Authors: Matthew Stott
Everythin
g
would be all right in the morning. That was what Sam told himself as he climbed into bed and hugged his knees tight to his chest so that he lay in a crunch. Friends argued, and friends fell out. But friends got over these things. Best friends did. Harsh words and actions, then the next day it was like nothing bad or horrible had ever happened. The board was wiped clean, and only fun and laughter and togetherness was important.
This would be true even more in this case. Because they weren’t just friends, or best friends, they were one person. Two halves. Sam could no longer imagine himself without the boy. He wouldn’t have to. His friend would not leave him. Abandon him to his old life again.
He would come back.
Back.
Back.
In the morning Sam would sit up in bed, rubbing the hard sleep from his eyes, and see his friend standing over him, ready to play. Sam knew it. He knew it.
And so Sam slept. At first he didn’t think he’d be able to, so alive and frantic was his mind, like a small child trying to sleep before Christmas. But, before he knew it, exhaustion wrapped its arms around him and he slid into a black sleep.
***
It was morning. Sam sat up in bed and rubbed the hard sleep from his eyes.
There was no one else in the room.
***
That day, school seemed to last forever.
So his friend hadn’t been there when he woke up, so what? That didn’t mean anything. It just meant he’d taken a little longer to get back home from wherever he’d gone; that was all. It didn’t mean he wasn’t coming back at all.
Sam felt almost silly for doubting his best friend—doubting the unbreakable bond between them. He knew that, as sure as ice was cold, when he got back home he’d find his friend sat on his bedroom floor, taking out the board and laying it flat so the two could play Scrabble.
Of course, of course, of course.
In each class, Sam
sat staring at the slow hands crawling their way around the clock face, trying to push the day forward by the sheer force of his will. When the bell for home time finally rang out, it sounded to Sam like a chorus of angels. He bolted from the class, knocking others aside, and didn’t hear their cries and curses of complaint.
Out he ran: out, out, out into the yard and through the gates.
The world passed by as a smear around him. A blur. Sam felt as though he could do the 100 Metres sprint in six seconds.
He reached home in record time and threw the door open.
‘I’m back! I’m back from school, did you miss me?’
Sam took the stairs three at a time; gravity almost seemed to loosen its grip on him slightly, assisting him on his journey.
Down the corridor he sprinted, towards his closed bedroom door. He stopped for a second, fingers curled around the handle, his eyes seeming to pulse in their sockets due to the effort of racing home.
What if….
What if….
What if….
No. He will be there. If I believe it and want it, my friend will be there.
The handle screeched as he turned it and pushed the door open.
All was quiet. All was still. Sam’s heart beat, beat, beat.
He stepped into the room. There was no Scrabble board waiting. Only an absence greeted him.
Sam was alone.
Sa
m
didn’t dream that night. That night Sam went Between. To the place he had found his friend. Between Awake and Asleep. Perhaps he went there of his own accord.
Perhaps not.
He opened his eyes to find himself in the house that looked just like his own house, but wasn’t his own house at all. The silence pushed in at him, demanded to be heard.
‘Hello? Are you here? Are you back here again?’
Sam wandered from room to room, but each was emptier than the last—until the final room wasn’t a room at all, but a space that was very much the absence of a room. Sam left and went outside. The forest was waiting for him.
‘Are you in the forest? Please come back home.’
Sam asked the trees if they knew where his friend was, but they ignored him and spoke quietly amongst themselves in a language of rustling leaves and creaking branches. Sam found the tallest tree in the forest, the tallest tree that his friend had climbed down from when he met him here last. He called up at the furthest branches, begging for the boy to appear. He did not. Sam attempted to climb the tree, to see for himself if he was there, but the tree wouldn’t let him. It twisted its trunk this way and that like a rag, then shook chunks of its bark loose so that Sam tumbled to the ground.
So Sam wandered aimlessly, growing emptier with each step. He passed the bones of a burnt-out bus, in the husk of which now lived a snake that only wanted to speak of times past and old glories: ‘But of course, that was many skins ago now.’
Sam walked on.
‘I’m sorry we had cross words. Please come back.’
The trees gave way to mountains, and Sam climbed the steep slopes on hands and knees as the childish winds did their best to pull and shove him this way and that, to make him loosen his grip and tumble to the sharp rocks far below.
At the top of the mountain stood an English town, full of ordinary terraced houses, corner shops, pubs, and betting shops. Sam went from door to door, to ask if anyone who lived in the town knew where his friend might be. Most of the doors remained closed, no matter how loudly he knocked. The few that opened were of no use. They only contained children like himself, who didn’t understand where they were, or ghosts, who wanted to tell him about how they died.
Sam walked on.
He passed a front garden shrouded in darkness, with a gate that increased in size if you were took steps towards it.
‘Please, you’re my only friend.’
He walked so far that, in the end, he found himself back in the forest again, and the trees shook their branches as they laughed with glee.
Sam stopped and curled up on the soil as the trees mocked him. He was tired and alone, and had no intention of ever moving again.
What was he, without his friend? He was just Sam. Lonely and strange and Sam and alone alone alone. He didn’t want to be that again. Couldn’t be that again. The aloneness was too lonely and the empty too full. The trees shook and creaked and laughed.
Sam closed his eyes and wished for everything to just disappear.
‘You cannot wish away this forest,’ said a deep, emotionless voice. Sam opened his eyes to see a strange man stood before him. He was tall. Very, very tall indeed and dressed all in black. His head was hairless and lacked a face of any kind.
‘Who’re you,’ asked Sam.
‘I am me,’ the Tall Man replied. ‘This is my forest. Why would you wish it away?’
‘It’s laughing at me.’
‘Yes.’
‘This is your forest? You own it?’ asked Sam.
‘Yes. This forest. This dirt. The mountains, the buildings. Everything Between. I am the Lord of this place.’
‘You run this whole place?’ Sam asked.
‘I run nothing. I watch, I help, I ignore. It is not my place to force my will upon the creatures that run here.’
‘I’m looking for my friend. He’s from here,’ Sam told the Tall Man. ‘Can you help me find him?’
The Tall Man tilted his faceless head to one side. ‘And what form did this friend take? Human? Monster? Ghost?’
‘He’s a boy. A boy like me,’ replied Sam.
‘You are a boy like you.’
‘He looked like me. Looked exactly like me.’
‘You look exactly like you. Perhaps your friend hides in mirrors? Some creatures Between prefer the world of mirrors to the world of this reality. They say the lands there are so much larger.’
‘No, he wasn’t in a mirror. We met in this forest. Then he came to my house. My Awake house. He grew from an egg until he looked just like me.’
‘Identical,’ said the Tall Man, nodding. ‘I know the creature you speak of. They are clever and like to play.’
‘Do you know where I might find him?’
‘What it knows, you know. What it can do, so can you. You are connected. Identical,’ said the Tall Man.
Sam grew agitated; the faceless man was talking in riddles.
‘Where is he? Please just tell me!’
‘Think well of yourself, Sam Ward,’ he replied.
Sam, angry, tried to ask further questions, but the Tall Man said something about having to meet an invisible girl, and was gone in the time it took to blink.
Th
e
next week passed so slowly it felt as though time occasionally stopped altogether. The brightest colour was grey and the laughter of others was sharp fingernails dragged across Sam’s skin.
‘Why’ve you got to look so miserable all the time?’ asked Mum. ‘I mean, just look at you, moping at the table like you’ve just been told your favourite dog’s been put down.’
‘He never actually looked that sad when we
did
have the dog put down,’ said Dad. ‘Anyway, you know he gets that from your side of the family. Your parents were both miserable sorts. Never had a kind or happy word to say to me.’
‘They had a hard life! You wouldn’t be jumping for joy either if you’d had half the life they had.’
School resumed its familiar oppressive, alien texture. Sam found himself once again skirting round the edge of the school yard to reach the building entrance with as little interaction with the noise as possible.
It was like it had never happened. Like that one right, shining spot of happiness and not-lonely had been circled, snipped out, and the two bits either side joined together. It was almost dreamlike, as he attempted to think back on his and his friend’s weeks together. Perhaps it had been a dream all along. And now he had woken up.
‘Hey, Sam.’
Sam looked up to see Finney stood over him. He looked back at his feet without answering. Finney scuffed his shoes on the ground before deciding to sit next to Sam on the wall.
‘Weird about Mark, hey?’ said Finney, half laughing, before stopping. Sam nodded.
‘Police still don’t know nothing. My Mum says it was probably a burglar. Or something.’
Sam said nothing.
‘Look….’ Finney twisted as he forced the uncomfortable words out. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t … I tried to stop Mark, you know. I did try. Ask anyone.’
‘We were friends.’
‘Yeah, for a bit, but … with what happened to my sister, I suppose it just….’ Finney stopped.
Sam felt his head growing hotter.
‘Maybe we could, you know, hang out some time, or … up to you. We could go throw things in the river like we used to.’
‘He’s my friend. Not you. Just him.’
‘Who? You don’t have any friends.’
Sam stood and turned on Finney. ‘You’re not my friend!’
He lashed out, half surprised, half exhilarated as his fist met Finney’s nose and sent the boy tumbling backwards off the wall.
‘You’re not my friend! You’re not!’
Sam sat atop Finney and hit out again and again until his knuckles bled.
Sam’
s
friend returned that night.
Sam was laid in bed with his eyes closed, hands throbbing, unable to sleep, unwilling to move. He thought only of his missing friend and of Finney crying in a ball on the ground. How could he have done that? That wasn’t him. It wasn’t. He didn’t want to hurt anyone ever. Did he?
Knock-Knock-Knock
Knuckles on wood, echoing around the bedroom.
Sam sat up sharply, eyes blinking. ‘Hello?’ He reached over and fumbled the bedside lamp on.
Knock-Knock-Knock
Beside his bedroom door, that led to the upstairs corridor beyond, was now another door. This door had not previously existed.
‘Hello?’ said Sam.
Knock-Knock-Knock
‘Is that you?’ Sam stepped out of his bed; he could feel a cool draft snaking across the carpet from under the new door and washing over his bare toes. Sam’s heart began to beat fast. Was his friend coming back? Surely it was true; he could feel it. He ran to the new door and threw it open to reveal a room.
Inside the room was the forest.
Sam recognised it as the Between forest. He stepped inside, onto the carpet of twigs, grass, and fallen leaves. Looking up, he could see a ceiling, but the trees paid no mind to that, breaking straight up, through and beyond.
‘Are you in here?’
Sam’s friend stepped out from behind one of the trees. ‘Boo.’
Sam grinned hugely and ran to his friend, embracing him tightly; the boy returned the favour.
‘You came back,’ said
The boy nodded. ‘Well, of course. I’m your best friend.’
‘Am I still asleep?’ asked Sam, releasing the boy and looking around at the tree-filled room.
‘No. Since becoming Awake, I can come and go Between as I please. I can open doors that lead from one to the other, and back again.’
The trees rustled their branches; Sam got the impression they were sniggering at him. He ignored them and walked back through the new door with his friend, back into his bedroom.
‘What happened to your hands?’ asked Sam’s friend, touching the red raw.
‘I did something very bad,’ replied Sam.
‘You get that from me.’
‘Why did you leave? Is it because we argued?’ said Sam, closing the new door that led Between.
‘No. Partly. I just came back to say goodbye.’ And the boy let his face droop with self-pity.
'What d'you mean? For how long? Where are you going?'
'I can't stay forever, can I?' said the boy, sadly.
'Yes, you can; you're my friend!'
The boy shrugged. 'But I'm not from here, from Awake. I'm from Between. The Between doesn't allow people to just leave it so easily. It will want me back, in the end. Unless….'
'What? Unless what?' Sam’s heart beat fast and desperate. He knew he would do anything to keep his best friend. Anything, anything, anything.
'We have to make the blood contract,' replied the boy.
'Yes, okay! What is that?'
The boy pulled a piece of sharp plastic from his pocket and pricked it into the palm of his hand. Dark red blood bloomed from the tiny wound. 'Now you.' He held the plastic out to Sam, but Sam dithered, holding his own hand protectively.
'Did it hurt?'
'Yes. Only a very little. Don't you want me to stay?'
Sam took the plastic, breathed in and out twice, closed his eyes and jabbed it at his hand. When the skin was pierced, he did his best to muffle his sharp cry, so as not to rouse his slumbering parents.
'Is that it?'
'Now we shake hands so our blood meets and mingles and joins, signing the blood contract.'
Sam’s friend reached out his hand, the red smeared across it. Sam reached out his own bloodied hand and the two met and held tight.
The boy smiled after a second and released Sam's hand.
'You can stay now?'
'I can stay.'
The new door was now just a wall again.