Where Monsters Lie

by Polly Ho-Yen

  ‘That’s right. Rosemary and Robert. They were inseparable. Like you two.’ Old Bill closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly put his hand to his chest as though there was a pain there.

  He breathed in deeply and began again. ‘I was there – I saw it happen. We were daring each other, as young ’uns do; daring each other to swim out into the loch. Our parents had told us about the monsters – that story is as old as the land – but Rosemary, she was fearless. She went into the water anyway. She went so far out that we could barely see her from the shore; she was just the smallest of dots. Robert kept his eyes on her like a hawk. He saw it first – the moment she disappeared under the water. He dived in, and swam and swam to the spot where she had gone under, while Deidre went to get help from the village. Their pa came running up. He was frantic, and dived straight in and swam out to them, but when he got there, he could only find Rosemary. She was babbling when he pulled out. There was something in the water, she said, something that had dragged Robert away. The monsters of the loch. She described their cold, slimy skin; she had felt it brush past her arms. No one believed her, not really. We thought it was just something she’d imagined to help her cope with Robert’s death. But she didn’t let it go. She said she’d started the curse. She had led Robert into the water, it had been her. The girl twin. The girl born after the boy. And she made us play along with the legend – the offerings, Tindlemas . . . It was her way of coping.

  Anyway, when you two came along, she told your ma, Effie, that she thought you would awaken the monsters, that you needed to be stopped. I suppose your ma felt protective – she didn’t know how far Rosemary would go. She didn’t . . . trust her, I suppose.

  ‘Your ma went to confront her that morning – it was something Rosemary had said about that rabbit of yours . . .’

  ‘Buster! What about him?’

  ‘Seems like Rosemary had let him out of his cage. As part of the offering. Your ma had worked it out. She spoke to Rosemary about it, and – and . . . that’s when it happened. The accident. I don’t think Rosemary meant to hurt her, but you know that part of the story.’

  ‘But why didn’t we find her?’ I cried out. ‘Where was she?’

  Old Bill’s face wrinkled with sadness. ‘I don’t know. The diary says—’

  ‘We read that part,’ Finn said. ‘She thought Effie’s mum had been taken by the monsters. Do you believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know what I believe any more.’

  We sat there, the three of us, letting Old Bill’s words settle around us like snowflakes, weaving together to make a blanket of snow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to tell your dad about it . . . You should. Or I can, if you want me to. I don’t know what will happen – if they will destroy the diary or not. I tried to stop them, talk them out of it, but although they loved your mum, they’re trying to protect Rosemary the only way they know how. It’s not the right way to go about it, but people don’t see things clearly when they are grieving. They’re holding onto something. Rosemary wasn’t found, you see. They didn’t find her body.’

  ‘I don’t know if anyone will believe us,’ I said honestly.

  ‘I’ll tell the truth,’ Old Bill said.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Finn said. ‘Did Mrs Tanner write about the monsters during the last few weeks?’

  ‘She wrote about nothing else. She thought they were coming for her because of what she’d done to Tori. She believed that they would lead her into the water.’ Old Bill sat up straight, as though a thought had just occurred to him. ‘It was as if she believed it so much that she made it true.’

  Epilogue

  There is a little spot by the loch of Mivtown where, whatever the season when you happen to pass by, yellow clusters of bladderwort can be seen.

  Finn and I believe that this was where my mum died. We’ve marked it in the only way we know how: with a collection of stones, pebbles and feathers. We take Tommi there all the time, although we still shy away from the water, the memories of sinking never far from our minds.

  One day, not long after we left hospital, we sat Dad, Kathleen and Rob down and – along with Old Bill – told them about Mrs Tanner’s diary. The oldies didn’t destroy it in the end, and so they could read the whole thing for themselves, but Finn and I told them how we had discovered it that day, just before we spotted Mrs Tanner by the loch.

  I found my words again. ‘Mum didn’t leave us,’ I told Dad.

  She didn’t leave us, he kept saying, over and over again. She didn’t leave us. She didn’t leave us.

  He held my hand tightly, as though he were never going to let it go.

  They all cried when we told them, and tears streamed down my cheeks too, but I didn’t wipe them away. Like Mum: she used to let them collect on her chin and drop onto her lap.

  Not long afterwards, everyone in the village agreed that the loch should be searched again. This time we found Rosemary Tanner.

  And we found Mum.

  We had another funeral, but I no longer worried about how to behave, and afterwards we all walked to the bladderwort spot. We shared stories, remembering things we had forgotten or had not spoken of in a long time.

  ‘Remember when your mum went cartwheeling down the hill?’ Kathleen said.

  ‘I remember that!’ Finn said. ‘I thought she might start flying!’

  ‘She was very proud when you did your first one, Effie,’ Dad said. ‘Do you remember? You were out in the garden, practising over and over, and your mum was watching you from the kitchen. I heard a shriek. She did it! She yelled so loudly that I almost dropped my drink!’

  ‘She always used to pick a little bunch of wild flowers when it was my birthday, or Dad’s, or Tommi’s. She put it next to our breakfast plate,’ I said. ‘I’m going to keep doing it for Tommi when it’s her birthday.’

  ‘Oh, she did love the three of you,’ Kathleen said, and for a little while no one spoke.

  We never had a slug in the house again. After the day in the loch they just stopped coming. Finn and I can’t explain it fully, but maybe they were sort of messengers sent to us by the monsters; they were trying to tell us what had happened to Mum. That’s why they came to the house and covered things that meant a lot to her – Buster’s grave, her binoculars. They were sending us a message. Not bad creatures, after all.

  I still have a small scar where I was bitten. It looks like a freckle. I remember how it shocked me at the time, but it didn’t really hurt. It was just a prick. ‘Like they were trying to get our attention,’ Finn mused.

  We never saw anything in the loch again. Sometimes I think that if I look long enough or hard enough, I might see the monsters, but it hasn’t happened yet, and I know in my heart that it won’t.

  I see Kathleen, Rob and Finn a lot, although I no longer wish for a different place in a different family.

  I feel lucky for all the people in my life – Dad, Tommi, Finn, Kathleen, Rob, Old Bill – connected to me by blood, or love, by friendship or sadness; it makes for a glorious map. We are interconnected and find new places amongst us every day.

  Sometimes I find myself thinking of my last night with Mum. It feels prickly in my mind, like I can’t quite hold it or touch it. Finn says that I have to forgive myself. At first I didn’t understand how to do that – until Dad said it was about knowing that you would have liked to do something differently but understanding that you can’t now because it’s in the past. I said something cruel that night and I wish I hadn’t. I know I can’t change that; the moment is behind me now. That’s OK.

  I’ve found that I miss Mum more, not less, as time passes and the gap since I last saw her widens and deepens.

  I think of her often. And I want her back.

  But I see her in the ripples in the loch.

  And feel her love in the clusters of yellow flowers that wave to me in the wind.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My thanks to . . .

  Clare Wallace,
officially the best agent in existence. My very special thanks to you, you supremely talented, oh so lovely person. I’m hugely glad my books give us an excuse to hang out.

  The wonderful Darley Anderson crew, especially Mary Darby and Emma Winter.

  Kelly Hurst and Carmen McCullough, the duo of editing dreams who read, re-read, made suggestions, had better ideas than me, read again and came up with even better ideas. Also to Mainga Bhima, who joined us when we needed another pair of eyes.

  The fantastic team at Penguin Random House Children’s, particularly Dominica Clements, Jasmine Joynson, Tineke Mollemans, Eliza Walsh and Sophie Nelson.

  My dad, for having read the book in its very first stirrings, then staying with it while it morphed completely and finally settled into the story it is today, and for emailing, ‘Keep going, Pol,’ throughout.

  And finally, to Dan, who has not only made yet another stunning, stunning cover but who stayed up until 2 a.m. with me – on a school night, I hasten to add – covering our living-room floor with plot plans, questions and assorted-sized arrows, and remaining patient, funny and brilliant throughout. The thing is, he’s patient, funny and brilliant every day. I believe I owe you a lifetime supply of Snickers now. Do see me about those.

  About the Author

  Polly Ho-Yen was born in Northampton and brought up in Buckinghamshire. She studied English at Birmingham before she worked in publishing, selling and marketing books. She was working as a primary school teacher in South East London when she wrote her first book Boy in the Tower. She now spends her time writing, reading, visiting schools, dabbling on her ukulele and trying to get better at drawing. She lives on a narrowboat called Ash with her husband Dan who, amongst other things, makes the covers for Polly’s books.

  Also by Polly Ho-Yen

  Boy in the Tower

  RHCP DIGITAL

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  First published Corgi Books, 2016

  This ebook published 2016

  Text copyright © Polly Ho-Yen, 2016

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978–1–448–17333–4

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