The Storyteller rubbed his temples and strove to concentrate. His body was on fire and a rising fever threatened to disrupt his focus. He inhaled deeply, painfully, and allowed the Story to pour through him once more. The Bloons could barely sit still for excitement. They looked up at him expectantly as he swallowed the pain and narrated:
The familiar, sterile smell of a hospital filled Theo’s nostrils. The insipid white walls, the identical wards filled with resigned patients whose groans, chuckles and complaints echoed down the long, empty corridors. Yes, it was all too familiar and he felt he was back to square one with his spirits. At one time he had imagined he would never have to see the insides of one again.
It was only to be for the day, but the return to hospital life felt like the symbol of failure to Theo. Buntee was in jail and even Bozo seemed to have disappeared – but what did it matter anyway? He had failed to find the first AO and now the Prophecy would not be fulfilled. The Storyteller would die and the Story would evaporate along with everyone inside it.
Bunsen left him in the hands of the nurses and gave him a big, false wink. ‘Good times ahead, Theo,’ he saidsimpered. ‘You might want to spend the afternoon composing a little thank-you speech for tonight’s show. Nothing special. Just a few lines of gratitude to your doctor for finding you.’
Theo looked so crushed that Bunsen whistled for joy as he strode out of the hospital and hailed a taxi. It was 1 p.m. That still gave him time to see his tailor, barber and masseur. This was the biggest day of his life.
Theo’s nurse – a tall, black man – led him down the corridor past the other wards. He looked down at Theo with wide, friendly eyes and wondered what on earth had happened to this kid. Supposed to be dangerous, he’d been told, and so they were giving him a little ward by himself in the psychiatric wing.
Since when was a kid this small dangerous? he asked himself. The world was a strange place and getting stranger. Take for instance that guy who came in a couple of days ago after walking straight out in front of a bus – and he was still smiling!
The nurse pushed open the door of a private ward and Theo wandered in glumly. There was a single bed, a table and an armchair by the window. He took a seat at the table and stared morosely at the sterile breakfast tray that was on it.
The nurse could see Theo was in a world of his own and so didn’t try to strike up a conversation. ‘You need something, my man, you push that green button on the wall there, all right? Now, I want to see that tray empty when I come back. It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten in weeks.’ He gave Theo a wink and then closed the door behind him.
Theo glanced without interest at the breakfast of eggs, toast and orange juice. He pushed it away. The magazines on the table also failed to attract his interest and he made no move to turn on the Hypnosis-box in the corner of the room.
Instead he stared out of the window with his back to the door and gazed at the falling snow. The street outside was already covered with a sheet of white that melted under the wheels of the cars. On the rooftops, though, and on the bonnets of the parked cars, the snow lay like icing on a cake. The flakes fell like a million poems. Each one told Theo that this was the end.
He heard the door open behind him and supposed the nurse must have come back to hassle him about breakfast. Footsteps came slowly in, and he heard someone breathing heavily behind his chair. He felt someone bend down and then whisper in his ear: ‘Do you feel it, Theo? The despair in the pit of your stomach, sucking in all your hope and dreams like a black hole?’
Theo felt an electric shock of fear run up his spine. He turned his head around slowly. There, in a patient’s white gown, he saw a skinny man covered in bruises and cuts. The man’s eyes were wide and bloodshot. As he spoke, his mouth formed a cruel sneer, exposing grimy teeth and receding gums.
‘Sid?’ Theo asked tentatively.
The first AO pursed his lips: ‘It’s an interesting question. This is clearly the body of the Hooman that you call Sid. However, his mind has been open to me for so long that there’s very little of him left.’ The words were callous and mocking. They reminded Theo of a voice he had heard long before.
‘No. It can’t be …the Enemy?’ he whispered, shrinking back into his seat. The man nodded triumphantly but then his face seemed to distort and crack. He shuddered and the evil expression vanished to be replaced by a dazed and fragile look.
‘Sid?’ Theo asked nervously.
The First AO nodded faintly and fought for control. He winced as though a painful battle was taking place inside his head. He made a great effort to meet Theo’s terrified eyes. ‘This …this is the end,’ he stammered. ‘They are inside me. They are both inside everyone. I have waited so long for you to come.’ He gritted his teeth and gasped. ‘Now it is almost over. Now there is only you.’ He exhaled heavily. As he breathed in again, his face took on a tired and calm look.
‘Hello, Theo.’
‘Who is it now?’ Theo whispered, staring intently at the new expression on the face before him.
‘Can you not guess?’ he asked in a long, rolling tone.
‘The Storyteller?’ Theo gasped.
‘Yes,’ the man nodded. ‘At least, what’s left of me. I’ve watched you every step of the way, Theo. You have taught me so much, though you did not know it. Now you must teach everyone else – it is too late for me.’
‘No!’ Theo cried as the AO’s head sank.
The AO looked up again but now the Enemy’s look of malice was in his eyes. ‘Oh yes. What else did you imagine, you snotty little meddler? Did you really think you were going to save the old man all by yourself?’ ‘Not by myself,’ Theo muttered.
‘Oh?’ the Enemy smirked. ‘I see no one else here. Your friends have deserted you along with your luck. It was always going to end this way, Theo. Face it.’ He stretched out Sid’s long, skinny arms for Theo’s throat. But then he hissed and his arms fell to his sides as the tortured personality of Sid returned.
‘Theo, I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You must run …go from here …I….’ His features drooped and the exhausted voice of the Storyteller came trickling out.
‘It is not his fault, Theo. Sid is no longer himself. This struggle takes place in every Hooman, but so deep that most never notice it. Over the past few millennia, Sid’s defences have been worn down like rocks eroded by the sea.’
‘What can I do?’ Theo begged, his heart bursting with desperation and anxiety. ‘How can I fulfill the Prophecy? How can I save you?’
The Storyteller smiled. ‘Do you not yet understand? Your duty is not to me but to the Story.’
‘But the other AOs said…’
‘They said what they understood to be true. No one can know the whole of the truth, Theo. We simply catch passing reflections of it and then make our best guess.’
‘I’ve tried so hard to understand,’ Theo cried. ‘I wanted to save you. All the people and places I’ve been to they …they swirl in my head like pieces of a puzzle that won’t stay still long enough to form a picture. I’ve tried and tried but…’
He looked up to see the Enemy had resumed possession of Sid. He was laughing cruelly. ‘But you were just too young and too small and too dumb to understand. The truth is, Theo, the Storyteller was already out of his mind when he wrote you into the Story. Had he been in possession of his senses, he would have chosen someone strong and intelligent to fulfill the role, not a dim little cry baby like you.’
Theo shook with grief and the Enemy seemed to grow in strength at this reaction.
‘See? Even now you’re utterly out of your depth. What else did you suppose might happen? The old fool was doomed from the moment he allowed his mind to split and give life to me. This is how life is, Theo. Hope leads to despair, freedom to slavery, light to darkness and life to death.’
Sid’s face shook as he fought for control of his own mind, but he couldn’t hold on and the gaunt spirit of the Storyteller stepped in: ‘Do not listen to the voice of doubt, Theo. It feeds upon itself and grows until it blocks out any other perspective. You remember what Jadooji taught you about death? It is simply a place where one story ends and another begins. Nothing just disappears, Theo.’ He smiled tenderly but then felt a terrible pain in the chest and collapsed on to his knees.
Theo jumped up to help him but the Storyteller waved him away. ‘Do not come too close,’ he whispered, and then broke down in a coughing fit that sounded like he might break apart.
Theo ignored his warning and stood up to get him a glass of water. But before he could go for help, a hand grabbed his heel from behind and threw him rudely on to the bed. ‘I will always be stronger in the end,’ the hateful voice of the Enemy growled. ‘I can destroy in a moment what takes centuries to create. Kill in a second what took a lifetime to grow. Why fight it, Theo?’
Theo sprang up and yelled defiantly, ‘It’s not over yet!’
The Enemy chuckled and moved forwards. ‘Oh, but it is. The old man grows weaker by the moment. Soon he’ll fall off that damned rock, hopefully crushing one of those irritating Bloons as he goes.’
He reached out Sid’s long arms and grabbed Theo by the neck. The boy tried to break free but the AO’s fingers were cold and strong and they fastened tightly around his throat. Fighting for breath, Theo swung his fist and hit the green button on the wall.
The Enemy laughed: ‘And so that’s your last trick? How quickly do you think they will come? Maybe the nurses will dash in and pull me away? Or maybe your Bloon will make a heroic entrance and swing in through the window? Dream on, Theo. In but a few moments, these hands will choke the life out of you and you will fall to the ground dead. The nurses will arrive and assume that a patient went crazy and killed a small boy. This is the end, Theo. Goodbye and good riddance.’
Theo turned bright red as the pressure in his lungs bottled up around his neck. His face swelled up as he fought for air. But before he passed out the fingers around his throat slipped away and Sid’s body fell to the floor. Theo also collapsed, gulping air and coughing violently. On the carpet Sid’s body jerked uncontrollably as though he were having a fit. The convulsions came to an end and only the faint light of the Storyteller remained in his eyes.
‘Remember, Theo, you are not alone,’ he gasped. ‘Just look inside. Goodbye and good luck.’
His face darkened suddenly and Sid’s chest stopped moving.
‘No!’ Theo cried, coughing terribly as he crawled forward towards the body. The door flew open and the nurse stared at the scene in disbelief. Without a word he picked up the trembling Theo and carried him out of the room.
The Bloons heard these words and their eyes stretched wide open in horror. The skies above them had gone quite dark now that both moons had set, and the dawn was still an hour away. The Bloons trembled as much with fear as with the cold, and their tails reached out to find solace in one another. Distant stars pulsed away like tiny beacons but they only reminded them of the awful, overwhelming darkness of space that swallowed the night.
The Storyteller gave a violent gasp and seemed to freeze with the sharp intake of breath. His eyes swelled and, as he took in the shocked faces of his beloved Bloons, his heart filled with tenderness and regret. Then he glanced at his own body and it seemed no more than a worn-out shell: his wrinkled skin, his stiff joints, his rasping lungs. He thought of all the journeys on which he had lugged this body through the stars until he had said ‘no more’ and come to rest in Bloonland. More than anything his body reminded him of the other Storytellers – his kin that he had forsaken.
He had taken a different path and a necessary one. Aleph had failed to understand that when he came to persuade his old friend to return to the fold. A part of the Storyteller would have loved to do that: to unite with his kin for the annual Festival of Tales and share stories as of old. But he had chosen to follow another path – an extraordinary choice, maybe, but one he was compelled to follow to the bitter end.
Now that moment had arrived, he understood himself in his entirety for the first time in his life. Maybe the Story will be better off without me, he smiled. An enormous weight lifted off him in that moment and he remembered how he had felt as a fledgling Storyteller on his maiden voyage through the stars.
A delicious thrill surged through his body like a long-awaited wind, and he felt as though he were poised on the edge of a great new adventure. He was leaving behind all he knew, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon and discovering its wings. He heard a distant call on the breeze like a familiar melody. It was one he felt compelled to follow: it sang of his origins and of his journey; it sang of an irresistible love. His soul floated up in readiness.
He took one last look inside himself at the Story and felt a pang of regret that things had gone as they had. It was out of his hands now, though, and he felt his creation separate from him like the fraying of a thread. He breathed the last of his love like a bubble into the Story, and he sensed it float away, beyond his sight. He felt a final wave of pity for the distraught Bloons he was abandoning, but in truth he could barely see them now. He left his life behind, taking off into the unknown like a migrating bird following a mysterious call, flying in the direction of diminishing homesickness.
The Storyteller exhaled and his head slumped on to his chest. The final flicker of light in his eyes went out like a candle and the night became ten times darker. The Story dissolved in front of the Bloons’ eyes and they unleashed a collective wail of utter despair. They screamed with all the anguish of losing their most trusted guide and finding themselves alone in a universe too large for its own good.
They wailed until they dropped to the ground with exhaustion, falling one by one into an anaesthetic sleep from which none wanted to wake.
Dawn broke not long after and the first sun’s rays struck a planet that seemed to know nothing of the night’s tragedy. The wine-streams gushed with the same vigour and the cheese dunes glowed with the footprints of yesterday’s play. The sunbeams reached like outstretched fingers down the slopes to warm the bodies of a handful of passed out Bloons and a dead Storyteller, still slumped on his rock.
Within the Story, traffic slowed to a halt and Hoomans everywhere came to a standstill. A silence fell in the cities as computers jammed and clocks stopped. Lions in the savannah lost the desire to hunt and their prey lost forgot to run. The clouds froze in the sky and the waves ceased their rhythmic assault upon the shores.
Hoomans fell silent wherever they were. They closed their eyes, feeling more alone than ever before. Their minds ceased to generate thoughts and all they could hear was the decreasing beat of their hearts.
For some, it felt like they were standing on a stage and they suddenly understood there was no one left in the audience to watch them. Others felt the despair of abandonment and a sudden fear of the dark. Yet, for a few, it was like waking from a dream with a blissful sense of freedom, as though now anything was possible.
And then, in the same moment that everything stopped, it all began again. Fones continued to nibble at Hoomans as they spoke, cars shunted forward in traffic, wild animals continued their dance of survival, and the winds and waves resumed their relentless ways.
Everyone knew something fundamental had changed. On the outside everything looked the same as before, but there had been a revolution deep within, like a tremor far beneath the Earth’s crust. An invisible veil had been torn away and, though everything looked the same, it was as if they were seeing, hearing and feeling for the first time.
The overwhelming response of Hoomans everywhere was to deny it. They turned up the volume on their Hypnosis-boxes and popped all the pills they could find that promised to kill their fears. They pursued their self-interested ways with a desperate vigour and crammed their minds with a thousand thoughts and worries.
Yet no matter how they tried to drown it out by bombarding their senses, they heard a small voice from deep within, patiently calling them to look inside themselves.