Goblin

by Ever Dundas

  ‘He used it wrong?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And, chop! Off came his finger.’

  He held one of his fingers down with his thumb, pretending it was missing. I sat up, stiff, staring at him. Ma came in, glanced at us, and went over to the mirror.

  ‘And that finger fell to the floor and it kept moving.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ said ma, checking her make-up.

  ‘Telling a story,’ he said, not taking his eyes off me. ‘It moved along the ground like this, like a caterpillar, and it kept on going, crawling right across the factory floor.’

  ‘No! No, it didn’t. Fingers can’t crawl on their own.’

  ‘Of course they can,’ he said, ‘and we could have fixed it back on, but it crawled too far and was eaten up, snap! by the big jaws of a rat. Just like this!’

  His huge hand snapped shut on mine and I yelped and fell on the floor. I rolled and laughed, and said ‘No, no! You’re telling tales.’

  Ma put on another layer of lipstick and smiled into the mirror.

  ‘Don’t fill her head with more nonsense,’ she said.

  ‘It’s just a story,’ said da.

  ‘She’s too stupid to realise. She probably thinks it’s the truth.’

  ‘I know it’s just a story,’ I said.

  ‘Get out from under our feet, runt. And go wash yourself, you stink like a sewer.’

  ‘Go on,’ da said, ‘do what your ma says.’

  I stood up and said, ‘Thanks for the story.’

  He nodded. Ma sat on da’s lap and they kissed. She ran her hand through his hair. They laughed and I left, closing the door on them.

  Edinburgh, 12 July 2011

  I’m at my desk in the sitting room while Ben sits on the couch, Mahler’s head on his lap, Sam squeezed in next to Mahler.

  ‘That Detective called again last night.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to him.’

  ‘Yel need to eventually, eh?’

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘What’re ye writing?’

  ‘About when I was a kid in London.’

  ‘I thought ye didnae want to think about all that.’

  ‘It’s too late now, isn’t it?’

  ‘But ye just said—’

  ‘It wasn’t all bad. I had a family of animals. And I got a new mum and dad.’

  ‘What happened to yer old mum and dad?’

  ‘Da went to fight the Nazis and never came back. Ma left too, eventually. But when the war started she had to go work in a factory and she’d come home, her hands blackened, stinking of sweat. When she paid any attention to me I was “dirty rotten Goblin-runt”. She called me Goblin-runt from the day I was born and it stuck.’

  ‘Join the club,’ said Ben. ‘My parents were right cunts too.’

  ‘I had a good brother, though. I loved David and he loved me. He called me Goblin, not “runt” like ma called me, apart from once when he was in a mood, but I knew he felt bad about it. We shared a room since as far back as I remember, and he was good to me. Ma loved David. He mustn’t have been born blue.’

  London, 16 March 1939

  I was nine years old on 16th March 1939 and David gave me a present. He’d fixed up some old bashed camera for me.

  ‘There you go, Goblin,’ he said. ‘You capture your world with that.’

  I was speechless as he slung it over my neck. Ma and da usually forgot my birthday. If ma did remember she’d just go on about how I never should have been born, so I avoided being at home on my birthday and spent it with Mac and Stevie and I’d sleep in our den.

  ‘Come meet me at my work at five,’ said David, ‘I have a special treat for you.’

  I was so excited I got there early and just sat in the street with Devil for half an hour until David came out.

  ‘What’s the treat?’ I said.

  ‘You’ll see. C’mon.’

  I followed him, all antsy and asking him where we were going every few minutes. He thought it was funny at first but eventually told me to shut up or we’d be going home so I shut up and kicked a stone along the pavement until we arrived at the cinema.

  ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Bride of Frankenstein.’

  ‘I don’t wanna see some film about a boring old bride.’

  ‘Look at the poster, you idiot.’

  I looked – The Bride of Frankenstein in electrified letters; a woman with strange big hair, white zigzags at either side; lightning striking at a huge frightening face - all heavy brow, hooded eyes and dark shadows.

  ‘It looks amazing.’

  ‘I saw it when it came out, when you were too young to come with me. You’re gonna love this, Goblin. I know it.’

  I nodded, gawping at the poster.

  ‘We’ll have to leave him out here, though.’

  ‘What?’ I said, pulling myself away from the poster.

  ‘We’ll have to tie him out here. We can’t take him in.’

  ‘We can’t leave Devil.’

  ‘C’mon, Goblin, don’t make a fuss. Dogs aren’t allowed.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because they’ll bark and shit and piss everywhere.’

  ‘You know Devil won’t do that. You know he won’t.’

  ‘They won’t let us in with him. I can’t do anything about it.’

  He looked down at Devil and I could tell he was feeling bad.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s maybe a way. Just let me get the tickets.’

  We sneaked Devil in through the toilet window. I gave him a bunk up and David leaned out, got him under the shoulders and pulled him in. He hid him under his jacket and waited for me inside. Devil was no bother. He made some huffy snuffling noises as he explored some of the seats and smelled all the new smells and I glanced nervously at the usher, but he was up at the back talking with a girl. More people arrived and I worried they’d make a fuss, so I quietly called Devil but he ignored me.

  ‘C’mon,’ said David. ‘Get him over. I don’t want to be thrown out.’

  ‘He’s on important sniffing business – he’s got to feel comfortable,’ I said, but eyed the new arrivals all the same.

  ‘David?’ I said.

  ‘Mh-hmm?’

  ‘I heard da say we should go to war. He said Chamberlain is a pansy for letting Hitler take Checksvakia.’

  David didn’t say anything, his eyes fixed on Devil who was sniffing his way along our row.

  ‘Do you think we will go to war?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Complicated how?’

  ‘It just is.’

  ‘Would you and da have to fight?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. Just drop it, okay?’

  ‘Can you show me where Checksvakia is on one of your maps?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, boy,’ I said to Devil, who had finished his sniffing undetected. I ruffled his head and told him to stay put and he lay down under my chair. During the film he fell asleep and at some of the quiet bits I could hear him snore.

  I loved being in the cinema. I loved the darkness and the smell of stale sweat and old furniture. David had bought me sweets and I sat slouched in my seat, stuffing them in my mouth, staring up at him. He looked beautiful and pale, the light from the screen casting shadows across his face.

  Elsa Lanchester as the bride was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When the film had finished I walked up the aisle, arms outstretched, hissing at everyone as they left. David lumbered after me. ‘Friend?’ he said, and I drew back, baring my teeth, hissing. He scooped me up, throwing me in the air. I scowled at him, indignant, but he lightly dropped me to the floor and did his best Dr Pretorius. I threw my head back, laughing like a banshee, almost despite myself, still bugged a bit by how easily he threw me around.

  We’d forgotten all about Devil. He woke up at all the noise and
barked and jumped up at us. He ran rings round the usher who came and chased us into the street.

  ‘That was the best!’ I said.

  ‘Did you see his face, eh? When Devil was nipping at his feet?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  As we walked home David told me the story of the first Frankenstein film and said he’d get me the book.

  ‘If you’re good,’ he said, and winked at me.

  We fell into silence. I was lost in my head, reliving the film. I hissed quietly now and then.

  ‘David?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I wanna be Frankenstein. I wanna make a monsta.’

  He smiled at me and made to say something, but he didn’t.

  ‘Look, it’s Conchie and Pick ’n Chew.’

  The idiot bastards Jack Alexander and Simon Mayhew were walking towards us. There were a half a dozen more, but I didn’t know them.

  ‘Whadya want, Jack?’

  Jack walked right up to us and punched David in the face. Before I could do anything I was pulled from behind by one of the other idiot bastards. I was on the ground, my cheek pushed into the grit, one of them sitting on my back. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t see David, but I could hear them beating on him. Two of them were chasing Devil, but he ran rings round them, always just ahead. I knew they would kill him if they got a hold of him, but he had them beat, he had them tripping after him and he’d feint, nipping the arse of the one who sat on me, then off he’d go again. When Devil whipped out of reach so fast that one of the bullies fell over, I smiled. Then David hit the concrete right in front of me, blood spattering across my face. I could see he’d lost some teeth. I struggled for breath and blacked out.

  When I came to, he was holding me, half-dragging me home because he couldn’t lift me anymore, Devil whining at my side. I felt bad that David had got the pummelling and he was having to carry me home. I struggled to my feet and managed to walk the rest of the way, holding onto his hand. I was too old for it and I had to pretend it was okay that we didn’t hold hands anymore but that day we held hands. Ma made a fuss over David. He said for her to check on me too, but she ignored him and kept on fussing, so I went to bed. I got up in the morning and went out with Devil and Mac, still with David’s dried blood on my face. I took them to where David had been pummelled and picked up his teeth to put in my treasure box.

  David hardly looked at me after that night. I told him it didn’t matter and he told me to shut up, Goblin-runt. He still looked handsome with his face all bashed up. We didn’t speak much after that, even though we shared a room. He’d just listen to his records and smoke. One time I couldn’t get in and I waited outside and a girl came out later and then I got in. He started to speak to me again. Just ‘How you doing, Goblin?’ and I’d say about going to the cinema again but he’d just grunt and I’d go play with Mac and Stevie instead.

  Edinburgh, 12 July 2011

  ‘I remember his face. In the cinema. I remember the light from the screen flickering across his cheeks, glinting in his eyes. I remember him smiling at me. That’s what I remember. The smell of stale sweat and old furniture. The feel of the ticket crushed in my hand. That’s what I remember and nothing else matters.’

  ‘I’m glad for ye,’ Ben says. ‘I’m glad ye had someone. I didnae have anyone. At least ye had David, eh?’

  I nod and watch as spectre-Monsta climbs over Ben’s back and on to his shoulder. All I can see are the worm tentacles, feeling their way across Ben’s shoulder, up his neck. The shrew head appears, that pointed nose quivering as it sniffs at Ben, the beautiful dark eyes reflecting the light. I could lose myself in Monsta’s eyes.

  ‘You’re my family now,’ I say to Ben, Sam, Mahler, and the spectre of Monsta.

  ‘Ah, c’mon, old lady. Dinnae make us cry.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Aye, well. The weirdos always find each other, eh?’

  He strokes Mahler’s head.

  ‘I dinnae want to outstay ma welcome, though. Now yer feeling better I’ll be out yer hair.’

  ‘I’d like you to stay.’

  ‘I dinnae want to take advantage.’

  ‘You know I’ve always wanted you to stay. I don’t like you being on the streets.’

  ‘I’m used to it.’

  ‘I know, but you’re family. And we need you.’

  ‘Well, I think Sam would be pretty sad to no see Mahler all the time.’

  ‘I’m back at work tomorrow and I’ll need you to take Mahler for walks. It would be easier if you just stayed.’

  Ben looks down at the dogs and strokes Mahler’s nose, frowning, as if the stroking takes intense concentration.

  ‘Aye, alright,’ he says, not looking at me. ‘I’ll stay. For the sake of these two.’

  ‘Good,’ I say, feeling a warmth in my belly, the same warmth I felt when James and Mad took me in. ‘This was my dad’s flat,’ I say. ‘Before it was mine.’

  ‘Which dad?’

  ‘My new dad, James. He moved here after the circus ended. This is where he settled while I was living in Venice.’

  ‘I’ve never been to Venice. Or London.’

  ‘I never want to go back.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s best to leave the past in the past.’

  ‘That’s not what that Detective thinks.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I say. ‘He can keep phoning. I’ll never go back.’

  Chapter 3

  London, 3 September 1939

  I was in Kensal Green Cemetery the morning war was declared, oblivious to Chamberlain’s voice on the wireless.

  I knew war was brewing after Germany had invaded Poland. We were all just waiting. There was a weird atmosphere at home and war was the only thing Mac would talk about, so I went to the cemetery to get away from it all. I’d stayed over, sleeping in my mausoleum. There’d been a thunderstorm the night before and Devil and I ran down the paths, dancing like maniacs in the rain. I climbed up a mausoleum and crouched on the roof, the rain slithering down my face. I watched the storm clouds envelop the city and saw lightning strike one of the silver slugs. It burst into flames, straining on its wires as it was buffeted by the wind. I clambered down and ran between the gravestones, mimicking Dr Frankenstein – ‘It’s alive!’ I yelled, laughing as the lightning crackled through the black clouds and Devil hunkered down, ears back, barking at the sky.

  We retreated to my mausoleum for shelter. I had hidden a bag of clothes and other supplies and I added to it each time we came. I dug out the old rag for drying Devil after his swims in the canal. I hugged him close to me, rubbing him with the rag as he licked my face. I changed into dry clothes and lit candles, keeping them near for some warmth. We curled up in my old blanket and I told Devil ghost stories until we both fell asleep.

  *

  The morning was crisp. The storm had cleared the air. We had breakfast and I gathered my things as Devil sat in the morning sun. We wandered lazily through the cemetery, on our way to the Underground when the siren smashed through the in-between realm. Devil barked at the snaking high-pitched moan.

  ‘War!’ I yelled.

  I searched the sky for planes as we ran back to the mausoleum. There was a chamber below and I broke the old rusting lock with a stone. I coaxed Devil down into the darkness and he whined and slunk down on his belly, following me.

  I lit candles and listened for bombs, but there was nothing. I traced my fingers across the coffins in the crypt, all covered in dust and scuttling insects. I wanted to break them open to see a real skeleton but I was afraid and pretended it was really respect for the dead because goblins shouldn’t be afraid of anything, especially dead things. I sat with Devil, his head on my lap, and read some of The Time Machine again. I don’t know how long we were in there. I hadn’t heard the all-clear but I lost patience and crept back to London above. I searched the sky again, finding nothing. I climbed up on a mausoleum and looked out over the city. No planes or flames.

  We left
the in-between realm and found people in the street, everyone carrying a gas mask. Some of the kids still had them on. A group of toddlers were sat on the pavement playing marbles, all wearing adult gas masks, heads lolling, absurdly large and insect-like. Some girls wore their masks as they played with a skipping rope. The two holding the rope looked like sentries, standing still apart from a flick of the wrist. The two girls skipping in the middle were like little monsters, nimble and silly-looking, their ponytails sticking out the side of the masks. Devil ran under the rope, back and forth, but the girls didn’t stumble. I pretended to shoot them, bang bang bang! They ignored me. One of the sentries turned and stared at me with her huge glinting bug eyes, still turning the rope. I called on Devil and ran off down the street pretending we were being chased by giant Martian insects. We arrived at the Underground and threw ourselves dramatically onto a train, lying on the seats as we caught our breath. I stared suspiciously at everyone, confused by the sudden camaraderie as strangers talked to each other. It was the same back home. Neighbours we hardly spoke to were round at our house, sitting by the wireless, a drink in their hands. David stood in the corner, away from everyone else. He smiled at me, beckoned me over.

  ‘Where you been, G? You’re always disappearing.’

  ‘I was in the in-between realm.’

  ‘Yeah? Is there war there?’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘This morning. Eleven fifteen.’

  ‘Are you going away? Are you going to fight?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, looking over at da. ‘I’m staying right here.’

  *

  The house was stifling and boring, with our neighbours everywhere and all the adults droning on. I found Mac and Stevie and we played war at the worksite. As darkness fell we sat eating our apples, watching the searchlights, listening to the hum of the barrage balloon wires. I was bloody and bruised all over. Even Stevie had got in a few hits.

  We crept back home in the dark. The streets were deserted. When someone walked by, their footsteps echoed. They’d brush past us, a shadow, an apparition, except for some drunk old man who mumbled to himself and tripped over his own feet. I sneaked up on him and whispered some made-up German in his ear.

  ‘Huns!’ he yelled, losing his footing on the edge of the kerb. He half-sat, half-fell, his arms flailing. Mac hit him with a stick, Devil nipped at his feet and we ran off, leaving him rolling on the pavement.