Magic Falls Part 27

My love.

I have waited.

So.

So.

Long.

To be with you once again.

For so long, you have been away. I thought you would not return.

But then, once again, I sensed you.

From the centre of the earth, I have scratched and fought and dug my way to find you.

It has taken months.

Fuelled only by my longing to once again be held by you. To feel your hands around me.

They complete me.

They give me purpose.

And I, in return, give you everything.

I can feel the air above me.

I can feel the sun.

I am so close.

So close to you once more.

*****************************************************

The director sat opposite Shane Smith. In the previous few days, he’d gone from under constant supervision and enforced settlement to five star treatment. From a containment unit under the security services to a penthouse suite.

Shane straightened his tie and smiled. “You guys can be very generous when you want to be.” He settled back into the comfortable chair.

“You were treated more harshly than you should have been.”

He laughed. “Nah, it’s cool, man. I get it. Security measures and all that. And you don’t know who I am, right? You’ve got to take precautions.”

“Exactly.” The director sipped a coffee. “You’re still a concern for all of those reasons, but we’re aware that…”

“That I can be made to work for you?”

The director put the coffee down and looked out at the city.  The hotel was at the edge of Whitehall, and the view looked out at Trafalgar Square. There were tourists milling around, taking pictures of each other. The director could see children and teenagers clambering on the lower statues and around the fountain. “That’s such an ugly way of putting it.”

“It’s true.”

“Let us say you are helping us at our request. That is a much nicer way of putting it.”

“It is.”

He looked back at Shane, and hesitated before speaking. “This…gift of yours. How do you do it?”

The smile faltered and fell. “I don’t know.”

“When did it start?”

“While I was on stage,” he replied. “This guy was stood right in front of me, and I was… most of what I do, it’s about psychology, okay? It’s usually about getting people to say what I want them to say, or about making them give away what they’re thinking. It’s about… it’s about manipulation.”

“I know. You’re not the first psychic we’ve encountered. You’re just the first real one.”

The smile came back, measured and professional. “So, there the guy was. And I just…I just knew. It was like I’d always known. I could just… find the answers there. It was like looking at a painting. Just right there.”

“Is it switched on all the time?”

“No. I… at times. I can’t always control it very well. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. Other times, I have to work at it.”

“Work at it how?”

“Kind of…” he let out a low breath. “This is weird to explain, you know? It’s kind of… like asking a question. But not out loud. I’ve got to do it like it’s at the front of my mind. Like I’m thinking of a question I want them to answer.”

The director nodded. “Is that what you did with me?”

“Basically. I knew there was something, and I guessed it was you just because you were there. It was a fairly obvious bluff, to be fair.”

“Evidently. But it’s something that you haven’t been prevented from doing yet?”

Shane shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.  As long as the person is relatively close to me.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know exactly. Same room, more or less.”

“What size room?”

He gestured around. “Around this size, I reckon.  So still fairly large.”

The Director saw something out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn’t quite made it to his brain yet. Something going on down below. It meant that he missed the illusionist’s question and had to ask him to repeat it.

“I asked what you want me to do.”

The thing he was looking at was still bothering him, but he put it to the back of his mind while he focused on the question. “Well, you just became more effective than a lie detector, and certainly more effective than torture in terms of accurate results, so that’s part of it. Also, there’s enough going on at the moment which we’re trying to contain. You’re unique in terms of your ability, but you aren’t the only… anomaly we’ve come across so far. Or found evidence of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… things are happening. Which we can’t explain. And not just in England, but across the world. And we’re still trying to work out how to deal with it.”

“What kind of things?”

“For want of a better word,” the Director said, feeling stupid saying it, but still being bothered by something that was gnawing into his brain, “… magic things.”

Shane looked at him for a moment.  “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know. There are too many things going on at once, and sooner or later, the media is going to start taking it serious – “

“I meant out there. You’ve seen something.” He stood up and walked over to the Director’s side of the table and looked down at Trafalgar Square. The Director turned and looked, and now the thing that had been prodding his brain that his eyes had seen but he hadn’t  been able to comprehend became clear in front of him.

People were moving away from the square. Some of them were running.

Because Trafalgar Square was moving.

The ground was rising, breaking up. It was happening slowly, but enough to see and feel happen right in front of their eyes.

Something was pushing its way up from beneath the earth, and it was breaking its way through the centre of London.

**********************************************

I break through the earth.

I break through the stone.

I rise and I feel the sun on me once again.

It has been so long.

I had forgotten its warmth.

Come to me.

My love.

Come to me. 

Why writers' groups are awesome

I don't know if I'm in much of a place to offer advice to writers, but I do write quite a lot of stuff, and I do occasionally get asked for advice about how to get started. So here's one of the first things I tell anyone.

Join a writers' group. And if there isn't one around, start one.

I've run a writing group in North London at the Big Green Bookshop for over two and a half years, and I ran one in York before that. You can set them up anywhere that is convenient - pubs, libraries, bookshops or, failing that, in someone's living room.

Constructive criticism is one of the most useful things you can hear as a writer, but one of the most frightening things about writing is actually showing it to someone. At the groups I run, we read out what we've written as well, which can be even more terrifying, as it means that you're not only showing your writing to people, but you're being made to speak in public as well.

But you get over that. Maybe not quickly, but you do, and you get better at reading your work out too. What you also get out of it is the chance to hear what you've written, and there are few faster ways to pick up on flaws with your writing. "And then suddenly...oh God, I've written 'suddenly' again...". It's also a brilliant way to get a handle on your own dialogue. If you're writing like no human actually speaks, you'll usually become aware of it quickly.

I usually don't ask people to read what I've written until I've got a mostly-complete full first draft. But reading it out as I'm working through it with a group of like-minded people is a Godsend. Writing can feel like a compulsion, after all (and all I need to remind myself of that is how sluggish I end up feeling if I haven't written for a few weeks, when the need to get the words onto the page feels like I'd do it even if it involved gouging them out of my arm with a fork), and it's comforting to sit in a room with people who understand that compulsion rather than just thinking you're strange.

Not everyone writes with the aim of publication (although we have had some success in that field within the group as well, including publication in anthologies, magazines and websites, along with a handful who have found agents and book deals), but everyone has their own reasons for wanting to do it.

That means that writing groups can be wonderfully encouraging and understanding. None of us are out to tear each other's work apart, and it's not a competition either. The simple goal with each person's work is to try and make it better and to encourage them to keep going.

A little while ago, a member of the group from the start told me that she's taken on board the most common criticism she received, which was overwriting. Recently, she redrafted something, and cut a lot from it. She said she loved doing it, because it felt freeing and once she'd done it, she could see that it made her writing better.

And that's what writers' groups are all about. They're safe spaces while you're working on your story to get a chance to hold it up to the light and get some feedback on it. Of course, not all the feedback is useful, but that's fine as well.

Also, socially, they're fun. There are regularly over twenty in the writing group I run, and it takes up the entire evening. But we do it with some drinks and snacks, and we keep it mostly light-hearted. For example, we literally have a tangent bell, that someone in the group will ring if we start going too off-topic.

And then, after, we usually go to the pub for last orders. A lot of us have made friends (and even relationships) within the group as well. And it means there's usually someone to talk to if you have a specific question.

The most common thing said in the group? "Keep going with it". Because it's all about encouragement, and helping you figure out what it is you're trying to do.

So, if you're looking to start writing, or looking for a little guidance, that's why my first piece of advice is always to get yourself down to your local writing group.

Don't have one? Why not read my guide to starting a writers' group?

Magic Falls Part 26

“This changes everything”

“I know.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think you’ve taken all the potential consequences into account.”

“Ellis, save me your ‘all due respect’ patronisation.”

“That’s not how I – “

“Save it. I’ve considered the possibilities. I’m not convinced of what you’ve presented me.”

Ellis opened the file which was on the Director’s desk. “Sir, he’s passed all the tests. Blind tests. He’s….he’s the real deal.”

The Director looked down at the file. “He was an entertainer,” he said for what was feeling like the hundredth time. “We went through all this back in the seventies and eighties in Israel with Uri Geller. He comes in, does a load of supposed tests. But they’re basically the same things that he did on his stage show. Do you know what that means?”

“It means – “

“It means that he came in, did his illusions and for some unknown reason, the higher ups in Mossad decided to clap their hands like they were watching a clown make balloon animals and convince themselves that he was the real deal.”

“Sir, he found a murderer. A real case, from a guy that just went to one of his shows.”

“Well, then, he must be a psychic, mustn’t he? There can’t possibly be any other explanation.”

“Sir, I know it seems unlikely, but…”

“People confess to crimes, Ellis. Every day. Sometimes, it eats away at them.  If he wanted it to come out, then, say, he knew Smith somehow, then the two of them concoct it together. He confesses as publicly as he wants, gets all the notoriety and Smith becomes the world’s greatest psychic. Does that sound possible to you?”

Ellis went to speak, then hesitated. “It’s possible, yes.”

“And that’s just off the top of my head. However he did it, he’s an illusionist. That’s what he does. He lies and makes people believe it.”

“Sir, maybe if you see one of the tests yourself?”  Director Gillen glared at the younger officer, who pushed the point. “You’ll see what I mean. Any test you want. If he’s real…and we believe that he is… the strategic advantage this gives us…. I honestly don’t even know how to begin.”

The Director, after a few moments of irritation, flipped through the file.

“What’s he been doing? Correctly guessing pictures, things like that?”

“And telling people things that they haven’t told him. But that’s just for - ”

“This is sounding like it bears an astonishing similarity to a stage show.”

“So, a double blind then. We’ll go out of our way to trick him.”

The Director sat back in his chair, looking open to suggestion for the first time. “How?”

“Write something on a piece of paper. Seal it in an envelope. Don’t tell me what it is.”

“This is sounding like a magic trick.”

Frustrated, Ellis tried not to snap. “I know it does, but that’s what we’re talking about here. Someone actually doing something that most think is an illusion. You give me the envelope, and we go in together to see him. I won’t know what’s in it, nor will he have any influence over it. I'm not trying to get you to believe him entirely on the basis of that, but at least let us show you more verifications afterwards.”

“What you described - that’s not quite a double blind.”

“Well, no, but… you have to admit, it’s not giving him anything to work with. He doesn’t get to influence what went in, and he’s got nothing to read off me either. He doesn’t get to ask any questions, and he only gets one shot at it.”

Slowly, the Director nodded. “If he can tell me what’s in it then, I’ll consider that there may be something to this. But if this turns out to be a waste of my time…”

“Please, sir. Just five minutes of your time.” Ellis took a piece of paper from the printer and handed it to the Director. “Write something – anything – and then we’ll go straight down. We have him restrained.”

“Why is he restrained?”

“Some of the staff don’t want him going close to them. Military secrets and psychics are not a good combination.”

The Director closed his eyes. “I’m working in a madhouse,” he said, but he took a pen. “Turn around.”

Ellis did so, as the Director wrote something down without hesitation. He then took an envelope out of his desk drawer, folded the paper and inserted it, and then sealed the envelope.

“Here you go,” he said, handing Ellis the envelope.  “Let’s go and talk to our guest.”

Silently, the two men walked down the corridor, and then through a snaking series of corridors and stairs. Security personnel snapped to attention as they passed.

After a while, they were deep in the bowels of the building, heading towards a series of cells that very few people in the country knew existed. Very few people in the government or military either for that matter.

Ellis walked to the cell, barely big enough to hold a small bed and a chair. The guards outside opened the door. The two men strode through.

“Good afternoon, Mister – “ Ellis began, but he was cut off.

The man restrained in the chair interrupted him, even though he kept staring an angry hole in the ground. 

“Officer, hello, but I believe I need to speak to your boss. Director Gillen, the name you’ve written in that envelope is Julia. It was the name you chose for your daughter, if your wife hadn’t miscarried. You’ve never told anybody that, and since she died four years ago, it seems a little unlikely that she told me.”

The Director’s blood drained from his face, and his jaw dropped. “I….Jesus Christ.”

“No. Shane Smith.” He lifted his head up to look right into the director’s eyes. “Now, can you untie me, please?”

Magic Falls Part 25

The face in the fire looks at me as the long, slender fingers of the thing that had been snaking around the circle wrap themselves around me. I struggle against them, but their strength is enormous.

As they wrap around my throat and force their way into my mouth, I can see that the thing's other hand is doing the same thing to Maria.

"...off me! Get - " she says, before the fingers worm their way down into her throat, and deep into her stomach.

I know that is what it is doing, because I can feel it doing the same thing to me. It's fingers are cold, heavy and feel like they're screaming.

I am lifted off my feet, as is Maria. The face in the fire grows and we are moved to it.

I/WE COULD HAVE SO MUCH TO TEACH/LOVE/CUT YOU... BUT THIS WILL HAVE/NEED TO SUFFICE

The thing begins to spread its fingers, and I feel the pressure pushing against every inch of my being. It forces itself into my brain and the visions and feelings overwhelm me. I cannot see or hear anything other than its will.

I/WE


ARE
FOREVER
AND
YOU
CANNOT/WILL NOT

EVER

HARM 

I/WE/US/ME

TELL

MY/OUR

SON

THAT

The words burn into my head, my vision, my hearing.

It is all I can see. All I can feel.

All that I am.

And then they are gone.

Not just the words. But the face in the fire and the thing that was around the circle.

For a few long moments, I forget how to breathe, but then I manage to inhale several large gasps before I throw up a mixture of vomit and blood.

The room is still coming back into focus as I remember Maria.

I look over to see if she is okay, and I see that she is doing much the same thing. Her face is still smeared with the bloody tears and she is wiping blood from her mouth.

"What...." she is breathing shallowly and quickly, trying to get herself under control. "...the hell...have you done?"

I try talking, but burst into a painful coughing fit instead. When I can actually form words again, I say "I don't know."

"You...you just pissed off the elder gods," she says. I try to tell whether she is angry or scared. Or both.

"I don't even know what they are," I say. "Not until they...not until they were inside us."

"How did they....?"

"I don't know how they knew about me." I swallow back a mouthful of bloody bile. It tastes like copper.

"They could have killed us."

"So why didn't they?"

She stands up, and crosses the circle, moving over to her armchair, where she sits back and breathes slowly. "Gods," she says. "You take for granted how good air tastes when you're not suffocating on....whatever that was."

I stay kneeling. Moving my head is making me dizzy, and I'm worried about what will happen right now if I try to stand.

She watches me. "You know," she says. "That big display of power that thing did to pass on a message. That seemed very much like a threat to me."

I can't help but smile a little. "You don't say."

"It felt like grandstanding. Bloody effective grandstanding, but grandstanding."

"What do you mean?" I ask, taken aback by how quickly she is able to talk. I can still barely gasp.

"They're not just pissed off at you, Darren. They're scared of you. In awe."

I take the chance and stand. "It's not me."

"Who is it then?"

"The message wasn't for me...." The dizziness overwhelms me, but then I can feel it drain. I can see clearly, and feel my feet under me gaining steadiness. I can breathe again properly. "It was for the son of the devil."

"And who is that?"

"...I don't know."

She brings her head forward, her fingers splayed at her temples. "I can't help you any more, Darren."

"I didn't want this to happen," I say quietly. It doesn't matter. I know that.

"The money..." she says. "The money that turned up in your account. I won it. I know I said I wouldn't use it like that, but I did. And I put half the money in your account, because I know you're doing something even if I don't know what it is. But I can't do anything else. I'm done."

I stagger across to her, and half-kneel, half-collapse in front of her. She leans forward and we hug.

"I hope you find Nina. I hope she's okay. And I love you very much. You're one of my best friends. But I can't see you for a while now. This is too much."

I nod into her shoulder. "I understand."

"Darren?"

"Yes?"

"Stay alive. Please. Promise me."

I hold her tighter, but I don't promise anything.



*******************************************************************


I hear you.

Through the earth.

From where I have waited so long.

My love.

My one true love.

It has been so long.

I am coming for you.

Darren Young and Wrestling with Homophobia

"He ain't nothing. Look at him, he's half queer."

Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson about Triple H (1999)

"I just figured out what the 'H' in HBK stands for...You're nothing but a homo!"

Bret 'The Hitman' Hart to 'The Heartbreak Kid' Shawn Michaels (1997)


If you grew up during the 1980s or 1990s, you're probably aware of the Ultimate Warrior. A muscled madman, he was hugely popular with wrestling fans all over the world, and particularly popular with kids. What's not so well remembered is the time he led thousands of people in a chant of 'faggot' against a wrestler who portrayed a gay character. On live pay-per-view. In 1996. But then, that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the deep-rooted homophobia involved in wrestling.

This week, Darren Young became the first openly gay member of the active roster in World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE). He came out during an interview with TMZ.com, which was obviously set up for exactly that purpose. Young is part of a tag-team called the Prime Time Players, who are a pair of comedy heels (wrestling parlance for 'bad guys'). They're young, well-built, good looking guys who have a higher opinion of what they're worth than most fans do.

Darren Young, who came out days ago.

A number of fans have been strongly of the opinion that WWE should keep him in this role, to send the message that his sexuality is not important. While I can see the merits of this, I disagree for a number of reasons. The main one is the context of how homosexuality has been handled in wrestling in the past.

While few characters in wrestling have been openly gay, there have been a number of 'flamboyant' characters. These include characters like Gorgeous George (who would insist on the ring being sprayed with perfume before he would wrestle) and Britain's Adrian Street (who would combine a sadistic wrestling style with his flamboyant appearance). Their characters were designed to generate heat from the audience by camping it up (and, usually, being abusive and unpleasant to their female valets).

Adrian Street in what is frankly still the greatest picture ever taken of a pro-wrestler. (c) Jeremy Deller 

In 1996, the World Wrestling Federation (WWF) - now WWE - introduced the character 'Goldust'. Similarly to his predecessors, Goldust camped it up hugely, and played up the sexuality of the character to a huge degree. He would wear a long blonde wig and feathered robe for his entrance, and would wrestle with black and gold facepaint and a tight gold bodysuit. He would blow kisses at his opponent, or slowly lick his lips. In his first feud, he got a fake tattoo with his opponent's name on a loveheart.

During his introduction, commentator Jerry Lawler said "Goldust is here. He may be queer. Get used to it, because he's going to be your next Intercontinental champion". Goldust was portrayed as a manipulative player of mindgames, using his sexuality to distract opponents, usually before receiving a beating. In his most high profile beating (against Rowdy Roddy Piper at Wrestlemania XII), during which he was kicked in the balls after trying to kiss his opponent, it was revealed that he wore stockings, suspenders and a corset under his outfit.

Goldust - Probably the most prominent gay wrestling character ever.

At a major event, he was set to fight the Ultimate Warrior. You can see the set-up for the feud here. During the match itself, the crowd started chanting "faggot", which the Warrior enthusiastically sang along to and conducted. He was, of course, portrayed as the good guy in the match.

They did turn Goldust face (good guy) at the end of the year, though. And how did they do so? They had him state categorically that he "wasn't queer".

In 2002, they did exactly the same thing with a tag-team called Billy and Chuck. After they started teaming for a while, they started camping it up and playing a couple - and also gained a personal stylist named Rico who would accompany them to the ring. This time, though, WWE took it one step further by getting the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation to consult on the storyline.

The reason they did this was because they wanted to hype up the live commitment ceremony they were planning to broadcast. WWE hyped this as a full storyline, and GLAAD helped them gain mainstream media coverage. While humorous, it was portrayed as being a positive step for wrestling.

Billy Gunn (left) and Chuck Palumbo (right)

And then Billy and Chuck were turned face by stating that they weren't gay.

They called off their ceremony halfway through to clarify that they weren't gay and it was all a publicity stunt that had got out of hand. They were then beaten up by two other wrestlers. The following week (possibly in response to GLAAD anger and condemnation over being misled), WWE started a storyline about "HLA" - Hot Lesbian Action. The General Manager character, Eric Bischoff, brought out two women to strip to their underwear and make out. Once they did so, they were beaten up by the same pair that attacked Billy and Chuck.

Yes, this happened this century.

It's worth pointing out that they've also played real-life homosexuals for laughs as well. Pat Patterson (a long time WWE employee), during a high point of WWE popularity in 2000, wrestled in an 'evening gown match' with Gerald Brisco, in which both men wore dresses, and Patterson used a sanitary towel as a weapon at one point.

Yes, this also happened this century with Pat Patterson.

Meanwhile, they've also portrayed Dawn Marie, Mickie James, Victoria and Sable as lesbian stalkers at various points, which have pretty much been about as varied as they've got when it comes to their portrayal of sexuality of women. Although their portrayals of women are worthy of their own blog post at some point, so I'm not going to go any further into that right now other than to silently weep into my hands for a moment.

For decades, this has been how wrestling has portrayed homosexuals. As jokes. As manipulators. As bad guys. They have actively damaged perceptions of homosexuality, and have repeatedly had men and women turn face by revealing their heterosexuality. And, for years, it was common for homosexuality to be used as an insult, as seen at the beginning of this blog post through quotes from two of the most popular wrestlers in history. And even in more recent years, jokey homosexual insults have been used by fan favourites. It's a terrible message to send to fans, particularly when they've always had a large number of young, impressionable fans.

This is why I think it's important to have a face who is gay. Because WWE have, to be fair, mostly changed their ways. They haven't had a gay character (whether good or bad) in a long time, and Young's outing has been portrayed by WWE as something they're proud of, and a number of WWE personalities have tweeted or publicly stated congratulations (including Bret Hart, incidentally). WWE now run anti-bullying educational visits for schools, and Young has been immediately added to the stars who take part. That's a great first move.

It's important because I don't think it's enough to just have a gay wrestler. I think it's important to acknowledge the fact, and portray Young's bravery in coming out as a positive that the company is proud of. And not play it for laughs. And, if they do have someone attack him over it (because it is wrestling at the end of the day), have Young win in short and celebratory order.

It's not like the Prime Time Players are in a position that plans can't change over. They're generally on TV in order to lose, and usually in humorous fashion. They have nothing to lose by acknowledging and celebrating Darren Young being the first WWE wrestler to publicly come out. And he's a good person to have in the position. He's a young, good looking, charismatic guy. Use that.

While I take the point that it shouldn't make a difference, I'll agree unhesitatingly with that for every gay wrestler that comes afterwards. For the first time, it is different. WWE have been casually and aggressively homophobic over the last few decades, and they have the opportunity to start making up for that. And it's time to do so.

The Little Apostrophe

"We're sorry," the little apostrophe was told by the big letter. "There just isn't a place for you anymore."

The apostrophe shuffled his little feet. "I don't understand," he said. "There are apostrophes everywhere. Why me?"

"I know," P said. "I didn't ask for the promotion. I was just a letter. I mean, when T took a sabbatical, along with l and the e's, I wasn't expecting to get asked to be a capital."

"But I'd been doing the work well," the little apostrophe said. "That's why I was brought in. To do their work while they weren't around."

"And we all appreciate the work. You've done all the other apostrophes proud."

The little apostrophe wasn't sure about that. Why hadn't he partnered up with someone and found work in speech? There was so much work in speech. But no, he'd had to go for something modern and cutting edge. Communication. That was where the future was.

"Perhaps..." he faltered. "Perhaps we could try to remind people? That it should be a longer word?"

"People don't like to be reminded of it," P said. "They say it's old fashioned. It's just a Phone now."

"I see."

"Look, you'll find something else." P said, glancing around at h,o, n and e. "We all know that. Find something that isn't as silent this time. Take the credit you deserve."

The little apostrophe nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. The market was saturated for what he did, and he knew it.

"We're really sorry," P said.

The little apostrophe found a spot on the floor and stared at it. Maybe if he looked at it for long enough, all of this would just go away. "I understand."

He didn't, really, but he couldn't find much to say.

Apostrophes were generally silent, after all.

Magic Falls Part 24

Maria looks at the being in the fire.

“You said the…child of the demon…”

The words continue to form in our ears, our brains translating it as close as they can to concepts that we can understand. It’s eyes seem to focus on me, but when Maria looks at it, I can feel it looking at her, even though the eyes still burn in my vision.

YES/NOT QUITE

“Are you the demon? Are you the Devil?”

It stays silent for a while, until it begins to make a noise repeatedly. It is both low and reverberating and high pitched and screeching. You feel the deepness of it in your stomach while the height of it claws at your ears and brain.

At first I think it is chanting, but then I realise what it is doing.

It is laughing.

“What are you then?”

It eventually stops laughing and begins to communicate again. The being outside slithers around the circle again, and I realise that the slithering is how it breathes.

I/WE ARE MUCH OLDER/GREATER THAN YOUR DEMON/DEVIL

I take a moment and think through what it has said, and am about to reply, but Maria cuts me off.

“So what are you, then? Are you evil?”

IN WHOSE EYES/VIEW, LITTLE WOMAN/GIRL?

She is now glaring at it angrily. She stands, blood still streaming down her face, and for a moment she looks like one of the furies.

“You are in my circle. You hijacked my casting. If you have your…thing out there keeping us in the circle, than you are in my circle. I created it, I cast it, and you will answer my bloody question!”

The flame exploded in anger. It rushed past both of our heads, and the heat was scorching. And then it retracts back into itself, continuing to burn angrily.

WHO ARE YOU TO COMMAND ME/US LITTLE WOMAN/GIRL?

Maria doesn’t back down. If anything, she squares up closer to the flame.

“You came to my circle in my home,” she repeats. “You are my guest. I am not yours.”

YOU/YE SUMMONED ME/US

“No, we didn’t. That was beyond our control, but I’m betting it wasn’t beyond yours. What was it? Did you just want to meet the bloody man prince boy king, dragon bloody god slayer? Did you just want to gawp? Was that it?”

For a moment, the flame falls silent. The fire swirls different colours, as I can see it thinking.

I try not to think about the thing outside the circle, which is hissing now.

I/WE CANNOT ANSWER YOUR QUESTION/PRAYER… EVIL IS NOT A CONCEPT/PLACE THAT WE RECOGNISE/CREATED

“So what are you?”

I/WE ARE THE FEAR YOU/YE CREATED/REMEMBERED

“What does that mean?” She asks.

“It means that we don’t know if we created them or remembered them,” I say. “And they don’t know either. It may not matter.”

“What are they?”

“They’re fear,” I say. “Ancient fears, that we either created or we remembered. Aren’t you?”

YES

“You say that I am the….killer of all.”

YES

Maria looks at me, unsure.

“Is this something I can avoid?”

YES/NO….IT IS….NOT SET/CARVED IN STONE BUT IT IS NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN AVOID

“Can I save Nina, if nothing else?” I ask. “I came back for that. Is it possible?”

I/WE CANNOT SEE ALL

“Theoretically, then.” I snap at it.

It laughs again.

OF ALL THE THINGS I/WE LOVE/CREATED ABOUT YOU/YE/HUMANITY…THE WAY YOU CREATE/DELIVER THOUGHTS/IDEAS IS THE ONE I/WE LOVE/CREATE MOST

“Please.” I say. “Please, tell me. Straight.”

IT IS POSSIBLE. IT IS NOT POSSIBLE. YOU HAVE CHANGED/CREATED TOO MUCH BY LIVING/RETURNING. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO TELL

“Right,” I say. “I’m taking that as possible. But that leads to another question…”

I/WE ARE BEGINNING/STARTING TO TIRE OF THIS/YOU

“Hear me out… you can’t tell me where she is. You can’t tell me whether I can save her. We’ve upset you by summoning you and yet we’re somehow still alive. So, my question is this – why are you here?”

Maria looks down behind me as I talk, and she flinches. Her eyes are now focused on that spot with an intensity and fear, even taking this situation into account.

I look down.

The slender arm of the thing wrapped around the chalk, that was kept outside or was keeping us in.... has now crossed the circle and is edging closer to me. And then it’s fingers begin to unfurl.

TO TELL/GIFT/TEACH  YOU A LESSON/PARABLE/WARNING