The Monster Who Wasn't

by T C Shelley

‘I’m getting used to it.’

  Nick opened a cupboard and found some glasses. ‘You know, generally, I think Great-Aunt Colleen’s completely bonkers. Pa would go on about the Good Neighbours and the Little People too, but you …’ Nicholas poured Sam a glass of water from a cracked glass jug. ‘You don’t sound like your average twelve-year-old.’

  ‘I’m not twelve.’

  ‘Then how old are you?’

  ‘I was made yesterday, I think. I’m not sure; the sleeping throws my ability to count.’

  Nicholas’s thin smile slipped away. ‘We really do look like brothers. I read this site once that said if you stand in one place long enough someone will come along who looks just like you. Is this something like that?’

  The imp boy didn’t reply.

  ‘Or Great-Aunt Colleen’s right?’ Nick rubbed at a point on his forehead like the thought hurt. ‘Let’s get outside, it’s stuffy in here. You go – I’ll get the drinks.’

  The front yard blazed in natural colour; flowers threatened to conquer the sky. Lilies, delphiniums, hydrangeas in white and blue surrounded brazen roses. The floral scent of each assaulted Sam’s nose, and he blinked, trying to smell the individual aromas. He surrendered and breathed in the perfume of the garden. He sneezed.

  A violence of green caught his eye and he spun. In the space between the dark shadow of the trees, a girl in a venomous emerald dress stood on the other side of the garden gate. She made his skin prickle. Her hair shone with warm colour, and her eyes were the same striking hue as her dress. She looked young but smelt ancient.

  Her mouth opened into an ‘O’ and she stared, pondering him before speaking. ‘My name’s Maggie, but what are you? You’re not a boy.’

  The imp boy held still. How did she know that? He sniffed again and trawled through his hatchling knowledge. Her smell was wrong. Obviously, not a mermaid. Maybe a selkie? Then he caught it, a fairy smell overlaying the cold scent of moors and weeping. He sneezed again. ‘Are you a fairy?’

  Maggie laughed. ‘Do I look like one?’

  The imp boy nodded. ‘You’re very lovely.’

  ‘What a darlin’ thing to say, but, no. It’s the Kavanaghs’ own banshee I am.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re a monster?’ he asked. ‘You can stand in the light. Like me. Am I a banshee?’

  ‘Not a banshee, no. You’re a riddle, you are.’

  ‘A riddle? What kind of creature is that? I’ve never heard of those.’

  Maggie laughed and the air glittered. She leaned over the fence and tweaked his cheek, making his skin flame. ‘It’s magic that helps me stand in the light.’ She took a silver tin from a pouch at her waist. When she opened it, he saw it contained a sparkling powder. ‘Magic can make all sorts of things happen. I can show you a world these humans can’t. Why don’t you come away with me?’

  ‘Come away?’

  ‘It’d be so merry, don’t you think? But before we do, it’s only right you tell me your name.’

  ‘We’re calling him Samuel.’ Nicholas trotted towards them across the garden, and blushed as Maggie gave him a fresh girl’s smile, full of promise.

  The imp boy frowned. ‘That’s not my name. Great-Aunt Colleen mistook me for a dead man.’

  Maggie laughed. ‘Be Samuel anyway. It’ll grow on you. Don’t you like it?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I like it very much.’

  ‘It fits, doesn’t it? Play with it until it’s part of you. Come on, say it aloud.’

  The imp boy inhaled. ‘Samuel, Samuel, Samuel.’ He grinned; it did sound good.

  Nick was watching Maggie with a dazed half-smile. ‘I saw you before … I mean, I thought I saw you in the backyard.’

  The girl faced Nicholas, but her gaze never left the imp boy’s face. ‘Because I wanted you to see me,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come on a journey with us? It’d be so diverting.’ She shook her head and something fell from her hair.

  Nicholas, distracted, scurried through the gate into the shade of the arbour and picked up a mother-of-pearl clip. It caught the sun and glittered. ‘You’ve dropped something.’ He handed it to her.

  ‘There, he’s mine,’ she said. Nicholas beamed like a fool. ‘You do know about a banshee’s comb, don’t you, Samuel?’

  The imp boy thought. ‘If he picks it up you’re allowed to enthral him.’ He frowned. ‘You don’t need to do that, do you?’

  ‘But it’s magic, Samuel, don’t you like it? Let me show you what else the dust does. I don’t like to waste it, but you’re worth it.’ She took a pinch of powder and blew it at Nick. A trail of gold travelled from her fingers to his nose and mouth. Sam smelt fairy magic. It brought on a flurry of sneezes. One, two three.

  ‘How do you like him, Nicholas?’

  Nick didn’t blink. He sounded distant and tired. ‘I’m worried he’s going to upset my parents. They’re barely coping with how panicky Beatrice makes them feel.’ Nick blushed at Samuel. ‘I …’

  ‘I don’t think he meant to say that out loud to you, Samuel. What else don’t you mean to say, Nicholas?’

  Nick slurred. ‘Dad keeps rubbing his neck. Mum says he’s got a sixth sense, that’s how he managed to avoid the accidents at work last year. He hasn’t stopped rubbing his neck since Samuel got here.’

  ‘Where’s home, Nick?’

  ‘Not far. We live in Brighton.’

  Something mean shone in Maggie’s eyes, but she smiled and it disappeared. Nick made a gargling sound, looked wide-eyed at Sam, then peered at his shoes.

  ‘I don’t like what you’re doing to him,’ Sam said. ‘I think you should go.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie chuckled. ‘Don’t want to share your toys, little Samuel?’

  Nick groggily dipped and raised his head. ‘Sam?’

  ‘You’re magicking him, aren’t you?’ the imp boy asked.

  ‘Oh, Samuel, of course I am. And so are you. You might not have a little tin of fairy dust, but you yourself enthral them all. Even that mother’s feeling your otherworldliness, and she’s frightened she cannot take another blow. I’ve come a-mourning lost Kavanaghs for centuries, and I’ve seen her broken almost beyond repair. You’re going to have to spend a bit of time getting to know them before you use your playthings so cruelly. It’ll be fun though. You could destroy the whole family, without a drop of blood spilt. You’ll let me have this one though?’ She touched Nick’s shoulder.

  ‘Nick?’ Sam stepped in front of him. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Greedy boy. I’ve been watching him for days, longer than you’ve been alive.’ She leaned forward and whispered. ‘The fairy dust gives me privileges, but I can tell you all about it on the way home.’ She grinned and looked at Nick’s docile face. ‘All about banshees, all about magic. All about the Kavanaghs, if you’re so inclined. It’s why I understand the attraction. I keen for them, and I take some pleasure in their grief. But this generation is all kindness and comfort. So dull. Where’s the bitterness? Where’s the anger? The resentment? You’ll get bored with it soon enough, darlin’ Samuel. Now back in the Dark Ages, human anger was brilliant. It cut like claws.’ Maggie gave him an encouraging wink. ‘Come with me, let’s see if we can’t get that back.’ She reached across and turned down his jutting collar, patting his shirt. ‘You’re a monster like me, but you can walk out of doors in daylight with not a speck of dust on you. We could have so much fun.’

  Nick rocked on his heels and tittered.

  ‘I think I should get Nick inside. He doesn’t look well.’

  ‘Oh, Samuel, I won’t get between you and your fun, I promise.’

  Sam grabbed Nick’s hand. ‘It was nice meeting you,’ he said, and dragged at the older boy’s arm. Nick brushed at his face, shooing away invisible flies. Gold tendrils flew from his mouth and evaporated into the air. His vague expression cleared, and he stared at Maggie, no longer dopey, but his eyes twinkled.

  Maggie sighed. ‘Oh, you naughty imp, you wasted all that dust. It’s not
easily come by, you know. Although he’d have awoken halfway down.’

  ‘Do you live here?’ Nicholas blushed, and Sam smelt the boy’s musky scent rising with it. ‘Most of Pa’s neighbours are old.’

  ‘No, this is not my place. It’s to home I go now. Sam’s home too, you should ask him about it. If he ever feels like it, we could take you there. You could come right now, if you liked.’

  Nicholas stammered. ‘Right now?’

  ‘Look at him, Samuel. He doesn’t mind I’m not natural. Do you, Nick? The hairs on your arm tells you, the smell in your nose lets you know, and you’re overcome by unreasonable reason and will believe what you want to believe.’

  Nicholas strained out a high noise.

  ‘Samuel, don’t be selfish. We could banjax and bamboozle him together.’

  Sam shook his head. He had no idea what those words meant.

  She sighed. ‘As you wish, my darlin’. If you want to be greedy, I won’t stop you. For now, but we’ll talk again soon.’

  The banshee put the comb into her hair and turned away.

  ‘Wait, where are you going?’ Nicholas called.

  ‘Don’t worry, my lovely, you’ll see me soon enough.’ She put a pretty finger on the end of Sam’s nose. ‘I’ll be back when you’re bored of them, my lovely lad. There’s so many more games to play than you imagine.’ She blew a kiss to them both. Nick’s eyes glassed over.

  They watched her walk away.

  ‘Maggie. She’s gorgeous.’ Nicholas wandered back into the house.

  Sam agreed, but she made him uncomfortable.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nick dreamed up the stairs. Sam watched him then turned and went into the living room. He sat down in the old blue chair. The sky outside the window had darkened, and he shuddered. He wondered if Daniel had taken the gargoyles to a safe place yet and if he’d come back.

  He listened to the house. Michelle sat in the bedroom above, sniffling and sighing. Richard had left and taken Great-Aunt Colleen with him.

  They’d talked about calling Children’s Services. Sam could guess who they were. He knew imps didn’t like the police, or pest control, or anyone in the investigative services. He suspected Children’s Services were like those.

  The tiny sound of Beatrice patting her mum’s cheek came from the room above. All thought of ogres and banshees fled; Samuel hurtled upstairs to see the shining baby. He knocked on the door and stumbled into the room.

  Beatrice lay in a porta-cot next to a mouldering wooden bed slumped to the floor. Michelle smiled over her, and Beatrice beamed. Her fists opened, sparks intensifying.

  ‘Are all babies this beautiful?’ Sam stroked the baby’s foot.

  Michelle went to touch his arm but pulled her fingers away as if they burned.

  ‘I believe so,’ Michelle said. ‘She likes you.’

  Beatrice reached for him.

  ‘Do you think I could hold her?’

  ‘You might drop her; she’s not as light as she looks.’

  ‘I could sit.’

  ‘All right, on the bed, Samuel.’ Michelle savoured his name like a toffee.

  He jumped up and wiggled back into the pillows. She laid the baby on his lap, then put her hand to her throat. A thin line bit between her eyebrows.

  Beatrice giggled as Sam touched his fingertip to a sparkle and it erupted.

  Michelle followed the baby’s gaze to where the sparkle danced in the air. The crease in her forehead softened. ‘I wonder what she can see.’

  After too short a time, she took Beatrice from his arms. The fluttering light followed the infant in a tangle of deepening pink as her mother held her.

  ‘Is that what love looks like?’ Sam asked. ‘It’s pretty.’

  Michelle put her hand to her lips, and her eyes dampened. She finally touched him, stroking his hair. ‘You’re a deep one, aren’t you?’

  Another hurdle came during dinner. Sam knew pie and sandwiches, but he had no idea what to do with the lumpy liquid in the bowl. Michelle called it soup. Did you pick up the bowl and put it to your mouth, or did you drop your face into it?

  He waited and watched Nick take a silver tool. Nick caught him staring and mimed scooping the liquid into his mouth. Richard grabbed a beige rock from a basket on the table. Sam copied him. Despite its colour and size, the rock was soft and light and smelt a bit like pie and a bit like sandwich. He watched Richard rip it in two then spread yellow stuff on it with another silver tool. Sam copied him and ended up with a melting blob on his shirt. He stopped picking up things and sniffing them – the square of white fabric folded next to his bowl, the two white containers, one with salt but the other full of something that made him sneeze – when he realised Michelle was watching him.

  Sam listened as Richard discussed his father’s habits and remembered his parents’ fights, their dances in the kitchen with tomato on their faces, and singing ballads off-key when Da had had a touch too much port. Nicholas talked about fishing with Grandpa and the old man’s habit of sitting with no bait because the sitting felt so pleasant. Sam liked the memories they’d accumulated by themselves, nothing dumped in to make them useful, just gathered moment by living moment. They knew the old man so well, and Sam pondered again what regrets he’d had that were enough to make a last sigh.

  Nicholas mentioned the lovely girl at the gate.

  ‘I … I think she’s a bad one,’ Sam said. ‘You shouldn’t see her again if you can help it.’

  ‘You know a lot about girls, do you?’ Nick replied, and rolled his eyes.

  This made Richard laugh mashed potato across the table, some out of his nose.

  Sam laughed and stopped to blush, until he realised Michelle and Nick were laughing too.

  Wonderful, he thought. But a bit strange as well. He remembered the talk of Children’s Services and the bread in his mouth became dry and tasteless.

  He caught Richard looking at him.

  ‘Maybe it’s time for bed. We’ve all had a long day,’ Richard said.

  ‘We could put Sam in with Nick,’ Michelle replied.

  ‘Seriously? No,’ Nicholas said. ‘Nothing personal, Sammy.’ He mussed Sam’s hair.

  ‘I’m with Nicholas. Probably not appropriate,’ Richard said. ‘You know. The Services.’

  Each Kavanagh found something interesting on the floor to study.

  ‘I suppose.’ Michelle’s eyes took in the washing-up. ‘Today’s been exhausting and Beatrice didn’t sleep well last night.’

  ‘We’ll do it all in the morning.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’ll all get done. We have a boy to order about. Two boys.’

  ‘What about the rollaway in the back room? I have no idea when Da last used it,’ Michelle said.

  ‘Sam and I can figure this out.’ Richard scuttled Sam upstairs to the back room to find a foldaway bed propped against a wardrobe so covered with dust even its vertical surfaces had a light coat. ‘Sorry.’

  Sam shrugged. He slept on dirt.

  Richard found him a nightgown (an oversized T-shirt with the fading face of someone with purple hair and the word ‘Elvis’ printed underneath) then tucked him into the bed.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  Richard leaned forward as if to kiss his cheek, stopped and shook his head. ‘Goodnight, Samuel.’ He left the room.

  Nicholas slept in the next room, his low breathing deepening to snores.

  ‘How is he?’ Sam heard Michelle’s voice in the room next to Nicholas’s.

  ‘He’s odd,’ Richard replied.

  She laughed.

  ‘What do we do about him?’ Richard asked.

  ‘I know Aunt Colleen’s crazy as a rabid dog most times, but …’

  ‘We want to keep him, right?’

  ‘You too? That’s a relief. I’d fight to have him. It feels right.’ Michelle’s soft laugh carried over her words. ‘Colleen’s right about me falling in love with him. Why’re you looking at me like that? You think I
’m crazy too?’

  ‘I never had problems with love at first sight, remember?’

  ‘He belongs with us.’

  ‘I’m with you one hundred per cent, especially if you keep that expression on your face.’

  ‘Sorry?’ she said.

  ‘Your this-is-the-way-it’s-going-to-be look. I haven’t seen it in a long time, you know?’

  ‘I’d lost my fight.’

  ‘No, you hadn’t. Here it is. Besides, I agree, we were meant to have three kids.’

  ‘He’s not a replacement, I know, but he’s the right age. It makes …’

  ‘… the back of your neck prickle? No one can replace our own little Sam though. This one’s his own new person.’

  Michelle gave a sharp sob. The warmth in Sam faded. If she wanted him, why did it make her sad? He turned over; when her weeping weakened to sleeping breaths, he drifted away too.

  A fuss in the kitchen woke him. Sam listened to the rest of the house. Nicholas snored and Michelle mumbled and moaned in her sleep. Richard sat up next to her, whispering to Beatrice.

  Sam padded down the bare wood and saw the stairs, the furniture, even the pictures on the walls in clear, green edges.

  The fridge door leaned open with its light out, grumbling with exhaustion. Imps lolled over every surface of the room. Pixies, brownies, a young goblin sat on the edge of the table swinging its legs and giggling while a puck handed food from the fridge to a couple of boggarts. A sprite sat in the sink washing its hair with Fairy Liquid while a crew of miserable-looking brownies washed, dried and put away the dishes.

  Three more brownies peeked out from under the fridge, and then the pantry door flung open to reveal a dozen pixies stuffing their faces with crisps and nuts. One had an electric-blue ribbon around its neck.

  Maggie stood out against the dour brown and rag-covered imps with her folded arms and venomous dress.

  ‘Hello again. What are you doing here?’ Sam asked Maggie.

  ‘The dishes,’ moaned the brownies at the sink. ‘Not willingly. We’re compelled to.’

  ‘This is why I live in a house with a maid,’ whined the wiper. ‘Can’t stop cleaning if there’s a mess. Wouldn’t be in a dung hole like this if …’