I’ve been wanting to get into creative writing lately, so this week I decided to finally bring a concept to life that’s been sitting in my mind for a while. This is my first real attempt at a short story, and the first time I’m sharing one publicly. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
1
The schoolboy hid under his bed. He pushed himself back into the corner as far as he could, deep within the shadow. The dark made him feel safe, secure. It was far away from the light. Far away from Him. He curled up into a ball in the corner as he listened to His footsteps, counting them as He climbed the stairs. His pace was slow and deliberate. He was taunting the boy. They both knew how this would end.
Still, the boy held onto that small moment. That moment he could control. The moment he felt safe. Because he knew when the sound of His footsteps would change. He knew that was the moment before the light would be partially obscured by a shadow. He knew that would be when His hand started reaching under the bed, toward that dark corner where the schoolboy hid.
Seventeen steps… eighteen… nineteen… Then the sound changed. This was it. The hand grabbed at his leg, but the schoolboy wriggled out of the way. He wanted to drag the schoolboy into the light. Where He could see him. Where He could…
“Hey!”
The schoolboy could have sworn he heard a voice echoing around the shadow. Somehow it had come from deeper within the darkness. The boy squirmed and kicked, delaying the Inevitable as the hand grabbed at him again.
“Over here!”, the voice echoed again.
The boy turned to face the corner and somehow he could see more darkness. An Abyss so dark it stood out within the shadow he used as shelter. And deep within the Abyss were two piercingly dark eyes staring back at him.
“Monster!”, the boy shouted back at those dark eyes, his own wide with fear.
“So?”, came the reply, “Do you want Him to pull you back into the light? Back where He can see you? Back were He can…”
The monster need say no more. As terrifying as those eyes were in the Abyss, the hand reaching from the light horrified him even more. Perhaps this once, the boy could escape the Inevitable.
The schoolboy crawled further away from Him and toward the monster’s eyes. The darkness felt warm as it consumed him, strangely comforting. Like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s day. He kept crawling, the warmth pulling him in. Then, he fell.
2
As the boy fell, the darkness around him swirled, thickening into shadow. Then into fog. Then into water.
He landed with a splash.
Dazed, he sat up and took in his surroundings. As far as the eye can see there was water green with moss and soft brown mud. Here and there rocks jutted out of the water and the mud. The dark of the sky obscured old trees, bent and grey as they tried to find light within the Abyss.
The boy’s eyes settled on those dark piercing eyes he followed down her. They belonged to a small sheep dog, with shaggy grey and white hair. The creature seemed familiar to him, not like a monster at all. But the boy knew what normally hid under the bed.
“Finally! You took your time,” said the shaggy dog-monster, shaking out his damp fur. “Name’s Sprocket!”
The boy pulled himself up, and made a vain attempt to wipe away the water and the mud from his clothes. He took another look around before he responded to the dog-monster.
“Is this where the monsters live?”, he asked.
“Don’t be silly,” came Sprocket’s response, “There are no monsters here.”
“But… I’m a monster,” said the boy.
Sprocket’s ears flattened, and his tail stiffened. “Now why would you go and say a foolish thing like that?”
“Well… I hide under the bed,” responded the boy, “That’s what monsters do.”
Sprocket bounded from rock to rock, splashing through puddles, shouting, “Fool! Idiot! He thinks he’s a monster!” He spun mid-leap, landing with a dramatic shake of his head before staring the boy down.
“Follow me,” he said, “you should meet my friends”.
3
Sprocket bounded ahead, effortlessly leaping from rock to rock. The boy tried to follow, but his legs were too short, his jumps too clumsy. His foot slipped.
Splash!
Cold water seeped into his clothes, mud clung to his arms. He scrambled back onto the rocks, only to slip again. By the time they reached a large stone with a table set upon it, he was unrecognisable beneath layers of moss and muck.
Upon the table there were several cups, empty except for a tea bag. A large kettle in the center had just finished boiling.
A gopher with limbs far too long for his body tilted a kettle, steam curling into the damp air. The scent of bergamot filled the boy’s nose, rich and familiar.
Earl Grey.
“That one pouring the tea is Gordon,” said Sprocket, “he’s a gopher.”
The boy said nothing, just taking in this strange sight.
“Come on,” said Sprocket again, “It’s time for tea!”
He followed the dog and they took a seat at the table.
“Welcome friends!, said a small grey dog with black ears and a bright red nose.
“That’s Sooty,” whispered Sprocket.
A small brown rat sat across the table from the boy extended his front right paw, “I’m Roland,” he said, “And you are?”
The boy gripped the rat’s paw hesitantly. “I’m… the monster.”
Roland twitched his nose and flicked his tail angrily. “Monster?” he said, “There are no monsters here!”
“Sorry,” said the boy.
“Look,” said the rat as the long-armed gopher handed him a steaming cup of earl grey tea, “Many people don’t like rats. We’re not popular, especially when we go into the light. Because of that we tend to hide in the shadows. But even that doesn’t make us monsters.”
“Pablo’s here!” Sooty shouted, bouncing in his seat. “Finally, we can begin!”
Gordon placed a cup in front of the boy. The warmth seeped into his fingers, and for a brief moment, the scent of tea carried him back to a winter’s day, wrapped in blankets, safe from the frost.
Then, with a whoosh, a dog soared through the air, landing lightly atop the rock. Gordon wordlessly placed a cup before him.
“Let’s begin,” said the flying dog.
The table erupted. Voices overlapped. Cups clinked. Steam rose.
4
The boy tried to follow along the conversation at the table, but the words slipped past him like leaves caught in a current.
“I was born with these long arms, you see…”
“Oh, once you get used to hiding, you find some cosy places…”
Voices overlapped, cups clinked, kettles whistled. He could barely grasp one thought before another washed over him.
Suddenly, a deep, exaggerated cough cut through the noise.
The table fell silent. Cups paused mid-air, tails twitched, ears perked. All eyes turned toward the flying dog.
Pablo cleared his throat. “How rude of you all,” he said, shaking his head. “We have a guest today!”
The table fell silent except for a few mutterings of “sorry” and “excuse me.”
“Sorry about that,” Pablo said, “please, introduce yourself.”
“I’m…” the boy started, “the monster?”
Pablo’s ears perked up when he heard this. “Monster? Monster?” he said looking to and fro as if searching for something. “There are no monsters here!”
The the table erupted into chants of “No monsters here! No monsters here!”
The boy shrank in his seat. His fingers clutched the teacup, but his hands shook. The chant grew louder. It filled the air, bouncing between the rocks, wrapping around him like a net.
“No monsters here! No monsters here!”
He wanted to protest. He wanted to run. Instead, he curled into himself, willing the noise to stop.
After a few moments of this Pablo raised a paw and the table fell silent again. “Tell me, boy,” he said, “Why would you say such a foolish and awful thing about yourself?”
“Because…” said the boy, “I hide in the dark.”
“And?” said Pablo, “Only those who are scared of monsters hide in the dark. The true monster walks in the light because They are unafraid.”
“What are you hiding from, anyway?” asked Roland.
“Punishment,” the boy said.
“Punishment?” Roland’s nose twitched. “For what?”
The boy opened his mouth. Closed it.
What had he done?
He squeezed his eyes shut, searching his memory. He must have done something. Something awful. Something unforgivable. But no matter how hard he tried…
“I… I don’t remember.”
“He is the monster,” said Pablo, “He lives in the light and forces you into the dark. It’s what monsters do.”
“Could I stay here?” asked the boy.
“You can,” said Pablo, “but time stands still here. You will have to go back eventually. Back to the light. Back to Him. Back to the Inevitable.”
At these words the boy began to cry. Gordon placed his hand on the boy’s and said, “there, there.”
“There is a way to defeat the monster,” Pablo said, “though it is difficult.”
“H-how?” asked the boy, as he choked through sobs.
“Do not wince when the Inevitable comes,” said Pablo, “Show no pain. Show no fear and He will leave you alone. Monsters like Him feed on fear.”
“But,” said the boy, “but I am afraid.”
“That’s okay, you can be.” said Pablo, “Just don’t show Him that.”
“Come on,” said Sprocket tugging at the boy’s shirt, “It’s time to go back to the Inevitable.”
The boy reluctantly stepped down from his chair and followed the shaggy sheep dog. As he left the table the rest of the animals waved him goodbye before returning to their clinking and chattering.
Sprocket and the boy remained silent as they walked through the swamp. The shaggy dog was calm this time, no longer leaping and bounding from rock to rock. They walked somberly through the shallow water and the mud.
Eventually Sprocket stopped. “This is it, ” he said, and turned to face the boy. “Goodbye.”
Before he can say anything the boy felt himself being lifted from the swamp. The water turned into fog. Then into shadow. Finally into darkness.
5
The schoolboy awoke in the dark.
No. Not the Abyss. Not the tea table. Not the gopher’s long arms or the warmth of earl grey.
The dark under the bed.
And He was still there.
His hand was still there. Reaching. Grasping.
Fingers like iron wrapped around his ankle, and the boy barely had time to twist his head before he was ripped from the shadows. His arms scraped against the carpet. His breath caught in his throat.
And then…
The light.
Where He could see him. Where He could…
The Inevitable.
The fear burned inside him. The pain screamed. Every muscle in his body wanted to recoil, to cry out, to curl into itself like paper touched by flame.
But he held still.
He showed no fear.
He did not wince.
The next time He threatened punishment the schoolboy didn’t even run. He didn’t want to be forced into the darkness again. But He still…
The Inevitable. Again.
But the boy held still, again.
He showed no fear, again.
He did not wince.
After this He got bored. He never punished the schoolboy again. He tried other ways to be… Inevitable.
But the boy held still.
He showed no fear.
He did not wince.
And eventually, He went away.
Photo by Andrea Piattino on Unsplash
