by Matt Haig
SAMUEL: What else must I look out for?
TRUTH PIXIE: Flat circles of earth with no plants growing on them. They are caloosh traps. If you step on them, you will fall down into the huldre territory below the ground. You must also be careful to keep hold of your shadow. So long as you have your shadow, you are always going to be you. If your shadow is stolen, you are whatever the Changemaker wants you to be. If you try and challenge him, he will kill you.
SAMUEL: What are the chances of escaping the Changemaker once I find my sister?
TRUTH PIXIE: One in trinkinion.
SAMUEL: Trinkinion?
TRUTH PIXIE: It’s a pixie number. It is higher than infinity.
SAMUEL: There’s nothing higher than infinity.
TRUTH PIXIE: Yes, there is. Trinkinion. It is so high it makes infinity look small. It is the number that is used to count sadness and happiness and memories.
SAMUEL: So there is not much chance of escaping the forest with my sister?
TRUTH PIXIE: No. Not much. It is about the same chance as the sun turning to butter.
SAMUEL: Can I have your sandals now?
TRUTH PIXIE: They are my only pair.
SAMUEL: You tried to poison me. The least you can do is give me your sandals.
TRUTH PIXIE: Oh, all right.
SAMUEL: Thanks. They’re a good fit…Ibsen, Ibsen, wake up. We’ve got to go and find the Changemaker.
IBSEN: (jolting awake) Woof.
TRUTH PIXIE: Are you going?
SAMUEL: Yes. We are.
TRUTH PIXIE: Very well.
SAMUEL: Try to be good.
TRUTH PIXIE: (waving from the door) I always try…good-bye.
SAMUEL: Good-bye.
TRUTH PIXIE: (under his breath) Stinkymudfungle.
The Tightrope Walker
Samuel and Ibsen walked down the steep crooked path as the Truth Pixie had instructed, and kept a lookout for shadowless creatures.
Like his sister, Samuel was feeling rather sad. But unlike his sister, Samuel’s sadness was mixed with crossness and so Samuel didn’t really know what he was feeling. It wasn’t pure sadness or pure crossness but more of a cradness. He knew that wasn’t a word but he thought it should be.
As he saw it, the two main things that had gone wrong with his life were to do with people not listening to him.
If his dad had listened when he’d said “Stop!,” then both his parents would have still been alive.
If Martha had listened when he’d told her not to go into the forest, then he wouldn’t be facing a one-in-trinkinion chance of successfully rescuing her from the Changemaker.
“Why don’t people listen to me?” he asked Ibsen. “Why can’t they just do as I say?”
Ibsen wasn’t listening. Or if he was, he couldn’t provide a satisfactory answer.
“If they did as I say, everything would still be all right. Mum and Dad would still be here and Martha would still be singing stupid songs and I wouldn’t be in a dangerous forest, checking that everything has got a shadow.”
As he kept treading farther down the twisting path, he thought briefly of this other world. The world where he was listened to. What would he be doing there, right at the moment? He would be at school. His old school, in Nottingham. It was a Tuesday afternoon, so he would probably be having a math lesson. Square roots or something. He would be bored, flicking bits of rubber with his ruler, but underneath the boredom would be a happiness. The happiness he used to take for granted. The happiness that came from having a mum and a dad—even if they never listened to you. Because mums and dads weren’t just people, they were a kind of safety net. You always knew that however boring math lessons would be, or how much trouble you got into at school, they would always look after you. They might tell you off, but they would always be there to help you bounce back up.
And now that they were gone, it was like he was high on a tightrope all on his own. If he fell, if he made one tiny mistake, then that would be it. There would be no net to catch his fall.
“Walk in a straight line,” said Samuel the tightrope walker, staying close to the tree trunks in his path. “Not too far left. Not too far right.”
He passed rabbits and a caloosh and an elk and Samuel breathed relieved sighs at the sight of their shadows, and kept on his way toward the Changemaker.
But as he walked, Samuel felt tears roll down his face. Not cold icicle tears. These were hot and angry tears that leaked from his nose as much as his eyes. They were as unstoppable as a waterfall no matter how many times he wiped them away.
Ibsen looked up, offering as much comfort as he could with his floppy tongue and dopey eyes, but the boy kept on crying.
“Get a grip,” Samuel told himself. “You big baby!”
And then he saw it. The bush with yellow, jagged leaves.
“The Hewlip bush,” mumbled Samuel as he recalled what the Truth Pixie had said.
Ibsen whimpered, as if understanding the bush’s significance.
Once you have passed this bush, you will be entering THE MOST DANGEROUS PART OF THE FOREST…
Samuel touched one of the poisonous leaves, and gently ran his finger along its jagged edge.
He looked beyond the bush at the slope of the land in front of him, studded with the same type of tall pines he had just passed. He could see no creatures, shadowless or otherwise. No signs of danger. But as he stood and stared in front of him, he sensed something. A brooding kind of menace that seemed to charge the air, warning those who were about to head closer toward the Changemaker.
The feeling made him tingle with fear, as though he was about to jump off his imaginary tightrope and land on hard ground miles below.
Samuel wiped away the tears. That was the last time he was going to feel sorry for himself.
“Right,” he told Ibsen. “This is it.”
He carefully picked some of the jagged yellow leaves off the poisonous bush, placed them inside his wet pocket, and then headed into the danger zone.
Another Rude Interruption from the Author
Hello. It’s me again. The author.
Yes, I know, no one likes to be interrupted, especially when they’re reading a book. But I should just warn you that the next two chapters are about how Professor Horatio Tanglewood became so evil. Some people like to think people are born evil, and if you want to stay thinking that, then why don’t you skip the next few pages and head to “The Wagon.”
Go on.
Off you go.
Now, is there anyone left?
Oh yes. Just you.
Well, never mind.
I suppose I had still better tell you a bit more about Professor Tanglewood and his very peculiar type of evil.
The Tragedy and Triumph of Professor Horatio Tanglewood
While Samuel continued his journey, Professor Horatio Tanglewood sat alone in his tree palace trying to work out exactly what to call his new book. He was feeling very happy with himself, as he had just given the order to the huldres to deliver the Snow Witch to him tonight, along with the other prisoners. Recently he had been sensing a weakness in the Shadow Witch, especially when the Snow Witch was mentioned. So he had decided it was best to finish off her sister once and for all.
Excited by this prospect, he felt a new energy and decided to get working on a title. He hadn’t written any of his autobiography yet, but was sure that if he found the right title, all the other words would fall like rain into his head, just like they had for The Creatures of Shadow Forest. Up and down he paced, past the jars of pickled heads, thinking of different titles.
And then, when he’d thought of something, he stopped pacing and stared into the face of a Tomtegubb, a cousin of the Tomtegubb who was in prison with Martha. Like all Tomtegubbs, this one had died with a smile, a smile that was now preserved for eternity.
“What do you think of Professor Horatio Tanglewood: The Reluctant Hero, or how about Making Change: The True Story behind the Changemaker?”
The pickled he
ad said nothing, but kept smiling.
“Yes, I agree,” said the Professor. “They’re good, but they’re missing something. Ah! I have it! A name that wraps it all up and puts a bow around it. Are you ready? What about The Tragedy and Triumph of Professor Horatio Tanglewood? Yes, it’s perfect, isn’t it? Absolutely perfect. Oh, it will come to me now, don’t worry, my old golden friend. I can already feel my life bleeding into the words as I stand here. It will be written in a month. No! A week. Not even that! A day! And then the Shadow Witch will conjure a thousand copies and do a translation spell so every single creature can understand exactly who the Changemaker is and what he—or rather I—have been through. It will be exactly the same as The Creatures of Shadow Forest. That is to say, it will be the exact opposite. Instead of telling humans about the dangers of the forest creatures, it will tell the forest creatures about the dangers of the humans in the outside world. Not me, of course. I shall be the hero. The tragic, triumphant hero. The creatures shall worship me. They shall know then that the Changemaker is really just me, just Professor Tanglewood. And they shall love me, as much as they have feared the Changemaker. This book shall become their sacred text. Oh, there might be the odd creature to overcome—the trolls, for example. We’ll have to get them to overcome their book phobia, of course. But no. These obstacles are nothing. This book is going to capture their hearts, I know it. I have ruled them by terror for too long. After this book has been written, love will make them obey. They shall love me, you heads. Love me, Professor Horatio Tanglewood—the Changemaker. Do you hear?”
The pickled heads in the jars said nothing as Horatio walked back over to his desk and began to write his life story. He sat there, with his quill and pages of parchment, and wrote one hundred thousand words without once getting up, not even for the toilet. He just sat there, with tears running down his face, as he relived his horrendous life.
Professor Tanglewood was an evil and cruel man who could imagine no music more pleasant than the scream of a dying child. But you must know that he did not start off this way.
On the contrary, Horatio Tanglewood began his life as the most adorable baby any parent could imagine. Indeed, his mother and father would spend whole hours gazing over his crib, in wonder at their calm and happy only child.
When he grew a little older, it was clear that Horatio was turning into a model of politeness. His first spoken word was “please,” his second was “thank you.” He loved all vegetables, especially carrots, and never left any food on his plate. Unlike other boys his age, he had no interest in pirate swords or cowboy pistols. He preferred to learn how to spell words like d-i-s-s-i-m-u-l-a-t-i-o-n and a-n-t-h-r-o-p-o-m-o-r-p-h-i-z-a-t-i-o-n and f-r-a-c-t-o-c-u-m-u-l-u-s.
He particularly enjoyed reading folktales, and could read them on his own when he was still only two years old.
In his first school report, the head teacher wrote:
Horatio is the most exceptional child I have ever had the fortune to come across. His abilities at mathematics and English are exceptional for a boy of only four and I am told he has a great love of nature. He is polite and courteous to teachers and pupils alike, and the dinner ladies inform me he eats all his vegetables. He is a perfect miniature gentleman, surrounded by frightful little nose pickers. If we could mold all our children like Horatio, we would be making the world a better place for generations to come. I am sure he will grow up to become an asset to our great nation.
—Mr. Montague Smythe-Hogg, Headmaster
Horatio’s great love of nature included a special interest in trees. On long woodland walks with his mother, he learned how to tell a beech tree by looking at its smooth trunk, or a sycamore by the shape of its leaves.
He loved his parents intensely, but when he was five his happiness vanished forever, and his life became marred by some very horrible things. Thirteen horrible things, if we are to be precise about it.
The Thirteen Horrible Things That Happened in the Life of Professor Horatio Tanglewood before He Became Evil and Called Himself the Changemaker
1. At the age of five, on the windiest day of the year, Horatio witnessed his father die while chasing a picnic blanket over the edge of a cliff.
2. Two years after this most appalling event, Horatio and his mother hired an abandoned wooden house in Norway. On their return, Horatio’s mother was considered completely insane after telling her family doctor that she and her son had witnessed Truth Pixies take part in a spickle-dancing competition in a forest near the village of Flåm.
3. At the same age, Horatio was sent to Blandford-on-Trent to live with foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Twigg. Mr. and Mrs. Twigg lived in a house so tidy they didn’t take the cover off their sofa, and spent all their time watching boring TV programs. They were very strict and made Horatio do all the vacuuming as well as all the washing up, and banned him from woodland walks and visits to his mother.
4. From the age of seven, Horatio never received a birthday card from anyone, so he decided to make his own and send them to himself. But when Mr. and Mrs. Twigg found them they called them “awful clutter” and put them in the trash. All he ever wanted was for someone to sing “Happy Birthday” to him, but no one ever did.
5. When Horatio was eleven he wrote a school essay called “How I Know That Pixies Are Real,” which a teacher read aloud to the whole class. Everyone laughed, and the laughter kept echoing inside Horatio’s brain forevermore.
6. The following year, Horatio was caught sucking his thumb in morning assembly. From then on, he was known as Horatio Thumbsucker the Pixie Lover.
7. When he was thirteen, he wet the bed on a school trip to York. His nickname was amended to Horatio Thumbsucker the Bed-wetting Pixie Lover.
8. Three years later he made his first trip to see his mother in the hospital, but she got confused and thought he was a pixie. She told him to go away after he refused to show her his spickle dancing.
9. Two days before his eighteenth birthday, his mother died in the hospital after choking on an overcooked Yorkshire pudding. At her funeral, Horatio vowed to the vicar (there was no one else there) that he would prove his mother had been right about what they had seen in the forest.
10. Only one week later, Mr. and Mrs. Twigg also died after their overheated television exploded during an episode of the popular show Ooh, What a Lovely Clean House You’ve Got! Horatio survived the explosion—he was sitting at a table doing his homework at the other end of the room. However, a shard of flying glass from the screen left a permanent scar underneath his left eye.
11. After studying Norse folklore at Christminster University and then gaining a professorship in the same subject, Horatio wrote a book called On the Existence of Pixies. One reviewer said that he would “rather drown in raw sewage than read another book from the pen of Horatio Tanglewood.” That same reviewer fell down a loose manhole cover outside his home two days later. He drowned in raw sewage.
12. After being found with a screwdriver and a wrench at the scene of the crime, Horatio was forced to spend eleven years in Bleakmoor Prison, sharing a cell with a bodybuilding bank robber known as Mad Dexter the Muscle Flexer.
13. On leaving prison, Horatio moved to Norway, and bought the holiday home he and his mother had stayed in many years earlier. The childhood memories contained in the house made Horatio so sad that he stayed in bed for seven weeks, crying and sucking his thumb and screaming for his mother. And then one day, all of a sudden, the tears ran out, and Horatio got out of bed and cycled to the village of Flåm. He was going to buy some groceries and then, once he returned, his plan was to head off to the forest and see the pixies and other wonderful creatures he knew awaited him.
The Wagon
While Professor Horatio Tanglewood was writing his life story, explaining the truth behind the Changemaker, his most loyal huldre—Grentul—was watching a caloosh fight. But unlike the other huldre guards, he found little thrill in the sight of blood-soaked feathers and thrashing, flightless wings.
O
f course, he never admitted this to anyone else. He could only imagine the ridicule he would get from the others, especially Vjpp. After all, a love of caloosh fighting was meant to be what made you a true huldre. The guards always talked of the grace of each fight. The skill and tactics of their favorite birds. But all this was a cover for bloodlust, and their hunger for cruelty and death.
He watched Vjpp now standing on the other side of the caloosh pit. He was clapping and cheering as one of the three-headed birds collapsed to the floor.
“Vemp oda caloosh!” Vjpp’s eyes bulged with proud excitement as his favorite bird began pecking away at the other with all three of its beaks.
Grentul always found it strange how birds who were so peaceful when they were running free aboveground could become so violent toward one another after a few days of training underground. It wasn’t that Grentul had any morals about such things. He didn’t. It was just that he could find no pleasure in anything nowadays, not even violent sport. His only love was for the Changemaker. He was his life. His duty. As he was for all the huldre-folk. Protecting the forest from the Unchanged was the only thing that motivated him, and he liked to believe his sense of duty was greater than those of the other guards, even Vjpp.
He knew that one day the Changemaker would see the strength of his devotion, and reward him for it. It was this thought that prompted him to walk through the roaring crowd to the other side of the pit.
Once there, he leaned toward Vjpp. “Ipp kensh,” he told him, in an urgent whisper.
It is time.
The Snow Witch heard them first.
“They are coming,” she told Martha. “Show them no sign of fear, for fear is a gift to them and you owe them no gifts.”
The Tomtegubb and the two-headed troll woke up to the sound of Vjpp’s laughter as he, along with Grentul and five other huldre guards, walked down the corridor toward them. They carried belts full of weapons and held flaming torches.