The Stuff of Nightmares

by Malorie Blackman

  Eternity next to this woman? God forgive me my sins!

  ‘Never mind Mindy Statson. She has the fastest tongue on either side of the oaks.’ I looked at the man who had just spoken. I recognized his face, although I didn’t know his name. He worked – or used to work – in the garden of one of the Others. In fact, if memory served, he was quite a famous gardener, constantly sought after in the City. He had a rugged, interesting rather than handsome face and shoulders almost too broad for his short height.

  ‘Naima, you have to understand something,’ he said. ‘The first rule of this place is that we each tell what brought us here.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ I questioned. By this time more and more People were gathering round, staring at me, the newbie. A few I recognized; most I did not.

  ‘I died of a heart attack,’ he said.

  ‘And what is this place?’ I asked. ‘Heaven? Hell? Or somewhere in between?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ he replied. ‘It’s not too bad though … once you get used to it.’

  That could be said for anywhere in the universe.

  I looked up at all the faces staring down at me before scrambling to my feet. I don’t like to be looked down on.

  ‘Are you in charge here?’

  The man smiled before replying. ‘In charge of what? There’s nothing to be in charge of.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Oliver.’

  ‘Hello, Oliver.’ I thought about holding out my hand, but then decided against it. After all, this wasn’t a party.

  ‘We’re still waiting to hear how you died,’ Julia Greeg piped up from behind him. I never did like that woman. She was responsible for whipping up the mob that killed my best friend Raven. Raven believed in live and let live, even when it came to the Others, and she made a lot of enemies because of those beliefs. Julia Greeg managed to convince a few drunken hotheads that Raven was a fraternizer – worse than a murderer in our colony. They went to her home and torched it, aiming to make Raven homeless. None of them realized that Raven was fast asleep inside. The smoke made sure she didn’t wake up. The flames made sure she didn’t get out.

  ‘Is Raven here?’ I looked around the crowd eagerly. At least Raven’s presence would make this place bearable.

  ‘No,’ Julia said smugly. ‘She didn’t make it here.’

  ‘She didn’t miss much,’ I spat back.

  I remembered that Julia Greeg had been knocked down and killed by a hit-and-run driver. Everyone knew that the driver had to be one of the Others – they were the only ones who could afford to drive in our colony – but not exactly which one. Or if anyone did know, they certainly weren’t saying. Not that it would have made much difference: the driver would be tried by his peers and found not guilty. After all, it was only one of the People who had died and we People didn’t matter. My only regret about Julia’s death was that I hadn’t been the driver.

  Julia marched forward and grabbed my arm. ‘How did you die? We won’t ask you again,’ she hissed at me, her cold breath fanning my face.

  I looked down at her arm, feeling her bony fingers clutching at my flesh. ‘Move it or lose it,’ I said quietly. She removed her hand immediately. Julia may have been a coward but she was no fool.

  ‘I’m here …’ I spoke slowly to the eager faces crowding around me. ‘I’m here because I killed one of the Others.’ It was the truth but I didn’t tell them to get their approval, I just wanted them to hear it, then leave me alone. Some cheered, some smiled, every hostile expression disappeared. The atmosphere changed immediately. I was instantly one of them. I was accepted. I listened to their eager questions firing at me – questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

  ‘Which one …?’

  ‘What happened …?’

  ‘Which of the Others was it …?’

  ‘Why only one …?’

  It went without saying that I’d paid the ultimate price for taking out an Other. There was no way in the world I would survive after that. No one was terribly interested in how I’d died, just why. Maybe this was Hell after all.

  ‘Leave the girl alone,’ Oliver bellowed. ‘She’s only just got here.’

  Silence. Oliver might say he wasn’t in charge but they sure respected his orders.

  ‘Well, girl, you can’t have been as bad as I thought if you took out one of the Others.’ Mrs Statson smiled. This was the first time I’d ever done anything right in her eyes. She belonged to a Resistance movement that I considered a waste of time and I had told her as much when I came to work for her. She’d never forgiven me for that when we were alive. After all, I should’ve been a prime candidate for recruitment. My mother, a singer, was taken to the City to perform for the Others soon after we joined the colony, only I never saw her again. Then my dad had been killed in a hunt organized by the Others a couple of years later. He had to work as a beater, driving the nesting birds out of their gorse nests and up into the air for the Others to shoot. Only a stray bullet ate its way into my dad’s back, killing him instantly. Just a bit of sport for them, a day out. But one moment I had someone and next moment I was alone.

  With my background, I should’ve been begging the Resistance to take me in – I guess that’s how Mrs Statson saw it. She didn’t understand that all I wanted to do was keep my head down and get on with my life. I didn’t want to make a stand, cause any fuss, stand out in any way. She said that made me a coward, too afraid to stand up for what I believed was right. I told her that made me smart and liable to live longer than her or anyone else in the Resistance.

  I was no fan of the Others but I was no fan of Mrs Statson either. And the Resistance movement just didn’t interest me – at least, that’s what I told myself at the time. The thing was, Payne’s Cemetery didn’t interest me either.

  I walked away from all of them towards the edge of the cemetery, ignoring their whispers behind me. I had to get out of this place. Eternity here would drive me crazy. The cemetery was bordered by a low, white, wooden fence, which gleamed in the cold, silvery cemetery light. The light spilled a metre or two beyond the fence, but I could see nothing past that. I peered, trying to stare my way into the darkness beyond. It was enveloping, almost welcoming. And it was away from Payne’s Cemetery, which was all I cared about. I lifted one foot and stepped over the knee-high fence. I gingerly placed my foot down on the ground beyond. I was unsure what to expect but the earth was solid beneath my feet.

  ‘It won’t work,’ Oliver said quietly from behind me.

  I ignored him and swung my other foot over the fence, only to find myself somehow back on the cemetery side of it. I tried again and again and again – and got precisely nowhere. With each step outside I’d be back inside the cemetery.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve tried. Hell, I’ve been here for ever but still a day doesn’t pass when I don’t try to get out.’

  I turned to look at him. ‘So we’re all stuck here?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  I looked around. ‘What about getting out from the other side of the oaks, past the graves of the Others?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think this fence runs all the way round the cemetery but I can’t be sure. Besides, the Others would never let any of us get far enough into their side to find out. But I don’t think they can leave any more than we can. Otherwise they wouldn’t still be here.’

  ‘Does no one ever cross over to their side?’

  ‘Never,’ Oliver stated firmly. ‘And if you want to stay healthy, I wouldn’t try it.’

  ‘What could they do to me? Kill me? In case you hadn’t noticed, they’ve already done that.’

  I’d only been dead a few days before I lost track of time completely. Time was a measure against which I had nothing to hold. I sometimes glanced over to the side of the Others, past the oaks, but I never saw him. I wondered if perhaps he searched for me as I searched for him … if he was even there. But it wasn’t as if I could ask anyone for informa
tion about him. I didn’t talk to anyone really, except Oliver. They all wanted to know every little detail of how and why I’d killed one of the Others, which one I’d killed and how I’d died and I wasn’t prepared to open myself up like a book for them to read. They wouldn’t like the answers anyway.

  One late evening I sat just outside a circle of us People discussing the Others – again – but I wasn’t really paying much notice. The Others seemed to be the only topic of conversation anyone had. And it was the same old boring diatribes I’d heard when I was alive being aired yet again. But then – of all people – something Julia said caught my attention.

  ‘I’m telling you, there’s something very strange about their zenerths. They say their music is unique – in a secret tradition handed down throughout the generations – but the zenerths are like nothing I’ve ever heard before.’

  ‘Don’t let your imagination run away with you,’ an old man across the circle from her snapped. ‘Their music is as disgusting, as depraved as they are. They beat on those drums and dare to call it music.’

  ‘I never said it wasn’t disgusting,’ Julia retorted. ‘I just said—’

  ‘I think the zenerths produce some of the finest music I have ever heard … from anywhere.’ Although Oliver’s voice was quiet, it seemed to carry across our side of the cemetery. Suddenly not a sound could be heard.

  ‘How can you say that?’ Mrs Statson’s voice exploded into angry indignation, shattering the stunned silence. ‘The zenerth is one of their instruments. How can you possibly say that it produces fine music?’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘Because in my opinion it does. Just as I can look at a house burning and admire the form and beauty of the flames but abhor the violence and destruction it causes.’

  ‘Surely one can’t be separated from the other?’ someone else demanded.

  ‘Why not?’ Oliver shrugged again. ‘You all know how I feel about the Others, but you have to admit, their zenerths are like nothing any of us have ever heard or seen before. And when one of their skilled musicians plays a zenerth, they can make you laugh or make you cry or any emotion in between.’

  I stared at Oliver without really seeing him. The arguments flying around me faded to a slight buzzing which could’ve been inside my head. I was no longer in Payne’s Cemetery, no longer dead. Instead I was back. Back in the past. Back with him.

  I could see it now, the five-sheet zenerth taking pride of place on the wall. And he stood below it, proud of its lines, its colours. This was a particularly unusual zenerth: some of the sheets were held in square and oval frames as well as circular. The largest sheet was forty centimetres square, and formed the base. This sheet, held taut in its wooden frame, was overlapped by a smaller oval frame, which in turn was anchored between two circular frames. Another large oval frame touched most of the others at some point and formed the top of the instrument. Hidden immediately beneath the four topmost sheets were metal strings of different lengths and stretched at different tensions. He took it down and started to play it, stroking and tapping first this sheet then that one, coaxing the low, sweetly sad music from the top four sheets and a low beat from the base until all the sheets filled the air with music and all I had to do was close my eyes for my mind to be filled with lights and colours in an eurhythmic pattern. Then he began to sing to me, accompanied by the zenerth, which he stroked and caressed. I was mesmerized.

  ‘Naima? Naima, are you all right?’

  Dazed, I looked at Oliver. ‘Yes. Yes, I think so,’ I said, confused.

  ‘Come with me,’ he suggested. I stood and followed him to the fence which defined our prison. He sat down with his back against the fence and motioned for me to sit beside him.

  ‘Pete and Julia and Mindy Statson – in fact all of them here – are exactly the same.’ Oliver sighed, deep contempt in his voice. ‘Sometimes I wish I’d behaved slightly better or slightly worse when I was alive – anything so that I didn’t have to end up here. But you’re different. You’re not like them. Yet. I can see it in your face. You and me, we’re more alike – kindred spirits …’

  ‘Surely you and I are here because we are like them,’ I replied.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out what was going on, and the Others beyond the oaks on the other side of the cemetery were probably exactly the same as us. We were two wings on the same bird. Oliver didn’t say anything. He just glared at the others milling aimlessly away from us.

  ‘I … I killed Baris,’ I admitted suddenly. ‘I … I murdered him. That’s why I died—’

  ‘Baris!’ Oliver said, aghast. ‘The colony leader’s first born?’

  ‘The one and only. I picked up his gun … and shot him dead …’

  Oliver regarded me. I looked ahead, through the oak trees to where he might be watching me … even now. I could feel the curiosity burning through Oliver but he didn’t speak and I appreciated that.

  ‘He told me how the zenerths are made and then he took down a five-sheet zenerth he kept on the wall and started playing it for me.’ Still I didn’t look at Oliver, my eyes picking through the darkness past the trees. ‘You’re right, Oliver. The zenerths do make a very beautiful sound. And d’you know why? The sheets are our skin. The skin of us People … talented singers, poets, writers – anyone the Others feel will suit their purpose. The Others kill our artists and preserve their skin to make their instruments. It has something to do with the way those chosen for each zenerth are killed. Each set of People is carefully selected … They have to complement each other … And they have to be killed in a special way, so that their skin isn’t damaged.’ Without looking at him, I knew I had Oliver’s full attention. ‘Baris told me all about the process. He was proud of how clever the Others are. In fact he delighted in telling me how clever.’

  At last I turned towards Oliver. He was staring at me, profoundly shocked.

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful,’ I said, close to tears. ‘I’m here, trapped in this cemetery, but independent still and with a mind of my own. My skin isn’t part of some musical instrument, waiting for the hand of one of the Others to bring me to life …’

  I bowed my head, struck by the sad irony of what I’d just said, but then I dismissed my thoughts with a slow shake of my head.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Oliver whispered. ‘How do they …? Where does this happen …?’

  ‘The best and most creative talents are always taken into the City to perform for the Others – we all know that. Only they aren’t allowed to perform as themselves – they are transformed. That’s the word Baris used – transformed. Once our musicians and artists are selected, we never see them again, and yet it’s still considered an honour to be chosen. Only top-ranking officials and a few involved in the manufacturing process for the Others know the truth. Our musicians and artists don’t live in ease in the City, the way we always thought; they’re killed for their skin; slaughtered to make music. Baris said their zenerths are traditional instruments, always made from the skins of their enemies.’

  ‘And that’s why you killed Baris?’ Oliver asked me quickly.

  I bent my head. ‘Yes. When he started playing his zenerth for me, when he was so proud of it … something snapped inside me—’

  Oliver didn’t wait to hear any more. He jumped up, calling everyone to him. His voice was loud, relentless. I scrambled to my feet.

  ‘Oliver, no. Please don’t tell …’

  But Oliver looked straight through me. I doubt if he even heard what I said. What I’d told him had been for his ears alone, I didn’t want it shared, but I realized now that I had been mistaken in confiding in him. Helplessly I watched as he told everyone my secret. There was a hushed silence when he finished; some people stared past the oaks, but most stared at me.

  ‘Three cheers for Naima!’ Julia shouted. ‘Three cheers for the woman brave enough to kill the son-of-a-bitch!’

  I clenched my fists behind my back as they cheered me, my nails digging deeply into my palms.
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br />   Was he over there, watching this?

  Julia came over to me when the cheering had finished. ‘Did you get a chance to tell anyone else the truth about the zenerths? Any of us who are still alive?’

  I shook my head. ‘The security guards found me kneeling over Baris’s body. They kept me there until his father arrived … and then his father … his father killed me … right there and then …’

  I remembered his gun pointing at me. I remembered waiting for the blast to tear right through me. I heard the shot. Before the sound could even begin to fade, my whole world turned a blinding, searing white and my body became colder than blue ice. Colder than I’d ever thought possible. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in Payne’s Cemetery.

  Julia frowned deeply. ‘We have to find some way of alerting those who are still alive to what’s going on. There must be some way out of here! We have to find it now, to warn them. It’s a shame you didn’t spread the word before they killed you too.’

  ‘A lot of our artists don’t go to the City to perform for the Others,’ I told her. ‘They hide where the Others will never find them. Our art won’t die out.’

  ‘No thanks to the Others,’ Julia retorted.

  ‘No thanks to the Others,’ I agreed.

  I remembered the look of surprise on Baris’s face when I shot him. Surprise, then disbelief, then hatred. I hadn’t cared then. I hated him so much. I hated him for not understanding, for confirming that he was indeed one the Others and not different, not special as I had always thought …

  Angry calls and whistles filled the night from our side of the cemetery.

  ‘You bastards …’

  ‘Scum …’

  A line of People stood before the oaks, screaming at the Others. The Others were shouting back, just as angry, as filled with hate as we were. I walked over to stand in the middle of the crowd – and saw him, Baris, on the other side of the oaks. Even though I’d been looking out for him, to finally see him was still a shock. He was just as I remembered, tall, over six feet, with a broad forehead and thick eyebrows over intelligent eyes. He had such a strong face. I still remembered how I’d stared at him the first time I saw him. And he caught me staring and smiled, a smile which turned into a grin at my blushing confusion. Totally unlike the way he looked at me now, loathing burning in his eyes.