THE MONSTER CALLS

THE FOURTH TALE

THE

Even held in the monster’s huge, strong hand, Conor could feel the terror seeping into him, could feel the blackness of it all start to fill his lungs and choke them, could feel his stomach beginning to fall– “No!” he shouted, squirming some more, but the monster held him tight. “No! Please!”

The hill, the church, the graveyard were all gone, even the sun had disappeared, leaving them in the middle of a cold darkness, one that had followed Conor ever since his mother had first been hospitalized, from before that when she’d started the treatments that made her lose her hair, from before that when she’d had flu that didn’t go away until she went to a doctor and it wasn’t flu at all, from before even that when she’d started to complain about how tired she was feeling, ever since before all that, ever since forever, it felt like, the nightmare had been there, stalking him, surrounding him, cutting him off, making him alone.

It felt like he’d never been anywhere else. “Get me out of here!” he yelled. “Please!”

It is time, the monster said again, for the fourth tale.

“I don’t know any tales!” Conor said, his mind lurching with fear.

If you do not tell it, the monster said, I shall have to tell it for you. It held Conor up closer to its face. And believe me when I say, you do not want that.

“Please,” Conor said again. “I have to get back to my mum.”

But, the monster said, turning across the blackness, she is already here.

The monster set him down abruptly, almost dropping him to the earth, and Conor stumbled forward.

He recognized the cold ground under his hands, recognized the clearing he was in, bordered on three sides by a dark and impenetrable forest, recognized the fourth side, a cliff, flying off into even further blackness.

And on the cliff’s edge, his mum.

She had her back to him, but she was looking over her shoulder, smiling. She looked as weak as she had in the hospital, but she gave him a silent wave.

“Mum!” Conor yelled, feeling too heavy to stand, as he did every time the nightmare began. “You have to get out of here!”

His mum didn’t move, though she looked a little worried at what he’d said. Conor dragged himself forward, straining at the effort. “Mum, you have to run!” “I’m fine, darling,” she said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Mum, run! Please, run!” “But darling, there’s–”

She stopped and turned back to the cliff’s edge, as if she’d heard something.

“No,” Conor whispered to himself. He pulled himself forward some more, but she was too far, too far to reach in time, and he felt so heavy– There was a low sound from below the cliff. A rumbling, booming noise.

Like something big was moving down below. Something bigger than the world.

And it was climbing up the cliff face. “Conor?” his mum asked, looking back at him.

!!!!!

But Conor knew. It was too late. The real monster was coming.

“Mum!” Conor shouted, forcing himself to his feet, pushing against the invisible weight pressing down on him. “MUM!”

“Conor!” his mum shouted, backing away from the cliff’s edge. But the booming was getting louder. And louder. And louder still. “MUM!”

He knew he wouldn’t get there in time.

Because with a roar, a cloud of burning darkness lifted two giant fists over the clifftop.

They hovered in the air for a long moment, over his mum as she tried to scramble back.

But she was too weak, much too weak–

And the fists rushed down together in a violent pounce and grabbed her, pulling her over the edge of the cliff.

And at last, Conor could run. With a shout, he broke across the clearing, running so fast he nearly toppled over, and he threw himself towards her, towards her out-reaching hands as the dark fists pulled her over the edge.

And his hands caught hers.

This was the nightmare. This was the nightmare that woke him up screaming every night.

This was it happening, right now, right here.

He was on the cliff edge, bracing himself, holding onto his mother’s hands with all his strength, trying to keep her from being pulled down into the blackness, pulled down by the creature below the cliff.

Who he could see all of now.

FOURTH

The real monster, the one he was probably afraid of, the one he’d expected to see when the yew tree first showed up, the real, nightmare monster, formed of cloud and ash and dark flames, but with real muscle, real strength, real red eyes that glared back at him and flashing teeth that would eat his mother alive. I’ve seen worse, Conor had told the yew tree that first night.

And here was the worse thing.

“Help me, Conor!” his mum yelled. “Don’t let go!” “I won’t!” Conor yelled back. “I promise!”

The nightmare monster gave a roar and pulled harder, its fists straining around his mother’s body.

And she began to slip from Conor’s grasp. “No!” he called.

His mum screamed in terror. “Please, Conor! Hold on to me!”

“I will!” Conor yelled. He turned back to the yew tree, standing there, not moving. “Help me! I can’t hold on to her!”

But it just stood there, watching. “Conor!” his mum yelled.

And her hands were slipping. “Conor!” she yelled again. “Mum!” he cried, gripping tighter.

But they were slipping from his grasp, and she was getting heavier and heavier, the nightmare monster pulling harder and harder.

“I’m slipping!” his mum yelled.

“NO!” he cried.

He fell forward onto his chest from the weight of her and the nightmare’s fists pulling on

She screamed again.

And again.

And she was so heavy, impossibly so.

“Please,” Conor whispered to himself. “Please.”

And here, he heard the yew tree say behind him, is the fourth tale.

“Shut up!” Conor shouted. “Help me!” Here is the truth of Conor O’Malley. And his mother was screaming.

And she was slipping.

It was so hard to hold on to her.

It is now or never, the yew tree said. You must speak the truth.

“No!” Conor said, his voice breaking.

You must.

“No!” Conor said again, looking down into his mother’s face– As the truth came all of a

sudden–

As the nightmare reached its most perfect moment– “No!” Conor screamed one more time– And his mother fell.

TALE