Creature of the Night (13 page)

The first thing I did when I got into the house was get
out of my wet clothes, and then I took two Solpadine
and went to bed. After an hour or two I got up and made
myself some sausages and beans. The dog had eaten
most of the biscuits on the floor and was lying under the
table with a big bloated gut. I picked up the bag and
what was left in it and put it on top of the fridge.

I made tea and decided to play on my Xbox. I was
looking for something new to play but when I was going
through the bag with the games in it I came across two
DVDs that Mick gave me a few weeks back. They were
copies of something and there was nothing written on
them. All he said when he gave them to me was 'You'll
enjoy them. Make sure your ma doesn't get her hands on
them.'

I had no idea what they were, but knowing Mick
they were probably hard porn or snuff movies or something.
And I might not get a better chance to look at
them for months. I was going back downstairs
with them when I remembered about the cable for the
DVD. I swore, and thought of biking up to Dooleys' to
see if PJ had got one for it. But then I remembered what
he said when he was taking my bike out of the back of
his car.

'What's that mattress doing there?'

It was still draped over the turf barrow, even wetter
now than it was when my ma first washed it.

'It got wet,' I told him. 'My ma's getting you a new
one.'

He shook his head as if his team had just scored an
own goal.

'She'd better,' he said. 'She'd better.' And he
sounded like he meant it. He sounded like a man with a
violent temper, just waiting to erupt.

So I didn't feel like going and asking him for anything.
The time wasn't right. I tried to remember what
my ma had said. There was somewhere in the house it
might be. Where was it? Under the stairs, that was
it. Except all the Swedish bloke's junk was piled in on
top of it.

I didn't mind. My legs were still shaky but there was
nothing wrong with my arms. I opened the door and
began to haul the stuff out. There were bags of clothes
at the top, jammed in so tight that some of them split
when I pulled them out and shoes and boxer shorts
spilled out. Underneath them there was two boxes, a
plastic one and a wooden one with a lid. I opened the
wooden one but there was only paints and brushes and
chalks and stuff. Under that there was a computer and a
printer and a big old heavy monitor, all of them
practically antiques. And under that was a stack of
banana boxes, all crammed full of books.

How could anybody have so many books? You
couldn't read that many books in twenty years. Maybe
he was selling them or something. The second-hand
bookshops in Dublin would give you a few euros for
them, but books weren't worth robbing. Not unless they
were really special ones.

One time Beetle set up an ebay account using his
da's credit card and bank account details. Me and the
others used go over there and search through millions of
things on ebay, looking to see what made the most
money. Fluke found a book on there that went for twelve
hundred pounds. Pounds, not euros. And some musical
instruments made a packet, old guitars and violins. And
anything to do with boats and sailing. Mick copied
pictures and pretended we were selling things. People
sent him questions about them and we had to make up
the answers. But we got caught before we got paid for
anything and Mick's da went mental. I think he did
something to Mick that time. I think Mick was worse
after that.

I dragged out the banana boxes. One of them split
and all the books fell out. I climbed in over them and
hunted around for the DVD cable. There was that kind
of junk in there all right, on three thin shelves at the
back. A lamp with a hole burned in the shade. A box of
those old plugs with round pins, absolutely no use to
anybody any more. Under the bottom shelf was a load
of tangled electrical wire and extension cords and stuff,
but no DVD lead. I was just throwing them all back
when I spotted the edge of something sticking out of a
hole in the wall. It was a plastic bag. I got down on my
knees and pulled it out. There was something in it, a
book or something.

The whole of the kitchen floor was covered with
stuff. I picked my way through it and sat down on a
chair and opened the plastic bag. The book inside it was
a kind of diary, but it didn't say diary on it or anything.
It had a picture of a bird on the front, all different
colours. It came open at a page that had something stuck
in it with sellotape. A bunch of hairs. They were kind of
black with grey in them, or grey with black in them.
There was six or eight of them, stuck to the top of the
page and dangling down. They were longer than mine
but shorter than my ma's. Beside them there was a
bubble with an arrow pointing to them, and inside
the bubble there were words, but I couldn't read any of
them except DOG FLAP.

I shifted around so the book was directly under the
light. We always had it turned on in there because
the window was too small to let in enough daylight.
Under the bubble was a picture of the dog flap with a
little bunch of hairs stuck in one corner, and under that
was a kind of close-up of the dog flap with a little face
looking in and its hair caught in the hinge. The face was
all sharp – sharp nose and a sharp chin and sharp ears –
and it was old and wrinkled. The eyes were just two
empty black holes. I knew it was only a drawing but it
scared the shite out of me.

I looked out the window. It was still light but it
wouldn't be for long. I looked at the dog flap hanging on
its hinges. I thought about Dennis and his night-time
games. I wished my ma was home.

I looked back at the book. There were more words
around the cartoon drawings and when I tried to make
them out I realized why I couldn't. They weren't in English
at all, but some other language. Must have been
Swedish. I turned over the page. There was only writing
on it and I turned again. There was another drawing, of
a badger disappearing through the hedge, just like I'd
seen it. In his drawing it had a big fat behind and its back
legs were scrabbling and throwing up stones. He was
good at drawing.

On the next page was another badger, and a rabbit
sitting up on its heels, and a black bird. Underneath and
in between was more writing, and I was about to turn
over again when I seen a few lines written in English.
They said:

It is well established in all the folk tales that the
fairies had the ability to change their shape. Ravens,
hares and badgers appear to be the most common forms.

There was more in Swedish, and then another bit in
English.

The Tuatha de Danaan were defeated and banished
to live beneath the ground.

I turned over. There was another picture, of a
wooden door in the side of a hill, and lines coming out
of it like it was shining. And more in English.

The fairy folk were known as the 'sidhe', which
means, literally, a hill. Hence the hill people, or the
people who lived under the hill.

There were more bits in English like that on other
pages, but I kept turning and looking for more pictures.
There was one of the fairy fort where Coley took me, the
one behind our house with the hole in it. And a couple
of pages further on there was another one of a badger,
and then the dog flap again, with the little green bowl in
front of it, coloured in.

I shut the book and pushed it away. The man was
a head-banger. As bad as Dennis. You couldn't have
people who turned into badgers. Then I had a sudden
idea and opened the diary again, to the page with the
hairs on it. Maybe that was the mix-up. Maybe it was
just a badger that came in through the dog flap at night,
looking for milk.

I looked closely at the little bunch of hairs. Could
they have come off a badger? I didn't know what badger
hair looked like. These were certainly the right kind of
colour. But when I fingered them I wasn't sure. They
were fine and silky, like Dennis's. They had the feel of
human hair to me.

I wrapped the diary up in its bag again and shoved it
back into the hole in the wall. Then I pushed the banana
boxes back in, and stuck the broken one on top of the
others and began to pick up the books that had fallen
out of it.
Irish Myths and Legends. Gods and Fighting
Men. Fairy Tales. Animal Stories
. They all had those little
coloured page-markers that the girls use in school. I
opened one at a marked page and there was a paragraph
gone over with a green highlighter but I didn't read it. I'd
already seen too much.

I jammed everything back under the stairs and
wedged the door shut with Dennis's Bart Simpson toothbrush.
It was beginning to get dark. The window was
blue, like there was water behind it. I locked the back
door and looked at the dog flap. I wanted to shove
something up against it, but what would I do with the
dog, then? I thought of leaving it outside but I didn't
know what would happen if I did. It might die or
something.

I went in and turned on the TV, but I couldn't
follow anything. I was too busy listening for noises at
the back door. I wished I'd got on the bus. I could be in
Dublin now, instead of sitting here like an eejit, scared
out of my wits.

I'd had enough of this place with its fairies and
badgers and tractors and big, hefty country men. I
wanted to go home. I wanted to get Fluke and Beetle
back into shape and working with me again. And if they
weren't into doing that any more I'd just have to find
some other lads who were. I knew loads of fellas in the
flats. I just never bothered hanging round with them. I
never needed to. But it wouldn't be hard to find lads and
show them where the action was. I knew how to get keys
for cars, and I knew how to drive them and where to go.
I knew where that house was in Coolock and I had the
password.

But I needed somewhere to live up there, that was
the problem. I remembered the strange woman who had
opened my ma's door. That was scary. I needed my own
place. But that would cost money.

Something cracked somewhere in the house. I held
my breath and crept to the kitchen door, listened for a
minute, then opened it. The dog wagged its tail. I let out
my breath. I couldn't go on like this all night. I wouldn't
be able to sleep a wink.

That was when the idea came to me. I felt like a
right eejit, but I did it anyway. I took out the little green
bowl and filled it with milk, unlocked the back door and
left it out on the window ledge. I was half laughing at
myself, but it made me feel better. And then I had
another thought. I had an old tobacco tin upstairs where
I kept my stash when I had one. I ran up and got it and
emptied the skins and bits of cardboard out of it, then
brought it down and put three of the Roses inside it. I
left it out beside the green bowl on the window ledge. It
was a little test for my friend, the badger. It might be able
to stand up and drink milk out of a bowl, but there was
no way an animal would get the lid off that tin.

Fuddy bear woke me once during the night and the hairs
stood up on the back of my neck when I went across the
kitchen floor. But the rest of the night I slept like a log.
If the dog went out I never heard it. And when I woke,
early in the morning, I found I had a new plan fully
formed in my head.

I wouldn't go to Dublin that weekend. There was
no point when I only had a fiver and nowhere to go. I
would keep my bus ticket and wait until I had some
more cash. I would work for PJ and if I was lucky he
might give me a tenner a day. Maybe not every day.
Maybe thirty a week. And my ma would give me another
twenty, and maybe I could squeeze her for a bit more.
If I gave up the fags, or just smoked hers, I could save
what I had until I got enough to get myself a room somewhere.
I could do that. I knew I could. And once I was
in Dublin I'd survive. If I didn't have to share what I
robbed with Fluke and the others I could live like a king.

I ran down and into the shower, then I dressed
myself in clean clothes from head to foot. In my room I
had a pair of designer hiking boots that I took off a lad
who strayed too far out of his own part of town. I'd been
saving them for best, but I put them on now. It was time
to make a good impression, and they were Gore-Tex, so
they would keep my feet dry and all.

I bolted down my breakfast and burned my mouth
with the tea. I was in such a rush to get to work early
that I almost forgot about the green bowl and the tin,
but I remembered when I was going out the gate and I
dropped the bike to go and look.

The milk was gone but the tin was still where I left
it, up against the corner of the window frame. I knew I
was right and I reached out and picked up the tin to
prove it to myself. But the tin was as light as air, and
nothing rattled inside it.

I looked in to make sure. Someone or something
had opened it, taken out the chocolates and put it carefully
back again.

It wasn't a badger that done that.

PJ was having his breakfast when I landed up at the
house. When he opened the door he had egg yolk on the
side of his mouth, but I didn't laugh.

'I didn't expect to see you today,' he said.

'Why not?' I said.

'You said you had the flu.'

'It's gone,' I said. 'It can't have been the flu after all.'

He looked me up and down and seen the clean
clothes.

'You'd better come in,' he said.

I followed him into the kitchen and sat on the chair
beside the range.

'Coley and myself are both working again today,'
he said. 'And my father isn't happy about the way you
left his scythe yesterday.'

'I meant to pick it up,' I said.

'He's very particular about his tools.'

'I just forgot,' I said. 'What with my ma going off
like that and all.'

He didn't say anything, so I said, 'I won't do it
again.'

He shook his head and sighed, and he said to Coley,
'Give him a cup of tea.'

Coley got up for a clean mug and poured me one.
The tea in their house was different from ours. It had
leaves in the bottom. It tasted thicker. Better.

'There isn't really anything for you to do,' PJ said.
'Not that you can do on your own.'

'I'll do Coley's sheds,' I said. 'I'll put the new floors
down.'

'Do you know how to lay concrete?' he said.

'No,' I said. 'But I can make it up as I go along.'

Coley laughed.

PJ drank his tea. The egg yolk was still on his face.
I still didn't laugh. Coley got up and started clearing the
table.

'We better go,' he said to his da.

'Shut up, Coley,' PJ said. Then he looked at me.

'There is a job you can do,' he said. 'If you promise
not to set the whole county on fire.'

This time he put a special yoke on the back of the car for
my bike. He brought me to the tool shed and handed me
out a bush saw and a pair of thick green welders' gloves
and a little hatchet. Then he went back in the house and
got a big pile of newspapers.

'You've your own cigarette lighter, haven't you?' he
said.

I said I had. He drove me to a big steep field about
three kilometres the other side of the village. He said he
bought it a few years ago and it was cheap because it
was so badly neglected. Last summer himself and Coley
cut down all the gorse with the chainsaw and now it
needed to be gathered up and burned.

When we got there he showed me where to light the
fire, well in from the road and the hedge. He said I could
light another one on the other side of the hill as well, to
save me dragging the bushes all the way over.

'Don't burn it all in one go,' he said. 'Keep the fire
ticking over and put on the bushes as you gather them.'

'I will,' I said. 'I won't go mad.'

'There's a few green bushes we missed,' he said.
'You can cut them yourself. If you put them on with the
dry stuff they'll burn all right. And don't go home and
leave it blazing. Let it die well back before you leave it.'

He left me with the bike and the tools and the newspapers
and got back in the car. He still had egg on his
face. As soon as they were gone I burst myself laughing.

The field was massive and the hill was steep, but there
were worse ways of spending a day. It rained a bit but
never enough to put my fires out, and the work kept me
warm. The boots were brilliant as well. They kept my
feet dry and they had soles like tractor tyres so they kept
me from slipping down the steep bits of the hill. If I'd
been wearing my trainers I would have spent most of the
day on my arse.

I burned all the big bits first and it took me all
morning, dragging the dead stuff and cutting the ones
they'd missed. The fires were great. Every time I threw
on a bush a big burst of sparks flew up in the sky. It was
nearly a shame to be doing it in the day. Those fires
would have looked deadly at night.

At dinner time I hid the tools under the far hedge
and cycled home. I put on frozen chips but the oven was
too slow and in the end I had bread and sausages and
eggs.

I thought I was nearly finished the job but when I
got back I could see all the small bits I'd left and I didn't
like the way the field looked, so I started all over again.
I found some old bale strings draped over the hedge
beside the gate and tied some together so I could loop it
through the small branches and drag a whole big bundle
of them behind me. I got the little hatchet and cut down
the small new bushes that were growing and I kept my
fires ticking over and burned the lot. I should have been
finished then and I was ready for a break and a cup of
tea, but I still wasn't happy with the way the field
looked. So I took the saw and the hatchet and cut all the
stumps they had left behind right down to the ground,
and I piled the bits beside the gate because most of them
were good enough to burn on the fire at home and it was
a shame to waste them. And when I'd done that I had
one last go around the field, picking up any last bits I'd
left and a few bits of old rubbish as well – fertilizer bags
and silage plastic that had blown in there on the wind.
They burned with a filthy black smoke and I had to keep
moving around the fire to get away from the stink.

But I was happy with it at last, and I was just standing
there admiring the clean field when PJ pulled up in
the car. He came and stood beside me and looked at the
field. He looked at it a lot longer than he needed to, and
I was beginning to wonder if he'd seen something I'd
missed. But he said: 'If you could sort yourself out you
could build yourself a decent future.'

'Doing what?' I said.

'Anything you put your mind to, I'd say.' He looked
at me. 'What would you like to do?'

I never knew anyone who worked – did a job, like.
Except for Mick's da, and he was a head-banger. And
Carmel, I suppose, although she did hairdressing and I
wasn't about to do that.

'I don't know,' I said. 'Nothing.'

'Maybe you'll find something,' he said. 'You're
young, yet. There's still time enough.'

Then he picked up the tools and the gloves and the
newspapers that were left.

'You can get yourself home, can you?' he said.

I said I could, and he walked towards the car.

'Oi,' I called after him. 'Don't I get a tenner?'

He stopped and turned back, shaking his head and
laughing at the same time.

'You're something else,' he said. But he gave me a
tenner and I stood on the pedals of my bike all the way
home.