Shane Hegarty - Darkmouth

“Mam! You’re supposed to knock before coming in.”

“Sorry, Finn,” his mother said, entering the room. “I was just worried about you. I heard you had a tough day.”

They sat on the edge of his bed together. “How was work?” he asked her. His mother was a dentist and, as she did most days, she had brought home a faint odour of chemicals and ground teeth. This was more comforting to Finn than he had ever stopped to consider.

“Not as exciting as your day thankfully. Although everyone was talking about the Legend that came through this morning. Luckily, all I had to do was wave the drill at them and they shut up pretty quickly.” She put her arm round Finn and went to give him a kiss on the top of his head.

Finn smiled, but squirmed away. “I’m not a baby, Mam.”

“You’re still my baby,” she replied quietly.

He groaned in protest. He didn’t want to admit that it warmed him when she said that.

There was a phwump from deep in the house, followed by the long squeeee of a drill. “I wish he’d hurry up and finish whatever it is he’s building down there,” said Finn’s mam. There was another thud. “Have you talked to him? About … this morning?”

“Not much. It’s fine, really. Stop worrying.”

Finn’s mam looked at him. “I knew what I was getting into when I met your father. You never had that choice.”

“Sometimes, I wish you were a Hunter too,” said Finn. “You’d be a really good one.”

Finn’s mam grinned. “I don’t think my parents would have let me marry your dad if I’d been expected to do that . I don’t think I would have married him. Anyway, you know the rules. Civilians can’t become Legend Hunters, Finn. You’ve got to be born into it.”

Finn and his mother were quiet for a few moments, the only sound the goldfish pecking at pebbles.

“I mean it, though, Mam. You’d be a great Hunter.”

“I could give them a good flossing until they succumbed. Or threaten them with a root canal.”

Finn smiled weakly, sending another trickle of warmth through his chest, loosening the knot a little.

“I’ll talk to your dad,” his mother said, standing up. “Get him to go a bit easier on you.”

“No!” snapped Finn, before quickly calming down. “Please don’t. I’m trying really hard, it’s just …”

“I understand.” His mam gave him another kiss on the head before she left. This time he didn’t squirm so much.

Finn got up and locked the door after her, then went back to his desk and took the diamond from its hiding place. He heard the front door of the house open and looked out of the window to see light spilling on to the pavement.

His father’s long shadow knifed across the street. Finn could see that his attention was focused on the far end of the street, where a parked van started up its engine and, without even turning on its lights, slowly pulled away.

His father turned back to the house and there was the heavy sound of the front door being bolted.

Finn wrapped the diamond in an old pair of pants and placed it at the back of his underwear drawer where it would be safe. He didn’t know what he was doing with it, only that it felt too late to admit to having picked it up in the first place. It was his souvenir. No one would need to know.

He sat back down at his desk and flipped through The Most Great Lives , only half registering the text, until, from beneath it, he pulled out a smaller thinner book. On its cover was a man in blue medical overalls holding a dog by the jaw. It mightn’t have been too clear if he was about to help the dog or punch it except for the title, half obscured by a school library stamp: So You Want to Be a Veterinarian .

Finn read a few pages, poring over the images of dogs, cats, birds and lizards, with instruments pointed at their ears, or holding down their tongues, combing through their fur, feathers or skin, each in the hands of a confident-looking person in scrubs. He imagined himself in those scrubs rather than a fighting suit. He closed his eyes and saw himself tending to an animal rather than blasting one, healing creatures rather than shrinking them into little balls.

His daydream was interrupted by the sounds again, deep in the house. Finn placed his head on the desk, the page of the book cool on his cheek, and listened to the noises, feeling the vibration tickle his face. Khrump, khrump, khrump . Silence. Squeeee .

They didn’t stop him from quickly falling into a deep sleep.

From A Concise Guide to the Legend Hunter World, Vol. 2, Chapter 65: ‘ The Infested Side: A Guide to What We Know and What We Don’t’ (published by Plurimus, Magesterius, Fortimus & Murphy).

Over the years, there have been instances of Legend Hunters travelling to the Infested Side, either to wage an attack or because they were abducted by a Legend. There was even one infamous attempt to make peace with the Legends. And, in at least three recorded cases, people simply tripped and fell into a gateway.

The experiences of those who have returned from the Infested Side are largely unverified. However, there are consistencies in their accounts: they each arrive home with vivid descriptions of a scorched world, poisoned and poisonous, where death clings to every bare tree and every shard of burnt scrub. They also arrive home with a really, really bad smell.

So, over hundreds of years of such visits, added to the words and screams of thousands of interrogated Legends, we have learned many things about the Infested Side.

Some of them may even be true.

Broonie did not know where he was being dragged to, but the simple fact that he had a bag over his head, and his arms were tied, gave him reason to suspect that it was not anywhere pleasant.

At first, he had thought it was a practical joke played on him by the Hogboons who lived three mounds over and with whom Broonie had been engaged in a battle of pranks for a few months now. The most recent gag played on Broonie had involved a small rodent being released into his home, which in itself wouldn’t have been so remarkable if the small rodent hadn’t been on fire at the time.

It was, Broonie reckoned, a fair response to his own clever and complex jape involving ivy, sharpened sticks, a large hole and a bag full of beetles.

So, when he was woken rudely from his standard all-day nap by a bag being placed over his head, he was certain it was just another revenge prank. “Oh right, lads, very funny,” he’d said as his arms were being tied. “But wasn’t it my turn to play the joke?”

That was when he got punched in the head for the first time.

Even through a minor concussion, he could tell that there were two assailants and they were big. They clearly weren’t Hogboons like him, because Hogboons were a short, spindle-limbed race, though what they lacked in physical stature they made up for in length of ears, crookedness of teeth, greenness of skin and general mischief.

“Stay still, you ugly little thug, or I’ll snap your arms off and use them to break your legs,” one of the assailants roared as Broonie found some energy to struggle.

“You’re calling me ugly?” exclaimed Broonie. “I can see your feet through the bottom of this bag. Do you mind me asking, are all of those warts yours or did you borrow some for this special occasion?”

That was when he got punch number two. It knocked him out.