by Steve Voake
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, his voice trembling.
‘You know why,’ said the man. ‘I am doing it because you made me.’
‘I made you?’
‘That is correct. We all have a purpose, and yours was to give me life. You dreamed me into existence. Unfortunately for you, my purpose in life is to end yours. Don’t you see, Cal? Such things cannot be resisted. They were written in the stars long before you or I ever came to be.’
‘No,’ said Cal, unable to tear his eyes from the sharp blades as the man moved closer. ‘That isn’t true.’
‘Oh but it is,’ said the man, ‘and you know it is. I’m part of you, Cal. I have been with you all along. I know all about your miserable existence, your feeling that the world never wanted you. And now you can see that it is true, Cal. An inescapable fact. The world wants you gone. And what the world wants, the world gets. You know I’m right, don’t you, Cal? You know it.’
Cal remembered days spent watching other children from the corners of playgrounds, sitting in rooms with peeling wallpaper and staring at windows streaked with rain.
‘Yes,’ he said as the tears began to fall. ‘It’s true.’
‘Then give me your hands,’ said the man, nodding as if some kind of agreement had been made. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming, and opened the shears. ‘Give me your hands, Cal. Let us put an end to this misery once and for all.’
Cal’s lip trembled.
‘Will it hurt very much?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said the man. ‘Very much. But then it will be an end to the hurting for ever.’
Cal held out his hands and closed his eyes, because he didn’t want to see how things would end.
It was written in the stars.
There was no way out.
But then, as the man took a deep, shuddering breath and the blades slid apart in a rasp of metal, Cal remembered the words Sarah had whispered in the dark of the camper van:
Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight
and suddenly he felt that the man was wrong, that there were things written in the stars better than he or the man could ever imagine. And the dark thoughts that whirled through his head were lit like a thundercloud which exploded into his fists and knocked the man sprawling to the floor. Then Cal was on top of him, punching him and crying out with fear and rage until at last he rolled off and the man lay on his back with blood on his lips, staring at the sky.
‘Stay away from me,’ said Cal, leaning against a tree. ‘Just you stay away.’
Rubbing his bruised knuckles, he set off at a run through the trees, limping slightly but less afraid than he had been. He was shocked by his own violence and felt strangely detached from the world.
He wondered if the man was dead.
Were a few punches enough to kill someone?
Or had he struck his head on a rock when he fell?
Cal was still trying to remember if the man had been breathing, if there had been any obvious signs of life, when something hit him so hard in the back of the neck that his knees buckled and the ground hit him in the face like a slamming door.
Twenty-Nine
The pain was excruciating, as if someone had tried to take his head off with an axe. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes and Cal groaned, breathing in the musty scent of damp earth. Then someone grabbed the back of his collar, pulled him to his knees and kicked him hard in the side.
‘So you do like to fight,’ said the man as a vicious punch sent Cal crashing into a tree. He tried to curl into a ball but the kicks came hard and fast, thudding into every part of his body. He could hear the man grunting with the effort and then his polished shoes smashed Cal’s hands apart and when Cal opened his eyes the man was standing over him, shears dangling from his hand.
‘This is fun,’ he said. ‘Do you want to play some more?’
Cal ran his tongue over swollen lips and tasted the blood in his mouth. His left eye was already closing and his body ached all over.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to play any more.’
‘Then give me your hands,’ said the man. ‘Give me your hands like I told you in the first place.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ whispered Cal.
The man crouched beside him, made a show of turning his head and cupping his ear.
‘Hmm? What’s that you say?’
Cal coughed, his spit strawberry red.
‘I said, why are you doing this?’
The man tutted and shook his head.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.’
‘Forgotten what?’
‘The nursery rhyme. You know the one.’
And in that moment, it all came back.
He was four years old. He had been awake for hours, crying softly and sucking his thumb because the house mother had read them a story about a boy who was lost and had found his way home again. And for the first time Cal had realised that he was alone in the world, that no one would ever come looking for him and that he would never find his way home again because home did not exist. And while he was snuffling and sucking his thumb, one of the older boys had thrown a shoe at him to shut him up, but this had only made things worse.
‘If we read you a story, Cal, will you go to sleep?’
Cal had looked up to see two of the older boys crouching next to his bed. One of them held a book and the other was shining a torch on it. He turned the torch on Cal and asked, ‘Well? Are you going to answer the question?’
Cal took his thumb out of his mouth, nodded and put it back again. People were being kind to him and it was a new sensation.
‘This is the story about what happens to little boys who suck their thumbs.’
The boys were grinning now, trying not to laugh.
‘Do you want to hear it?’
Cal wasn’t sure that he did, but he nodded because the boys were older and he wanted to please them.
‘The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb,’ read the first boy.
One day Mamma said, ‘Conrad dear,
I must go out and leave you here.
But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
Don’t suck your thumb while I’m away.’
‘Are you listening, Cal?’ asked the other boy. ‘Are you listening to this?’
And Cal had nodded, jamming his thumb further into his mouth and curling his index finger around his nose for comfort.
‘The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys who suck their thumbs;
And ere they dream what he’s about,
He takes his great sharp scissors out,
And cuts their thumbs clean off – and then,
You know, they never grow again.’
The boy stopped and stared at Cal by the light from the torch. ‘This is a true story, Cal. You know that, don’t you?’
Cal nodded again, shrinking further beneath the grey blanket.
Mamma had scarcely turned her back,
The thumb was in, Alack! Alack!
The door flew open, in he ran,
The great, long-legged scissor-man.
Oh! children, see! the tailor’s come
And caught out little Suck-a-Thumb.
Snip! Snap! Snip! the scissors go;
And Conrad cries out ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’
Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast,
That both his thumbs are off at last.
‘Do you think he’ll die, Cal?’ whispered the boy as he looked up from the book. ‘Do you think he’ll bleed to death?’
But Cal was too frightened to say anything.
Mamma comes home: there Conrad stands,
And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;
‘Ah!’ said Mamma, ‘I knew he’d come
To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb.’
‘Look, Cal,’ said the other boy, forcing Cal to sit up. ‘Look at the pict
ure.’
He shone his light onto the book and Cal saw the man flying through the doorway dressed in a dark green jacket and shiny black shoes. His reddish-brown hair streamed behind him and his top hat tumbled from his head as he snipped at the boy’s outstretched thumbs with a pair of giant shears and the boy’s blood splashed down upon the carpet.
As Cal trembled beneath the sheets he heard the click of the torch being turned off and then the low, threatening whispers.
‘He’s waiting for you, Cal. Did you know that? He’s waiting outside the window, listening to see if anyone is crying. So I should be very quiet from now on, Cal. Be very quiet and take your thumb out of your mouth. Or you know what will happen. You know what will happen …’
Thirty
The creak of the shears opening and closing brought Cal back to the present. And as he stared at the man who had stalked him through his nightmares, he was almost glad that the waiting would soon be over. At last he would be able to sleep for ever, sleep without waking and calling for someone who would never come.
‘You see, Cal?’ the man whispered. ‘You’ve always known I would come for you in the end.’
The man rested the tips of the shears on Cal’s head and narrowed his eyes.
‘Now get on your knees.’
Cal knelt on the carpet of pine needles, pressing his hands together like a holy man at prayer.
‘No one ever loved you, Cal. Even your little friend ran off and left you, didn’t she? But not me, Cal. Because you made me, didn’t you? You created me so that I could bring all this sadness to an end. Sharp, quick and easy, that’s how I work. Then no more pain, Cal. Do you understand me? No more pain and no more hurt.’
Cal’s vision was blurred, partly because of the tears and partly because the world was unreal to him now, a trick that had been played upon his senses to make him believe he might one day find a place in it.
‘Thumbs are for nursery rhymes. Give me your hands, Cal. Now that I’m here, we’re going to do things properly.’
As Cal held out his hands the man’s voice became softer, almost paternal.
‘That’s a good boy, Cal.’
The creak of the shears opening.
‘Shhh, don’t cry now.’
The edges of the blades, pressing against his skin.
‘You’re a good boy, Cal. Such a good boy …’
A loud crack echoed through the forest and suddenly the pressure on Cal’s wrists disappeared.
Cal opened his eyes to see the man sink to his knees with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The shears were on the ground in front of him and as he raised a hand to the side of his face there was another loud crack and he fell sideways into a tree.
‘Take that, you scary-ass lunatic.’
Stepping out of the shadows, Eden stood behind him with a thick branch held tightly in both fists.
‘Get up, Cal,’ she said. ‘Get up and let’s get the hell out of here.’
Cal stared open-mouthed, first at Eden and then at the man crumpled against the tree like a pile of dirty washing.
‘You came back,’ he said.
‘Well, of course I came back,’ said Eden. ‘Did you really think I’d leave you alone with this nut-job?’
At the sound of Eden’s voice, the man raised his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. He pressed the flats of his hands against his head and gave it a little twist, as if fixing it back in place. Eden raised her stick, gripping it so hard that her knuckles stood out like pebbles beneath the skin.
‘Don’t try anything,’ she said, ‘or I’ll give you another.’
The man stared at her for a few moments and then started to chuckle, quietly at first, then louder and louder as if in response to a joke that only he could hear.
‘You’ll give me another,’ he repeated. ‘Oh, that’s very good, that is. Very good indeed.’
He clasped his knees and began to rock back and forth, shaking his head from side to side. ‘She’ll give me another,’ he chuckled. ‘She’ll give me another.’ He threw back his head and cackled, pausing only to catch his breath before blowing fresh gales of laughter up into the treetops.
‘Come on,’ said Eden, looking at the man in disgust. ‘Let’s go.’
Immediately, the man was on his feet again.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, pressing a finger to his chin. ‘Don’t you get it?’
His smile grew wider as he held out his finger and danced it back and forth in front of his face.
‘Don’t – You – Get – It?’
‘Get what?’ said Eden, curling her lip. ‘There’s nothing to get, y’smiley-faced freak.’
‘Smile and the world smiles with you,’ said the man, stepping closer. ‘Weep and you weep alone. So what’s it to be? Hmm?’
His finger continued to dance between them.
‘Laugh or cry? Live or die?’
Too late, Cal saw his eyes dart towards the shears and Eden must have seen it too because she moved forward and swung her stick at the man’s head.
But this time the man was too quick for her.
With astonishing speed he ducked low to the ground and as the stick swished harmlessly through the air he made a grab for the shears.
Eden was momentarily caught off balance and as she stumbled backwards he wrenched the stick from her grasp and flung it to the ground, striking her hard across the face with the back of his hand.
The force of the blow knocked her backwards and she cried out in pain as her head hit the ground.
‘Oh yes, yes, yes!’ cried the man, twirling the shears triumphantly above his head. ‘Down they tumble, daughters, sons, down they tumble, every one.’ He moved forward until he was standing above Eden, holding the shears by the tips of his fingers and dangling the blades above her face.
‘Awww, she’s not laughing,’ he said in mock concern as Eden stared up at the shears. ‘Perhaps I should explain the joke?’
He glanced at Cal with a look of amusement and then turned his attention back to Eden.
‘You could have lived, you see. All you had to do was run away and save yourself. But oh no. You came back because you believed the old lie. The one that says goodness and love will always triumph in the end.’
The man looked at Cal, and at the trees, and at the blackness of the sky.
‘The bindweed chokes the rose, the flies infect the wound, the lion devours the foal. Look around and you will see that there is no such thing as goodness; there is no such thing as love.’
The man waved the shears in an arc above his head, signifying the world and everything in it.
‘That’s the joke, you see? Strength is all that matters. Strength, and the knowledge that all things must come to an end. As you are about to discover.’
The man drew himself up to his full height, a terrible smile on his face as he lifted the shears ready to plunge them into Eden’s heart. But Cal was filled with rage for all that would be lost and when Eden screamed he threw himself into the flash of shears, and then fear blurred into a confusion of darkness and blood.
Then they were running away through the forest and all they could hear was a screaming in the trees, and neither could be sure if the sound was human or animal, or if there was any difference.
Thirty-One
They were still running when the first forks of lightning crackled across the sky, thunder rumbling around the mountains like artillery fire. Seconds later the rain began, a soft pattering at first, then quickly turning to fat droplets that splashed through the trees and soaked the dry ground beneath. As dark thunderheads filled the sky Cal realised that, for the first time since arriving in Montana, he was actually shivering. Eden caught hold of his shirt and pulled him back, leaning against a tree to catch her breath.
‘We can’t just keep running,’ she said. ‘We need to stop and think.’
Cal was so fired up that he could have kept running all night. But he saw that Eden was exhausted, resting her forehead against
the tree as the rain ran down her face.
‘I’m frightened,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can do this any more.’
‘We have to,’ said Cal. ‘If we don’t, we’re dead.’
A succession of flashes lit up the sky and he saw the silhouettes of trees and the mountains beyond.
‘We’re going to get out of here, and we’re going to do it tonight.’
Eden nodded, wanting to believe it as much as he did.
‘Do you think you killed him?’ she asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said Cal. ‘He seems to be indestructible.’
He saw the blood on his hands and bent down and wiped them in the dirt. Rain rattled through the branches, stinging his face. He had been surprised at the way the man had fallen so easily. He remembered pulling the shears from the man’s grasp and throwing them into the trees before punching him to the ground. Then the blood was warm on his hands, and the man lay awkwardly beneath the trees, staring up at the sky.
‘Do you think he was right?’ Cal asked.
‘About what?’
‘About strength being all that matters.’
Eden shook her head.
‘Don’t feel bad,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t stopped him, we’d both be dead.’
‘But that means he was right,’ said Cal. ‘It means we’re no different from plants or insects or anything else. Survival of the fittest. All we care about is staying alive.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Eden. ‘You could have run away and saved yourself. But you didn’t, did you? You stayed, Cal. You stayed and you saved me.’
Cal shrugged.
‘No more than you did for me.’
‘That’s what I’m saying, Cal. Look, maybe the world doesn’t give a damn about any of us. But that doesn’t stop us looking out for each other, does it? It doesn’t stop us doing what we think is right.’
Cal watched jagged forks of lightning flicker across the sky.
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ he said. He bunched his fists, pressing them to his eyes as the thunder echoed around the valley below. ‘I don’t know anything, Eden. I don’t know what’s real any more.’
‘Yes you do,’ said Eden, pulling his hands down and taking them in her own. ‘Look at me, Cal. I’m real, aren’t I?’
She led him across to a tree and pressed his hands against the bark.