A Monster Calls Read Free Page B

the same nativity, aged five? When you knew how much she used to pick her nose? When
she
knew how long you’d needed a nightlight after your father moved out? It had just been a friendship, normal as anything.
    But then his mum’s “little talk” had happened, and what came next was simple, really, and sudden.
    No one knew.
    Then Lily’s mum knew, of course.
    Then Lily knew.
    And then everyone knew. Everyone. Which changed the whole world in a single day.
    And he was never going to forgive her for that.
    Another street and another street more and there was his house, small but detached. It had been the one thing his mum had insisted on in the divorce, that it was theirs free and clear and they wouldn’t have to move after his dad had left for America with Stephanie, the new wife. That had been six years ago, so long now that Conor sometimes couldn’t remember what it was like having a dad in the house.
    Didn’t mean he still didn’t think about it, though.
    He looked up past his house to the hill beyond, the church steeple poking up into the cloudy sky.
    And the yew tree hovering over the graveyard like a sleeping giant.
    Conor forced himself to keep looking at it, making himself see that it was just a tree, a tree like any other, like any one of those that lined the railway track.
    A tree. That’s all it was. That’s all it
ever
was. A tree.
    A tree that, as he watched, reared up a giant face to look at him in the sunlight, its arms reaching out, its voice saying,
Conor
–
    He stepped back so fast, he nearly fell into the street, catching himself on the bonnet of a parked car.
    When he looked back up, it was just a tree again.

THREE STORIES
    He lay in his bed that night, wide awake, watching the clock on his bedside table.
    It had been the slowest evening imaginable. Cooking frozen lasagne had tired his mum out so badly she fell asleep five minutes into
EastEnders
. Conor hated the programme but he made sure it recorded for her, then he spread a duvet over her and went and did the dishes.
    His mum’s mobile had gone off once, not waking her. Conor saw it was Lily’s mum calling and let it go to voicemail. He did his schoolwork at the kitchen table, stopping before he got to Mrs Marl’s Life Writing homework, then he played around on the internet for a while in his room before brushing his teeth and seeing himself to bed. He’d barely turned out the light when his mum had very apologetically – and very groggily – come in to kiss him good night.
    A few minutes later, he’d heard her in the bathroom, throwing up.
    “Do you need any help?” he’d called from his bed.
    “No, sweetheart,” his mum called back, weakly. “I’m kind of used to it by now.”
    That was the thing. Conor was used to it, too. It was always the second and third days after the treatments that were the worst, always the days when she was the most tired, when she threw up the most. It had almost become normal.
    After a while, the throwing up had stopped. He’d heard the bathroom light click off and her bedroom door shut.
    That was two hours ago. He’d lain awake since then, waiting.
    But for what?
    His bedside clock read 12.05. Then it read 12.06. He looked over to his bedroom window, shut tight even though the night was still warm. His clock ticked over to 12.07.
    He got up, went over to the window and looked out.
    The monster stood in his garden, looking right back at him.
    Open up
, the monster said, its voice as clear as if the window wasn’t between them.
I want to talk to you.
    “Yeah, sure,” Conor said, keeping his voice low. “Because that’s what monsters always want. To
talk
.”
    The monster smiled. It was a ghastly sight.
If I must force my way in
, it said,
I will do so happily.
    It raised a gnarled woody fist to punch through the wall of Conor’s bedroom.
    “No!” Conor said. “I don’t want you to wake my mum.”
    Then come outside
, the monster said, and even in his room, Conor’s nose filled with the