A Monstrous Place (Tales From Between)

by Matthew Stott

  ‘But, well I mean, they’re just the boring old next door neighbours! Wrinkly, weird smelling people, with straw for hair and rancid breath; not monsters!’ This was all starting to feel like too much. Between? Dead people? Now immortal monsters that looked like the elderly? Maybe Molly actually was dead and this weird jumble of nonsense was her brain shutting down. Or she’d gone mad. Yes. Perhaps she’d gone mad. It happened. There was a teacher at school who curled up in a ball in the corridor once singing, ‘I’m a little frog! I’m a little frog! Pity poor me, for I’ve lost my log!’

  ‘Those old bodies, that’s just how they appear in the Awake. The creatures here, in the Between, that’s the real them. The old couple you see are just a pretence, just the tip of the iceberg; the bit they allow you and everyone else to see.’

  Molly shook her head, trying to take this baffling news in and shake out the doubt, ‘Okay, supposing I believe you; why do they pretend to look like that?’

  ‘Well just think about it, Molly; who in their right mind would ever accuse a senile and deathly boring couple like the dull old Fisks of being murderers? Of being monsters, even? I mean the very notion is clearly absurd,’ said Gran, laughing. ‘That’s the clever bit, the subterfuge; the pretend-them camouflage allows the creatures to walk around amongst us all, unnoticed, innocuous. Deadly.’

  Molly nodded. She supposed she could see the sense in that. A monster that looked like a monster was going to find it difficult to go unnoticed in everyday life, but a monster that looked like a normal, ancient, doddery old couple? Well, who would ever blink an eye at those two?

  ‘Hiding in plain sight gives them the power to pick and choose the tastiest treats for their garden without being noticed, without ever being suspected. When they see what they want, they grab them, quick and deadly, and take them here for their real selves to feast upon, forever disappeared from our reality.’

  Gran stood and began to pace the room again as she spoke.

  ‘You see, there is a specific moment, when you’re not awake, but you’re not quite asleep. It’s then, if they’re quick, that they can pull you here. Then all they need do is to persuade you to leave the safety of your own home and, well, then you’re dead. New trees for their garden. No one will ever know to come here to find you, because no one knows here exists. Even if they did, how would they get here? You’re gone, without a trace, without hope.’

  Molly lowered her head, a coldness running up her spine, ‘That’s horrible.’ she said, quietly.

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Gran replied, eyes dark as she stood looking through the gap in the thick, lined curtains at the Fisk’s house next door.

  ‘You said their garden, trees for their garden; what does that mean?’

  ‘It’s... it’s not pleasant, dear,’ said Gran.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Just like their bodies, that front garden they’re always fussing over in the Awake is different here.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘You recall how they give the plants names? Paul, Mary, Jeff and so on?’

  ‘Fat Sally, yeah, I remember.’

  ‘That’s not just some silly quirk; when they say ‘This plant’s name is Carl’, they’re telling the absolute truth. You see, those aren’t plants at all, not if you could really see the ice below the water; those plants are people. The people they stole.’

  ‘But that’s... wait, what?’ said Molly. It was a reasonable question.

  ‘It’s how they feed. When ready, they take the person into the garden and plant them in the soil; the soil holds them hard, refusing to let go. The monsters then tend to their garden of people, oh, they tend to them with such care and attention,’ Gran looked at the floor and swallowed hard. ‘The longer they can keep them alive, the longer they can feast on their life force. Their soul, for want of a better word.’

  ‘So... the people are still alive?’

  Gran looked at Molly sadly and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Once they are in the soil you cannot uproot them. They are dead as far as you or I are concerned.’

  Molly knew this was the truth. Somehow she just knew. She wasn’t dead, or curled up in a ball singing about frogs and logs, she was Between and monsters were real. Molly went to the window and tried to look into the Fisk’s garden, but for some reason, even though it was light, the garden was too dark to see into. A sudden thought struck her: ‘Neil?’ Gran nodded sadly. Molly looked back to the darkened garden. ‘So he’s in there.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Yes. Well, he’s alive, in a way, for a while, but he’s as good as dead; there is no way back once you’re in the soil.’

  Molly let the curtain drop and walked back to the bed, feeling slightly numb as she sat down. ‘I mean, I sort of knew whatever had happened to him wasn’t good and he was probably dead. But not knowing, well...’

  ‘Not knowing kept him alive. Kept the possibility alive at least,’ said Gran. Molly looked down at her shoes. Gran sat gently next to her once more and stroked Molly’s hair.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ said Molly.

  ‘You must try to explain all this to your Mother, I can’t reach her, which is why I’ve been trying to talk to you; the young are more in tune with the dead.’ Gran smiled as she looked at Molly. ‘But my, my; you’re getting so old and so very grown up now, that’s why I couldn’t quite make myself clear to you as you slept. Warn your Mother, see if you can make her believe how dangerous the Fisk’s are; tell her you both need to move. Sell the house and go somewhere else, somewhere safe. Anywhere, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Fat chance of that, what am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hello Mum, you know the boring couple next door? Well they pull people into another reality, plant them in the soil and feast on their souls like a pair of wrinkly, stinky, cardigan wearing succubi’; I don’t see that conversation going well.’

  ‘Then you must try to be more persuasive, make her believe you,’ said Gran, firmly.

  ‘Even if I could, I don’t know where she’s even got to.’

  Gran looked at Molly, ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I couldn’t find her today when I got out of bed. She didn’t say she was going anywhere, and she’s left her phone behind so I can’t call her, or even send her a text.’

  Gran stood quickly and closed her eyes.

  ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?’ asked Molly.

  ‘Shh!’ said Gran sharply, opening one eye. ‘I’m trying to concentrate.’ Gran closed the eye once again and furrowed her brow, searching; with a gasp both eyes snapped open. ‘No! They have her!’

  ‘Who?’ and then the penny dropped. ‘The Fisks? You mean the Fisks have her? They have Mum?’

  ‘They took her. They don’t normally take adults. They’re getting bolder.’ Gran was pacing the floor, hands pulling fretfully at her cardigan.

  ‘But, no... does that mean..?’

  Gran stopped and looked Molly in the eyes, ‘No! No. She’s alive. She’s still alive, Molly! They have to prepare her for planting first; as long as she’s out of the soil she can be saved.’ Gran sat next to Molly, ‘I’m sorry, Molly. I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘You’re going to have to save her. You’re going to have to leave the safety of this house and go next door to get your Mum, and I can’t help you.’

  ‘But you’re a ghost. Can’t you just, I don’t know, walk through that wall into their place and magic her away?’

  ‘No, not here, not Between. I died in this house, so I’m limited to this building, I don’t exist outside of here. No, you’re going to have to go next door, and you’re going to have to do it all alone.’

  Molly nodded, placing a reassuring hand onto her dead Gran’s. ‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself, I’m not scared of anything.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gran, a sad smile on her face, ‘But, oh, Molly, it’s going to be more dangerous than I can tell you, but if y
ou don’t go next door then your Mother will go into the soil and then there will be nothing you or I or anyone else can do. The Fisks will eat her alive.’

  ~Chapter Seven~

  Molly stepped out of her house and the sudden silence caused her to hold her breath. It wasn’t a normal silence. It was quieter than that and she shuddered despite herself.

  ‘Do not deviate,’ Gran had warned her. ‘Do not look around. Do not go anywhere else other than directly next door and into that foul house. Find your Mother and bring her back here. You bring her back to the safety of this house. Between is not to be trusted, not to be taken lightly. Everything out there can be dangerous and it’s so very easy to become lost. The streets don’t always just stay where they are like in the Awake. Quickly my dear, be safe, be safer than that even, and good luck.’

  Molly looked out onto the street; it seemed so normal, like she could actually have stepped back into the real world, but as she looked closer the differences became apparent. They were mostly small and subtle, a different coloured front door here, too many windows on a house there; it was like someone had made a copy in haste and hadn’t had time to go back to check for mistakes.

  ‘There’s no one here and nothing that can hurt me,’ Molly said, hoping that saying a lie out loud would fool her body into going where it needed to go. She took a couple of steps forward onto the garden path, and glanced back up at her Gran’s bedroom window, hoping to see her looking down with an encouraging smile. The window was empty.

  Molly moved towards the gate, looking over to the Fisks' front garden on her right; it looked completely alien to how it appeared in the real world, threatening even. She squinted to try and more clearly see what it was that was so wrong, but somehow the garden seemed to be in another time of day, draped in night, too dark to see anything sharply. Even so, Molly could see that the garden wasn’t the normal jumble of flowers, small trees and bushes; the black shapes planted here were larger, stranger, and bulged, fighting for space. She realised she was suddenly nauseous and looked away from the garden, fighting back the queasiness.

  ‘Don’t be such a baby!’ said Molly. That’s when she noticed the Boy in the window.

  He was about six years old and looked relieved when he realised his frantic waving had caught Molly’s attention. He started mouthing words; Molly guessed he was probably shouting and wondered what she should do. She knew she had to go next door. She had to face whatever was in there and save her Mum. She didn’t have time for distractions. Then again, this was a little kid who seemed to be in trouble, and her Mum was an adult; she’d be furious if Molly had let something happen to a child because of her.

  Molly approached the Boy waving from the house opposite and gave him a wave back. ‘What is it? Are you alright?’ she asked, as the Boy continued to silently shout and wave his skinny arms around. She crossed the road and stepped up onto the pavement. ‘Hey, what is it? What’s wrong with you?’

  As she moved closer to the house she began to be able to make out his muffled cries: ‘Help me! Please help, he locked me in and I can’t get out!’

  ‘What? Who did?’

  ‘Please, you’ve got to let me out!’ the Boy shouted frantically.

  ‘Okay, okay!’ Molly snapped. ‘Is anyone else in there with you?’

  ‘No, let me out, I’m all on my own and I’m scared!’

  ‘Right, in that case you can wait. I have to go into the house over there with the weird garden and get my Mum. You’ll be fine in there till I get back, yes?’ and with that Molly turned to move off—

  ‘Please! No! He might come back any second. You have to let me out now! Now, now, now!’ screamed the Boy, causing Molly to stop and turn back.

  ‘Look, my Mum is in danger-‘

  ‘They’re not in there!’

  ‘What? Who isn’t in there?’

  ‘The old two, they’re always out at this time, don’t come back for hours and hours, so you see you’ve got time to let me out and then go over, loads of time! Please, I’m so scared! And... I need the toilet.’

  Molly sighed, torn between the two houses. She peered at the Fisks' house, trying to make out any signs of life, any movement or light from within that would mean the Boy was lying; but as before, the strange gloom shrouding the place prevented any clarity.

  ‘You’re sure they’re definitely out?’ asked Molly.

  ‘Very sure, yes, yes, very sure!’ said the Boy, nodding eagerly.

  ‘Because if they’re not I’ll give you a smack and stick you back in there and throw away the key, you hear me? That’s a promise and I don’t break promises!’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die!’ shouted the Boy, placing a hand over his heart.

  Molly grunted and kicked at the pavement, ‘Okay, fine, wait there.’ Molly took one last look over at the Fisks', then turned towards the Boy’s house. As she did so, she thought she glimpsed a figure at the far end of the road. Although she only saw it for half a second, less even than that, she knew it was a man, unnaturally tall, dressed all in black. When she looked back, the man was nowhere to be seen. Molly hurried to the front door, which she found was open a crack, and pushed her way quickly inside.

  The air within the house was stale and lazy, like nothing had moved in there for a long time. Years, perhaps, though Molly knew that couldn’t be true. The Boy upstairs couldn’t have been locked in that room for very long. He’d have died. She had never been inside this house, at least, not in the real world. The Awake world. It belonged to a young married couple who never seemed to actually be in, they were always on their way out somewhere, dressed up and laughing at the centre of a gaggle of friends. Mum said they were dancers. Molly just thought they were loud and annoying. She didn’t know much else about the annoying couple, though she did know one other thing for sure— they didn’t have a child, which made her wonder who exactly the trapped boy upstairs was.

  ‘Hey, are you okay up there?’ Molly shouted as she reached the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Please hurry!’ came the Boy’s muffled reply.

  Molly made her way up the white carpeted stairs, each step creaking its complaint beneath her foot as she stepped on it. About halfway up something caught her eye and made her stop. On the step in front of her was a single, dark red footprint, dried into the fibres.

  ‘Quickly, please, I’m scared!’ shouted the Boy.

  ‘Wait a second!’ Molly crouched to peer closer at the footprint. Perhaps it was paint? Somehow she knew it wasn’t though. Somehow she knew very well that it was blood. ‘Oh. Hey, is there anything I should know? Anyone else in here?’

  ‘No! I’m all alone, always all alone and so very scared, please let me out, please!’

  Molly stepped gingerly over the bloodied step and onto the one above. She went the rest of the way more carefully, looking for further bloody prints, but the carpet shone white and clean. At the top of the stairs she had to turn into a corridor. The light was off and it was difficult to see. Molly felt about on the wall for a light switch-

  ‘Please help, quickly, quickly!’ begged the Boy, his voice more clear now.

  ‘Okay, okay, wait a second will you!’ snapped Molly as her hand finally found the switch, ‘Ah—!’ she pressed it and the corridor was suddenly swamped with light, ‘Oh...’ Any further words were lost as she took in what had been hidden in the dark: prints. Lots and lots of prints. Footprints and handprints. Just like on the stairs they were dark red due to age, but this time it wasn’t just a solitary print. They were everywhere. They covered the white carpet, crisscrossing over the walls to the left and right, and all over the ceiling too; hundreds of them, thousands even. The air hung heavy with a metallic tang, and Molly felt the urge to run back down the staircase and into the street swell in her stomach.

  ‘What’s happening? Please let me out, oh please!’ begged the Boy in the room.

  ‘What... what’s with all the prints?’

  ‘Prints? I don’t know no prints, please hurry.’<
br />
  Molly swallowed and stepped forward onto the crispy, bloodstained carpet, making her way towards the blue door at the end of the corridor. She passed an open door to her right and looked inside; it was completely destroyed, the furniture smashed to splinters, a mattress torn to shreds, and everywhere the dark red prints.

  ‘What happened here, exactly? Feel free to say nothing at all worrying or scary.’

  ‘What happened where? Why are you taking so long? It’s not a long corridor, please hurry, I’m so scared, I need to get out.’

  As Molly reached the blue door at the end she noticed there was a note pinned to it. The paper was old, brown with age and ragged at the edges. In clear, ornately written block capitals in dark purple ink, it read simply:

  ‘Do Not Let The Boy Out. He Is Bad And A Liar.’

  ‘What’s this note mean exactly?’ asked Molly.

  ‘What note? I can’t see through doors, can I? Now turn the handle and push!’ snapped the Boy.

  ‘It says not to let you out. Says you’re bad and a liar.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not a liar! I always tell the truth, me, because I’m a really good boy and a credit to my Mum and Dad!’ said the Boy indignantly.

  ‘Well, that’s exactly what a liar would say, if they were a liar and someone was trying to make out whether they were or not.’ The Boy was silent. ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m only a little boy,’ he whimpered, ‘Open the door please, I’m hungry. And thirsty. I had to take a wee in the corner.’

  ‘Oh yuck...’ said Molly, wrinkling up her face. She touched the large, round metal handle. It was ice cold beneath her fingertips. She looked at the empty key hole beneath. ‘Hey, there’s no key in the door, how can I unlock it?’

  ‘Don’t need no key, do you? It’s not locked, turn the handle! Turn the handle!’ the Boy shouted, impatiently.

  ‘What? I don’t understand. Why can’t you get out if the door isn’t locked?’ asked Molly, taking a step back. Something told her that the very last thing she should do was open that door.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said the Boy.