Tell the Story to Its End

by Simon P. Clark

  I feel better, I think, after Eren’s story. A selkie. The grey, rolling thunder of the waves pounds in my head, boom, boom, boom, and I stare into his eyes.

  I’m in trouble.

  ‘HELLO, BOY,’ he said in a whisper. His voice was as dry as crackling flames. I climbed through and stood in the loft, staring at the monster. ‘Yes, yes, come in. You’ve taken your time!’ it said.

  He was smoke, turned into a bat – or a bear, tattered and old. His face was pointed – a wolf, a rat? A vulture? – and his eyes shone, brighter than the stars far behind him. He was big, old, moving, creaking, grinning. I took one step and stopped.

  ‘Eren,’ I said.

  ‘At your service, sir!’ he said. He beamed and bowed, one wing, ending in a claw, in front of his stomach. In my mind, I saw him wearing a top hat, a fine black suit, a cane. In the attic he was dirty and pale.

  ‘I saw you,’ I said. It was all I could think of. He looked thoughtful.

  He smiled, and nodded. ‘Hmm. Yes. You have seen me, you’re right.’

  ‘You watched from here,’ I said.

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, taking a step towards me. ‘No, you mean what am I? That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

  My mouth was dry, my heart thumping inside my chest. He looked like a bat, except giant, huge, filling the space in front of me, grinning like a devil, wet, black nose scrunched up, brown hair dull and dusty, velvet wings and claws hooked under his arms. He was real. He shuffled forward, smiling. I saw his teeth again, saw them flash. ‘Ah, don’t worry about insulting me, boy! It’s a good question, to be sure.’ He turned away again, walking back to stare out into the night. ‘Once there was a boy,’ he said, ‘who was not lonely, but did not have friends. He had friends in other places, but not in the new house, not where he was now. He was an outsider in the world, and an explorer.’ His voice was deep, but not human – like an old recording of a man; metallic, somehow wrong. I stared at him. ‘This boy, now, he had a purpose. He had a role. Do you know what it was?’ he said.

  ‘What are you?’

  ‘I am such stuff as dreams are made on!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am here,’ he said. He sighed, long and heavy. ‘And now you are, too. How about that…’ He sighed again. ‘It’s easy, to begin with. The boy had to tell stories. Good stories – enough to fire imaginations and break worlds. That is what he had to do. OK?’

  I looked closer, barely breathing. And then, like a flash …

  ‘My dream…’ I whispered. His head jerked up, like he’d been shocked with electricity.

  ‘But I’m not alone,’ I said quickly. ‘My family, they know, and if you—’

  ‘I will not hurt you, boy! What is this? You came to me, remember. You climbed the ladder. I just waited. Knock knock.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jokes! Knock knock!’

  Was he serious? ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Rufus,’ said the monster quickly.

  ‘Rufus who?’

  ‘Run! Your roof is on fire! Haha!’ He started laughing, clutching his stomach with his bent little hands, shrieking and gasping for breath, laughing and banging his fist on the floor. He wiped a tear from his cheek. ‘Good times,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve waited for that.’

  ‘Eren,’ I said again. He turned towards me.

  ‘That’s it, is it? My name? OK.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘It is indeed. You said so.’

  I took another step, trying to see as much as I could of him. ‘What is your name, then?’

  He ignored me, watched the stars again, yawned. ‘How are you, Oli?’

  ‘I’m cold.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, me too. We all have need of fire, I believe. You will be able to help me, Oli. Isn’t that good?’

  ‘Help? What help do you need?’

  ‘I am … lonely. I have been here a while, with no company. We could talk…’

  There was a small noise from downstairs, a door shutting gently in the corridor. I met Eren’s beetle eyes and backed away. ‘Aye me, the magic’s broken, then?’ he said, and slumped down against the wall. ‘I won’t leave the loft, so you can sleep well tonight, little friend. Dream, dream of great things. Come again!’ The white dots flashed again, specks of ice in blackness, and I reached out a shaking hand to touch him. He was as cold as winter stone. With a single pull he lifted me up and guided me over to the hatch. His wing wrapped around me, smooth and dark as ink, and I shivered as it rustled. ‘Once there was a boy,’ he said, ‘who would create worlds. Come back to me, OK? Come back some time. That’s enough.’

  A wisp of wind ruffled my hair, oily smoke surrounded me, and suddenly I was alone.

  I could hear him even as I was climbing down the ladder.

  NINE

  ‘That’s not a very flattering picture of me, is it?’ says Eren. ‘Oily smoke? Cold hands? A wet nose?’

  I shrug. ‘Does it matter now?’

  ‘Well … things always matter, when they’re being told. You have to describe people a certain way, or you can ruin a tale.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘You’re still not sure, are you? About stories. About the telling of things.’

  ‘What is there left for me to get?’

  Eren chuckles and rolls his eyes upwards. ‘You’re ridiculous. Even here, you can’t work things out? Keep going. Tell me again. Make me believe it.’

  ‘I can’t…’

  ‘By all the clouds, boy! Keep on.’

  Eren is becoming more demanding. He won’t let go, any more.

  I DREAMED. I walked through fields of grass on grey flint paths, watching as the sun set and purple streaks turned the sky dark. I heard the sea foaming over the hill and saw knights sleeping under the earth. I saw their swords, their treasure, their shields shining white and gold and red. I saw them waiting for a future that I’d never see. I moved on, confused and dazed, and saw a seal cross the path, as horses ran with fire under their hooves. I kept walking. I saw Mum and Bekah and Uncle Rob burying radios and burning papers, camera flashes replacing the stars. Behind me Em and Takeru watched, afraid, and called me over. I shook my head. I had to move on, I said. Why would you choose to go back?

  Vines grew over libraries and turned the stone to chalky dust, and the books flew off into the night as crows. I heard a voice, far away, call my name. Dad? I ran. Dad! I called back. The grass was slate, crunching and loose, and I tried to scramble down without falling into the sea. Dad!

  The slate was bats, filling the air, knocking me down and picking me up. I lost my footing, thought I would fall into the cold and the salt of the sea. I flew, carried by the bats in their thousands, over everything, into the sky, above the clouds, and suddenly it was quiet, so quiet I couldn’t even imagine noise. No insects clicked, no wind puffed. The clouds were a white field under my feet, and above me, perfect night, perfect nothing. Higher! I said. Higher, higher! From far below, almost a whisper, someone was calling my name.

  ‘Oli, wake up!’

  My mum’s voice from downstairs. I jerked awake, my eyes stinging in the light. It was morning already and the sunlight was pale and looked like it was floating in the air. I barely remembered getting into bed. But I knew. I knew now. He was in the loft. He really was, the thing, that thing, whatever it was, or he was; was there. I don’t know why I wasn’t more scared, why I didn’t tell Uncle Rob to run, to call the police, to do anything to kill it. I knew I was scared of him, knew it in the very centre of myself, but there was something more. There had to be more and I wanted to know what it was. I got up and went to find Mum. As I moved I felt tired, like I hadn’t slept at all. My head hurt, and my eyes, and my legs. In the kitchen the TV was playing in the background, a bright, bubbling programme about some sort of antique hunt. Mum smiled when she saw me and handed me toast.

  ‘Cereal’s in the cupboard down here if you want it.’

  ‘Mm.
Thanks.’

  ‘Ah, I think this is such a lovely house, y’know?’ she said, resting her hands on the sink and staring out at the honeysuckle. Far off a bird sang high and clear. ‘It’s … it’s old, I think that’s what I like. There’s real history, isn’t there? And Rob’s done such a good job of caring for it.’

  ‘I like ours more, though,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, but London’s so hectic and cramped compared to here.’

  ‘It’s not cramped, it’s alive. We’re in the countryside.’

  She looked thoughtful and straightened her skirt. ‘Yes. Yes, we are. But you made some friends yesterday, you said.’

  ‘I met some kids.’

  ‘George’s girl. Yes. I’m sure she can show you the sights. The woods might be worth an explore.’

  I ate the toast listening to the babble from the television. I could ask about Dad. No, I thought, I’ll wait for that. Wait until I have to. The toast tasted weird and I put it down again.

  ‘I’m off shopping later,’ said Mum. ‘Anything you want? I’ll get some treats. What would you like, and I’ll make sure I pick it up.’

  ‘You’ll get anything?’

  I made myself, made myself, not think about the loft.

  She smiled and came over to stroke my hair. ‘Oi, get off!’ I flicked my head away and she ruffled the back.

  ‘Too big for petting now?’ she asked.

  ‘Jaffa cakes,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not some new cuss, is it?’

  ‘Jaffa cakes! If you want to buy me something.’

  Bekah had walked into the room, and Mum exhaled with her hands on her hips. ‘If you want to buy me something if you please! You hear that, Bekah? That’s all the respect I get.’

  ‘Have you tried ruffling his hair?’ asked Bekah.

  ‘I’m off, I’m off!’ I said, cramming the last crusts of toast into my mouth and standing up. ‘Jaffa cakes!’ I called back into the kitchen. ‘Jaffa cakes for everyone!’

  The sound of laughter filled the hall.

  * * *

  She went out with Bekah at eleven o’clock and I was left, alone, in the house. The loft was filled with light when I went up.

  ‘It makes my old heart burst with pride,’ he said, ‘that you have come again.’

  His brown hair was turning grey with dust. It looked faded in the light. His eyes shone with life.

  ‘You need to tell me more,’ I said, and I heard my voice quiver. I made myself step forwards, towards him.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘What are you?’

  ‘Oh, that old chestnut. You can’t understand just yet, my pet. You will get to know my ways, if you take time. For now, let me get rid of those nasty fears of yours. No, I’m not human, and no, I’m not a monster. No, I don’t eat children or suck on their juicy bones, and no, I don’t really want to hurt you.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can trust you.’

  ‘My name is Eren,’ he said, ‘and you do trust me, if you think about it.’

  His teeth flashed as he smiled and turned his head through the light. He looked around the attic. ‘Aye me. This place isn’t much, is it?’

  ‘Why are you here?’ I said, louder. I wanted him to go, to leave, to not exist.

  He didn’t move. ‘Why not? Here is good. Here is good, for me.’ He lowered his eyes, staring into the floor. ‘Here is good,’ he said again, and looked almost confused, almost uncertain. I thought of old men who had lost their memories, and for a tiny moment, felt sorry for this thing.

  ‘What do you mean, I trust you? I don’t—’

  ‘Do you know any stories?’ he said. He spoke quickly, almost as though he were ashamed, like some terrible secret, some nasty habit was being let out. He spat out the words like a cough.

  ‘I … what?’

  ‘Stories. Old ones. New ones. Happy ones. Terrible ones. Once upon a time, three blind mice, oh my, see how they run, and they all lived, except for one, who must avenge his father, no, I am your father, and I must take the sword that was broken, hickory dickory dock—’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I said.

  Eren stopped chattering and looked straight at me. I stepped back and gasped. His head twitched to the side, like an owl’s. ‘I am not mad, son,’ he said. ‘I am Eren. And that is what I need – stories. That is what I live on. Your blood and bones and bread and tea are all safe from me, fear not. I live on tales.’ His eyes were wide, the corners of his face stretching as he stared at me desperately. I realised he was on his knees. He was begging.

  ‘Stories are more than you people think,’ he said. ‘They are as brilliant as a sun. They’re everything. I must have them like you need water, like birds need air, like love needs more life, like darkness needs hate, like … like…’

  ‘Stop talking,’ I said. I moved away again, but he went quiet, shuffling back to the window to stare at the world. His wings trembled. In my mind I heard his name tumbling through the silence. Eren, Eren, Eren, Eren …

  Stories? Did I know any stories?

  ‘Once upon a time there were three pigs,’ I said. His ears pricked up and I saw his shoulders tense. My heart was like a cannon in my ears, booming and booming. ‘There were three pigs, and they all … they all lived in a field. But a wolf, there was a wolf, and he came, wanting to eat the pigs, see? So they knew they had to build houses. One house for each of them – they didn’t like each other, I think, so one house each. Oh, they were, like, brother pigs. The first one, he says … uh … he says he’ll build using straw. It’s cheap, and easy to do, and I think maybe he was a farmer? A pig who was a farmer. Or he bought it cheap from a farmer. He built a house from straw.’

  Eren turned to me, full on, and nodded, once. I tried to wet my lips with my tongue. My throat felt dry. ‘There was a second pig, and he thought, uh, straw isn’t enough. I mean, a wolf, right? He used wood. He got a bunch of wood, and he built his house, quite near to his brother’s, but not, like, in the exact same place. Nice and strong, he thought – wood everything, wood doors, wood walls. All wood.’

  Eren twitched his head from left to right like a curious bird watching a worm, and I felt nervous. How did the next part go? ‘The third pig, he’s the smart one. He knows the full strength of the wolf. “I’m not dumb,” he says. “I know that it takes more than that to keep them out.” He uses money, and he buys bricks, and cement, and he builds a house from those. It takes effort, and his brothers laugh at him, but he knows what he’s doing, cause he’s a … he’s a smart pig.’

  Eren nodded like a wise old priest and held his hands together in front of him. ‘A classic flaw to be unveiled and a moral to be taught,’ he said under his breath. I heard the words so clearly I shivered. ‘Keep on, you are not finished!’ he said.

  ‘The wolf came,’ I said, my eyes never leaving his. ‘He went to the first house, and asked to come in, but the pig wouldn’t let him. He knew what was coming.’

  ‘I don’t think he did,’ said Eren. He was grinning. I thought he looked like a toddler playing with insects, powerful and clueless.

  ‘The wolf huffed, and puffed, and blew the house down.’

  ‘Ha, yes, he did, that’s how it happened!’ said Eren in a hoarse shout, and clicked his claws.

  I shuddered and tried to keep talking. ‘The pig ran to his brother. They both hid in the wooden house. The wolf came again, and again, they wouldn’t let him in…’

  ‘Repeating the mistakes. Shows the fool,’ said Eren.

  ‘The wolf huffed…’

  ‘… and puffed!’

  ‘… and he blew the house down.’

  ‘I’m sure they looked delicious, all pink and scared and running away.’

  ‘They ran to the last pig,’ I said. I was shivering with cold, with effort. I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. He lowered his face and waited for me to speak. ‘The last house was made of bricks,’ I said.

  ‘Like this one.’

  ‘Y-yeah. The wolf came to them.’

&nb
sp; ‘Asked to be let in.’

  ‘They said no.’

  ‘Anyone would. And then…?’

  ‘He huffed, and puffed, but the house was strong, and they were safe inside.’

  Eren sighed, deeply, and patted the side of his head. ‘Brains, that last pig. Brains.’

  ‘There’s more,’ I said. ‘That isn’t the end of the story.’

  ‘Then, Oli, I would like to hear it later. Later, but not now. I am too tired. You have done me such a service, such a favour. I bless you, with every wish and dream I have. Go on now. Your friend is at the door.’

  I felt the air clear, as if I were falling asleep. I felt cold on my cheeks, the wood of the floor beneath me, heard the creak of the beams, the sound of birds and cars outside. I felt like I could sleep. I felt empty, suddenly; impossibly tired. Eren chuckled and moved to the shadows in the corner. ‘Knock knock,’ he said. The doorbell rang downstairs.

  TEN

  ‘Stories are the truth beyond the flat, stone world,’ he says. ‘There’s more fire inside the engine than the wheels. That’s what it is.’

  ‘I’m cold,’ I say.

  ‘The world turns on its axis, but people turn on their souls. Things you can’t see, boy, support what you can.’

  ‘We tell stories to fly, you said.’

  ‘I did.’

  Is he proud of me? I hope so. I want him to be.