A Monster Calls Read Online Free PDF Page A

the whole room seemed to get darker, for a second it felt like the whole house was shaking, for a second it felt like he could reach down and tear the whole floor right out of the dark and loamy earth–
    He blinked. His grandma was still waiting for a response.
    “I’m not going to live with you,” he said.
    “Conor–”
    “I’m
never
going to live with you.”
    “Yes, you are,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you are. And I know she’s trying to protect you, but I think it’s vitally important for you to know that when this is all over, you’ve got a home, my boy. With someone who’ll love you and care for you.”
    “When this is all over,” Conor said, fury in his voice, “you’ll leave and we’ll be fine.”
    “Conor–”
    And then they both heard from the sitting room, “Mum?
Mum?
”
    His grandma rushed out of the kitchen so fast, Conor jumped back in surprise. He could hear his mum coughing and his grandma saying, “It’s okay, darling, it’s okay, shh, shh, shh.” He glanced back out of the kitchen window on his way to the sitting room.
    The monster was gone.
    His grandma was on the settee, holding on to his mum, rubbing her back as she threw up into a small bucket they kept nearby just in case.
    His grandma looked up at him, but her face was set and hard and totally unreadable.

THE WILDNESS OF STORIES
    The house was dark. His grandma had finally got his mum to bed and then had gone into Conor’s bedroom and shut the door, not asking if he wanted anything out of it before she went to sleep herself.
    Conor lay awake on the settee. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, not with the things his grandma had said, not with how his mother had looked tonight. It was three full days after the treatment, about the time she usually started feeling better, except she was still throwing up, still exhausted, for far longer than she should have been–
    He pushed the thoughts out of his head but they returned and he had to push them away again. He must have eventually drifted off, but the only way he really knew he was asleep was when the nightmare came.
    Not the tree. The
nightmare
.
    With the wind roaring and the ground shaking and the hands holding tight but still somehow slipping away, with Conor using all his strength but it still not being enough, with the grip losing itself, with the falling, with the
screaming
–
    “NO!” Conor shouted, the terror following him into waking, gripping his chest so hard it felt as if he couldn’t breathe, his throat choking, his eyes filling with water.
    “No,” he said again, more quietly.
    The house was silent and dark. He listened for a moment, but nothing stirred, no sound from his mum or his grandma. He squinted through the darkness to the clock on the DVD player.
    12.07. Of course it was.
    He listened hard into the silence. But nothing happened. He didn’t hear his name, he didn’t hear the creak of wood.
    Maybe it wasn’t going to come tonight.
    12.08, read the clock.
    12.09.
    Feeling vaguely angry, Conor got up and went into the kitchen. He looked out of the window.
    The monster was standing in his back garden.
    What took you so long?
it asked.
    – • –
    It is time for me to tell you the first story
, the monster said.
    Conor didn’t move from the garden chair, where he’d sat himself after he’d gone outside. He had his legs pulled up to his chest and his face pressed into his knees.
    Are you listening?
the monster asked.
    “No,” Conor said.
    He felt the air swirl around him violently again.
I will be listened to!
started the monster.
I have been alive as long as this land and you will pay the respect owed to me
–
    Conor got up from the chair and headed back towards the kitchen door.
    Where do you think you’re going?
demanded the monster.
    Conor whirled round, and his face looked so furious, so pained, that the monster actually stood up straight, its huge, leafy eyebrows raising in surprise.
    “What do
you
know?” Conor spat.