of Tanya’s idyllic childhood—especially compared to his own: a council estate involving a father with a thirst and a belt, and a habit of combining the two—he continued to comfort as she added more.
“I’m just being silly, I know–”
“No, no…”
“–but for years after reading this book, I had terrible nightmares about a…a giant cat with a long mane of golden hair and big shiny teeth coming after me and…well, prowling for me…and when he…when he caught me…”
“Yes?”
She pulled away, looked at her husband. “Don’t laugh at me, Oliver. ”
“I won’t laugh at you, Tanya. ”
“Promise?”
“I promise. ”
“Okay, then. ” She hesitated again, but only for a moment. “When he caught me, he’d lick me to death. ”
Despite looking unsettled by the way his wife had just referred to this giant cat as “He” rather than the less anthropomorphic “It”, Oliver was clearly finding it difficult to keep his face straight. And it was surely because he’d been told not to laugh that he felt like doing nothing else. With a burst of energy like released rage, the laughter escaped him. It was soon loud enough to wake their daughter, sleeping safe and secure in the next room.
Tanya only gazed at him, with a predator’s patient intensity.
——
The following evening, after Tanya and Oliver had put in another day’s work at adult social services, there was a nature documentary on TV about the Serengeti, including footage of lions that lived there, how they ate, bred and groomed one another.
Freda, who’d be going to bed in about ten minutes, had been learning at school about the way these creatures lived in what she termed—much to her father’s amusement, if not her mother’s—their “natural habit tat. ”
Something about this phrase, redolent as it was of old clothing worn casually, had foolishly put Tanya in mind of the sinister friend of her younger self: the prowling king of the urban jungle. She recalled fragments of the story, how the two-legged beast triumphed over its limitations by learning the ways of the human world, while retaining abilities that made it so imperious in its—surely Freda’s intended phrase—natural habitat.
Tanya eventually suppressed this nonsense and said, “Okay, come on, darling. Time to go upstairs and visit the Land of Nod. ”
Her final phrase—another refugee from her past—seemed wasted on her daughter, who continued to watch the documentary with a devotion to acquiring new information. Looking again at the screen, Tanya noticed lions tenderly washing one another, their long thick tongues sliding across companions’ faces.
What with all the other God-awful creatures in The Monster Book for Girls—snapping crabs, kicking mules, hungry vultures—why had she selected such a dignified animal to haunt her dreams?
But she was growing distracted again. She looked up, and with a little more firmness said, “Freda, please do as you’re told. There’s school in the morning. ”
“Do you want me to take her up?” asked Oliver, flipping down a neat diagonal of The Guardian, which until now he’d been hiding behind.
“Yes, Daddy, I want you to tell me a stooory, ” said the girl, turning away from the TV. And this resolved the matter. Tanya was tired and still feeling raw after sorting out her mother’s belongings a few days earlier, when she’d found the book. She could do with a little time to herself, to indulge in quiet contemplation.
Once Oliver and Freda had vanished upstairs, Tanya tried throwing her mind off a powerful scent of meat…or rather, off unsettling aspects of her childhood threatening to render her muscles tense. She watched the large, graceful creatures onscreen, prowling back and forth. Lions were magnificent animals, she observed, and then realised that, having a birthday in late July, she had a close connection with them. Astrologically she was a Leo and a typical example of the star sign: loyal, generous and confident. She wondered whether this was related to her morbid reaction to the animal in the book upstairs…
Yes, Daddy, I want you to tell me a stooory, Tanya heard her daughter say in her mind.
Oh God, no. Surely Oliver wouldn’t take The Monster Book for Girls and read Freda the tale about the king of the urban jungle.
Tanya was on the stairs and headed for her daughter’s bedroom before the thought passed through to the more rational parts of her confused and frightened mind.
She found her husband bent over the girl’s bed, thrilling her with a story from about halfway into the book he and Tanya had found in Freda’s grandma’s attic.
“Oliver, no, ” Tanya cried, and hurried forwards to snatch the book from his hands. Freda looked bew
ildered, but Tanya’s eyes were fixed on the tale Oliver had been reading the girl.
It was indeed The King of the Urban Jungle.
Stepping back and studying her husband and daughter, Tanya couldn’t help feeling as if the two of them were in this together, conspiring against her in the way she occasionally had with her own father against her mother…
But of course that was nonsense. Okay, so Freda had obeyed Oliver downstairs after ignoring Tanya’s repeated requests for her to go to bed. And yes, Oliver had started reading her the tale that had caused Tanya recent disquiet. However, none of this was a reason to forge connections to her past, was it? She and her parents had enjoyed a happy, stable time together in the Yorkshire Dales. And her life here in Leeds was equally contented and well-balanced.
She was back in the master bedroom, thrusting the offending book into her underwear drawer before her husband stepped in behind her. He’d almost certainly just reassured their daughter that all was well, that Mummy was going through a vulnerable time at the moment, and that Freda should get some sleep before school tomorrow.
Oliver shut the door. “Well, what was all that about?”
“You knew how I felt about that story, Oliver. ” This was all blurted without offering him a glance. “Why did you choose it? Freda has lots of other books. What was wrong with them?”
“She told me that she’d read the rest. Then I remembered this one. And I thought…”
“But that’s the thing, Oliver: did you even think at all?”
“I did, actually. I thought that if I read the tale to Freda, and you saw how easily she coped with it, you’d feel less…oh, I don’t know, less uncomfortable about the stupid issue. ”
She looked at him, a wary glance which nonetheless re-established their usual trust. Tanya had felt as if Oliver had betrayed her, but could now see that he’d perhaps had her best interests at heart.
“Okay, ” she said, trying to eliminate a mental image of her recently deceased mum looking troubled and upset…But then she added, “Okay, maybe I overreacted. I’m sorry. ”
“No need to be sorry, ” replied Oliver, and moved towards her with large floppy paws, kissing her face with his mouth wide open. “And don’t worry, everything’s going to fine. ”
——
That night she dreamed of her father, come back from the dead with a lethal glint in his rotting eyes. So much time in a coffin had done little to enhance his appearance, though most was concealed by the only thing that grew after death: long strands of golden-brown hair enveloped his face like a lion’s mane. As he scrabbled towards her across a city floor painted in greens like jungle camouflage, he tried clambering up onto two legs, and yet failed again and again. He was holding a book—The Monster Book for Girls—and after finally reaching her (Tanya was unable to move, felt pinned down, as if under heavy bed sheets), he roared through fangs dripping with spittle, “Let me read you a goodnight story, Tanny. One of those your mum doesn’t like. Eh? Eh? Eh?”
She woke up, screaming.
——
The following day Freda didn’t come home from school.
On weekdays, whenever Tanya and Oliver worked at the city council’s offices, a child-minder would collect the girl up from the playground, take her back to her house, entertain and feed her, and bring her back safely in the evening.
But on this occasion that familiar routine didn’t occur.
Tanya called the woman at seven p. m. She was a reliable employee with impeccable references and thirty years’ experience in the field of childcare. She’d never let Tanya and Oliver down before, having looked after Freda since she was two years old. Something was obviously wrong.
As the phone rang and rang, Oliver paced back and forth. He looked frantic, his eyes wide and accusatory. When Tanya put down the phone, grabbed her car keys, and then ran out to her vehicle, he followed and climbed in beside her. Neither said a word before reaching their employee’s house.
The child-minder wasn’t home. Her property stood in darkness, none of the curtains tugged on. She couldn’t be hiding inside, playing a trick with the girl. This was a ludicrous suggestion, anyway. Tanya knocked again at the door; hammered at it. She tried the handle. The door was locked. Then she turned to her husband and said, “What do we do? What’s happened?”
“I’ll call the police, ” he replied, his hands already reaching for his mobile phone, pecking in digits, hoisting the unit to his ear. Moments later, he was speaking unthinkable words.
And Tanya could only look at the stars in a cold October sky, thinking about her baby, wondering where she could be.
——
The police found the child-minder beaten and tied to a chair in her property’s cellar. After lengthy questioning in hospital, it was discovered that her home had been violated just after lunch that day, a few hours before her supervision session with Freda was due to begin. The woman claimed not to have caught sight of her attacker—he’d apparently crept up from behind—but was nonetheless able to offer an impression.
“He smelled…powerful, ” she’d told police through a purple-lipped mouth. “Like what you smell everywhere in a…in a zoo. ”
Detailed forensic analysis of the house was, however, unable to identify more significant clues.
——
During the two days they endured without their girl, Tanya and Oliver slipped into a cold shock. Their marriage groaned along like old machinery, running on tracks as solid as those many of their generation had set down, before surface attractions and speedy divorces had compromised otherwise stable lives.
On the second night, Tanya said to her husband in a numb and drugged voice, “I had a…a special relationship with my dad, just like the one you have with Freda. ”
Oliver could only look at her. He was tired of listening to the thoughts his wife had been expressing for a long time. It wasn’t the right time to discuss such matters—not now, not with this to deal with. The phone might ring at any moment, after all. They should reserve such mental scab-picking and associated analysis for later, once they had their girl back. Nothing else would matter then, nothing at all.
However, Tanya went on. “I’m not saying such a relationship between a father and a daughter comes at the expense of that between a mother and her child. But…well, there’s something different about them, isn’t there? I mean, you surely must agree. You share that with…Freda. And even if you can’t put these feelings into words, you must…you must sense them. ”
“Tanya, for God’s sake…”
She’d plucked the book from her underwear drawer, had opened it at the page on which that majestic lion stood on two legs, mane flowing like golden fire, teeth like glints of silver.
“Daddy used to read this story to me, ”Tanya continued, oblivious to her husband’s escalating discomfort. He’d had a rougher upbringing than hers, but at least the problems of his youth had been visible, risen up on the surface like errant nails that needed knocking down, requiring only a hammer to do so. By contrast, her own family psychology had been subtle and unseen, requiring precision instruments to tackle: tweezers to tug out strands, needles to prick and prise…Tanya, snapping shut The Monster Book for Girls, added, “Mummy didn’t like this book at all. She thought its material was unhealthy for young girls. And you know, I think…I think maybe she was right. ”
Glancing at his wife before foolishly attempting sleep, Oliver looked as if any accusations were now directed at him.
——
The following day there was incredible news. The police had located the man who’d abducted Freda, and the girl was alive and well. If she was also too shaken to have spoken yet, she nonetheless seemed up to handling the intervention of social workers.
Tanya hadn’t been involved in this case, having taken an indefinite period of Compassionate Leave from work. Oliver had soldiered on at the council, making decisions on welfare benefit applications. As soon as the police arrived at the house, however, Tanya call
ed his office. Then they’d travelled independently to the police station in the hope of putting an end to their nightmare.
In an interview room with the two policemen assigned to the case, they were told to sit down in front of a table. As a technician prepared a television in one corner, the chief inspector—a grizzled man called Patterson who looked as if he could use a smoke yet begrudgingly observed health and safety regulations—said solemnly, “The guy who beat up your child-minder and then abducted your daughter has yet to speak, and frankly we’re having difficulty identifying him. We have no records of his fingerprints, and the few bits of paraphernalia we found about his person haven’t helped. At the moment, he remains a mystery. ”
The inspector paused, swallowed awkwardly (even with all his experience, this bit never gets any easier, thought Tanya with queasy discomfort), and finally went on.
“We have to tell you that we’ve been required by law to conduct a medical examination of your daughter—I mean, of course, an intimate medical examination. However…”—Patterson’s voice grew less uneasy—“…we’re relieved to report that there’s no evidence that Freda has been…well, I understand you’re both involved in social services. Perhaps I needn’t elaborate on this part. ”
“You needn’t, ” Oliver replied, and during the lengthy pause that followed, he exhaled enough relief for Tanya, too. But then, with renewed anxiety, he asked, “But what about the…bastard that did it? What do you plan to do with him?”
“Would you like to see the man who took her?” asked the inspector, nodding first at his colleague and then at the technician still in the room. “We’re willing to reveal what led us to apprehend the sod. ”
As the second policeman stepped out of the room, the technician, fingertips poised at equipment beneath the TV, looked ready to respond to an affirmative response from either parent. And then one was forthcoming—from Tanya, a quick steely-eyed nod.
