The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean: Telt by Himself

  “A visita,” says Mam.

  “A visita to byutiful Blinkbonny?”

  Mam says nothing nor do I.

  “Look this way lad,” says the treshur hunter. “Let me hav a propa look at you.”

  He steps closer.

  “A fine lad” he says. “Looks like youll make a fine yung soljer 1 day.”

  He steps closer.

  “Thers sumthin sumhow rather straynjely familyar abowt you,” he says.

  “Ignor him,” wispers Mam, “& hell go away.”

  I don’t moov.

  “I dont see the lykness of sumbody in you do I?” says the treshur seeker. “Do I?”

  “Keep still,” hisses Mam.

  Then we hear crunch tap tap & we arl turn rownd. Missus Malone. The sun is fallin down behynd her & shes a silowet. She stands on the rubbl restin on her stik ded stil just lyk shes mayd of stoan.

  “What you after?” she snaps at the treshur hunter.

  “Nothin” he ansers.

  “Yeve got what ye want then. Now its tym to bugga off.”

  He mutters sumthin soft & low. He trys to stand ther & to glare bak at her but soon he looks away.

  “I said bluddy bugga off!” says Missus Malone.

  “OK. OK.”

  “Bugga off or Ill bring the butcher to you.”

  He gives a last isy stare at me & then heds off across the rubbl scraypin his detacta befor him.

  “Good ridince” says Missus Malone. “Take no notis of wons lyk him William. Ther the scum of the bluddy erth.”

  “I wont Missus Malone.”

  “Good.”

  She points to the grownd.

  “A fether William” she says.

  I pik it up & put it in the bag. Missus Malone laffs & shayks her hed.

  “Iyv always bene astonishd by the things folk do to fil ther lives. What do you think wud happen if we didnt do it?”

  “Do what?” says Mam.

  “Eny of it. If we didnt pik things owt of the dirt & didnt wark on it & ther was no treshur hunters scraypin it. How do ye think it wud turn owt?”

  “I dont know, Missus Malone.”

  “You dont do you? Some folk dont think abowt things lyk that do they? It wud turn to a wildanes wudnt it?”

  “Yes, Missus Malone.”

  “Yes, Missus Malone. You havent got a cluw have you? But Im telling you it wud. A bluddy massiv wild bluddy wildaness with bluddy massiv grate big plants growin wild & bluddy grate big beests roamin arownd in freedom. Wudnt it?”

  “Yes, Missus Malone.”

  “Yes, Missus Malone! Exacly. And itd be even bluddy massiver & wilder if ther wer non of us here at arl. If we wer all dead & gon & turnd to gosts. Gosts don’t do no damaj do they? So mebbe the world wud be beter off withowt us. What de ye think, Veronica? De ye think we shud arl just bluddy get it over with & leev it to the creepy crarlies & the plants & beests? Mebbe thats the long term plan thats at the heart of it arl. Mebbe thats how it was always intended to turn owt. Mebbe thats wat all the bluddy wars ar for. To get us blasted off the fase of the world for eva bluddy mor. Bang bang bluddy bang kabluddybangbangboom! Arl gon. Arl floatin arownd in the bluddy afterlife. Ha! Look, William! Thers a bit of Jesus brain slitherin abowt! Catch it qwik!”

  I look down & thers a long thin worm rigglin over a stoan. It slips into a little hole.

  “Too late!” she says. “And another bit!”

  A shiny blak beetl scrabbls acros the plase it left. And arownd the beetl thers ants & ants & ants. And arownd the ants thers tinyer creepy crarly things & tiny plants & plants & plants.

  “A wilderness” says Missus Malone. “With things that crarl & slither & slyd on it. And driftin gosts that never do harm to nothing & to nobody. It wud reely be qite lovely & qite byutiful & wonderful & all the mor wonderful for the fact that therd be non of us arownd to bluddy wark on it.”

  She kicks a stoan.

  “Ah well” she says. “Won can but dreame. Id like you to come with me now William.”

  I just stare at her & so dos Mam.

  “It is time to introduce you to my parlor & to the planshet & to show you the doreways to the afterlife.”

  She taps her stik on the erth.

  “Come along,” she says. “And Veronica stop looking so bluddy trubld. You wil be able to carry that dust & rubbl & rubbish bak home wont you.”

  “Yes Missus Malone,” says Mam.

  “Exelent. I will bring him home tonite. Off you go.”

  And Im led away crunch crunch tap tap.

  Missus Malones dore. Thers wooden bords nayld at the windos. Thers a blak dore & a silva nocka & a wite sine with thees words printed on it.

  She opens a number of locks with a number of keys. She leads me in. Its dark in ther. She switches littl lamps on as she gose deeper. She takes me throu a narro hallway. Tap tap gose her stik tap tap.

  She takes me to a littl room. Thers curtans arl arownd it & just darknes past the curtans. Thers a smarl round tabl at the center shiny & polishd with a numba of chares rownd it.

  She sits down with a siy & rubs her hip & flinches.

  “Oooo” she goes. “Aaaaah.”

  She stryks a match & lites a lamp that hangs down from the seelin ova the senter of the taybl. It hisses as it starts to burn. I see that arl arownd the edjes of the taybl thers letters writ in gold.

  “Sit down William” she says. “Make yorself at home.”

  I perch on a chare at the taybls edj.

  “You ar at the gateway to the aftrelife,” she says. “To go threw it you must no yor leters. What is this for instans?”

  She poynts to a particular leter.

  “A” I anser.

  “And this?”

  I do not no & canot anser. She wayts.

  “X” I gess.

  “No! It is K! Yes it looks a bit the saym but it is K! What is it?”

  “K.”

  “Corect at last. Maybe you shud just stik to the letters that you do no. Then we wil understand how far we hav to go.”

  I point them owt & speke them.

  “Wel it cud be wors,” she says.

  She points to the words that ar laid into the tabl.

  “Do you no what this says?” she says.

  “It says Yes.”

  “Aha! Exelent. And this?”

  “It says No.”

  “Well well well. And this?”

  I cannot anser.

  “It says Goodbye, William. It is the word that the spirit tuches wen it leeves.”

  I tuch the word & feel the shining letters that create it. I trays the shayp of them.

  “Thats rite,” she says. “Thats the way to lern. Speak the letters as you tuch them, William. G-O-O-D-B . . .”

  I ecko the sownds she makes. I ecko the final word Goodbye.

  “Thats good,” she says. “Some of your fathers intellijens must hav come into you. Spell it agen. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye. Will he come bak agen Missus Malone?”

  She frowns. She says she dusnt understand. Then she nos Im tarking of my father.

  “Him? Who nos what he will do. Who nos if hes living or if hes . . .”

  She hesitayts. She trayses the leters on the taybl agen. The lamp hisses abuv our heds.

  “Is he dead?” I ask.

  She siys.

  “Thers no way of nowing that, William.”

  Then she rayses her eyes from the leters on the taybl.

  “If he is dead William, maybe he wil come to us here. Maybe he wil speak to us here in this parlor. Maybe you wil fynd him wayting for you when you step throu the doreways to the afterlife.”

  I gayz at her throu the lamplite. I dont realy no what shes on abowt. But I reach owt wons mor to the leters & trays ther shayps & speak ther sownds. I trays the words & speak ther nayms.

  “Thats rite,” she says. “Lern yor leters, William. Maybe thats the way to fynd yor dad.”

  We practis & practis agen.

  I speak the leters. I
get them rite I get them rong. Soon I get mor rite than rong.

  “Good boy William” she wispers. “Clever boy.”

  We do this for an aje & then we rest. She gives me a glas of cool warter that is so welcom as I swig it down. Then she reeches into a draw within the taybl.

  “This,” she tells me, “is The Misteryos Planshet.”

  She puts it on the taybl.

  “It is as you see, shaypd rather lyk a bote.”

  She smyls.

  “Tho you hardly no wat a bote is,” she says.

  “I do” I tel her.

  “You do?”

  “I saw them in the picturs of the iland on the warl.”

  “Exelent! Then youl recognyz that this planshet has a pointed prow like a bote & a smooth curvd belly like the keel of a bote. You see how the tabl is polishd so it is nerly like water, William?”

  Shes rite. Its so like water it seems that I cud dip my finger in. So I tuch the tabl top & of cors its not water at arl & my finger cant enter it.

  “The planshet,” says Missus Malone, “rests upon the taybl as a bote wud rest upon the sea. And it wil moov across the taybl lyk a bote wil moov across the sea. Or it wil if the proper folk are tuchin it. Do you get my jist, William?”

  I say nothing as I dont no.

  “What moovs a bote across the sea, William?”

  I say nothin as I dont no.

  “It is the air,” she says. “The air, that we cannot see. And what wil moov the Misteryos Planshet?”

  She wates. No anser. How can she think I mite no that?

  “OK. It is the dead, William, that we also cannot see. I wud ask you do you understand but of cors you cannot possibly understand. So just put your finger jently on the planshet along with myn.”

  I put my finger on the planshet.

  “Just let yor fingertip rest ther lyk I do” she says. “Do not press too hard. We wil see what happens. We wil see if the planshet is corsed to moov.”

  She closes her eyes. She wates a moment then she speaks.

  “Is ther enybody ther?” she says.

  She wates. I wotch her.

  “Is ther enybody ther,” she says agen like shes groanin or like shes ill or sumthin like shes just desprat to get an anser.

  “Just me, Missus M —”

  “Not you!” she says. She opens 1 eye. “Not you, William. Just kepe qwiet & wate. Is enybody ther? Speke to us if you ar ther.”

  Nothin happens thers no ansers.

  She speaks agen. We kepe on waytin.

  I close my eyes & fele slepe risin in me lyk a darknes. I wunder what she means by the afterlife. I wunder what she means when she says that the dead mite come to us. But tho I feel as if Im sleeping & tho my eyes ar closed Im also all alert. I lissen to the hissy silens & I look into the sleepy dark.

  “Now you must ask the qestion” says Missus Malone. “Go on. The spirits wil direct you.”

  I open my eyes & look into the empty room.

  “Do it” she says. “The dead ar wayting for you.”

  “What qwestion?” I ask.

  “What qwestion? The qwestion Iyv bene askin. The qwestion is ther enybody ther.”

  “I-is ther enybody ther?” I wisper.

  “Say it lyk you mean it, William!”

  “Is ther enybody th-ther?”

  I dont no what mite happen. I dont no how to feel. But suddnly the planshet slips forwad a bit.

  Missus Malone gasps.

  “Who is it?” says Missus Malone.

  Nothing happens.

  “Be still, William,” she says. “Keep yor finger resting on the planshet. Be very silent & be prepard.” She pawses then speaks softly agen. “Whos ther? Cum forward. Do not be shy. Speak to us. Whos ther?”

  The planshet slips a littl bit mor. I look down at it & Missus Malone watches me throu 1 eye agen.

  “This spirit is like you,” she softly says. “It has been in darknes & it is now comin owt to us. It is tenda & shy must be cared for & gided. Be jentl with it, William.”

  She speaks into the air.

  “Speak” she says. “Ther is a boy here named William Dean who wil hear & understand. Speke to him now. Tuch the leters with the planshet.”

  The planshet roks & slyds forward agen. It puls my fingatip with it. It starts to poynt at letters.

  “B,” says Missus Malone. It moovs a bit faster. “H,” she says. “G. L. E. Slow down. Carm down. Tayk time. Yor maykin no sens. Giv us yor name. Moov the planshet sensibly. Make sum words or speke sum words throu William Dean. Lissen for a voys William. It may be abowt to enter you.”

  I dont no what Im lissenin for but I suddnly wunder do I fele a breth on me. Do I here the beginning of a wisper lyk thers sumwon at the side of me or even in my braen itself? Do I feel the tuch of a hand on my arm? Do I —”

  “Cum to us!” says Missus Malone. “Cum noooow!”

  Her voys is gettin deepa & mor groany & her fase is startin to redden & to swet.

  “Who is ther? Be braaaave. Just cum to us!”

  I look to the syd of me. Just empty air just Missus Malone with her eyes shut & her fase turnd upwads just nothing but stil a feelin of a thing thats clows besyd me. Stil a kind of breth a kind of wisper.

  “Whos ther?” I gasp.

  Suddenly thers a bangin & a hammerin. Suddenly my names yelld owt.

  “Billy! Billyyyy!”

  Missus Malone jumps. The wispers & the breethin stop & the planshet turns over & is ded stil.

  “Ar you ther?” carls the voys.

  Missus Malone glares into the hissing lyt.

  “What the hell is that 1 doin here?”

  “Its my mam,” I wisper.

  “I no its yor bluddy mam! Whats she after?”

  “Billy Billy!” yells Mam. “Missus Malone!”

  “Mam!” I carl. “Mam!”

  Missus Malone reeches across the taybl. She holds my arm.

  “You hav the gift,” she says. “I new you wud. When you spoke the words I felt the grate exitement startin in the spirit world. Ther ar lejons of the dead here in Blinkbonny. They hav bene wayting for you.”

  “Billy! Billy!”

  Missus Malone holds me tite. She pulls me to her.

  “And lissen Billy. Maybe yor dad is ther with the lejons of the dead. Maybe this is wer youl find him.”

  I stare bak at her. Mam carls and carls from owtside.

  “And you wil also fynd my dorter” says Missus Malone. “You wil fynd her in the darknes you wil bring her to me. Do you understand? Say yes, Missus Malone. Say it!”

  “Yes, Missus Malone.”

  “Yes! Yes! You Billy Dean. You ar the 1 the dead & the bereevd hav been wayting for. You ar the 1 that wil bring us bak together.”

  “Billy! Billy!”

  “Hear how she is like a childe,” says Missus Malone. “Like a littl lost childe thats carlin in the dusk? Can you here that, William?”

  I just say yes to get myself free of her.

  “Remember that. She wil love you & you wil love her wich is how things shud be. But you must also be abowt yor work William Dean. It is what you wer saved for. It is what I protected you for. You are hers yes. But you belong to me, William Dean. And to the dead & the bereaved, who hav wayted for you.”

  She smyls.

  “The dead no you, William Dean. They no you could easily hav been 1 of them at the moment of yor birth. And they no that yor mother & yor father told the world that you wer dead. The boy dos not exist ther is no boy the boy is dead that was the tayl.”

  She smyls agen.

  “So life & death becum confyused. Ther is no truth to either of them. They flow into each other. Is yor father dead? Perhaps he is. Is he aliyv? Perhaps he is. Maybe he wil come to you here in my parlor. Maybe he wil step owt of the Blinkbonny shadows and tayk you by the throte. Its what he wanted from the very start. We wil look after you, William, but keep yor eyes peeld. Keep yor wits abowt you.”

  “Billy! Billy!”

  “Cu
min dear!”

  Missus Malone goes to the door. She unlocks it with the keys. Its pitchblak owtside. Mams all in tears. She grabs me in her arms & hugs me to her tite so tite & then she gasps.

  “O Missus Malone!” she says. “Forgiv me. The darkness came & I was suddenly so scared Id lost him!”

  “Ther is nothin to forgiv my dear Veronica. And tho ther is nothing to be scared of yor feres ar only nachral. He has dun very wel & I am very pleesd with him.”

  Mam siys to hear such words abowt her boy.

  “I wil reqire him agen in 5 days tym,” says Missus Malone. “A groop of the bereaved ar coming. You may bring him in the aftanoon so that I can get him prepard.”

  I feel Mam catch her breth in dred.

  “Say yes, Missus Malone” says Missus Malone.

  “Yes, Missus Malone,” says Mam.

  “Good. Now go bak home in peese.”

  I still hav the scarf. The purpl scarf with blak frinjes on it that he left with me. I feel the smoothness of it with my fingers. I wer it arownd my nek. I hold it to my fase. The memry of him rises from it from the aynshent far off smels of insens & wisky & aftershayv & candls & blak sigarets.

  Im wering it 1 peesful nite when the moon shines in on us & bayths us both in silver. Mam sings a moony tune. Leans bak & harf closes her eyes. I tuch the scarf & I fele his presens rising in the room arownd us lyk a dream.

  “What you thinkin, Mam,” I wisper.

  She smyls.

  “Just ordinry aynshent stuff. Seein Blinkbonny as it was. Seein the grate stone bildin our lovely church. The poynted windos the steepl the cross. Such a splendid plays here in old Blinkbonny.”

  She shayks her hed.

  “And Im seein him as wel. Him in arl his finery maykin his sines & sayin his prares & givin his blessins & doin the work of God. And all the folk in ther neelin & chantin & singin & thinking hes so bliddy wonderful.”

  I say nothin. I pick a bit of wite wing from the tabl & hold it in my hands & keep my eyes turnd down to it. I rap the scarf closer rownd my throte.

  “And Im seein him the first time I ever met him properly. The first time I smelt his skin & seen his eyes & felt his tuch.”

  She shudders & then gose on.

  I keep my hed down & I tuch the peese of wing & I lissen & her voys givs mor of Dad just like the erth givs mor of Jesus & his aynjel.

  I was hardly mor than a lass. But I was owt in the world and prowd of it. Id left Eden House behynd & I had this littl plays of my own at the top of Blinkbonny Row. I was workin at the work Id wanted ever sins I was a littl girl. A hairdresser. Id been a traynee at Gabriellis for over a year. And Mr Gabrielli liked me & trusted me & said I had the tuch. He said the customers wer drawn to me. He told me Id go very far.