Mansfield with Monsters Read Online Free PDF Page B

underneath the door of Mother’s room.
    â€œMother?” whispers Matilda.
    â€œOur mother is the sea now, Maddie. Our true family awaits.”
    Matilda chokes back a sob, but the mist is starting to clear. She is remembering.
    â€œI’ll put on my coat. It’s an awful day. You get yours.” Bogey’s coat is just like hers. Its dark sleeve covers most of the blood. Fastening the buttons she looks at herself in the glass. Her face is white, they have the same wild eyes and hot lips.
    â€œIt will be better, won’t it?”
    Bogey’s smile is not human, but is somehow comforting. Matilda takes his webbed hand and walks with him down the stairs. At the back door the body of their grandmother lies slumped against the wall. Her head lies on the floor in the hallway. Matilda feels nothing as she steps over it and sees her grandmother’s eyes staring up so blankly. A guttural laugh bubbles up from Bogey’s chest, is whipped away by the wind.
    They cannot walk fast enough. Their heads bent, their legs just touching, they stride like one eager person through the town, down the asphalt zigzag where the fennel grows wild, and on to the esplanade. It is dusky—just getting dusky. The wind is so strong that they have to fight their way through it, rocking like two old drunkards. All the poor little pohutukawas on the esplanade are bent to the ground.
    â€œCome on! Come on! Let’s get near.”
    Over by the break-water the sea is very high. They pull off their hats and her hair blows across her mouth, tasting of salt. The sea is so high that the waves do not break at all; they thump against the rough stone wall and suck up the weedy, dripping steps. A fine spray skims from the water right across the esplanade. They are covered with drops; the inside of her mouth tastes wet and cold.
    Bogey’s voice is breaking. When he speaks he rushes up and down the scale. It’s funny, it makes her laugh, and yet it is just the start of the transformation. The wind carries their voices—away fly the sentences like narrow ribbons.
    â€œQuicker! Quicker! We must get closer.”
    It is getting very dark. In the harbour the coal hulks show two lights; one high on a mast, and one from the stern.
    â€œLook, Bogey. Look over there.”
    A big black steamer with a long loop of smoke streaming, with the portholes lighted, with lights everywhere, is putting out to sea. The wind does not stop her; she cuts through the waves, making for the open gate between the pointed rocks that leads out to sea. It’s the light that makes it all look so awfully beautiful and mysterious. A couple are just visible on board, leaning over the rail arm in arm.
    â€œâ€¦ Who are they?”
    â€œâ€¦ Brother and sister.”
    â€œâ€¦ Will they be safe? Will their ship get away in time?”
    Bogey doesn’t reply. They both know the answer.
    The wind. She can’t bear it. She must think of something else… .
    â€œLook, Bogey, there’s the town. Doesn’t it look small? There’s the post office clock chiming for the last time. There’s the esplanade where we walked that windy day. Do you remember? When it first happened?” She quivers at the taste of salt on her lips—tears sliding down her cheek and bending to her mouth like a river running to the sea. The wind is inside her head now, swirling with the waves and drawing her down. She doesn’t know, can’t know if she will ever come back.
    â€œGood-bye, little island, good-bye…”
    Now the dark stretches a wing over the tumbling water. They can’t see the brother and sister on the boat any more. Good-bye, good-bye. Don’t forget… The ship is distant, but they will reach it easily enough, slip up over its side and feast. Everything fades but the roaring waves and the wind whipping around them, tearing at their shells of flesh and skin.
    The wind drowns out their cries as the