CHAPTER 12
With the Pendant clenched in his fist, and his page rolled and held as if a sword, Ben took to the night outside. It was the blackest night he had ever known, windless and silent and still. All that lived nocturnal had held its breath, a chance to vanish and hide, even the shadows had fled. A jet black sky capped the earth. No Moon or stars shone.
Ben found his way. No hill, field or wood caused him to turn from a path that was straight and true. Creatures, monsters and things played dead where once they ruled and bullied as kings. He was the light, his ghostly glow and the faint illumination of his, a single, page.
At the top of a familiar hill, he came to a stop. Oswald's house was there below, as black as the surrounding night. Unable to extract a view, he moved to rush the final straight, but a sudden beam of moonlight caught and held him still. He looked above, the jet black layer that capped the immense, all-encompassing sky was stirring, swirling to unravel into a single thread, which then wormed its way down towards the house, onto the roof then through. The..., Ben knew it was. But the final one? He set off towards The Objector's house as fast as he could go.
The wind, now free again, rallied across the land. Ben knew it had risen in support of him. It jemmied the garden gate and held the front door open. From hall to stairs to landing, all that once impinged his passage remained sunken in the shadows, willing him on and well. He charged towards the library door; it stood ajar, light from behind it seeping through. He barged it open then crashed to a stop when tackled by the view.
The Library was packed, with just one man, Oswald. Ben watched, a book vanished from a shelf, a moment later, Oswald, standing without his wheelchair, sprung free of thin air and placed a copy of the book back on the shelf, then, with a twist of the body, he vanished. This happened and continued to happen in dozens of places at once. However, some books that vanished were never returned, and Ben could see that the shelves were emptying. He knew the books were being erased and that somehow Oswald, with time on his side, was fighting to keep them alive.
'Can I help you? Let me help you!'
Ben cried, once then again and again. But a trance-like focus kept Oswald locked in the race, ever more tightly as the books on the shelves grew ever more sparse.
The books that vanished, some to return only to vanish again, were not just copies, each was as good as the original, each theft was a murder, the slaying of a body and mind. The library was history and here history was being erased. This thought rode a surge of fear that swelled within Ben. He felt exposed, utterly bare. His Dad, he begged, his shield! Let his spirit remain, here, on guard. He rushed towards the book that held his final hope, but the book, his Dad, was gone. He looked at the desk but it, too, was gone. And the newspaper, gone. The chair, gone. The clock, gone. The Objector, gone. The books, every single one of them, gone. The house whipped away as if it were cloth, gone. And Ben, thrown, discarded. He felt the pull, the imminent crush, but his eyes snapped open to stillness and grey - a sort of space, a sort of nothing, the final space before all was nothing, before all was gone completely, where even a ghost was sick with cold.
Around him, as if the space was tubed, the final remnants of a man's life flashed by, and then, briefly, a mass of pages that were also stretched and pulled towards the infinite crush. And between that point and Ben stood the final The... a shrouded figure black against the flat, lifeless grey; a monument carved from, and into, time; one, victorious and complete; waiting, throned as a king at the end of a processional road.
Ben felt its desire for him to proceed, its empty mirrored eyes waiting for his fear. He forced his stare away, desperate to disconnect. Behind him, a Sun drenched Earth, set against a dazzling night sky, appeared beyond the aperture of the cone shaped space he now knew himself to be in, the apex of which would be the final vanishing point of all that was life, beauty and knowledge. The wonder of the view for The Earth seemed to him as something new born as suddenly alive, made crystal his despair.
What could he do to stop it? Nothing. He turned from the past to face the new and, without uncertainty, began to move towards it. The... remained as stone, set only to watch and wait.
As Ben drew close, The... contracted in size to stand as tall as the average man - primed ready to pull the fear straight from Ben's eyes.
'What do you want from me?' Ben asked, but it made no reply. 'Have you a mind, a heart? You're just a lump, like coal? Just billions of mindless particles, dust or solid?'
Still no reaction. All it gave was the stark, simple horror of its alien gaze, the pull of which, Ben could feel grinding him in.
'Why am I here? Why save me til last? Because I had hope? Because I thought you could be defeated?...Why this pause, here, now, before you win forever?...What does it mean? What do you want?...Recognition? Is that it, you want to be recognized? You want a moment of fame? You want to be known as the winner? As powerful? As cruel? As hateful? For one, pointless, moment in time you want to be known as, and for, something?....Is that is? You want memories! To take to your grave, to your own empty space! Anything but nothing! Anything but nothing! But that is what you are! Nothing! What you will always be! Nothing! Not like me or any other person! You can crush us all, and forever, but at least we will have lived as people! As so much more than you! Even me! Even my life!'
He held-up his page for The... to see, as if the page contained proof of his claim, then continued:
'I am not, and never will be, nothing!!'
He unrolled the page; the page was blank. It dazzled him. He turned the page back and forth, scouring every millimeter but found no record of any life lived - no past, no present, no future.
'How can it be?...How can I be?' Ben asked himself.
An inhuman laughter, a high-frequency wail, shattered the air. Ben felt nothing, as empty as his page.
The... shot forth a claw-like appendage which stabbed Ben through the belly, picked him up and yanked him forward. The... now held him face-to-face. But the face that stared back at him, that laughed in his own, was the face of his Dad. He knew it was an animated mask. But no. He believed it real. It was, to him, Dad. He took as real the burst of contemptuous, hate-filled laughter it spat at him. The face then morphed to be his Mum, pulsing with rage and incoherent screams, a savage insanity calling him to be as it, as her. His own face then appeared and looked back at him, and a true reflection, utterly empty, devoid of even fear.
The... thrust him into the air, held him aloft as if showing off a trophy. Ben glimpsed a torrent of particles spewing out of The... and charging towards the Earth. The... then forced him down and round so that he faced the blackest hole head-on. Its gravitational pull took immediate effect. He felt existence drain away, and a slow choking compression against the entirety of his being. His ghostly vapour began to sink towards it, pulled towards the abyss. He looked back at The... Only one of its mirrored eyes glared back at him. The other, on the opposite side, was set towards The Earth. He knew he was soon to be released to be crushed for evermore. He thought to himself, if only he could explode - himself a destroyer of worlds. But all he felt within himself was himself sinking deeper and deeper into nothing, drowning, not grappling for a foothold. A hand, however, then came to him and shook him to the oxygen of defiance and rage.
'You want to see my fear? Well, I will show you none! Let me go! Put me with the people! With all that we have come to know! Put me there! Me! Nothing, a nobody! Because from nothing, we, the vastness came!...I lost my shield, but my fear too! And now, I find my hope! It's here, on this page! I give it my Dad, his defiance, and my Mother, her rage!'
He released the page. It flew away, pulled towards the hole.
'So from me, you shall have no fear! From me, I give you defiance and rage! A rage, I know, was born from love! Her love for us! So take it, this! Take that from Churchill,' he flicked it the victory V, 'and take that from me!' he span his hand around and gave The... a two-fingered salute.
Nonchalantly, with a dismissive flick of
it claw-like appendage, The... cast Ben away. Ben accelerated towards the hole trapped in the current of its gravitational pull and unable to escape through time. The... sped off towards the Earth. Ben looked at the hole - a black dot against the grey. His page vanished within and with it his hope, defiance and rage.
The hole expelled a flash of light. Ben slowed quickly to stillness. He looked behind. The..., a vast spiral of particles, twisted to a stop, it's towering mirrored eyes glaring back. Both boy and It shared an unknowing, a common sense of doubt.
In an instant, the spiral imploded towards a tiny central point, then exploded out as a one-directional wave of particles that surged towards Ben. Instinct drove Ben to look back at the hole, to glance at the pendant held in his hand, Behind him the tsunami kept coming, a giant to lash a grain of sand. But there he stood, waiting, ready.
A flash, a release, the hole ripped open. All that it held jetted out. Billions of ghosts, there, together, a scorching plasma of liberated energy, expanding, set for war. As this the initial blast raced to envelop Ben, he wondered what form could survive it. Him, a ghost, a mere spec before it? The pendant! He raised it, held it as if a shield. Two great, unstoppable, forces now screamed towards him. The ghostly plasma broke over him first. The Pendant cocooned him in a bubble of safety as if emitting its own shielding force.
The two great forces met in a wild slam of destruction. A great chunk of The... vanished, vaporized. As the plasma blast softened and thinned as it mushroomed out, individual ghosts took form - from human to moof and all between. They were the air, the sky, the sea. And each seething, white-hot and possessed. Numb to pain. Their only goal, to attack that which had suppressed them.
With the blast now dissipated, Ben lowered the Pendant. He watched every ghost deliver the fight. A primal melee, destroy or be destroyed. Ghost hunted particle, to touch and vaporize. Every kill took from the ghost part of its power, its incinerating heat.
Particles bonded together. Strengthened in numbers, immune to a single ghost's attack, they slashed back to retaliate ripping ghost after ghost from this their final flash of existence. The ghosts took heed, joined together, attacked in two or three. A kamikaze pact - both ghosts and particles obliterated.
The... began to weave in and out of time, to vanish then reappear, to ambush and kill. Its advantage became clear. It was winning the war.
Ben stood still amongst it all, dazed by the riot of destruction. Something inside him called him away, a silent voice, a feeling. He began to back away drifting as if propelled by an exterior force. Once again he seemed invisible, beyond the concern of all around him. As his motion grew faster, he looked at the Pendant, confused and enthralled by its power.
'Son!' a voice called out. Ben looked.
'Dad?' he replied.
His Dad rushed towards him as if chasing after him, his hand outstretched and offered to Ben, his white-hot glow reduced through war to pale ghostly tones.
'Son!' his Dad continued.
'Dad. You-'
'A coward? None here are. We have all returned to fight. And you, son. Come! Stay, fight with me!'
'I will! But another way. I cannot stay. I know where I must be to be complete. I am not a coward. Don't think me so.'
'I don't.'
'We will beat them! We will! I will give you the time and shield enough for victory!'
Ben continued to accelerate rapidly moving further away from his Dad, who quickly became a tiny spec at the end of a tunnel of black.
His eyes snapped open; his body sat up with a jolt. He woke, alive. His limbs felt heavy, his muscles stiff, but his mind was racing free. He knew what he had to do. Suddenly checking, he looked behind and down at the bed. He saw no body. He, himself, was sitting-up, his body and spirit as one. He clenched his fist. Sharp cold metal pressed against his skin; the Pendant was in his hand. Daylight lit the room. He jumped out of bed, panic and adrenalin fueling him.
Running down the stairs, wearing his duffle coat, his feet now slippered - no time to tie shoe laces, no time to think of illness, pain or fear - the past was seamlessly his, still present here in his mind.
Downstairs, the house was empty. Ben burst outside into the garden. His Aunt stood at the coalbunker throwing lumps of coal into a bucket with an angry, hateful force as if each defiant lump deserved to be punished. Seeing Ben, a single pathetic yelp sprung startled from her mouth.
He paid her no respects; he continued away, ignoring her for how utterly unimportant she seemed to him now.
She watched him go, dazzled by her own disbelief. Anger then flared. Without thinking, she threw a lump of coal towards the bucket. It missed and hit her foot. She squealed, recoiled, stumbled then fell heavily into the coalbunker where she landed on her clenched, boney ass. Panicked by disgust, she flapped around trying desperately to stand but all that rose up was a choking, smothering cloud of coal dust.
Ben looked only ahead. He led the wind; it pushed him on. The day was bright and fresh. Snow still covered the fields; the lanes and paths appeared like earth coloured veins.
One way was the quickest, through the darkest wood. Unafraid, it was the path Ben chose to take. Beneath a dense green canopy of coniferous trees, he soldiered on. The sweet, earthy smell of pine rushed gloriously through his nose to fill then bounce cleanly from his lungs in puffs of misted breath. No creature dared step from the shadows; none jumped out to tease or bully. They held their breath; they willed him on.
He left the wood behind; now onwards towards the lake its surface flickering live, switched on. He knew the risk was far too great. He could not go around; he had to continue on.
Were they iced, the stepping stones? He jumped from the water's edge, found grip and strength to spring another step. Made brilliant with confidence, no nagging doubt, he bounded across the stones. In the depths below, he knew both monster and boy were sharp awake, ready to stand as allies, side-by-side together with him. He gave no thought to the last stepping stone. Once taken, on he went, on and on.
The perimeter wall would have to be scaled for the hospital stood behind it. As it neared, free to hope, to believe, he jumped up as high and as far as his talent would allow. But as an average boy, no longer a ghost, gravity bid him down. His hands and knees pressed into gravel. He followed pain to the palms of his hands. From cuts, blood trickled out, a blooming red stark against a winter's day. Undaunted, enlivened, he rose to his feet and continued away.
The wall was too high to scale unaided. He followed it round looking for a way. A snowdrift - a pile of compacted snow buttressed, ramp-like, against a shaded section of wall - gave him hope. If it could take his weight, he could launch himself up to the top of the wall. He sprinted towards it. It took his weight. He leapt up high. His hands hooked him firm; he rose to scale the summit.
Picking himself up from a gentle fall, he looked ahead. Through trees, he could see two dozen people - nurses and patients, some walking, others sitting, all taking the air - in a well-tended garden. He ran, unashamed, towards them, pulling the Pendant from his pocket.
She sat on a bench, a poised and serene figure. Her broad smile beamed back the golden glow that the Sun cast so freely; her eyes lay shut as if to hold in a dream; her breathing was slow and deep to make the most of the crisp, invigorating air.
'Mum!' Ben called to her. 'Mum!'
Her eyes slowly opened. She looked, as all in the garden did. Ben continued to run towards his Mum; the Pendant held up for her to see. She watched him, waking in her dream.
'I need your half! Dad needs it complete!' Ben shouted.
A female nurse stepped in his way, stopping him, holding him. He struggled. His Mum rose to stand.
'Throw it to me! Now! We have no time to waste!' Ben shouted while trying to break the nurses grip. Other nurses ran in to toughen the line. His Mum broke through her confusion, reached beneath her woolen scarf and pulled from her neck a pendant - the half to make the whole complete, to give infinity time.
'Th
row it! We can beat them, Mum. We can fight them now!' Ben cried.
His Mum threw the pendant towards him. It arced through the air. Nothing could stop Ben now. He broke free of the nurse and dashed away, pursued.
He had to stop the goal - and this average boy did jump far beyond all expectation. He made the save, brought the two halves together then clicked them in place as one.
A scrum of nurses was set to reach him. He dropped the Pendant and kicked the perfect volley, passed the Pendant, and with it the power of time, to his Dad and all other who continued to fight.
'To you, Dad! Take it on! Win the game!' he cried up at the sky as the Pendant vanished beyond it.
With the nurses about to grab him, he twisted away and set off towards his Mum.
'No!' a voice gave an order to the nurses. They complied, looked. Dr Green stood in the garden. 'Let him go,' he continued.
Ben's Mum stood watching Ben approach, which he did without caution, running as freely as only a child can. Unsure of the moment, she sat back down on the bench. Ben kept running; he knew he had to touch her, to complete his task, to join as one.
He threw himself into her arms.
'Ben. You found me,' she said, now calm and poised, made right.
'You were never lost. You were always right, and right here, too. It was me who was lost, but never again! And Dad's alright, too. And I know so much. We have to talk; we have to talk and talk.'
And they did. Whether feeling ill or well, they talked, and they read. Together, they were never, ever bored. Oswald returned and made human his house. He kept a guarding eye on Ben and his Mum and made sure their welfare was paramount. When the time was right, he offered them space in his house to make themselves a home, which they very happily did.
The... were defeated, and all that they had crushed came back into time. The friends Ben had made continued to be as ghosts, just stronger and wiser. He often felt their presence: Victoria standing over his shoulder to read the book he held, The Moof, his expelled odors wafting through the air.
Those who had come from peace to join the fight returned to peace, and the lives they lived continued to play endlessly through time.
Ben believed his Dad now knew him properly, that he was truly his rightful heir, and that between them, connecting them, was a mutual feeling of pride.
On Oswald's advice, Ben's Mum was the only other person to learn of his ghostly adventures. He sought no honors, no bravery medal. His emboldened spirit and the love of his Mum were fame and reward enough.
The End
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