by Ben Walsh
Chapter Six
Stan pushed Marvin away, turned and sprinted towards the screaming sound. In the background he heard Marvin shouting for him to wait, but he ignored it, knowing that he would slow him down. Stan was just a boy, and had no idea what he’d do when he arrived at the source of the screaming, but he continued to run, cursing the huge width of the lake as he ran round it.
As he got closer towards Oadford, he heard more screaming, coming from different directions, increasing in volume and size until as one it all stopped. If anything this was even more terrifying, with Stan unable to hear anything except his own breathing and the sound of his heart beating. All of a sudden, he was once more back in the cave, desperately searching through the blood chilling silence for his brother. Try as he might, Stan couldn’t shake these thoughts off.
Soon, Stan reached the main path, and found himself once again running past Mrs Fitch’s hut. Or where it had been. Stan paused to work out what had happened, but all that remained was a few wooden planks, from which smoke billowed. The apple tree had been destroyed, with only the basket of apples that were collected mere hours earlier still in the garden. As well as this, there were now no children running round, no happy screaming. Stan realised that it wasn’t just Mrs Fitch’s hut that now resembled smoke and ashes – it was all of them.
Upon the sight of this, Stan spun around, realising exactly where he stood, and turned to see his own hut, which was somehow largely intact. It looked rundown and like it had been trashed, with the garden a mess and the wood rotting. This resembled little change however, as it had looked like this for five years, ever since his mother’s death. His father was too lazy to maintain the house, and while Stan and Edgar tried to, they were just boys, and couldn’t do it all themselves. Cautiously, Stan made his way through the clutter in the garden and up the wooden steps, pushing the door, which opened with a loud creaking sound.
Inside was a mess, which didn’t surprise Stan. He had been sleeping for the best part of the week, and with Edgar gone, there was nobody to clear up after their drunken father. Stan checked all of the rooms, which didn’t take long, and saw that while some items were damaged or missing, most of the things were in the same condition in which he’d left them. The last room he checked was his and Edgar’s. He paused outside the door, which had the two names carved into it, something their father had done after building the house, before he had turned to drink to cope with the loss of their mother. He smiled at the memory, before entering, and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw everything as it should be. He hastily crammed a few of the things which mattered most to him into a bag, in case whoever had done this decided to come back. He took his cloak, the small dagger his father had made for him, Edgar’s belt and finally his mother’s locket, which he retrieved from his pillow. She had given it to him when she had learned of her illness, and Stan slept with it in his hands every night. He carefully placed it inside his new belt, which he then tucked underneath his shirt, before turning and leaving.
As he left he realised he had not seen his father in the hut, which was strange. To Stan’s surprise, he found himself hoping that nothing had happened to him. He obviously still meant something to him, Stan mulled, as he climbed a nearby tree to see over Oadford. From the top he saw that the entire town was covered by smoke, so much so that Lake Walandik, the Great Sea and even Mount Smouldotion were no longer visible in the distance.
From this vantage point, he could just about make out a group of people who had gathered outside what seemed to be the Mayor’s large house, or what remained of it at least. He leapt down, before cautiously making his way through the burning wood and roofing towards where he thought the group were assembled. He realised that where there was once a path, a collection of random items from people’s houses now lay, strewn randomly on the floor. He could make out a doll, which had been burnt and was now black all over. He saw clothes and cutlery, books and flowers, all of which were torn or burnt or melted, or damaged in some way.
As he walked closer towards the large group of people, he heard shouting, too muffled to make out words but clearly there. He rounded a group of huts and came out into the open, where he saw the crowd, shaking their fists and arguing with each other, while the mayor, stood on top of a barrel, tried to maintain order. It was a scene unlike anything else Stan had ever witnessed, and it made him sad to see so many people who he had grown up around arguing and angered. He saw Mrs Fitch and Mrs Jones crying in a corner, while Farmer Mcghee, the elderly man who Marvin and Stan sometimes stole milk from, was making his point as loudly as anyone else, despite being twice the age of most people.
Stan pushed his way past people on the outside of the crowd, trying to get to the centre to find out what had happened. As he walked past people, they would stop shouting and start to whisper and point, something which Stan failed to notice. As he reached the centre of the circle, the crowd fell into near silence, until one red faced, angry man pointed at him and roared,
“THERE HE IS!”
As one, the other angry villagers turned to shout and point at Stan, as they crowded round and yelled abuse at him.
“TRAITOR!”
“HOW COULD YOU? YOU’VE LOST US EVERYTHING!”
Behind them, the mayor called for silence, but he was either not heard or completely ignored. Stan stumbled and fell to the ground, and everyone circled in around him, crowding over him and shouting. The bigger, angrier men spat as they shouted, and Stan found himself covered in saliva. Kicks were aimed down on him, and looking up he could see nothing but angry faces. The vast number of people blocked the sun out, and even the billowing smoke became temporarily obscured.
Stan could feel himself slipping back into a dream, until suddenly he felt two large hands pick him up and put him on a pair of large shoulders. The man, his saviour, barged people out of the way, brushing them aside as if they weren’t even there. Stan’s head spun in haziness from the kicks and noise, and he couldn’t work out who it was that had saved him. He clung to the man’s shoulders, scared that if he fell back into the crowd he might never come back out. The man carried him over to the mayor, and placed him down beside him on his barrel, out of danger’s way.
The crowd continued to shout and throw objects, until Roxie, who had remained unnoticed next to her father until now, banged the attack drum and screamed for silence.
With the crowd finally silenced, the mayor turned to Stan and beckoned for him to stand.
The mayor was old, and had been in charge of Oadford for as long as anybody could remember, but nobody complained as he did a reasonably good job. He was short, but still towered over Stan, and his big, blue eyes normally sparkled, kindly. Today, however, there was no sparkle, which scared Stan. He looked over towards Roxie, but she wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Boy,” the mayor started, “do you realise what you have done?” The Mayor peered over the edges of his glasses to look at Stan.
Stan tried to open his mouth to tell him that he didn’t, but all that came out was a nervous croak. Once again the back of his throat had dried up, and in the end all he could manage only a shake of his head.
“The town is in ruins. Houses have been destroyed. Crops and fields have been burnt. Our animals have been eaten or taken from us.” From this short a distance, Stan could see tears starting to form in the Mayor’s eyes.
“Everything we have built over the past hundred or so years is gone.” The mayor said, completely without expression.. He removed his wig and wiped sweat from his forehead. He leaned down to talk to whisper in Stan’s ear.
“Boy, I used to be a lot like you. I loved adventure. I used to swim out in the Great Sea, try to catch a fish with my bare hands. I used to climb on top of buildings, jump between them. But then I grew up, because it was what I needed to do. I had responsibilities.”
He stood back up, and shouted for the crowd to hear,
“You too have responsibilities. You have suffered great personal loss these past few yea
rs, and you have had to look after yourself. You should have learnt how to fish, build, farm, anything, to keep you and your family safe and to continue the development of your village. But you didn’t grow up, and you have caused your town great harm. You have destroyed us!”
With this the crowd began to roar again, shouting at him and throwing things.
“I don’t understand, what have I done?” Stan murmured, finding his voice again.
The mayor looked at him in disgust, and uttered five words that Stan would never forget, that made everything clear to him. The anger towards him, the destruction of the town, all of it made sense.
“You have awoken the beast.”
Stan’s face and heart dropped, as he realised that everything he saw before him was his fault.
“I-I-I-I.. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, I can make this right,”
“YOU’RE JUST A BOY! WHAT CAN YOU DO TO MAKE ANYTHING RIGHT?” An angry watcher screamed, which led to a hoard of angry fisherman roaring in agreement, raising their fishing poles or nets to the sky.
“They’re right Stan, I’m sorry. You have awoken Gordon the Gruesome, and the last time that happened we were attacked by him every year, every time we thought we were getting back on our feet. There is nothing that can be done,” the mayor replied, “You have ruined us.”
“STAN! STAN HELP ME!” A familiar voice cried.
Stan flung round to see his best friend being carried by four angry fishermen towards the mayor, each one supporting one of his flabby limbs.
“You put him down,” Stan yelled, “NOW! Mayor make them stop, please! He’s scared, can’t you see?”
The mayor and the men ignored Stan’s cries, and only the restraint of the mayor prevented him from surging forwards to help. Eventually, the fisherman placed Marvin next to Stan.
Stan flung his arms around Marvin once again, as he had done earlier by the lake, only this time there were no smiles. The reunion was short lived however, as the mayor turned to look at them, and with a crooked frown and wrinkled forehead, and the expression of a man with all of the weight of the world on his shoulders, said,
“Boys I’m sorry, but I must banish the two of you from Oadford for life. You are to leave at once.”