Ever Dundas: Goblin

‘I’ve seen her,’ I said. ‘She haunts these streets. Huge pins stab through her husband’s heart and pierce right into her own heart. She wears it like a brooch, but its alive, still beating, dripping blood.’

Mackenzie and Stevie stared up at me, their mouths hanging open. They fell about laughing.

‘I’ve seen her, I have! She haunts these streets, collecting blood for her husband’s heart, to keep it fed.’

‘Yeah, Goblin, uh-huh, I bet you’ve seen her.’

‘You better watch out,’ I said.

We poked the fire with sticks, biting into our apples, the juice dribbling down our chins. I imagined biting into a heart. Eating human flesh.

‘I’ll tell you another,’ I said. ‘You know Amen Court? There’s a dog that prowls Amen Court, a black dog, as big as a horse, with dripping jaws. This dog wants revenge, he wants human flesh. But he didn’t used to be a dog. He was a man called Scholler and he was a prisoner in Newgate, where the inmates were starved. They were so hungry that they turned on Scholler and ate him alive!’

Mackenzie and Stevie were spitting out apple and rolling on the ground. Mac grabbed Stevie and barked at him, biting his leg. Devil joined in but got confused when Mac tried to bite his hind legs. He whined and sat down, licking his paws.

‘Lay off Devil, Mac. He doesn’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Jesus, he’s a dumb dog. Hey, Devil, eh? No hard feelings.’

Devil laid his head on Mac’s knee and we poked the fire with our sticks, watching the flames in silence.

‘Any more stories, Goblin?’

‘There’s a spectre that haunts Newgate Prison,’ I said. ‘Her name is Amelia and she was a prisoner in Newgate too, just like Scholler. Do you know why she was locked away?’

‘She killed a man!’

‘She ate Scholler!’

‘Much worse,’ I said. ‘Much worse. She ran an orphanage. She was paid by the local Parish to take in homeless kids. They thought she was looking after them so they paid her money to house them and clothe them and feed them, but she wasn’t doing that at all, she wasn’t. She took the money but she killed them. Killed all those kids and kept the money for herself. Some of the younger ones she put in a sack and drowned in the river. She got found out and put in jail and was executed and now she haunts the streets looking for children to kill.’

Stevie looked nervous, but Mac pretended it didn’t bother him at all. ‘She wouldn’t kill us,’ he said, poking at the fire with a stick, ‘we’d stab her with hot sticks.’

‘You can’t stab a ghost,’ said Stevie.

‘Can so,’ said Mac.

‘Can’t.’

‘You can if they take corporeal form,’ I said.

‘What’s a corprill form?’ said Stevie.

‘Flesh,’ I said, leaning over and pinching Stevie’s arm.

‘Hey!’ he said, waving his stick at me.

I backed off.

‘But you’d need a magic spell to make them flesh again.’

‘Told you,’ said Stevie.

‘I was still right, though,’ said Mac.

‘So was I.’

‘Was not.’

‘Was.’

We were at the worksite everyday. Mackenzie and Stevie and me, we were like wild things. We tore through the streets with Devil, cutting down anyone in our path, scattering the Button kids, and landing in our den. The three of us played cowboys and Indians and I told stories as darkness came. We’d collect wood and make a fire in the centre of the den. Mackenzie would go scrumping before we met and him and Stevie would sit there, stuffing their faces with apples. I’d watch the juice glisten on their fingers. The light from the fire glittered in their eyes, casting shadows across their thin faces. I’d read them The Island of Doctor Moreau , a chapter each night, and the next day we’d run round the worksite pretending to be Beast Folk chasing Prendick. Sometimes I’d tell Pigeon’s stories of London, but not the lizards. They were secret. I only told stories of the realm above. I didn’t tell Mac and Stevie about Pigeon. I never told them where I got my stories from. Some nights we’d all hunch over The Phantom , a gift from my aunt in the U.S., who would cut the strip from the newspapers, paste them together and send them to David. Pigeon had given me Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and I’d read bits out, but Stevie thought it was nonsense. Sometimes I read our favourite bits of The Time Machine or The War of the Worlds. None of us would miss our worksite meetings for anything and that summer stretched out forever.

After school I’d usually run home, pick up Devil and meet Mac and Stevie at the worksite, but Mac had to go visit some sick aunt and I wasn’t in the mood for just being with Stevie and didn’t feel like seeing Pigeon. So I went home, took Devil for a walk, and headed back again to read and listen to David’s records. When I got in, ma was in the kitchen holding a bloodied rag. She plunged it into the tub and scrubbed at it, frowning, a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

‘You okay, ma? You hurt?’

She didn’t look up, she just said, ‘What’re you doing home again?’

‘Felt like it.’

She didn’t respond.

‘You hurt yourself, ma?’

She looked up at me.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hurt myself.’

She stared right at me, still scrubbing. Her eyes were too much, so I looked away.

‘Just going upstairs,’ I said, heading for the door.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Sit down, Goblin.’

I turned back to her and she nodded to the kitchen table. I sat down and Devil jumped up on my lap.

‘What is it?’ I said, thinking over all the things I’d done the past few days, but I couldn’t think of anything that might have made her angry. Devil circled on my lap three times and flopped down, his back legs hanging over my thigh, his front legs and head dangling over the other side. I scrunched my hand into his fur, kneading at his back.

She dropped the rag into the tub, poured herself a drink and sat opposite. She lit another cigarette and stared at me. I looked down at Devil and stroked his head.

‘How old are you now?’

‘Eight,’ I said.

She nodded.

‘I didn’t want you, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘But you came and there I was stuck at home looking after a screaming goblin-runt. Nothing made you happy.’

I felt my stomach go all tight and I just kept stroking Devil, trying to concentrate on how his fur felt.

‘Ma,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a book I need to read for school.’

‘You’ll sit right there until we’re done,’ she said.

I looked up at her and she took a draw on her cigarette. She exhaled, the smoke engulfing me.

‘Women get the curse,’ she said.

I stopped stroking Devil when I heard her say ‘curse’, thinking I was going to get something more interesting than the usual. I managed to look her in the eye as I waited for more and she finally said, ‘You’ll get it too when you grow up.’

She smiled slightly, looking satisfied, and stared at me as she smoked. I couldn’t wait any longer so I said, ‘What curse?’

‘Women bleed. Every month. Their bellies ache and they bleed from between their legs. It hurts.’

‘I’ll get it too?’

‘You will.’

‘What if I’m not cursed?’

‘You will be. All women are. You’ll suffer like the rest of us.’

‘When will I get it?’

‘When you’re a woman.’

‘When’s that?’

‘I don’t know. Anytime. It could afflict you anytime.’

‘Anytime?’

‘That’s right.’

‘When were you cursed?’

‘Thirteen,’ she said. She must have seen my relieved expression as I thought how far away thirteen was and she added, ‘You might get it sooner.’