Ever Dundas: Goblin

After confession I went to light a candle and pray. I asked God a question but he didn’t reply so I went to ask the priest who was talking with an old man by the door. I stood next to them, shifting from one foot to another as they continued talking, the priest eyeing me now and then. The old man finally left and the priest wasn’t even polite, he just frowned at me and said, ‘What is it?’

‘Can Devil come?’

‘What?’

‘Can Devil come and drink some blood of Christ too?’

There was silence. And I waited, patient.

‘There are no devils here, child.’

‘Not a demon-devil,’ I said. ‘A dog-devil. I want to bring my dog to eat some Christ too.’

Silence again, and I waited.

‘Animals don’t have souls,’ he said.

He turned away from me. I stood, staring at his back, watching the swaying robes, taking in the beautiful interior, the warmth and the smells. I took it all in, realising it was over. I walked up to that priest and I spat at his feet.

I never returned but sometimes I’d stand outside and breathe in the smells. That was before. That was before Kensal Green and before the Pigeon Woman of Amen Court who said to me, Goblin-child, you worship wherever you please. You make your own church.

The Crazy Pigeon Woman of Amen Court walked by our school every morning. If she walked by when we were on break we’d be at the fence, spitting and shouting. She’d shuffle along, talking to herself, spit sliding down her back. Soon, we got bored. We got bored after no reaction every morning. We would just mumble obscenities, shout lazily in her direction. There came a time we didn’t notice her at all and spat and shouted at each other instead.

She would always have a troop of pigeons following her along the street. Some of the kids spat on the pigeons too, until I pummelled them. I spun tales about her magic abilities, that she collected our spit and used it in potions. She could kill you, I said. She has your essence. She only has to say the word and you’d drop down dead. The little kids peed their pants, the others told me to fuck off, you’re as crazy as she is. I didn’t pummel them. I pretended like I was the Pigeon Woman of Amen Court, all calm and aloof.

Soon I was the only one left at the fence and I’d watch her and her pigeon troop. One morning I saw her hair move, like it was alive, like it could move on its own. Then I saw the heads.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Excuse me.’

As polite as can be, but she walked right by, muttering, scattering seeds. I jumped the fence and walked by her side, glancing up at her, staring at the little pigeon heads poking out from her mess of hair. It really was a bird’s nest; matted here and there, with bits of twig sticking out.

‘Are they babies?’ I said. ‘Baby pigeons in your hair?’

She muttered and I leaned in to hear but caught nothing. She grabbed my hand and I was ready to pummel her but I couldn’t, not with pigeons in her hair. She dropped seeds in my hand, or tried to. It was all scrunched up in a fist and the seeds just bounced off, scattering for her troop.

‘You can feed them,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to?’

She bent a little and I opened my hand, catching the seeds, and I fed the pigeons in her hair.

‘We call you Pigeon,’ I said, trying to be polite, not telling her what we really called her.

‘I know what you call me,’ she said.

She wasn’t stupid, that crazy pigeon woman.

‘Come inside,’ she said, ‘and have a cup of tea.’

We’d reached her house. I’d left school without really knowing it, and I stared back down the road, and at her troop, and at her house, and in I went.

Animals everywhere, staring fake.

‘Taxidermy,’ she said.

I didn’t know what that meant and screwed up my face.

‘I find them,’ she said, ‘and I preserve them. I take out their guts and make them like this.’

‘Like an Egyptian mummy,’ I said. ‘Kind of.’

She just grunted. I ran my finger along one of the shelves, wanting to touch the mummified animals, but I was all unnerved by their glassy eyes. Pigeons walked amongst them, pecking at seeds. Seeds and pigeon shit were everywhere. The smell was strong; a welcoming musty animal smell.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Dead things can’t die,’ she said.

I nodded, as if I understood.

‘Sit,’ she said, and I sat. She shuffled off, a small troop following her even in the house. She brought me some tea and a biscuit. I inspected it for pigeon shit and shoved it in my mouth.

‘You got more biscuits?’

‘You hungry? You can stay for dinner.’

I shrugged, sipping my tea. A pigeon scrambled up my leg, its claws digging into me. I let it be and it stood on my knee, eating seeds from my hand. It settled on my leg, falling asleep, looking up at me suspiciously anytime I moved an inch. I drank my tea and stared at Pigeon. I squinted at her, trying to see the pigeons in her hair.

‘They’re sleeping,’ she said, seeing me look at her head. ‘All asleep in their nest. I can feel them, their little warm bodies. He likes you,’ she said, gesturing at the sleeping pigeon on my knee.

I stroked his head. He cooed at me. I looked up at Pigeon, not sure if he was happy or annoyed with me. She smiled and nodded.

‘He likes you,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’ I said, pointing to a mummified creature next to my chair. I leaned over and stroked its head the way I’d stroked the pigeon, almost expecting the mummy-creature to coo at me too.

‘A shrew,’ she said.

I kept stroking it, willing it to coo.

I didn’t know what to say to Pigeon, so I just sat, stroking the shrew and staring round the room. There were framed photos everywhere, of what looked like Pigeon and her family. They were in-between all the mummy creatures, but I didn’t pay much attention to them, except to notice they were the only things not covered in pigeon shit.

‘Do you like stories?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I’ll tell you stories. I’ll tell you all about London,’ she said. ‘Of the realm below and the realm above.’

She paused, arching her eyebrow.

‘Did you know,’ she said, ‘lizard people live in the realm below?’

I shook my head.

‘They hide away in the myriad of tunnels and caves in the depths of London. It’s their kingdom, where the Lizard Queen and Lizard King rule. They eat the big black insects that live there too. They’re as big as my hand.’

Pigeon raised her hand, spreading her fingers.

‘And the lizard people eat them – crunch! Do you know what would happen if they didn’t?’

‘No.’

‘The insects would multiply and take over the realm below and the realm above.’

‘Like in the bible,’ I said, ‘in Revelation – “And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power… And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit.”’

‘That’s right. You understand, don’t you?’ said Pigeon, smiling and nodding. ‘London would be ruled by these insects, but we have the lizard people. They come to the realm above, in the form of humans. But I recognise them, I know them. You can tell by their eyes. They keep their lizard eyes, and they glint emerald, all shades of blue, sometimes red. They come from below and they feed off the rays of the sun. The lizard people,’ she said, ‘are demigods. Part-god, part-divine.’

‘Holy, Holy, Holy.’

‘Shall I tell you of the realm above?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Have you heard,’ she said, ‘of the Queen of Hearts? It is said,’ she said, leaning over and raising her eyebrows, ‘that Queen Isabella walks these streets carrying the heart of her husband. But it’s not true. The heart is pinned to her dress like a brooch. It still beats, dripping blood, staining Isabella’s dress, leaving a trail on the ground. I’ve seen her,’ she said. ‘She haunts these streets.’