Marianne Dreams

by Catherine Storr; Susannah Harker

  ‘Of course I’m pleased. It’s a jolly comfortable bed,’ said Mark, wriggling in it slightly. ‘And someone’s left a lot of food about, only in a funny sort of place. I don’t know if you can see it, it’s on the floor.’

  ‘I know. You see there wasn’t room on the table.’

  ‘It does seem a bit crowded,’ Mark admitted. ‘What’s there, anyway? I saw a lot of boxes and things, but I didn’t look properly.’

  ‘There’s a chess-board,’ Marianne began. ‘Wait a minute, I want to make sure of something.’

  She opened the box beside the chess-board and looked in. There were pieces, she was glad to see. She put them out on the table and counted. With the pieces on the board there were thirty-two.

  ‘Mark’ she said, ‘how many chessmen should there be -in a whole set, I mean?’

  ‘Thirty-two. Why? Aren’t they all there?’

  ‘Yes, they are. And it’s fifty-two cards in a whole pack, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark said. He looked slightly surprised as Marianne began to count the pile of cards on the table. ‘Why on earth are you doing that? Why shouldn’t they all be there?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t draw them all separately, so I didn’t know - forty-one, forty-two, forty-three - wait a minute.’

  ‘Yes, it is a complete pack,’ she announced, a moment later. ‘Good. Then the draughtsmen will all be there, I expect.’

  She looked, and they were.

  ‘Look here’ said Mark impatiently, ‘what is all this? Why are you so suspicious about everything not being there? Who’d have taken a chessman anyway? Why should they? It’s not the sort of thing THEY want.’

  ‘Who want?’ asked Marianne, but without waiting for a reply she began to answer Mark’s questions. ‘Because I drew it. I drew it all, so that you’d be more comfortable. I drew the bed and the books and the table and things - only I’m not very good at drawing and I couldn’t draw the things on the table small enough and so I couldn’t get everything in, and I had to draw a box for the rest of the chessmen instead of drawing the whole lot, and the pack of cards and not each card, so I wanted to make sure they were all there.’ She drew breath and went on.

  ‘And you said you wanted some decent food so I drew some. Only I had to put it on the floor because there wasn’t room anywhere else, so I’m afraid it does look rather peculiar. And I drew a lot of books for you to read, but of course I couldn’t draw all their names, and anyway I didn’t know what sort of books you liked, so I just had to hope for the best.’

  There was a short silence. Marianne felt she could not very well say any more and she was waiting for Mark’s expressions of delighted gratitude.

  ‘What do you mean you drew it?’ Mark said at last.

  ‘I drew it, just like I told you before. I draw the things and then they’re here - only don’t be angry, Mark, I didn’t mean I’d invented you or anything, only that I can draw things and then they appear here, so I did it this time to show you it was true, because you didn’t believe me.’

  ‘You mean you drew all these things? The bed and the books and the food and everything?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marianne was still waiting for the gratitude.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, yesterday. Today, I mean. Well, whenever it was. The day before this night, anyway.’

  Mark seemed to consider this. Then he said only, ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’ Marianne cried. She was terribly disappointed.

  ‘Look,’ said Mark; he sounded rather embarrassed. ‘I’m sure you did your best, and I know you mean to be kind.

  And if I believed in that sort of thing happening, I probably would believe you. But I can’t. I just can’t. See? It’s impossible, that’s all.’ ‘But it’s true.’

  ‘Look,’ Mark said, ‘I can see you think it’s true, and it was nice of you to think of doing it. I’m not absolutely sure in my own mind yet, but I dare say I will be later. Anyway, I think it was jolly decent of you to bother about trying to get things for me here.’

  He smiled at Marianne suddenly. It was the first time she had seen him really smile, and it made a great difference to his face.

  ‘ I want to make you more comfortable,’ she said awkwardly. ‘And I thought the games and things would be amusing. Would you like to play something now?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel like it just at the moment.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  ‘I’d like an apple, thanks. I say,’ he added, in a quite different tone of voice, suddenly, ‘how are we going to eat those sausages?’

  ‘They’re cooked already,’ Marianne said, as she handed him the apple. ‘That’s lucky. We’ll only have to warm them up’

  ‘How?’

  Marianne looked round the room.

  ‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘But isn’t there a kitchen downstairs or something? A gas ring would do.’

  ‘You tell me’ Mark suggested wickedly. ‘You’re the person who knows what’s here before you’ve seen it, you know.’

  ‘But I only know if I’ve drawn it,’ Marianne said.

  ‘And haven’t you drawn a stove? Surely if you drew the sausages for me, you’d have thought of drawing something to cook on as well?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Marianne flatly, not much liking being teased. ‘Isn’t there anything downstairs, truly?’

  ‘Not as far as I know’ Mark answered carelessly. He seemed to have lost interest in the subject.

  ‘Haven’t you been to see?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Marianne said, and she knew she was risking his being angry when she asked, ‘have you ever seen the rest of the house?’

  Mark hesitated.

  ‘Have you ever been out of this room?’ Marianne persisted. ‘You’ve always been here when I’ve seen you and you don’t seem to know much about what goes on downstairs.’

  ‘I stay here most of the time,’ Mark said shortly.

  ‘Well, when I saw two of the rooms downstairs they were empty, absolutely empty,’ said Marianne. ‘I’d better go and see if the back rooms have anything in them we could cook on. Or the other one next to this, though you don’t often have a kitchen upstairs.’

  She went to the door, but stopped with her hand on the knob.

  ‘Of course there won’t be anything there -1 needn’t look.’ She came back to the end of the bed.

  ‘How do you know? More magic?’ Mark’s voice was mocking.

  Marianne knew that he was going to laugh at her. She said uncomfortably, ‘There won’t be anything in the rooms because I didn’t draw anything there. In fact, there probably aren’t any back rooms at all because I only drew the front of the house. I’m not good at perspex - whatever it is.’

  Mark said nothing.

  ‘Well?’ Marianne demanded. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

  ‘What can I say? I’ve explained that I’d like to believe you if I could, and that I can’t, so anything I say now is just going to sound as if I was trying to annoy you. And it was decent of you to - to get me the bed and the games and all that.’

  Marianne recognized that he was really making an attempt to be friendly, and that although the gratitude she’d been so confidently expecting wasn’t going to appear, she must make an effort in return.

  ‘All right’ she said, not very graciously. ‘I suppose if you really can’t believe it, you can’t. But soon I’ll prove it to you, so you’ll absolutely have to believe me.’

  ‘That would be very nice’ Mark agreed languidly.

  ‘For instance - tell me something you’d like, here, Mark. Anything - only don’t make it too difficult to draw. Then if I draw it, and it appears, you’ll believe I can do it, won’t you?’

  ‘I’d like my bicycle’ Mark said promptly.

  ‘Oh! It’s not going to be easy to draw - bikes are so complicated round the pedals and chain. Beside
s, you couldn’t ride it, could you?’

  ‘No - o. But all the same I’d like it just to look at. It’s one of the things I seem to miss most now I’m in bed such a lot and people never seem to understand that even if I can’t ride it, I want it to look at.’

  ‘Yes, I know’ Marianne said eagerly. ‘All right, I’ll try. I’ll probably be able to draw something like a bike -1 can copy Thomas’s. Anything else?’

  ‘I wish you could get me out of here’ Mark said, suddenly gloomy.

  ‘I could try. I could draw you walking down the path away from the house, looking very pleased with yourself.’ ‘I told you, I can’t walk.’

  ‘But you will be able to. Perhaps if I drew you walking …’ Marianne stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘I’d rather not say. Anyhow you wouldn’t like it if I did. And I want to ask you something else. Mark?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What did you mean when you said the chessmen weren’t the sort of thing THEY wanted? When I was counting them?’

  Mark looked quickly at the window, and away again. He was suddenly wary.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ he said.

  ‘Why? I do. I want to understand. Please, Mark!’

  ‘No. Don’t be stupid.’ He sounded angry.

  ‘I don’t see why it’s stupid,’ Marianne said. ‘Why shouldn’t I ask you about it, if you know and I don’t? Who are THEY? Do they live here, or own the house, or what?

  ‘Don’t talk so loud,’ Mark said anxiously. ‘I told you not to talk about it.’

  ‘But why? You must tell me why?’

  ‘It isn’t safe for one thing. For goodness’ sake don’t shout at the top of your voice like that. I haven’t discovered yet whether THEY can hear. I know they can see’

  ‘But who, Mark?’ Marianne insisted. She, too, had dropped her voice. ‘You must tell me. It might be more dangerous for me not to know, mightn’t it? Anyway, now I know there is something there, hadn’t you better tell me what it is?’

  ‘It’s all so vague’ Mark said.

  ‘But frightening?’

  ‘Well, I dare say it isn’t, really. It’s just not quite knowing why they are there and what they are doing. I expect if I knew all about them, I shouldn’t mind them at all.’

  ‘But who are THEY?’

  ‘Well, they look like - you look yourself. Look between the bars, only don’t let them see you. Outside the fence -you can see between the posts. Be careful.’

  Marianne approached the window, keeping well to one side and peered out between the bars. Beyond the little garden was the fence of high, uneven posts. Beyond the posts she could see the outlines of squat figures, standing round the garden like sentinels. She jumped back.

  ‘Mark! People, outside!’

  ‘Look again’ Mark said.

  Marianne peered out, more cautiously than ever. The people stood in strangely stiff, unyielding positions. She looked fixedly at one to see him shift his position, give some indication that he was alive. But he stayed absolutely still. So did the others.

  ‘Oh’ she cried in relief. ‘They’re not live people. They’re only stones.’

  ‘Be quiet’ Mark hissed at her. ‘I told you, I don’t know if THEY can hear as well as see.’ ‘See? How can stones see?’ ‘Look! Don’t talk, look.’

  Marianne looked again. It was difficult to see much of any one of the stones because of the bars and the fence hindering her view. But as she concentrated on one of the humped squat figures with all her attention, she saw suddenly a movement. A dark oval patch, which she had taken to be a hole, disappeared, as a pale eyelid dropped slowly for a moment and then was raised again. And in the dark oval, the ball of an eye swiveled slowly towards the house and remained there, staring with a fixed unwinking gaze straight, it appeared, at Marianne herself.

  She shrank away from the window and turned to Mark.

  ‘One of them looked right at me!’ she said.

  ‘I can never tell whether THEY really see me, or just pretend to,’ Mark said, in a low voice.

  ‘It’s horrible!’ Marianne said. She shivered suddenly. ‘Mark, I’m frightened! Do they do that all the time? Don’t they ever shut their eyes? Go to sleep?’

  ‘I don’t know what happens at night,’ Mark said. ‘I can’t see them in the dark, but I have a horrible sort of feeling that they can see me.’

  ‘Do they ever move?’

  ‘Only their eyes. At least, I’ve never seen anything else move. And the same ones always seem to be in the same place every time I look out.’

  ‘I’m frightened,’ Marianne said again. ‘I don’t like it Mark.’

  ‘I don’t either.’

  ‘Are THEY all round the house?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t see at the back, of course. They’re all across the front anyhow, and round as much of the sides as you can see from that window.’

  ‘I think you’re awfully brave, Mark,’ Marianne said suddenly.

  ‘Why on earth? I haven’t done anything about them.’

  ‘No. But you’ve been here all the time knowing about them, and you’ve never told me till I made you.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ Mark said slowly, ‘if THEY were here all the time. I somehow think they weren’t, right at the beginning.’

  ‘When did you see them first?’

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure. I think it was when the fence got higher - the time the bars appeared, you know. I tell you what - that first time you came, before you got into the house, when you were outside the garden. Did you see them then?’

  ‘No,’ Marianne said uncomfortably.

  ‘Well, you couldn’t not have seen them, could you? You walked right up to the front of the house and you didn’t see anything horrible - well, like THEM, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Mark demanded. ‘You’ve gone all queer and quiet. You needn’t be so petrified. Nothing’s happened to me yet, and I’ve been here longer than you.’

  ‘It’s not that. I am frightened, but this is something worse. Mark, don’t laugh at me - but I’m feeling awful about THEM. I think it’s my fault.’

  ‘Your fault?’

  ‘Don’t be angry, Mark, and say I want to run the whole show, but I did draw some stones awfully like those out there, round the house.’

  Mark was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘What about the eyes?’

  ‘That’s what’s so awful. I did give them eyes.’

  ‘What on earth did you do it for?’ Mark cried out, propping himself up in bed with a sudden show of energy. ‘Whatever made you draw a lot of beastly things like that if you knew what you drew was going to sort of come alive like this? Why couldn’t you draw something decent for a change?’

  ‘I’m frightfully sorry,’ said Marianne, in tears. ‘B-b-but I didn’t know it was going to come real when I did them.’

  There was a silence, broken only by a loud sniff from Marianne.

  ‘Oh, don’t cry,’ said Mark, in a kinder voice. ‘That won’t help.’

  ‘I’m frightfully sorry,’ said Marianne again.

  ‘All right,’ Mark said. ‘I know you didn’t mean to do it. But it was a most asinine thing to do.’

  ‘I know it was,’ Marianne said meekly.

  ‘And for goodness’ sake don’t go drawing any more horrors, will you?’

  ‘No, of course I won’t. As soon as I realized what the pencil could do, I did draw these things for you, you know. The bed and the books and the food and everything.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Mark agreed.

  ‘Well, then’

  ‘I say,’ he said suddenly, after a pause, ‘couldn’t you just rub them out? You said it was a pencil, didn’t you? Well then, why not just get rid of them like that?’

  ‘It’s a pencil that won’t rub out,’ Marianne said miserably.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Then you do believe that it’s the pencil that makes the things come here?’
Marianne asked. ‘You do think I’m telling the truth about what I draw?’

  ‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Mark said reluctantly.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll think of something I could do to help,’ Marianne said, cheered by this admission. ‘Perhaps I could make them nice instead of horrible. I’ll try hard to think of what I could do.’

  She went to the window and peered out again. The stone she had seen before had its open eye unceasingly on the house. Marianne jumped back.

  ‘It is beastly, isn’t it?’ Mark said.

  He sounded as if he needed to be reassured that she found it disturbing, too.

  ‘I think it’s horrible,’ Marianne said. ‘I absolutely hate it. Oh, Mark, what shall we do?’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do as far as I can see,’ Mark said gloomily. ‘Except wait. We can’t get out, even if I could walk, with all of THEM waiting for us outside.’

  ‘What do you think THEY would do if we tried to get out - to escape?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mark shortly. ‘I don’t want to try.’

  ‘But we must get out!’ Marianne cried. ‘I can’t stay here for ever and nor can you. You said you had a feeling you’d got to get out. What about that, now?’

  It’s still there, but I don’t see what to do about it. And if it comes to that, what about your feeling of wanting to get in?’

  ‘I don’t any longer,’ Marianne said, and she shivered though she was not cold. ‘I wish I’d never had it. But then the outside was frightening, too - it had a horrible feel about it and I wanted to get away from it, inside somewhere. Oh, Mark, is it all beastly round here and frightening? How did we get here and why is everything outside so horrible? What are THEY watching us for? What are THEY waiting for?’ Marianne’s voice rose to a wail of despair.

  ‘Shut up,’ Mark said, in a vicious whisper. ‘I tell you THEY can hear, I’m almost sure. Look out - careful now -and see.’

  Marianne looked round the side of the window. From where she stood she could see five - six - seven of the great stones standing immovable outside. As she looked there was a movement in all of them. The great eyelids dropped; there was a moment when each figure was nothing but a hunk of stone, motionless and harmless. Then, together, the pale eyelids lifted and seven great eyeballs swiveled in their stone sockets and fixed themselves on the house.