Goblin

by Ever Dundas

  ‘The Lizard King shoots poison from his eyes. There was one time, in human form, that he cried, and his skin peeled away as if burned by acid.’

  I dragged my fingers down my face.

  ‘When it healed, he had silver scars from his eyes to the corners of his mouth, to his chin. Half of his lower lip was burned away.’

  ‘What made the Lizard King cry?’

  ‘The Lizard Queen, she’d become trapped in human form and she couldn’t descend to the lizard realm. When people saw her they thought her eyes and skin were made of jewels and they turned mad with greed. They wanted to possess her, and they did. They ripped her to pieces and they each took a part of her body to keep for themselves. The next morning they awoke, as if from a spell, and they remembered their frenzy. That was the one time the Lizard King cried. He hunted down every person responsible for the Lizard Queen’s death and he tore them apart the way they’d torn her apart. From each person he kept a token, just as they had, and he strung the body parts in his palace and lived the rest of his days in mourning.’

  I told her the story of Queen Isabella, of Scholler, and Amelia. She told me stories of Cornwall, ghost stories her pretend parents had read to her.

  *

  ‘Did you hear about Scotland?’ I said, poking at our beach fire with a stick.

  Angel didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, I heard from old Bob who heard from Elspeth who heard on the wireless that Germans have landed. Parachutes were found. Then dead bodies were found in villages and towns nearby, all charred to a crisp. The Germans have landed,’ I said, pausing for dramatic effect, ‘and they have electro-magnetic death rays.’

  I stopped and looked over at Angel. There was no response. She just sat hunched over, staring at her hands.

  ‘My mum was bombed,’ Angel said. ‘She’s dead.’

  The excitement leaked out of me. I felt sick.

  ‘I’m staying here now. Ann and Bill said they’d keep me.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘I like Ann and Bill.’

  We stared at the flames.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me the story about the man who was eaten,’ she said. ‘The one where he turns into a dog. Tell me that one again.’

  I glanced over at her. Tears glinted on her face, streaking through the dirt of the day. She didn’t make a sound, just quietly cried. I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t do anything, so I told her the story.

  *

  The government were asking for donations to build a Spitfire and I so badly wanted to own a piece of a plane. I didn’t have any money but when I found sixpence in the street I sent it straight to the fund, buying myself a rivet. I wasn’t sure he would appreciate it, what with being a conchie, but I wrote to David: ‘I own a piece of Spitfire. I prayed to the lizards down below and kissed that sixpence. I know my bit of Spitfire is going to help win the war.’

  A rivet wasn’t enough. I wanted more, so I decided to raise the money. There were regular fundraisers in the town hall for the war effort; concerts, cabaret nights, plays. So Angel and I, we did a play with Corporal Pig and the chickens. We worked for weeks to get it right and John was jealous. He’d hang around as we rehearsed and I knew he wanted to join in but I didn’t want him ruining our fun and Angel hated him so much she didn’t even let on he was there. He tried to disrupt our rehearsals by scaring the chickens or messing up his chores so that Tom would make me help out, but we managed to get it done despite him and his jealousy.

  On the night, I was dressed as a girl; hair made out of straw and grass, a daisy crown threaded through it, and berry juice smeared across my lips as lipstick. Everyone laughed when they saw me because they thought I was a boy being a girl, but me and Angel, we knew I was a girl being a boy being a girl. I made my voice high and people laughed some more. We acted out the story of a girl and her pig and the three evil chickens who came and stole her away. The chickens they came out a-clucking right on cue and they were terrifying. They whisked me away to the Dark Kingdom of the sun-eating kraken and Corporal Pig had to find his way to rescue me and off he went trotting through the forest of the audience, waddling between the seats, chewing on skirts and trousers and snuffling at shoes. There were yelps and heys and oi kid this ain’t funny I’m no forest I’m a person and everyone laughed and yelled at him to shut up because they wanted to know what happened next. Corporal Pig came trotting back to the stage and sat slumped, his head down, and people shouted, ‘Aaaw, c’mon, Corporal Pig! C’mon, you lazy bugger, there’s a maiden in distress!’ Then there was quiet as Angel came in dressed like a knight and she nudged CP on his behind and up he stood and off they went to the castle of the evil chickens. The ending was a bit of a mess as CP snapped at the chickens and they snapped back and there was a flurry of snorting and clucking and feathers here and there, but I was rescued and we kissed and I said to the audience, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’

  We were the belles of the ball, we were pink with happiness having raised enough to pay for a bomb and a whole bunch of rivets, but John hated us being belles of the ball and not long after, that’s when the trouble started.

  Edinburgh, 1 August 2011

  Mahler thunders through from the hall, chasing a ball. He skitters, trying to stop, but bashes into my leg before bouncing off and running after it. He lunges on it, clasps it in his jaws and looks up at Ben as he walks in the room.

  ‘Well done, boy,’ he says, holding his hand out. Mahler drops it and Ben throws the ball down the hall, Mahler chasing after it.

  ‘He’s a bit hyper, should probably take him out for a walk. Still writing, old lady?’

  I nod and say, ‘About Cornwall.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I was evacuated from London. I stayed in Cornwall for a bit with pretend parents and a pretend brother.’

  ‘The ones with the circus?’

  ‘No, the circus came later.’

  ‘Hang on… Three lots of parents?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Ben takes the ball from an impatient Mahler. He throws it down the hall again and says, ‘That’s just greed.’

  I laugh.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

  ‘And now ye have us,’ he says, watching Mahler run back up the hallway.

  ‘I do.’

  I look down at what I’m writing and say, ‘Ben, you ever shot someone?’

  ‘Yer kidding? I’ve never even seen a gun nevermind shot someone. Why would ye even ask that?’

  ‘I shot someone.’

  ‘Jesus. Yer batshit, old lady.’

  ‘I was ten, living in Cornwall. He sure as hell deserved it.’

  ‘Is that why the Detective keeps calling?’ Ben says.

  ‘No, he wants me for something else.’

  ‘Jesus, ye killed someone else too?’

  ‘No, not me.’

  ‘I’m harbouring a bloody murderer.’

  ‘What the Detective wants – it’s not me.’

  ‘Who are ye anyway, old lady? So many secrets.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ I say. ‘I’m writing it all down.’

  Chapter 5

  Cornwall, September 1940 – February 1941

  Angel had stacked and threaded branches together. She’d propped them against two trees which had fallen against the side of the gully, offering firm support. The afternoon sun scorched the gully, but it was dark inside our den. Slivers of sunlight broke through the gaps in the branches, falling across Angel’s face.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’

  ‘It was in the junk yard. I stole the battery from old Al and borrowed his wheelbarrow. Can’t get it to work, though,’ she said, bashing the wireless. ‘Guess there was a reason it was junked.’

  ‘I can look at it,’ I said. ‘I used to fix things with my da. The neighbours would come to us if they ever needed their wireless looked at.’

  I came back the next day
with some tools I borrowed from Tom. I opened it up. It wasn’t anything complicated, just a couple of loose wires. I tightened the last screw and said, ‘You can have the honour, Miss Angel.’

  She turned it on and it was all fizz and crackles.

  ‘The Martians are trying to speak to us,’ I said.

  She tuned it as I put away the tools.

  ‘I’m glad you could fix it. I got it for you, because you said how you liked the wireless…’ She trailed off, her tongue sticking out slightly as she tuned it.

  Tom didn’t have a wireless, said something about it being a sin, but he still asked Mr Moore everyday about the news. I guess secondhand sin isn’t as bad, but if you ask me it’s cheating. ‘Compromise,’ I could hear David say, and I guess that was Tom’s version of compromise. Maybe he scrubbed himself clean that bit longer just to make sure the secondhand sin was all washed away.

  ‘You said how you listened to it at home and I know you miss David’s records. We can listen to music and we can dance.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling pleased but embarrassed. I poked at some old toy Angel had brought and said, ‘You know, the Idiot’s been giving me a hard time, ever since the play.’

  ‘He’s a shit.’

  ‘I know. He’s just been more of a shit. He said he was gonna hurt CP.’

  ‘That shit. What’d you do?’

  ‘I just said he better not or I’d shoot him, right through the heart.’

  ‘Yes!’ she yelled. She’d picked up reception. We sat chewing on wild berries, listening to the news then Glen Miller’s In The Mood came on and Angel got up and danced out the entrance of the den, shimmying her shoulders and wiggling her arse. I laughed and clapped and followed her out. We danced liked mad things, possessed creatures of the forest. I grabbed a hold of her, spun her round and pulled her close, kissing her before letting go and dancing a circle round her. When the song ended we collapsed onto the grass, laughing and trying to catch our breath. We’ll Meet Again came on and Angel hummed along. It made me feel sad, but not bad sad, just kind of quiet and caught up in my thoughts. I took hold of her hand and held it tight, listening to her as she sang along to the chorus.

  We met every evening at the den. We’d eat our berries, play cowboys and Indians in the gully, listen to the wireless. One night we both fell asleep there, waking up curled up together, freezing. We walked home in silence, leaving each other at the fork in the road just after we entered the town. I watched her walk away in the dark.

  Angel wasn’t allowed out for a week but all I got was a slap across the face and told never to do it again. Tom wasn’t much bothered, as long as I did my work.

  The week without her was strange. I didn’t go to the den the first couple of days. I went to the beach and went swimming and caught some fish to take home. The third day I went to the den and listened to the wireless but it felt wrong without her there so I didn’t go back. The week after was a strange kind of bliss. We swam, we went to the den, we had a fire on the beach. Apart from Angel having to be back by nine sharp every night we did what we’d always done. But it didn’t feel the same. We knew it could all be taken away. It was taken away the day I shot John.

  *

  Tom didn’t believe I’d shot him. But I had. Only it wasn’t through the heart.

  I was out hunting. John would sometimes come with me, even though Tom had given him other tasks after he realised how useless he was at it. John tagged along and I put up with him. Ever since my threat he wasn’t so annoying. He was mostly quiet, which gave me the creeps, but it was still better than his taunts.

  I had a rabbit in sight, waiting for the right moment, when I heard a shot just beyond the hillock, followed by a whooping. I cursed the Idiot; my rabbit had gone.

  I went to look for John, finding it hard to believe he’d managed to hit anything. When I found him, he was crouched down, hunched over something and there was a horrible noise. I circled and saw what it was. He’d shot a rabbit, but badly. It was wounded, and he was shoving a stick into its wound. I shot it in the head. Blood spattered on John. Barely thinking, I swung the gun over and shot him in the foot.

  I walked away. That was that. The beginning of the end of my life in Cornwall.

  Tom didn’t believe him. And I lied. When I left John I was so angry that I was ready to barrel on in to the house and confess with pride, but as I walked through the woods and past the den, all I felt was fear.

  I walked in and said to Tom, ‘John shot himself in the foot. I need help to get him home.’

  John accused me the moment he saw us, but Tom said nothing. John had stemmed the flow with his shirt and we removed it, putting a temporary bandage in its place. I lifted John onto Tom’s back and the Idiot pinched my arm. I bit on my lip as he kept pinching and pretending he couldn’t get onto Tom’s back because I wasn’t helping properly. He let go of me and climbed onto Tom, piggybacking the whole way home, ranting about how I’d shot him. Tom didn’t say a word.

  We dropped him off at the doctor, who fixed him up. He kept him there overnight and told us he could return the next day, but that he’d be laid up for a good few weeks. Tom, who still hadn’t spoken, grunted.

  I knew my workload would double and there’d be no more evenings with Angel, but somehow I felt that was right. I had to pay for what I’d done. I’d have to pay for my lie.

  It was in the evening after supper that Tom sat me down and asked me.

  ‘Did you shoot him?’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded. Just like that, he believed me. I knew if I confessed I’d be sent away, maybe be locked up, and I would never see Angel again.

  ‘You’ll need to cover his work while he’s recovering,’ Tom said.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you’ll look after him. Serve him his food, change his bandages, whatever’s needed. We’re not having our lives disrupted by this.’

  The thought crossed my mind that I should have shot John dead.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  *

  I expected taunts, for him to make things difficult for me, to be smug as I changed his bedpan and brought him food, but there was nothing. There was no expression on his face and he wouldn’t look at me. I did what I had to do and I left. Doing double the chores was exhausting, but Angel helped when she could. Tom didn’t believe it was right for women to do manual labour, but when he wasn’t supervising, Angel would help me out.

  It was much later, back in London when I was telling Queen Isabella what had happened that she said to me, ‘Goblin, are you telling me you hadn’t even thought about revenge?’

  ‘I was busy,’ I said, ‘with the extra work and looking after him and getting away from him as soon as I could. I never thought about his revenge.’

  Weeks had passed, he was back on his feet, using a walking stick, doing the chores he could and avoiding me as much as I avoided him. I just wanted things to be as they used to be, with me and Angel swimming in the sea every evening, hiding in our den. I didn’t see it coming.

  ‘Well,’ Queen Isabella said, rolling her eyes at me like I was the biggest fool there was, ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’

  *

  I came in from mucking out the pigs, covered in mud and shit. I dumped the potatoes I’d collected and said to Margaret, ‘I’m going to wash up then I’ll be in for supper.’

  I glanced around the kitchen as I turned to leave. A reverend was there, but not the one from our local, and several others I didn’t know. Supper wasn’t on. I knew something must be up, but I thought it was just adult stuff and I’d do best to get out of there.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, Luke. You’ll be staying right here.’

  ‘But I need to clean up.’

  ‘Sit,’ Tom said.

  There was an empty chair right in the middle of the room. I shuffled over, thinking I was clearly in some deep trouble if they’d let me traipse
through the kitchen covered in dirt and smelling like the pits of hell.

  I hesitated at the seat, glancing at Margaret. They’d trained me well and I didn’t want to get dirt on the chair.

  ‘Sit, demon.’

  I looked at Tom and sat. I saw John standing behind him, leaning on his walking stick, his hair slicked back like on Sundays for church. He smiled slightly. My chest tightened.

  No one said anything. They just sat, impassive, staring at me. I looked from person to person, licking my lips. I looked over to the door, wondering if I could make it, but the group had closed in, forming a circle, blocking my exit. I waited for someone to say something and looked over at Tom and Margaret. Tom was holding my War Of The Worlds.

  I frowned and said, ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Hold your tongue, demon.’

  I turned to the reverend who held a bible up at me. I thought, that John, he’s sank me down into a whole heap of shit. I eyed up the reverend to try and figure out who I was dealing with, but didn’t figure out much of anything. I squinted at his lap. There was some sort of dead animal on it. I couldn’t make it out until he shifted it a bit so he could put the bible on his lap and it was then I could see. It was Monsta, all broken up. It was then I lost sight of trying to figure out the situation, like David would have said. ‘Sit back, Goblin. Assess the situation, figure it out, then act. You’re too impulsive, and that’s gonna get you into all kinds of trouble one day.’ Up until that moment I’d thought that pretty good advice, even if I didn’t always heed it, but now for certain was a time for war. ‘Goblin,’ I could hear David say as I stood up like a piston and kicked back my chair, ‘there’s never a time for a war.’

  I lunged for Monsta but didn’t get near, everyone likely thinking I was about to eat that reverend’s soul or whatever it is that demons do. I didn’t stand a chance. I was pinned to the floor, yelling, sobbing, ‘Monsta, Monsta!’ but I think they thought I was casting some demon spell because pretty soon there was an old rag shoved in my mouth and tied tight with rope right round my head. Then it was my arms and my legs and there I was all parcelled up, and up up up I went, the demon ascending, raised on a throne of bony old hands as they took me to the attic room.