The Monster Who Wasn't

by T C Shelley

  Afterwards, the killing ceas’d. Since then, in darkest night, and most overcast of days, the people hath walk’d fearless.

  The next page was thin and white, and scrawled in an untidy hand were bold, red words:

  SWORD STATUS: THE HOLE.

  There was nothing else on the page but a red wax mark stamped at the bottom.

  The imp boy reread the pages and then looked at artists’ representations of the sword. Some were of huge two-handed swords, others rough and brutal. He fell to studying a picture of a delicate rapier blade before he heard Bladder’s voice. ‘What are you readin’? Some of Feather Brain’s diaries? Can’t imagine there’s anything interesting in those: “Said mealy-mouthed things to a bunch of humans. Told gargoyles to stop having fun”.’

  The imp boy saw the movement of white to the side and saw that Daniel had stopped talking and had turned his focus on Bladder and himself. The angel waved his hand and Yonah soared off into the blue sky. She disappeared into a creamy cloud.

  ‘So.’ Daniel peered at the imp boy with the folder open in his hands. ‘You’re reading that. It’s a sad thing.’

  ‘Well that’s something we agree upon,’ Bladder said.

  Daniel lifted one golden eyebrow. ‘What exactly is your problem with the sword? It can’t affect you, you’re not a human-eater.’

  ‘Because that blasted thing stops the ogres and trolls eating their num-nums, they take their frustration out on the rest of us. Do you really think it would be so much fun for them to play “Crack the Gargoyle” if their tummies were nicely full of policeman or a nurse?’

  ‘No. But you don’t hate humans so much you would prefer the ogres eat them all.’

  Bladder muttered. Even the imp boy didn’t catch what the gargoyle said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the angel asked.

  ‘The lot of them, selfish and self-absorbed,’ Bladder replied.

  ‘You’re probably right. For me, the greatest problem is the souls that are trapped in the sword. Stuck down in that vile place. So sad for them.’

  ‘But if they were free, they couldn’t control the monsters you hate so much. You can’t have it both ways, Turkey Dinner.’

  Daniel’s wings wilted. ‘It is a dilemma, certainly.’

  ‘If it stops them doing what they want, why don’t the ogres just throw it away?’ the imp boy asked.

  ‘Can’t touch it, turns ’em to ash. Can’t kidnap a human, turns ’em to ash. Can’t eat someone, turns ’em to ash.’

  The imp boy thought hard. He hadn’t been given that knowledge. He said so.

  ‘Nah, imps don’t. We’re not meat-eaters so not necessary,’ Bladder explained. ‘Although, I heard a rumour that Thunderguts got a leprechaun to steal a girl. So, it might be it makes new-mades useful to him as well.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘Why would he do that? He couldn’t eat her.’

  Bladder shook his stony mane. ‘Yes, cos I asked questions. It was a something I heard running from a bear-fisted troll. Wasn’t gonna stop an’ have tea, was I?’ Bladder glared at the angel.

  The imp boy thought about what Wheedle had said about Thunderguts hunting him forever. If the ogre king couldn’t eat humans, it would make him desperate to find the one human-like creature he could eat. ‘So, ogres don’t eat humans any more, at all?’

  ‘Oh, there are pockets,’ Bladder replied. ‘Ogres who’ll give up their home in The Hole so they can hunt humans, but they can never go back again. The moment they hit the Great Cavern, poof! Ash pile!’

  ‘And even up here in small groups they die out. People fight back for a start, and monsters only hatch in the Great Cavern. In the end, misery loves company, so most won’t trade that even for the delight of hunting,’ Daniel said.

  ‘An’ Thunderguts would probably kill them if he caught ’em.’

  The imp boy pondered all this. ‘Then they’re probably desperate for a human they could get away with eating, I suppose?’

  Bladder narrowed his eyes and he studied the imp boy.

  ‘Which is why the sword has been useful.’ Daniel exhaled. ‘Some good came from it, but it is a great evil to enslave a soul. A soul is the essence of a person, all the things that make a person who they are. The part that goes on, that loves.’

  ‘What’s “loves”?’

  ‘Yeah, tell him about “loves”, why don’t you,’ Bladder said.

  The angel’s face shone so bright at this, his troubles forgotten, and he reached out a long arm and put his hand on the imp boy’s shoulder. His hand did feel warm on the imp boy’s skin. He realised the angel hadn’t commented on Bladder’s odd desire for him to keep talking, nor noticed the gargoyle clambering away. ‘That’s the best question you have asked so far. Love is the greatest of all things; it is the source of all courage and creativity. It’s wanting people to be the best possible versions of themselves and doing everything one can to make that happen.’

  ‘It sounds …?’

  ‘This is a time when “magnificent” applies.’

  Yonah returned with a red fruit in each claw. She dropped both in the imp boy’s lap and landed on the angel’s shoulder.

  ‘That’s a plum, by the way,’ Daniel said.

  The imp boy struggled to say thank you but his mouth was full of sweet, dark fruit.

  Yonah waggled a leg at Daniel’s nose. ‘What’s this?’ the angel asked. A soft orange piece of paper wrapped her ankle. ‘Is this paper from the Boss’s desk?’ Daniel said. ‘Well done, Yonah.’ Yonah rubbed her head against his face. ‘Yonah has taken it upon herself to find out what she could about Nick and his family.’

  Daniel unscrolled it and they all leaned in to read.

  It said The Kavanagh Family.

  Daniel read the words underneath aloud. ‘Samuel Kavanagh survived his wife by ten years. He, in turn, is survived by four sons, and a sister. His youngest son, Richard Peter (married to Michelle), visited the day Samuel died, taking with him his son, fourteen, Nicholas Seamus, and a daughter, two and a half months old, Beatrice.’

  ‘Nicholas Seamus Kavanagh?’ the imp boy asked.

  Daniel nodded. ‘Yes, Nick.’ A flash of blue caught the imp boy’s eye. ‘There’s something on the back.’

  Daniel turned it over. Written on the other side in a beautiful cursive hand were the words Samuel Kavanagh = last sigh. Beatrice (infant) = first laugh.

  ‘Beatrice?’ The imp boy liked the sound of her name.

  Daniel sniffed him. ‘A sigh. And a laugh. That’s what you’re made of. ’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And the only one on record we have.’

  ‘Is this about me then?’ The imp boy blinked. ‘The family we visited, I come from them?’ His insides fell quiet, as if all the noise had been sucked from him.

  The imp boy settled down to sleep that night in the dirt on the roof of the cathedral. The sun bobbed on the horizon, not even below it. He smiled at all the things he had learned that day, crawling into the sleeping bag Daniel had given him. He could hear thunderous noises travelling up from the streets. They could have been cars or ogres in the distance roaring and yelling. He knew he should be afraid but he was too tired. His eyes would not stay open and he curled up, a hand under his head.

  CHAPTER 8

  He fell awake in the dark with his head hurting. Wheedle held a hard hoof over his mouth.

  Below, from the cathedral roof, he heard Bladder say, ‘Well I don’t know, do I.’

  ‘I fink you know more than you’re saying,’ a rumbly, grumbly voice replied.

  ‘Nah,’ another dark voice replied. ‘What does a gargoyle know?’

  The imp boy expected a rude reply from Bladder, but none came.

  ‘We’ll be back to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere, if you know what’s good for you.’

  Heavy feet like falling boulders travelled away from the cathedral and then zipped away, disappearing into the nearest utility hole, the imp boy guessed.

  Thump! The three gargoyles were on him.r />
  ‘Put the sleeping bag around him,’ Bladder said. ‘Hurry.’

  They pulled at his sleepy limbs. Wheedle tugged the bag off and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  ‘Now the backpack. That’s it. He’s got to look completely different. Not just a lumpy head.’

  Spigot nipped the cloth through the imp boy’s arm straps. Bladder shoved a length of fabric on the top of the backpack near his head.

  ‘Go and watch for us, Spigot,’ Wheedle said.

  ‘What’s happening?’ the imp boy asked.

  ‘Thunderguts is still looking for you,’ Bladder said. ‘A couple of trolls came sniffing around asking. Get a bit nervous climbing human buildings, bits come off too easily, so they didn’t come up here, but you need to go away.’

  ‘If Thunderguts just wanted you for a snack, this would have blown over already,’ Wheedle said. ‘He’s sent some of the big ones on a hunt to find the “lookalike”. They’re so loud. How’d you sleep through it?’

  ‘I was tired. Where’s the sun?’

  Bladder shook his head. ‘Been gone ages. It’s early. In the a.m.’ He poked the imp boy’s backpack into an uncomfortable position. ‘They’ve threatened to come back a second time, which means the cathedral’s a bit too interesting for my tastes. Any sign of ’em?’ This was directed at Spigot, who squatted on a pinnacle, blinking into the darkness. Reflected lamplight glowed eerily into his ruff and the underside of his beak.

  ‘We saw a goblin earlier an’ all, there’s never goblins about here. We’re going before there’s too much chance of getting noticed. Head down, all fours. Don’t look at anyone with them pretty eyes of yours. All right?’

  The pack scurried towards the wall. The imp boy heard the motor of a single car growling from the streets below.

  Bladder peeked over the ledge, studying the footpath, before signalling them on. A few humans wandered the paths, but no one looked up.

  They began climbing down, pressing against the wall. The imp boy spotted a swarm of boggarts scurrying on to the footpath from a sewer grate, giggling and running, and head up the street in the direction of May’s chocolate shop. He wondered what other kinds of monsters walked these streets at night.

  ‘Let’s head for the school first. They won’t look for you there. I’ll check the street is clear before we run for it,’ Bladder said.

  Wheedle whimpered. ‘I ain’t never seen it so busy.’

  Bladder growled. ‘You causing us such a bother, Imp.’ He climbed head first down the cathedral wall and the imp boy hurried behind him, putting his foot on to the cold ground cover. He couldn’t help being fascinated by it. He put his hand to it and let his palm brush the pliant green fingers.

  ‘It’s grass,’ Wheedle said.

  ‘Not now, you two. We got more important things to worry about. I knew I shouldn’t a’ let you bring the runt home. Now we got goblins and trolls up and down our road.’

  A brush of pixies walked past them, dancing towards the swings. One looked at the imp boy, stopped and peered harder, but then another called its name and it ran over to clamber on to the hard wooden seat.

  Bladder’s sigh echoed against the grey bricking. ‘The disguise works at least. We may all get through this in one piece. Come on.’

  The imp boy trotted to keep up with the jogging gargoyles. His backpack and the deformed sleeping bag jiggled and flapped around him.

  ‘Where do we go?’

  ‘We stow him away and then get ourselves back here,’ Bladder said. ‘It’s for your own safety, Imp. You’re on your own now.’

  Wheedle nosed the imp boy in the back. ‘Just for the night. You find a place to hide and we’ll tell Daniel in the morning. He’ll come and get you. You’ll be OK.’

  They stood in the street, looking up and down. There were no cars, most of the street lights were working, and the only other visible lights were red dots over the doorways of the shops further up. The imp boy’s skin dampened beneath the pack and the sleeping bag’s layers, heat and fear sweating from him, his untrained heart punching at his chest. They sidled along the cathedral wall, making little sound; just the clipping of stone feet on concrete. Bladder waved them to the footpath. Wheedle, the imp boy and Spigot stepped out under the street lamp in front of the church.

  Something scraped, just the sound of hard skin against stone, somewhere back near the cathedral door. Bladder turned first, his shadow spreading out along the street in the sharp lamplight.

  A figure moved out from the base of the cathedral. They halted, staring, as a mass taller than the door itself stepped away from the wall. Its tread caused the road to shudder. Wheedle eeped. Each of the ogre’s hands was bigger than the imp boy, its huge claws reflecting lamplight. Deep-set, dull eyes peered out of its pumpkin-shaped, boulder-sized head. Bladder moved quietly in front of the imp boy, sheltering him from full view.

  ‘I’m searching for an imp. Looks human,’ the rumbling-truck voice called from the doorway. ‘You haven’t seen anything like that? They said you might be the pack we was looking for.’

  Wheedle whimpered. ‘Who said? Thunderguts?’

  But the ogre didn’t answer him. He was staring carefully at the swaddled imp boy. ‘There he is.’

  Bladder lurched forward. He stood as a barrier between the ogre and the imp child. ‘He’s not …’

  ‘Do I look stupid? Give me the imp and no one gets broken.’

  Bladder opened his mouth, but he couldn’t form words. He managed something that sounded like wind whistling through drains.

  ‘So, puss!’ the ogre said. ‘Is that what you’re saying? You think I look stupid?’

  ‘No, no.’ Bladder cowered as the ogre approached, its eyes fixed on shivering stone.

  The imp boy put his fingers in his mouth, forcing down a scream. He looked to the horizon, the first traces of pink arriving.

  The ogre took two earth-shaking steps forward, reached down and grabbed Bladder. ‘I won’t stand for insubordination.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Bladder said. The ogre lifted the gargoyle to his face. Bladder pressed his eyes closed and whined. When the ogre lifted him over his head, the gargoyle wailed and wriggled.

  ‘Come on!’ Wheedle hissed at the imp boy, and he and Spigot darted into the church’s shadow.

  The imp boy turned to see Bladder flailing his paws and scratching at air. He was sobbing like a kitten.

  The ogre grinned, then looked over his shoulder to make sure the imp boy watched. ‘Just stone, little prince,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to have to be stuck with something as pathetic as this, do ya?’ And he dropped his arm to the ground.

  Bladder’s front legs snapped off on to the road. His scream echoed, repeating his anguish. The ogre laughed.

  The imp boy stepped forward. ‘We’ll put him back together.’

  ‘Not now. Not now.’ Wheedle dragged him. ‘Get away! Climb!’

  Spigot shrieked.

  ‘I know ogres can climb!’ Wheedle wailed. ‘Where’s safe? He’ll smash us all.’

  The ogre lifted Bladder again. The gargoyle yelped and squealed as the monster threw him down.

  This time Bladder’s cry cut off as he hit concrete, his neck breaking and his head rolling, once, twice, three times before stopping in front of the pack, staring at them with dead grey eyes. Spigot let out a pained squawk.

  The massive ogre clapped his hands together, dusting concrete powder from his palms and striding towards the imp boy. ‘Enough stalling. Let’s talk, little imp.’

  A bang rang out as the church door crashed open and a white figure lunged forward. ‘In here,’ it called.

  ‘Ben!’ The imp boy grabbed at Wheedle and pulled him inside, looking back to see Bladder’s lifeless cat face distorted by pain. Spigot rushed after him as the ogre’s earthquake feet stomped towards the building and shook the ground.

  Ben slammed the door and locked it. The doorknob jiggled and creaked as a heavy hand outside turned it.

 
The imp boy sat and shivered between two stone families. Beth was standing just inside the door, holding Henry. Spigot and Wheedle had wrapped themselves together, Spigot’s wings stretched around them like a shield.

  The doorknob creaked again, and the wood groaned as something heavy hit it. The eagle shrieked.

  ‘It will hold,’ Beth replied, but her voice quivered. ‘It’s an old oak door, meant to take battering rams.’

  The noise stopped.

  ‘Has he given up?’ Ben asked.

  A roar shook the windows and walls. Dust flew off high beams and sills to rain down on them. Saints huddled in stained-glass windows, holding hands to the roof as their faces fractured. The bellow came again, and the pews quaked.

  Henry screamed. The imp boy shuddered as the church door boomed at the tremendous weight ramming it. He put his hands over his head, trying to block the noise of the beast’s battering grunts. Scraping talons scratched the door. Henry bawled as Beth comforted him. As the door shook and shuddered, their grey-shot marble eyes bulged. Ben hugged his stone robe around himself for protection.

  An animal howl bent the panels inward. The door bowed, the black lock rattled and chewed on wood. Its metal grip loosened as woodchips spat from the door on to the church floor.

  ‘Please,’ Beth said. She looked to the ceiling.

  The imp boy could see the lock giving way. Only its iron held the doors together. If it fell off, the monster would be inside in seconds and no one could hide. Spigot and Wheedle made a solid lump in their terrified hug. The imp boy jumped up, darting forward as the screws shook again and pushed trembling hands on to metal heads to hold them in place.

  The door strained, and he knew its weight could crush him. Oak chips soared, and a claw smashed through a panel, grabbing his arm and yanking him to the door, pulling as much of him through the hole as it could. He cried out in agony as the joint in his shoulder stretched and cracked. The deep voice purred like a huge cat, and a wet tongue licked his hand, tasting him.

  ‘You belong to us, imp. Come with us, we’ll give you nice things,’ the ogre rumbled.

  The imp boy cried out as the monster twisted his arm.