Ever Dundas - Goblin

I didn’t have Dr Frankenstein’s science. But I had magic.

Hail thee lizards down below in the darkness in the depths hail thee O Lizard King I consecrate unto thee this creature of beauty made in observance of your law O Lizard Queen and King of the deep O guardian lizards I consecrate unto thee this gift the word shall be made flesh and this flesh shall be given lifeblood Holy Holy Holy which was and is and is to come I pour forth my blood I beseech thee O lizards of the depths by this passion I bring unto thee a gift and unto me I ask for a resurrection of these pieces I have sewn with diligence. I eat this heart for thee.

I placed the bundle in the hole, wrapped up like Frankenstein’s monsta. Flicking open my penknife I cut my arm and drip-dripped blood onto the white bandages, watching it seep. I sank my teeth into an apple, dripping the juice onto the blood, imagining my teeth were sinking into a human heart, the heart of he who stole from us, giving back what he has taken. I poured earth over the creature and sat through the night.

The darkness began to recede and I pulled back the earth, lifting out the bundle. I unwrapped the blanket and out tumbled a monsta, spiral spiral wheeeeeee, with waving worms like beautiful tentacles, grasping and feeling and swaying in the breeze. Monsta lay fallen, the crow foot scratching at the earth, the worms feeling up the side of the gravestone, a stunning undulation. I caught my breath at the beauty of this creation. I caught my breath and crawled back, watching.

It’s lopsided, said Amelia.

I twisted round. Amelia, Queen Isabella, Scholler. All three stood in waiting.

Don’t ruin this, I said.

I’d forgotten to cut the doll foot so it would be even with the crow foot, so Monsta was lopsided and walked kerlump-scratch, kerlump-scratch.

He’s lopsided, said Amelia.

It’s not a he, I said.

Then what is it?

It’s a monsta, I said, a pretty monsta dead thing. And dead things can’t die.

Soon it was up and kerlumping through the earth and the grass, all lopsided like Amelia said, all lopsided and perfect. The pigeon wings spread, creaking, stiff and awkward. Monsta hovered then fell.

Now you’re beautiful, I said.

Now you’re ugly, said Queen Isabella, puffing her chest, causing her grotesque brooch to quiver.

Now, I said emphatically, you’re a pretty monsta dead thing.

Monsta kerlumped to me, scratching at the earth. The black eyes roamed here and there, seeking me out, observing, considering. The worm-tentacles crawled through my fingers, pulling, slithering, climbing.

What happened to you?

Nothing.

You look a mess.

I’m going to the sea, ma.

I don’t have time for your stories.

I’m really going.

You are? About time your school evacuated the lot of you.

My school’s already gone. I’ll go with another one.

As long as you’re going. Go clean yourself up.

I will.

And wear a dress, for god’s sake. Don’t want the people by the sea thinking bad of me, do I?

I don’t have a dress.

You can have an old one of mine.

I didn’t want to wear a dress but I thought it would be a good disguise in case the Nazis saw me, so I got cleaned up the best I could and I put ma’s dress on. It was yellow, with flowers. It sagged at the chest and bunched up on the ground. I cut off a bit at the bottom, but didn’t manage the back, so it trailed, picking up the mud and dust, but it was a good disguise. I propped my gas mask on my head and stuffed my schoolbag full of treasures and books, mismatching socks, and shorts and shirts. I pulled on my old boots, raggedy boots that used to be David’s that had been mended a hundred times. I wrote David a note: I’m going to the sea. I’ll write and you can join me. Mermaids, krakens, pirates! I’m going on an adventure. Love, Goblin.

Monsta climbed into the bag, making a nest amongst the clothes, bits of worm and feathers and crow foot sticking out the top. We’re escaping, Monsta. The shrew eyes blinked sleepily. I hiked the bag onto my shoulder and went downstairs. I climbed out the back window in case the Nazis were watching at the door, waiting to kill us. Amelia, Scholler and Queen Isabella led me through the backstreets and alleys and I sang songs of the sea to Monsta, whose worm-arms flopped and swayed.

We’re going on an adventure, Monsta. An adventure to the sea.

Edinburgh, 18 July 2011

‘How’d it go with the doc?’ says Ben.

‘She signed me off for a couple of weeks. I stopped off at work and chatted with my boss. She’s been pretty good about it.’

‘It’s good if ye have a decent boss.’

‘Can’t fault her.’

I sit down at my desk and slip off my shoes.

‘Are ye going to keep writing?’ says Ben.

I nod.

‘Why’d ye write on that beat up old typewriter when there’s a perfectly good laptop.’

‘The laptop’s for work. I prefer a typewriter.’

I go to the kitchen and get some wine. I shout down the hall, asking Ben if he wants a glass.

‘It’s too early for that, old lady. I’ll have a cuppa, though.’

I come back through with the wine and tea to find Ben reading one of my pages.

‘What’s this about Martians and Nazis?’

‘Don’t read that,’ I say, hurriedly putting down the wine and tea, snatching the page away from Ben. ‘That’s private.’

‘Then dinnae leave it lying around.’

‘This is my flat,’ I say.

Ben looks as if I’ve just slapped him.

‘Aye, well if ye dinnae want me here just say so – yer the one who wanted me to stay.’

I hold the page tight in my hand, crushing it, not caring that Ben feels hurt. I put the sheet of paper with the rest on my desk. They’re all crumpled, strewn everywhere. I bunch them all together and sit on the floor, drinking my wine.

‘I must bring order,’ I say, sorting through the papers. ‘I must bring some order.’

‘While ye bring order by drinking yersel intae oblivion me n Sam’ll be on our way then.’

I look up at him, confused for a moment, watching him pack his few belongings into his rucksack.

‘On your way where?’ I say.

He ignores me and I feel panicked.

‘On your way where? Are you leaving? I said you could stay.’

I stand up and clutch at him, and he makes to brush me off but he looks at me and stops.

‘Alright, old lady, alright.’

He puts his hand on mine.

‘You’re not leaving?’

‘No,’ he says, ‘we’ll stay right here.’

We stand there for a moment; Ben looking at me, his hand still on mine. I shake my head, feeling sick.

‘Hey,’ he says, leading me to the couch, ‘It’s alright, sit down. I didnae mean to upset ye.’

We sit on the couch, Ben’s arm around me. Mahler jumps up and lies down, his head on my lap. Sam sits at the door, expectant. Ben calls him over and gives him one of his toys to chew on.

‘I’m sorry, Ben.’

‘Dinnae worry, old lady.’

Monsta walks along the floor, kerlumpscratch, kerlumpscratch. A flutter of the pigeon wings and Monsta is up on my writing desk, worm-arms prodding at the typewriter keys. I laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Monsta – The Life Story.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My life story. That’s what I’m writing. And it’s private, that’s all, it’s private. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘I know. It’s okay. I shouldnae have read it without yer permission.’

‘Ben, I want you to stay. I don’t want that to ever be a question.’

He puts his arm round me, pulling me close. We sit there quietly for a while then Ben says, ‘How about a film, old lady? Before ye get back to yer writing. I’ll make some breakfast and we can watch some old film, eh?’