Mister Creecher

by Chris Priestley

  Billy told the giant what he had discovered about the location of Frankenstein and Clerval’s cottage. From the directions Billy had been given, it could only be a ten minute walk away through the forest, and so they set off.

  Billy and Creecher looked out from the trees at the edge of the forest, the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves rising up from the ground. It was so dark where they stood that it was as if they stood in the night, and the cottage in the day. Even the thin sunlight that managed to seep through the clouds contrasted so sharply with the gloom of the wood that Billy had to squint into the relative brightness.

  Within minutes of them watching, Clerval came out of the cottage, stretched and placed a knapsack on the ground beside the open door. Frankenstein emerged moments later and Billy could feel the giant flinch beside him, as if he was having to resist the urge to run towards Frankenstein.

  The ever-cheerful Clerval slapped his friend on the back, picked up his pack and headed off. Frankenstein looked around him, and seemed to hesitate when he looked in their direction, but Billy knew there was no way he could see them. Could he sense Creecher? he wondered. But after a few seconds, Frankenstein set off after Clerval.

  When both men had gone, Billy and Creecher walked over to the cottage. They peered in through the window, but there was little to see.

  ‘Well, he’s not working here, is he?’ said Billy.

  ‘No,’ said Creecher sullenly. ‘Does he think that I will wait for ever while he amuses himself, walking in the woods? Perhaps if I snapped Clerval’s neck it might focus his thoughts.’

  Billy winced at both the image and at the sudden change in Creecher’s tone of voice.

  ‘Still,’ said Billy in an effort to placate him. ‘the fellow at the inn says they’re only here for a couple of days before heading on to Oxford. They’ve probably sent everything on.’

  Creecher nodded grimly, still staring after the two men.

  ‘When will he keep his promise to me?’

  There was such a terrible longing in that voice, a black despair that Billy had never heard before. He was used to Creecher sounding angry, but this was something new. Billy reached out and touched Creecher’s arm. When the giant turned there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘Look,’ said Billy, ‘I know how annoying it must be –’

  ‘Annoying? If only it was merely annoying.’

  Billy said nothing, sure that whatever he said it would not make things better. He could see that Creecher was upset but felt powerless to help. It was Creecher himself who broke the silence.

  ‘It is all I think about,’ he said quietly. ‘The idea that one day I will not be the only one of my kind. One day I will have someone to share my isolation with and we will each be everything to the other.’

  The giant looked up into the forest canopy above their heads.

  ‘But in my darker moments I think about what it will be like if Frankenstein does not fulfil his promise.’ There was a note of desperation in his voice.

  ‘He will,’ said Billy. ‘Of course he will.’

  ‘I wish I could be so sure,’ Creecher replied. ‘What if something were to happen to him? What if a robber were to attack him and kill him? If he dies, my dream ends with him.’

  ‘He’s not going to die,’ said Billy with all the comfort he could muster. But to himself, he had to admit that Creecher had a point.

  ‘But if he did,’ Creecher went on, ‘I would be doomed to continue alone. I do not even know if I can die. Perhaps I will live on, for all eternity, alive and yet not quite alive, shunned and rejected.’

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ said Billy. ‘I’m telling you – you need to stop reading all that gloomy poetry. It’s turning you into a right misery.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Frankenstein ain’t going to die, and he is going to build you a mate,’ said Billy. ‘Course he is. You worry too much.’

  He sat down on a fallen tree. After a few moments, Creecher joined him. Billy felt uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to say. He struggled to remember what his mother might have said when he was a boy and feeling sad. He slapped the giant on the back.

  ‘Everything will work out. You’ll see.’

  Creecher looked at him with a quizzical half-smile.

  ‘It is unlike you to be so cheerful and optimistic.’

  ‘I know,’ Billy said with a chuckle. ‘It must be the clean air or something.’

  ‘All I want,’ said Creecher, ‘is to have another of my kind to spend my life with. Is that so wrong? If I stay among ordinary people I fear I will become the monster they all think me to be.’

  Billy nodded and stifled a yawn.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope it all works out, eh?’

  ‘But what if –’

  ‘Look, I’ve said it’ll be all right, haven’t I?’ said Billy. ‘You don’t have to go on and on.’

  Creecher’s face froze in a sullen frown and he stared off into the distance. Billy closed his eyes and sighed.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that –’

  ‘Family is everything,’ Creecher added. ‘Without a family we are nothing. It is the centre of everything.’

  Billy stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Family?’ he said. ‘You’re planning to start a . . . a family?’

  Creecher looked at him.

  ‘But of course, mon ami,’ he said.

  That these two man-made giants might mate and produce children who would themselves go on to create a race of giants was an idea so unnatural it seemed impossible to contemplate.

  ‘But how do you know that . . .’ began Billy. ‘I mean, what if you can’t . . . you know . . . ?’

  ‘Then we will be content with each other,’ said Creecher. ‘But I see no reason why we will not be able to make children. Mere humans seem to have no difficulty –’

  ‘Look,’ said Billy suddenly, feeling sick, ‘I’ve got to get going.’

  ‘Very well,’ the giant replied. ‘If you –’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Billy impatiently. ‘Meet me at the inn tomorrow night and we’ll coach it to Oxford.’

  It took Billy a while to get to sleep, but sleep he did, falling into a deep and formless void – or so it seemed at first. For slowly, as though his eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark, Billy began to discern recognisable shapes amid the gloom.

  In this dreamworld it was still night-time, but there was a strange blue light washing the scene. He looked for the moon but could not find it. He was not in his room any more; he was back in the wood where he had left Creecher.

  He was still struggling with this confusion when he saw that Creecher was standing near the fallen tree, and he called to him.

  The giant turned round and it was then Billy saw that he was not alone. Though Creecher’s figure obscured most of the view, Billy could see that whoever stood there was almost the same height.

  ‘Creecher!’ called Billy. ‘Who is it? Who are you talking to?’

  Creecher’s teeth shone blue-white in the strange twilight and he turned back to the mystery figure, and Billy could hear them talking.

  ‘Creecher!’ called Billy.

  Creecher began to walk towards Billy with the other person following behind. As they approached, the mysterious figure came into view and Billy was amazed to see that it was a woman. She was gigantic, like Creecher, and entirely naked.

  ‘Children!’ called the woman. ‘Billy is awake! Come and meet him.’

  Billy stared in horror as from out behind shrubs and trees came, one after another, a procession of gigantic children, each of them naked like their mother and formed like an infant, though they were very nearly Billy’s height.

  They moved with a horrible speed, clambering over any obstacles that blocked their path and swarming towards Billy. He scrabbled back against a tree, cowering in fear as they slowed their movements and came to stand in a silent, inquisitive group around him.

  T
hey were all in silhouette. One of the children moved forward and into the blue light. His face was like Creecher’s, pale and loose-skinned, his eyes deep-set, his mouth hard and lipless.

  Billy gasped and jerked out of his nightmare, hitting his head on the bedside table.

  ‘Owww!’ he hissed. ‘Damn it!’

  He rubbed his head and tried his best to clear it of the image of those children, but with little success. They were still haunting his thoughts when he waited for Creecher at the coaching inn that evening.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  ‘Is that a bump on your head?’ asked Creecher.

  ‘A bump?’ said Billy. ‘Oh – yeah. I banged my head getting out of bed.’

  Creecher chuckled and Billy blushed, leaving the giant to hang back in the shadows while he went to buy the tickets to Oxford.

  Moments before the coach was due to set off, they strode across the courtyard with their bags and climbed on to the roof.

  The driver and guard were engaged in furtive conversation. Billy frowned. He had been around dubious characters long enough to recognise them when he saw them. The guard, whose flattened, broken nose made his wide face oddly featureless, burst into laughter and slapped the driver on the back. The driver whistled to the horses and flicked the reins. The coach moved forward and they were off.

  Billy and Creecher were alone on the roof this time, and each settled into his own world. Billy hunched his shoulders in a vain effort to hide his ears from the chill. Occasionally the raucous voices of the driver and guard would rise above the background rumble of the coach wheels and, every now and then, he would glance over at the black shape of Creecher, silhouetted against the blurred background. Billy wondered what went on in that mind of his.

  Some miles into their journey, Billy noticed that the coach seemed to be picking up speed. The driver and his guard were passing a bottle between them and the driver whooped with delight as he flicked the reins and urged the horses on.

  Billy got a better grip on the hoops and he saw that even Creecher was now looking concernedly at the trees hurtling past.

  ‘Oi!’ yelled Billy as a low branch whistled past his ear. ‘Slow down!’

  He was not sure that either the driver or the guard heard him, but neither took the least bit of notice if they did. Instead the pair cackled like witches, and the coach raced onward, heading downhill through a wood, gaining speed all the time.

  As it rounded a bend, Billy felt his side of the coach rise. He looked over the edge and saw the wheel lifting from the ground.

  ‘Slow down, you fool!’ he yelled to the driver. ‘You’ll have us over!’

  The guard threw him a wild look, his flat face looking like a carnival mask. He laughed as the driver gave another flick of the reins. This time the wheel began to float and the coach to tip.

  Billy had a strange weightless feeling for a few seconds. He saw the driver panic and struggle to regain control, but it was too late. The coach leaned and fell on to its side.

  The lane was banked and, fortunately, treeless at this point, otherwise it would have fallen flat on its side and even been crushed with the weight of those inside and the luggage on top.

  Creecher and Billy were flung free on to the bank while the horses dragged the coach on two slanted wheels until the driver could get them to stop.

  Billy shook his head and rubbed his neck, and gingerly got to his feet. Creecher was already standing and seemed as unharmed as if he had simply stepped from the coach.

  Billy ran to help the guard get the people out of the coach, while the driver calmed the horses. The passengers were shaken but seemingly unharmed. They were forced to climb out of the door on to the side of the bank, and slide down to the ground. While Billy helped an old man out, the passengers all gathered on the other side of the lane, staring back at the coach.

  ‘It’s going to take an age to get that righted,’ said the guard. ‘We’ll have to uncouple the horses and see if we can’t drag it on to its wheels. Hopefully they ain’t damaged – or the axle – otherwise we’ll have to ride into town and fetch help.’

  ‘And what are we supposed to do while you do that?’ said the woman passenger. ‘These woods are full of highwaymen and murderers.’

  ‘Maybe if we all got round behind it and shoved,’ a young soldier suggested.

  ‘Hah!’ said the old man. ‘You may be able to shove. You can’t expect me to do it – or the lady there.’

  Suddenly there was a great creaking sound, and everyone turned to see the coach moving slowly towards them, until finally it landed back on all four wheels.

  The lady began to applaud, and slowly everyone, including Billy, joined in. Creecher stood back and Billy could tell that he was bemused and touched, and a little embarrassed.

  ‘Bravo!’ said the lady. ‘He is a Hercules.’

  She walked forward with the lamp.

  ‘Come on, sir,’ she said. ‘Don’t be shy –’ But she did not say anything else. She put her hand to her mouth in horror and staggered backwards. She screamed once – a sound so shocking in that dark and silent place that it seemed to rip through the air like a ragged blade. And then she dropped to the ground in a faint.

  Her husband rushed to her side and stared at Creecher. Another passenger rushed forward and picked up the lamp she had dropped as she fell, and advanced on Creecher, who did not move an inch.

  The others edged behind him as the light gradually illuminated the giant. He had removed his hat and scarf in his efforts with the coach and even Billy, who had seen him many times, shuddered at the face the lamp revealed, set against that gloomy place.

  ‘Sweet mother of –’

  ‘He’s some kind of monster,’ shouted the old man.

  ‘A devil more like,’ the guard muttered.

  ‘I sought only to help,’ said Creecher.

  ‘He’s French!’ cried the driver.

  ‘He ain’t French,’ said Billy.

  ‘I ought to know that accent,’ said the driver. ‘I was at Waterloo, fighting them bastards.’

  ‘He ain’t –’

  ‘Do something!’ yelled another.

  The guard walked forward with his blunderbuss and aimed it straight at Creecher.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Billy, rushing forward and standing in front of Creecher. ‘Why don’t we all calm down a bit, eh?’

  ‘He tried to kill my wife!’

  ‘He never touched your wife!’ Billy protested. ‘And have you all forgotten it was him who set the coach straight? Without him you’d all still be stranded here.’

  ‘It was the weight of him that probably turned us over,’ said the driver, and everyone murmured their agreement.

  ‘You brought the coach down, you lying bastard!’ yelled Billy at the driver. ‘I told you to slow down!’

  ‘The lad’s right,’ said one of the passengers. ‘You were driving too fast.’

  Billy saw a flicker in the driver’s eyes and, while the man was clearly never going to accept responsibility for the incident, it did seem to stop him in his tracks and calm him a little.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, turning to the passengers. ‘Everyone back on board.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Look,’ said the driver. ‘Do you want to get to Oxford, or do you want to stand here all night?’

  After a small pause and some disgruntled muttering, the passengers returned to the coach. The guard, who had never once taken his eyes off Creecher, lowered his blunderbuss and followed them.

  ‘Thanks,’ Billy said to the driver.

  ‘You’ll have to make your own way from here,’ he replied.

  ‘What? You can’t just leave us here in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘It ain’t that far. But even if it was, there ain’t no way you’re coming back on that coach. Try it and Jack will blow your face off.’

  A stream of the foulest abuse Billy could muster burst from his lips and outlived the rumble of the coach wheels as they died away in the dista
nce. Eventually Billy stopped yelling and stood, head bowed. An owl hooted in the woods nearby.

  ‘Come,’ said Creecher.

  ‘Shut up!’ Billy snapped. ‘Why do you have to be such a . . .’

  He snarled and kicked a moss-covered branch and sent it tumbling into the darkness. Without the coachlights, the moon provided the only illumination to the scene.

  ‘You see how it is for me,’ said Creecher. ‘I try to help and –’

  ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it?’ said Billy. ‘Oh, poor me – I’m ugly and no one likes me. Boo hoo, boo hoo. Well, life ain’t a bowl of cherries for the rest of us neither!’

  ‘But you can live among them . . .’

  Billy fumed for a few moments, unable to express his feelings. The truth was he had never felt part of ‘them’. He had never belonged.

  ‘Oh, yeah. I can get treated like filth,’ he replied. ‘I can starve or steal. I can hang. If you want someone to feel sorry for you, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

  ‘Yet you would not see me shot, mon ami,’ said Creecher.

  ‘Look what is that “monnamee” thing you keep saying? It’s getting on my nerves.’

  ‘My friend,’ said Creecher. ‘It means my friend.’

  ‘Ha!’ Billy snorted. ‘That’s funny.’

  He started to walk in the direction the coach had taken, heading for the cover of the trees. Creecher stood motionless for a few moments, before following Billy into the moon shadows.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  Billy and Creecher walked for a long time without speaking. The forest was dark and silent, save for the sound of their footfall and the occasional screech of an owl, or the frantic, rustling departure of some unseen creature in the undergrowth.

  Branches clawed at Billy’s face and fanged brambles caught on his clothes. Billy flapped them away angrily and looked up at the blue-black sky visible between the latticework of twigs high above his head.

  Billy had led the way, but quickly found that it was easier to walk behind Creecher, in the path that the giant cleared. He scowled as he walked, staring malevolently into the huge black shadow ahead of him, blacker than the night.