It was raining that evening. The lights were out, and someone was out on the school field in the last red light of the sunset. Boys were out on the roads, on their bicycles and motorbikes, yelling in the unusual stillness of the evening. A car was parked by the side of the road under the trees, the lights shining brilliantly on the grey trunks and dead brown grass.
A cat crept among the bushes and slunk silently through the open front door of the house at the end of the road. Then there was the stillness again, now untouched by the voices of the boys or any passing vehicle. It rained.
‘Emily?’ The man pushed open the window, letting rain into the small kitchen. The cat rubbed itself against his legs, bushy orange tail whipping against the faded material of his trousers. He leaned out, rain leaving fat drops in his thinning hair. He took off his glasses and squinted into next door’s garden. The lights were out; the curtains were drawn. He withdrew his head and padded into the hall, and up the stairs to the dark upper floor of the house. The doors of all the rooms were open; every room was empty. He paused at the top of stairs, ears straining to catch any stray sound in the house. The cat settled near him and began washing its face and tail.
So she was gone too, with the rest. Soon the boys would follow, and then the younger children would leave. He was the only adult here now. He sat on the top step with the cat in his lap. There was only one thing he could do, and that was to wait.
There had been a birthday party. She had forgotten all about it until she found the cards and the only present she saved from the party. She had been seven then, still young and innocent enough to believe that her mother would return. She had thought, back then, that Mummy was out on a journey; that she would return soon with presents and more books for her. But her mother had never returned. Mummy was dead.
Her father had been there, of course. He had invited all her cousins, and every single girl and boy from her class in school. They had filled the house that afternoon with their talk, their presents, and their birthday greetings. She had a cake too, a huge one, decorated with sugar roses and seven blue-striped candles. It was chocolate too, her favorite.
‘Hello?’ she whispered. ‘Where am I?’
She was waking up. After all these years, she was waking up. It had been a dream.
It was night by now. He had not moved from his position on top of the stairs. The cat had left him an hour ago, probably in search of food or any stray mice. Macavity the evil kitty, Emily used to call him. But Mac was the only company he had now. He held up his arm, wrist at eye level. The hands on his watch had stopped moving. They had not been working for days. All the clocks had stopped working for days.
But nobody had expected this. Of course nobody had expected this. If they had, they wouldn’t have been taken too, would they? So why was he here then? He hadn’t known anything; not more than anyone else anyway.
There was a crash in the kitchen. He stood up cautiously, watching for any sign of struggle, or for the shadow of another – another what? What was he watching for? Everyone was gone. He crept down the stairs, taking note of the steps that creaked. Mac was in the kitchen, he might have knocked something. But he had to look. He had to confirm what –
‘No! Stop!’ That was definitely a boy’s voice. There was the sound of crunching glass, and something – or someone – knocked against a hard surface. It sounded as though someone had clambered desperately on to the table. Mac let out a yowl, and there was another yell.
‘Mac!’ He stopped at the doorway of the kitchen, struggling to see through the gloom. There was Mac in the corner, crouched low; he was about to leap onto the table. A dark shape was sitting on the table, small and huddled. He searched in his pocket for the lighter. It was an old habit, keeping his lighter with him at all times. He didn’t need it these days, but he had begun carrying it with him at all times since the clocks stopped.
The small orange flame first brought to sight the cat. He swung his arm towards the table. The light fell upon a boy. A thin face turned quickly towards him, large eyes wide with shock and fear. The boy jumped off the table and dashed to the back door.
‘Stop! Please!’
The boy’s hand was on the doorknob. He took a few steps towards him, slowly, so as not to startle the boy.
‘What do you want?’ he asked kindly.
‘I can’t get out.’ The boy looked over his shoulder as he spoke, tears leaving streaks in the grime on his face. ‘I can’t get out.’
She remembered when her mother was still alive. Those had been the loveliest years of her life – not that she even had a very long or eventful life – but her mother’s presence had made things all the better. There had been bedtime stories, and silly little dress-ups, and there had always, always – it came back to her now, how odd – stories her mother wrote. Her mother wrote all the time, every day, even when she was sick or busy.
Where were those stories now? Had her father burned them? Or had he sold them, or kept them in some secret place?
She waited. Waking up is harder. Dreaming was easy. Now she was waking up.
‘So the clocks stopped,’ the boy said.
There was a pause as the man took the pan off the stove and began filling two plates with egg. The boy watched from his perch at the edge of the table. Mac was asleep in the boy’s lap, emitting soft purrs from time to time.
‘I know,’ the man said. He placed both plates on the table and opened a drawer for the cutlery. ‘I noticed, but I didn’t do anything.’
‘Nobody seemed to notice though,’ the boy said nervously. ‘I thought I was going crazy. I mean, I asked all my friends if they had noticed that the clocks had stopped, but nobody did. I thought I was, like, hallucinating or something. But I don’t do all that stuff, so how could I be?’
‘What stuff?’ the man asked, watching the boy in the flickering light of a candle. There had only been one candle in the entire house. They should look for more tomorrow. Hmm, they should make a plan too.
‘Erm, like, pills and all that,’ the boy laughed sheepishly. ‘I don’t do that stuff though. My mum would kill me.’
‘I see.’
‘Hey, what’s your name anyway, mister?’
The man smiled briefly. ‘Mr. Lang.’
‘My name’s Ted. Since we’re, you know, the only people around here, what do you think we should do? Tomorrow, I mean.’ The boy grinned uncertainly. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind having me around. I was kinda hoping that, you know, we’d stick together until we…find a way out or something.’
‘I don’t mind.’ The man smiled. ‘Since we’re the only people left, like you said. There’s something I have to ask, Ted.’
‘Yes?’
‘What did you mean just now, when you said that you couldn’t get out?’
The boy dropped his head and said nothing.
‘Ted? It’ll be better if you tell me now.’
‘Doesn’t it – doesn’t it feel as though this place is…losing its realness?’
‘What?’
The boy looked up, his cheeks flushed. ‘I mean, doesn’t it feel as though this place, here, it’s as though it’s becoming all a dream? Where is everyone? Why are we the only ones left? I’m – I’m scared, Mr. Lang. I’m not going crazy, am I? Because that would mean that you’re not real, you’re only in my head.’
‘I – I don’t feel it, no.’
‘I can’t explain it really.’ The boy picked up the limp form of Mac and placed him gently on the table. The cat opened his green eyes and yawned.
‘Where are you going?’ the man said. The boy was at back door, fumbling with the stiff lock.
‘I have to get out,’ Ted muttered, shaking the chain angrily. ‘I’m going nuts.’
‘You’re not.’
‘Yeah?’ The chain rattled loudly, uselessly.
‘That would mean that I’m going crazy too,’ the man said calmly. ‘And I’m not.’
‘You’re just lying, yeah.’ Ted stepped away from the door and began trying the windows. They remained shut. ‘What are you doing, locking me in?’
‘I haven’t opened the door and windows since Emily got sick.’
‘Yeah right.’
‘Young man, I am telling the truth.’
‘Pull the other bell,’ Ted said as he fought with the clasp of a window. ‘Ding dong, nobody’s home, mister!’
‘Ted!’
‘Let me out!’ he screamed.
‘Where would you go then? Huh? Where would you go?’
‘I don’t know!’ Ted picked up a chair. Mr. Lang leapt off the table and snatched at the chair, but the boy was too quick for him. Wood met glass in a splintering crash.
‘Stop! Stop it, Ted!’
‘Don’t stop me!’ Ted yelled. The boy was dragged away from the window and dumped onto the table.
‘Listen to me, Ted,’ the man said, keeping his voice low. ‘Stop it. We’ve got to stick together.’
The boy was sobbing as he slid to the floor. Mac pushed his head between Ted’s arms sympathetically, but he kicked the cat away and stood up. Mr. Lang watched as the boy stumbled into the hall.
There had been stories of people waking up to find that all their lives had been dreams. She should have paid more attention when her mother read her those stories. She hadn’t like those kind of stories, because they showed her that time was precious, that she did not have all the time in the world, but no time at all – in short, they showed her the terrible impermanence of everything in existence. The thought had scared her, and she had pushed it away.
Her father had not spoken of those stories after her mother left. He had chosen to ignore them, to keep them away where they could not tell the truths they held. She had not looked for them, as she should have, could have, because she was still afraid.
But there had been that one time, when her father had started painting those odd figures, those fairies and elves…
The light was beginning to fade as the man and boy left the house. It was early morning, just after dawn, but the golden light from the east was weak, as though it had been watered down and diluted. The usual sounds of birds awaking from their night’s rest, the bustle and morning rush of cars and motorcycles and of people leaving their homes for work or school were noticeably absent.
‘Everything’s fading, you see,’ Ted said as they trudged down the main street. Bicycles were left abandoned on the pavement and cars were parked haphazardly in empty porches. Windows were shut in all the houses, and the rooms were dark. Mr. Lang glanced over his shoulder, up the road to where it sloped slightly upwards to his house. There was no sign of any living animal or human.
‘We need to get some things first,’ the man said as they turned into another street, just as empty and silent as the first. ‘Food. And clothing. Matches. Light.’
‘Nobody’s around,’ Ted said. ‘We can just take whatever we like when we come to it, right? It’s not stealing, because nobody’s around to take the money, right?’
‘We’re looking for a way out, aren’t we?’ Mr. Lang stopped and stared down the street. ‘But how?’
‘Yes, how.’ Ted nodded wearily and sighed. ‘Seems like a pointless thing to do, right?’
‘Ted, when you said that you felt that this place is becoming unreal, how did you feel exactly?’
Ted scrunched up his face thoughtfully. ‘Like as though the edges were starting to…I don’t know…give way? It felt like things were becoming less solid, like this road I’m standing on? It feels like I’m starting to stand on air, but because I can see the road, I think I’m standing on solid ground.’
‘I see.’ Mr. Lang turned to look at the houses again. They looked solid enough. He couldn’t feel what the boy had just said he felt – did it mean that he was becoming part of the unreality of this place too? Or had he always been part of it? Why was Emily taken then, but not him?
‘Mr. Lang? Are you okay?’ The man’s face had turned ashy.
‘I need to find my daughter. Emily. She’s gone, with the rest of them.’
‘I see.’ Ted shrugged. ‘Well we’re looking for a way out, right? We’ll find the rest too, along the way.’
‘Yes. Yes. You’re right.’
‘It’ll be okay, Mr. Lang,’ the boy said as he smiled reassuringly. ‘There’s got to be a way out. It might be a strange way, of course, but it’s still a way out.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’
She held her hands up. Stared at them in the blue light. It felt like days in this place, where no one could touch her, where even the light refused to change or move. Time seemed to be suspended here, fluid and yet eternal. But then again, she said to herself, time itself is just an idea, a thought. Mum said so, anyway.
Where was Dad, by the way? He should have followed her; he had promised never to leave her, especially after Mum left them. He should be around here somewhere, right?
She cleared her throat. No sound came out. So there’s no sound here too? She tried to look further into the distance, but the blue light distorted the shape and size of everything. There seemed to be just flat landscape, with no trees or hills or hollows to relieve the uniformity of this place.
Okay. Relax. Don’t panic. Not that there was anything to panic at - no, stop it, concentrate here! Think! Why am I here? Who brought me here anyway? Where was Dad? Dad?
Mum would have figured out what to do by now. Kind of. She always had ideas, even the strangest ones. Dad was more logical, the kind of person who could tell you how to calculate the volume of a pyramid – base multiplied by the height of the pyramid, the height of which could also be calculated by finding the hypotenuse of one of the triangles – but he would probably have no idea what to do if he were in her place now. (He should be here with her now.) Mum, on the other hand, would have put two and two together and come up with ten and a whole complete explanation for the strangeness of this place. She would have her ideas on how to get out. She would tell her –
What was her name? What was Mum’s name? She stared into the blue haze, amazed. She had forgotten Mum’s name? It didn’t seem possible, back when Mum just left, that she could ever forget anything about her mother. But now she had even forgotten her mother’s name?
Help me!
Her throat ached, parched and dry in the warm unmoving air. When was the last time she had any water or food? Had it been years, or just mere hours?
She shut her eyes.
It had begun to rain again. Mr. Lang sat on the wall and sucked absently on a mint. The boy was still in the supermarket, going thoroughly through the food and clothes in there. A large plastic bag filled with food lay at the bottom of the wall, now turning damp from the rain.
They had spent the previous day walking, looking for anyone else who might have been left behind. No one had turned up, not even a body. Mr. Lang had decided by evening to take one of the abandoned cars and drive…anywhere…any place that might have another person, someone to help them perhaps. He was still turning over the thought that he might become part of this fading place and disappear along with it, even as he sat on the wall waiting for the boy to be done.
‘Unity,’ he said under his breath. ‘Undulation. Ululation. Umbrella. Ella ella.’ Maybe he was going crazy, but he still remembered words correctly. Their meanings, the proper spelling, why they were used – no, this was another confirmation that he was not going absolutely bonkers. ‘Emily.’
Who was Ella anyway?
‘Hey Mr. Lang!’ Ted yelled from the shop. ‘The phones are still working!’
He pushed himself off the wall and shuffled into the dim supermarket. Ted was on the cashier’s counter, fiddling with the phone. He dialed several numbers, hung up, and tried again.
‘Is anyone picking up?’
Ted slammed the phone down, annoyed. ‘Nah. It might as well be dead. No one’s at the other end, man. But it’s still working. That would mean that electricity is still working. So why are all the lights off then?’
‘Yes, why?’ Mr. Lang agreed mechanically. ‘Why?’
‘I tried the lights, the air-conditioners, but they’re not working. Only the phone line seems to be working.’ Ted tore the wrapping off a lollipop and sighed. ‘The phone lines will be down soon, I guess. Maybe it’s just running on emergency power.’
‘Where do you think we should go next?’ Mr. Lang stripped the bright wrapping off another lollipop from the stand beside the cash register. He spread the sticky plastic on his palm, reading the flavor. ‘Oh, it’s cherry.’
‘Not sure,’ Ted said, shrugging. ‘Do have any ideas?’
‘No.’ Mr. Lang held up the lollipop to his eyes and stared at the sickly pink globe. ‘I can’t disappoint my Emily though. I promised her.’
‘Yeah,’ Ted said as he slid off the counter. ‘Let’s get going then.’
I need to find someone. Please. Hello? Is anybody there? Hey! My name is Emily Lang! Come on! Show yourself now! Stand up! Show yourself! Be a man, do the right thing, and tell me why you kidnapped me! Hey hey!
She waved her arms, feeling stupid as she did so. There was no one to be seen in the blue landscape. Oh-kay. Who was the idiot who brought her here in the first place? Show yourself, you yellow-bellied cur!
The key was not to panic. Get angry, get going – do not, ever, get scared. Do not be afraid, that had been her mother’s words. If they have not harmed you, do not be afraid that they will. Showing fear will only make you lose. You will show your weakness then, and they will know where you are weak, and harm you there. Be not afraid, she used to answer back cheekily, for I will kick your donkey.
Er, hello? Donkey? What was so funny about that?
She was losing focus. Why are these thoughts – how could they – why these memories – why her mother – where was her – time –
‘I don’t think there’s anything after this.’
Mr. Lang sighed heavily as he watched the last of the light slip over the horizon. There was only void, in the space behind the dark line where the land ended. The boy was right. Science had proven that the Earth was round, unending, but this was no optical illusion. The land was vanishing, fading inexplicably bit by bit.
‘So what do we do now, Mr. Lang?’ Ted asked. ‘We’ve come to the end of the world.’ There was a short snigger, hastily bitten off. The boy was worried, but he seemed almost untouched by the events that had unfolded and were even now happening before them. If he didn’t know any better, Mr. Lang would have thought that Ted had a plan, somehow. But the boy had as much idea as he did about what was going on – which was, to put it plainly, nothing.
‘We’ll drive to there,’ Mr. Lang said. ‘We’ll drive there, we’ll find where it ends, and we’ll figure out something.’
‘I like your idea,’ Ted said, grinning. ‘We’re going somewhere! I’m at the end of the world! Try to beat that, hah!’ He spread his arms out, laughing and whooping crazily.
Mr. Lang watched the boy as he got into the car. Ted was about Emily’s age, he reckoned. He had the slightly dazed but unexplainably happy look of an adolescent who lived his life in his head. He was that kind of boy, Mr. Lang guessed. Almost like Emily – she had been cooped up at home for so long that she had begun to live in her dreams and thoughts. Perhaps, on hindsight, he should have brought her out more often. He should have encouraged her to meet more people her age, so she could have had the chance to understand them. He should have…
The last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon. The weak light faded and died. It was night now.
‘Well I guess we’d be close now, right, Mr. Lang?’ Ted asked half an hour later.
Mr. Lang stared straight ahead, not answering the question. His hands had gone slack on the steering wheel, as the road was straight now, without any bumps or sudden curves. The land on both sides had flattened out gradually; it was all fields and small abandoned farm plots by now, invisible in the darkness. There were no streetlights; the only source of light for miles around was from the car’s headlights, illuminating stretch after stretch of empty gray road. Ted sighed and slumped in his seat. Presently he started to snore. Mr. Lang said nothing. The darker line where the road would end could not be discerned in the impenetrable darkness.
The car juddered slightly, engine whining in the silence. Mr. Lang’s eyes flicked to the petrol gauge; the needle indicated that the petrol had been fully used up. The last station they had passed had been a day ago. The car would stop soon – he knew that it was running on its last few drops…
The car slowed and came to a stop. Ted opened his eyes blearily. ‘Wazzat?’
‘We’re out of petrol.’ Mr. Lang stepped out of the car and into the night. Ted watched as he propped the bonnet open and checked the engine. ‘Everything else is working fine. Lights should last for a while.’
‘Are we going to walk then?’ Ted let out a yawn and stretched lazily. He didn’t want to walk. There did not seem to be any hurry to find the end of the road, or any doorway out of this place. He just wanted to go back to sleep in the nice warm car.
‘We’ll wait till morning,’ said Mr. Lang from behind the bonnet. ‘We don’t know where the land ends.’
‘Yeah, we don’t,’ Ted agreed sleepily. In five minutes he was curled up in the back seat, dead to the world.
Mr. Lang closed the bonnet softly, so as not to wake the boy, and got back into the car. He wasn’t feeling tired – not yet, anyway – and he was worried. Were they wasting time here, when they should be looking for a way out, a way to find Emily? He realized, as he looked over his shoulder at the sleeping form of the boy, that he had responsibility over Ted now. The boy was following him because he wanted to, and Ted clearly trusted him enough to follow him on any whim or thought. He didn’t have anyone to look for, because as far as Mr. Lang could deduce, the boy didn’t really give a thought about anyone who might have left him when the others left. He seemed happy, in some odd way, and he had got over the fear of being trapped in a world without anyone else. And he didn’t even know where Ted had come from.
It was funny how Mac had taken to the boy so fast. Mr. Lang played with the lighter thoughtfully, turning over the events of the past few days. Where was Mac, by the way? Idiot cat had run away when they tried to put him in the car.
And then there was the matter about the part after the land ended. Land’s end, Mr. Lang said to himself. It sounded like the title of a story; a fantasy; a fancy. Land’s end. What lay in the space after the land ended? Was it mere void, or was there – would there be – a doorway out of this world? He could hardly hope for anything, because, well, he didn’t know anything about the land ending here. The world used to be round; now it was steadily vanishing, and no one – not even those theoretical physicists with their unending theories which only they could understand – was around any longer to explain anything to him, Mr. Lang.
Mr. Lang sat and waited, patient, patient. The night would be over soon.
Yes? What was that you said? You’ll let me out soon? What?
Here, speak up! You’re not telling me things properly! I demand an explanation! What do you mean by this, huh? Hey!
Look, I’m being nice already over this. Now can you please tell me what you’re going to do to me? I don’t want to – you know – go somewhere or do something I wouldn’t like.
Hello? Hellooooo?
The light’s changing now. Are you trying to mess with my mind? Let me out!
She narrowed her eyes and stared intently into the blue distance. The land was taking shape, almost imperceptibly, in the changing blue light. Blue gradually turned to green, then yellow, and before long, the light was a bright sunshine.
Hello? What do you want with me?
There was nothing after the road ended.
Mr. Lang stood with his back to the void, his hands shoved into his pockets. Ted was standing at the edge, peering down into inky black space. They had not spoken for quite some time, both still shocked over what they had found.
‘I think,’ Ted said nervously, ‘that we should drop something over, just to test. Maybe see where it goes?’
Mr. Lang shrugged, fingers turning the lighter in his pocket agitatedly. He had not expected this. He had been expecting…more land, or water, or a doorway somewhere, somehow. Not this empty space mocking his helplessness and Emily’s absence.
Ted walked past him, several empty crisp packets in hand. He dropped them over the edge one by one and waited. Mr. Lang heard the intake of breath, but remained with his back stubbornly turned to the edge.
‘Oh-kay.’ Ted giggled, but it was out of incredulity and nerves. ‘They just went – somewhere. Vanished! Like magic!’ He picked up a few stones at the side of the road and threw them into the void. There was no sound, so that would mean that the void was –
‘It doesn’t end anywhere,’ Ted whispered, in something like awe. ‘It’s…unending. Like the Universe. Maybe this is the doorway into the Universe, the galaxies, to infinity and beyond. Oh wow.’
‘Ted, don’t go too near to the edge,’ Mr. Lang said tersely. ‘We don’t know where it goes.’
‘Like duh,’ Ted said, nodding. His eyes were bright, as though he was actually excited about the whole idea of arriving at the edge of nothing. ‘One step would mean that I’ll be off floating into space – ‘
‘Ted – ‘
‘Mr. Lang!’
He turned, just in time. Ted had stepped over the edge. The boy waved, once.
Then he was no longer there.
Mr. Lang stared into the void for several long moments. ‘Shit.’
Oh, that’s nice. Mmm. Okay. I don’t mind my hair being washed –
Wait a minute. Who’s washing my hair? Why are you washing my hair? I demand –
My name? I don’t have a name, I think. I just came here. Where am I from? I can’t remember – I don’t think I came from anywhere. I have always been here. I don’t have a name.
Hey mind the ear. I don’t mind you combing my hair, but it really annoys me when you scratch my ears with the comb like that. Yes, yes, like that. Ah. I see you have the knack. Thank you.
I have no idea why I feel so tired. I can’t remember what I did today. Or yesterday. Or last week. Isn’t it odd?
I remember a blue light though. There was blue light, how odd, and then everything changed. Yeah, I’m not kidding. Everything changed, because I was in some place alone, and there was no time, no distance…
Where is the place? How should I know? What place are you talking about?
I have always been here.
Ted kept his eyes shut, his face pressed painfully against a hard cold surface. He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes stubbornly shut. There was a massive bruise on his right shoulder, as though he had fallen on it when he arrived here. So how did he come here anyway? Interesting. The last thing he remembered was stepping off the edge into the vast nothingness. He should have listened to Mr. Lang, he wondered, but the space had looked so tempting...well he wasn’t dead yet, was he? Dead people didn’t feel as though their shoulders were aching because of a fall, and ghosts didn’t have footsteps. Well that was he’d heard anyway.
‘Anymore arrivals?’ a man’s voice rumbled somewhere above him. Ted opened his eyes a fraction, meeting nothing but a rough stony surface. So he was on the floor then, or a floor. He turned his head a little way, not too much so as not to attract the attention of the man who had spoken above him, but just enough to see that there were at least three pairs of feet standing near him. A pair of shiny polished shoes detached itself from the others and clumped towards him. Ted scrunched his eyes shut and waited.
‘This seems to be the last,’ the man’s voice said again above him. ‘We won’t be getting more today, I think. Time to shut the place, boys.’
‘Beats me how this little guy arrived here,’ said a new voice at Ted’s feet. ‘I thought we were shutting down that place since last week, so how could he have come here so late?’
‘Inconsistencies,’ growled the first voice. ‘Didn’t The Management hint at it? There’s always someone left in one of them places; they can’t keep track of everyone. This guy must have been hanging round for days. He would have seen the place disappearing bit by bit.’
There was a short burst of rumbling laughter from the other men. They seemed to find it funny that anyone would be given a rare treat to see his world disappear in bits right before his eyes. Ted bit back a yelp and opened his eyes again.
‘What’ll we do with them eh?’ said the first man. ‘These latecomers...the others have been processed, haven’t they?’
Ted’s eyes widened in alarm. Processed? Like nuggets or something?
‘Yep,’ another man answered. ‘We can dump the rest into any available space though. The Management’s busy at the moment, best if we processed this lot quickly eh?’
There were other rumbles of agreement. Ted watched out of the corner of his eye as the shoes began to walk back and forth around him. He heard grunts, and the sound of heavy things being dragged or picked up from the floor. A disembodied hand came into view, hanging almost down to the floor. He moved his head slowly and saw that it was a child’s hand; a child asleep – or dead – in a man’s arms.
‘Any space left in there?’ someone called. A shout came in reply. More feet arrived to take up and bring the bodies away. Ted shut his eyes hastily as a pair of arms pulled him up.
‘Heavy kid,’ the man who was carrying him said. ‘Seems puny for his age though.’
Ted grimly held his tongue and went limp and heavy in the man’s arms. I hope he gets a backache tomorrow from carrying me, hah!
‘Any space?’ the man called out. Another shout told him to bring the kid to Door 3. The man’s feet shuffled noisily on the stone floor as he carried Ted to a door at the far end, away from the others. There was a soft swish as the man went through some hanging cloth covering the doorway, and then there was the sound of heavy machinery and steady loud clacking. Ted kept his eyes on the ground, itching to turn his head, but he was afraid that the man might notice.
‘Bring the kid in,’ someone hollered nearby. ‘We’re running late; I’ve got get home to the kids. Come on, hurry up!’
Another person came up just then and spoke in low tones to the man. Ted heard everything, though most of what the man said came out in a sort of rumble, and the other speaker’s voice was partly drowned out by the noise of the machinery.
‘You sure about this?’ the man said. ‘I don’t want to get into any trouble with the Managers.’
‘I think this won’t matter much to them,’ the other person murmured. ‘One person – how much can he change things? He won’t muck up the stats, Rob, don’t worry. I’ll just key in the entry for the kid, shall I?’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ Rumble, rumble. ‘You doing all right?’
‘Not too bad,’ said the other person. ‘I don’t mind the work, but the machines get on my nerves sometimes. Can’t they bring in mufflers or something?’
The man laughed. ‘Cutting costs again, you see.’
‘Over here!’ someone yelled over the noise. ‘Bring the kid, Rob!’
‘I’ll just send him to sleep, shall I?’ said the second voice. ‘So he won’t get the shocks. Here.’
Ted felt fingers on his arm, and his sleeve was pulled up. Then the short sharp pain of a needle pricking through the skin, and the feeling of some liquid being injected into his vein. Rob rumbled some more above him, and the other person chuckled softly. He shut his eyes wearily.
‘Sleepy bye now,’ the second voice said. Ted felt his body go limp for real this time. Soon he was asleep.
Mr. Lang sat near the edge, his back to it. He had been waiting for the whole morning, playing with the lighter during the time. The boy had not returned. He had almost given up hope that Ted would come back. Almost.
He noticed that the light was still weakening, as though something was sucking its brightness and colour out of this world. Distances had become blurred and uncertain, and the weather was nearly nonexistent. The edge, though, remained where it was, a thin divisive line between being and non-being.
And now there were voices, faint and wavering, at the edge of hearing; Mr. Lang sat up straighter and listened intently to the words. There were no words, only vague consonants and hisses, as though the words had been deliberately muffled and jumbled. He dropped the lighter into his pocket and stood up slowly, wary of any sudden attack or the unexpected appearance of someone intending to cause harm.
The flat plains stretched around and in front of him, empty and silent. The voices had faded. Mr. Lang felt the chill of the void on his back, but he was sure that the voices had come from here, and not from the void.
‘Blimey!’ someone yelled suddenly. Mr. Lang jumped – he couldn’t help it – and scanned the place hurriedly. There was still no one in sight. ‘That’s a man there!’ the voice said.
‘What’s he doing here?’ another voice said, grumbling. ‘I thought we got the lot out.’
‘Must have been hiding, together with that idiot cat.’
Mr. Lang frowned. Was the idiot cat Mac? It could have been possible...not that Mac was idiotic, but he hadn’t seen any other animal around except Mac. Had the men got him too?
‘Here, we’ve got to get the guy out before they shut down the place for good,’ said the first voice reasonably. ‘Management’s orders. They said something about interference and dire consequences if we left anyone in any of them places.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. So how do we get him out then?’
‘Er – we go and speak to him. Right? All according to procedures.’
‘Yeah. I think he’s heard us though.’
‘Has he? Blimey, and there was me being so quiet, like.’
The voices stopped. Mr. Lang blinked rapidly, his eyes swiveling to take in the distances. The speakers were evidently hidden, but they sounded close to where he was standing. Had they been watching him and Ted all this time? He felt something cold on his neck, but chose to ignore it. It was that damn void again, no doubt.
‘Oops,’ said someone behind him.
He felt the prick of the needle in the back of his neck, but there wasn’t time to turn around before he collapsed to his knees. He lay on the cold road, his body becoming stiff and unable to move. His mind was going blank rapidly, as though something was wiping every thought smooth. He rather thought that someone – or several someones – had picked him up, but he wasn’t sure about it, because he had fallen asleep by then.
‘Argh. And then –
‘Oh somebody kill me.’
He kept his eyes shut, because to open his eyes would mean that the rest of his head would follow.
‘Dear goddess of whatever place this is. Argh.’
‘Here, what are you doing in my cabbage patch?’
It sounded like a girl. He caught a faint whiff of flowers, mixed with the wet smell of earth and plants nearby. There were stones under him – was he upright or on his back? He could hardly tell through this damn headache; his head was going to fall off soon, oh goddess of mercy –
‘You look sick. Are you all right?’
‘I – I am. Going. To be. Fine. If.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Pick me up,’ he groaned. ‘Help help, I think I’m dying.’
‘Sorry?’
He opened his eyes then. A red-haired girl was standing beside his head, bent over in concern. He shut his eyes again. It wasn’t decent; the…dress…the garment the girl was wearing was showing more than it covered. He rather thought that his ears had gone pink.
‘Hey, don’t blame me if someone happens to want you outta here,’ the girl muttered. ‘I don’t have time for this shit.’
He sat up, very slowly, keeping his eyes shut all the time. He thought he heard the girl swish away, her long trailing skirt dragging on the soil and decapitating several flower heads along the way. There was something very, very wrong here. Girls he knew didn’t wear clothes…garments…like the girl did. Girls back home didn’t – didn’t –
‘Need a hand, young man?’
He opened his eyes again. A man was leaning over the hedge, a smile on his wide friendly face. The man let out a short bark of laughter and leapt nimbly over the low hedge. Then the man’s arms were around his waist, helping him to his feet. The man’s hands steadied him as he swayed on his feet. Pink bubbles popped and materialized in his sight, but at least the world was steady.
‘I’ll take you back to my place, is that okay?’ the man asked. ‘My wife wouldn’t mind it, and you look pretty lost.’
‘Urk.’
‘Righto. Here we go then!’
‘He looks very young,’ a lady said.
‘Thought it’d be better to bring him here. Found him in Miss Aurelia’s cabbage patch,’ a man replied.
‘I see. Yes, you did right in bringing him here. It would have ruined his…’
The voices had subsided into an indistinct murmur. He opened his eyes to mere slits and squinted into the dim room. A man and lady were standing at the door, their backs to him. He was on a bed, a soft bed, with pillows too, and he was –
Someone had taken the liberty of taking away his old clothes and dressing him in odd ones. The shirt felt scratchy, but it was comfortable at least. And the pants –
‘He’s woken up,’ the lady said softly. She came into the room, a lamp in her hands. Her face was gentle in the orange light, but he backed away from her all the same. His back came up against a very solid wall. A man followed the lady into the room, his face hidden in her shadow.
‘Get away from me,’ he said, his voice sounding higher than usual. The lady pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down in it, smoothing her skirt thoughtfully. The man remained where he was behind her, still hidden in the dimness.
‘Calm down now,’ the lady said. ‘My husband found you in someone’s garden and decided to bring you home. You looked sick and lost then, and you were unclothed – ‘
He bit back a yell and swallowed.
‘So we thought it would be best if you stayed here for the night,’ she continued, smiling kindly. ‘It would not be a burden to us, and it would be better if you remained here till you have recovered. What is your name, may I ask? I’m Ellen, and my husband is Christopher.’
‘Er.’ He gaped at them, shocked. ‘I don’t remember my name!’
‘There there,’ Ellen said. ‘It’ll come back to you in the morning. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps hot tea would do you good?’
‘I want my name back!’
‘You’ll rest here for the night, boy,’ the man said, moving into the light. He placed a hand on the boy’s forehead. It felt damp and clammy, and the boy’s face was turning pale. The man gently pushed the boy back onto the bed while his wife left the room to make hot tea.
‘Did I – did I tell you anything on the way here?’ the boy whispered.
The man paused in the doorway, where light was spilling into the room. He shook his head and sighed. ‘You were unconscious, the whole way here.’
‘A name maybe? Did I tell you my name?’ the boy pleaded.
‘No. But if you like, you can stay here, and choose one for yourself. Where do you come from?’
‘I don’t know.’ The boy was shaking slightly, perhaps with fear. ‘I can’t remember how I got here.’
‘Rest now,’ Ellen said, coming into the room with a steaming mug. She set the lamp on a table nearby and drew the chair up to the bed. ‘Drink this.’ The boy took the proffered mug and sipped carefully, his large eyes staring at the lady’s face all the while. The man slipped out, not saying a word to his wife.
‘Thank you,’ he said, handing the empty mug back to the lady. She nodded once, smiling, and waited by the bed as he lay down. ‘And thank you for letting me stay here for the night,’ he added.
‘You’re welcome.’ She took up the lamp and walked to the door. He watched as the light dimmed, and then he was asleep.
‘All right boy, things are going a bit strange around here eh?’
‘Who’re you?’
He sat up in bed hurriedly, dragging the blanket with him. A lady was sitting in the chair recently occupied by Ellen, but it was now against the closed door. She shook her head impatiently, dislodging more strands of curly hair from the messy chignon at her neck.
‘I am, of course, the Dream Lady,’ she said ironically and smirked. ‘I haunt your dreams, darlin’.’
‘Yeah right,’ he said. He sounded braver than he felt, much braver. The room was dark, but there seemed to be an invisible spotlight shining on the lady, who was clearly visible in the darkness. He hugged a pillow to his chest, feeling disoriented and unsettled.
‘Okay then, don’t believe me.’ Her eyebrow rose questioningly, but she did not elaborate on her words.
‘What I’m saying – what I want to know is: What is really going on here? I mean, I wake up in this weird place with no name, no memory of what happened before, why am I here, and now this kind married couple decides to take me in for the time being, and I can’t – even – tell – them – my – NAME!’
‘I know.’ The lady sighed. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it? But it’s not my fault, my boy. There are some people who would prefer – nay, who have made it so that you do not remember your name.’
‘Yeah well, tell me,’ he said, annoyed. ‘I want to find them and kill them.’
‘Not so fast, Mr. Chosen One,’ she said. Her lips curved into a smile, but the mirth did not show in her eyes. ‘They are keeping themselves well out of the mess they’ve started. You’re part of the mess, and therefore, you are not able to find them and thus, as you said, kill them.’
‘But it’s not fair!’
‘Whoever said anything was fair?’ she shot back. ‘Is mercy fair? Does kindness judge what is fair and what isn’t?’
‘You have a point,’ he muttered into the pillow.
‘Now, listen to me. I know this is a very confusing time for you – ‘
‘I don’t know my name, how confusing can you get – ‘
‘But it would be better, and much wiser, for you to remain focused on what you have to do.’
There was a pause, during which he nibbled on the corner of the pillowcase and said nothing.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ the lady asked.
‘Yeah I did. I have to do something. This – this isn’t a sort of quest, or mission, is it? Because I don’t do quests to save princesses, or slay dragons – ‘
‘None of that. I’m being serious here. I need you…I need to find a way out; a way out of this place, or places such as this. Do you understand me?’
‘I think so.’
‘You would need help, of course. Someone will be along presently to guide you, but I cannot guarantee that you would like you, or that the person will take to you in return. Both of you have your tasks, but you have to do them together at this stage. Is that clear?’
‘Who would it be?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘And how would you know that it was you who sent him? Or her?’
The lady smiled enigmatically. ‘You’ll see.’
‘Who are you, anyway?’
‘You called me,’ she said, ‘when you first came here. Remember, the goddess of mercy?’
‘There’s a goddess of mercy?’
‘Not really. I mostly do patience and rest, but mercy is a part time job, besides rhyme and reason, of course.’
‘What?’
‘Just go to sleep now,’ she said wearily. Her slim fingers touched his eyelids, which grew heavy with sleep. ‘Good luck. And good night.’
‘He looks funny,’ said a child’s voice in his ear. ‘His hair looks funny.’
‘Shh dear. Come away now,
He rolled over to face the wall, the pillow muffling the sounds of people moving in the next room. The room was bright with early morning sunshine, but the curtains were drawn tight across the open windows. A warm breeze ruffled his hair as he lay awake, gathering his thoughts and memories of the dream last night.
‘Are you awake?’ Ellen said, close to his ear. He jumped and turned around quickly. A child peeked at him from behind Ellen’s long skirt, thumb between rosy red lips.
‘I’m fine.’ He dropped his legs onto the floor, startling the child and sending it running out the room. Ellen held out a hand to help him up, but he did not take it.
‘I can get a doctor if you want,’ she said. ‘My husband’s still here and he’s decided not to work in the harvest today if you do need treatment.’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Was that your daughter?’
‘Yes, that was Vivien. Three years old. I have another daughter, Laurel. She’s seven. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I think I am.’ He stood up on shaky legs. They held. Ellen’s hand was still held out to him, in case he needed to hold on to it to balance himself. He shook his head slowly, making sure that it wasn’t about to fall off. It stayed on.
‘There’s breakfast ready on the table,’ Ellen said as she headed out of the room. ‘I’ll make some hot tea for you, will that be all right?’
‘Thank you.’
‘The sink’s outside, I’m afraid. I’ll get one of the girls to show you.’
He followed Ellen out of the room into a larger, airier one, which seemed to be a combination of several rooms in one. There was a wood stove in one corner near the window, with a twisted metal pipe leading out of it into the roof. A table had been set in the middle of the room, laid with a clean white cloth and several plates and mugs. Toys were scattered on the floor in the other part of the room, where there were a few rugs and what appeared to be a rocking horse. A sofa and cushions had been squeezed somehow into the remaining space, together with a pile of books stacked haphazardly among the cushions. Two girls sat on the front doorstep, one still with her thumb in her mouth, while a large ginger cat rubbed against the other and purred loudly.
‘
He waved weakly to the girls as two pairs of large accusing eyes stared at him. Ellen scooped up the younger girl and brought her to the table.
‘Bring him to the bathroom,
‘So,’ he said, as they walked past the house and a small garden, ‘how old are you?’
The child knew it was an unnecessary question on his part, as he already had been told by her mother, and worse, she showed she knew. ‘Seven,’ she said politely. He winced, hearing the scornfulness under the girlish voice. Ouch.
‘Why is the bathroom outside?’
She turned to look over her shoulder at him, her face polite and unreadable. ‘Because it’s not hy-gee-nick to have one inside.’
‘Er. I see.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Er.’ He bit his lips, not wanting to sound stupid in front of a seven-year-old girl with eyes which could ask questions without the girl having to say or allude to anything. ‘Art.’
‘It’s a funny name,’ she observed gravely. ‘I’ve never met anyone named Art. Why did your Mummy call you that?’
‘Er. It’s short for – for – Artemis really,’ he said wretchedly. ‘Art makes it sound…snappier.’
‘I thought Artemis was a girl’s name,’ the girl said innocently. She stopped before a small shed with a single high window. Someone had hung a cheerful plaque on the door, bearing the word “Welcome” with yellow painted flowers around it.
‘Er. Thank you. But that wouldn’t be necessary.’
‘Yes, but I want to talk to you.’
‘Er. Okay. Go ahead.’
‘Are you a man or a boy?’
‘What?’
‘Vivvie said that you’re a man, but you look more like a boy to me. So which are you?’
He stared at the girl, and then down at his bare feet when he realized that he was blushing.
‘I’m a boy, okay. Teenage. Happy?’ he mumbled.
‘Okay.’
‘I don’t know! You tell me!’
Now that he thought about it…
The door of the shed opened, letting out a gust of steam and scent. The man from last night stepped out, blinking and red in the face. He smiled at the boy and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Had a good night’s rest?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘Good girl, Laurel,’ the man said, patting the girl on her head. She beamed.
‘Yes Papa,’ she said, her voice all sweetness and honey.
‘I’ll leave you to use the place now.’
Art nodded and stepped into the bright steamy bathroom, shutting the door with relief on
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