The crumbling cottage of Uncle Albert was avoided by all of the hamlet of Littleford. That was easy enough: Alberts little house sat on the very edge of the village, almost out in the moor. He was a solitary man, one who rarely spoke. He looked the part, too: bentover, unkempt, dressed in a grubby checked shirt and patched camouflage trousers. His hair was tangled and silvergrey, his cheeks weatherworn. Strangely enough, Uncle Albert never drank a drop.
Tenyearold George was terrified of Albert. His mother would sigh and say,
He used to be a fine fellow, a real handyman! All the women whispered about how lucky his wife was!
His father would add,
He went hunting six years ago, and ever since hes gone off his rocker.
When his son died, he lost his mind, his mother would argue.
Mrs. Margaret, who was close friends with Aunt LucyAlberts former wifealways sighed when she visited.
Oh, dear Margaret, I feel sorry for him, but I cant go on like this. Its one thing that little Tommy died, but then Albert stabbed me in the back!
She never explained what Albert had actually done. Even Georges mother, her best friend, heard nothing. Aunt Lucy herself had struggled through the loss of her only threeyearold son, and Alberts downfall had seemed a crushing blow to her.
Rumours swirled: some said Albert had taken to drink, others whispered that the death of the child and the subsequent divorce had driven him mad. There were even stories of a strange creature seen near his cottagea gaunt, hunched figure with ashen skin and long, thin arms.
Tell me, what did he do?
You left me no choice, Margaret, Aunt Lucy would sigh, and then say nothing more.
That summer was hot and dry. George, Victor and Anthony for the first time that year rode their bicycles to the river without an adult. They spent whole days on the bank, swimming and fishing. When they caught plenty, George would dry the fish in the sun, and in the evenings the boys gnawed at the dried roach instead of sowing seeds, which meant George always gulped several mugs of water before bed.
The short path to the river passed the overgrown plot of Uncle Alberts cottage, choked with weeds and wild maples. The house itself looked pitiful: its roof was mossgreen, the timber frame sagged, and the windows were halfblown. Only a ridiculous satellite dish perched on the ruin suggested someone still lived there.
The boys knew all the whispers about Albert and tried not to glance back when they rode past his land.
George, have you heard what they say about Albert? Victor asked, deftly casting his line.
A great many things, all different, George replied, brushing a buzzing gnat from his ear as he pulled a baconfilled sandwich from his pack.
What about the grey man? Anthony interjected, dropping a plump roach into his bucket.
Ah, the locals say youll see grey and green folk if you stare too long, Victor laughed.
The day was unusually fine, and the boys were so engrossed in their fishing that they didnt notice the sun slipping toward dusk. The river mirrored the crimson of evening clouds, crickets chirped, and frogs sang their night songs.
Wed better get going, lads, Mumll be worrying! George shouted, eyes turning toward the pinkish sky.
As they packed up, the sun had already vanished behind the horizon and warm summer twilight settled in. They were hurrying home when, right opposite Alberts cottage, Victors bike chain snapped.
George, Anthony, wait! Victor cried, leaping from his bike.
He bent to pull the chain back into place when a rustle rose from the bushes, and twigs cracked.
Did you hear that? Anthony whispered, his voice shaking.
Something big, George replied, feeling a shiver run down his spine. Victor, help me, and lets get out of here.
The rustling grew louder, closer now. The boys trembling hands struggled with the chain, but finally they managed to fix it. In that instant a gaunt, ashen figure emerged from the undergrowth. It was roughly the height of a tenyearold, its skin a pallid grey, its head small and bald, its limbs unnaturally long and thin, ending in clawlike fingers. Its eyes were enormous, completely black, and it let out a crackling sound, baring tiny, sharp teeth. Instead of a nose it had two round breathing holes.
Mum, whats that?! Victor shouted, and the boys bolted on their bicycles, abandoning the bucket of fish.
George glanced back for a moment and saw the creature clumsily topple over, creep toward the bucket, peer inside and snatch the fish with its hooked fingers. Then a hoarse voiceAlbertscame from the cottage, and the monster turned toward it, emitting a sound that vaguely resembled a human cry before it scurried back home.
Before parting, the boys swore never to ride past Alberts cottage again. Of course, each of them received a stern beating for being late home.
From the kitchen wafted the scent of fresh scones; Margaret hummed softly to herself. George slipped to the door, listening. His mothers voice, though not angry, promised a reprieve, and the smell of hot pancakes coaxed him out of his fear of a scolding mum.
The front door slammed open: it was his father, a farm security guard returning from a night shift.
Hey, Margaret, is George still asleep? he called out, his voice trembling a little.
Yes, Michael, whats the matter? You look frightened. Margaret replied calmly.
They found little Sam on the river. Something tore him apart, some sort of beast.
Oh, dear God! Margaret gasped.
The police are here, interviewing witnesses. Some of the nightfishing men heard screams. They say they saw something flash pasta figure like a man, but not a man. Thin, childsized, greycoloured.
Georges heart pounded. The creature they had seen yesterday near Alberts cottage was exactly the same. He thought a moment and decided he must tell his parents.
He left his bedroom and blurted out,
Mum, Dad! We saw that thing by Alberts house yesterday. It wasnt a man at all. It was terrifying.
What followed unfolded swiftly. Georges father rang Anthonys and Victors parents, who in turn called the other men of the village. Soon almost the whole hamlet gathered at Georges cottage, eager to act. Within minutes everyone set off for Alberts place.
After the adults left, Victor and Anthony ran after them, curiosity burning bright. As they neared Alberts plot, grotesque, inhuman shrieks echoed, followed by a few gunshotssome of the local hunters had taken aimand then a desperate cry from Albert himself.
No one noticed the boys as they approached the scene. A crowd gathered around a dreadful sight: a shallow pool of blood, ordinary human blood, staining the ground. Over it knelt a weeping Albert, his voice broken.
My son! My dear boy! Why, why have you done this?
It wasnt a son, it was Sam, Georges father said wearily.
He couldnt have done it himself! Sam must have provoked it. I found him while hunting, heard a wail, followed a burrow and heard a child crying. I thought perhaps a lost childmy own Tolik had just died, my heart torn I looked and there he was, small, just like Tolik. Two creatures were fighting, their parents perhaps. He came to me, crying, his thin hands reaching. I took him, and he clung to me, trembling, frightened. He understood everythinghe loved sweets, watched television, liked fantasy films, childrens tales, cartoons He could only babble, but he understood. He was a teen, just like your George, Michael.
Aunt Lucy arrived at the scene and shouted,
Albert, thats a monster! Why didnt you leave it there? Maybe its kin would have found it.
Albert sneered,
Look! We humans are the monsters, not they! Weve felled the woods, poisoned rivers and seas, left naught but rubbish. Theres nowhere left for them to hide. All they have is us, and weve beaten their parents to death.
The crowd stared at Albert, mourning his dreadful son. The creatures lifeless body lay stretched, its long arms splayed, its black eyes fixed on the sky.
Let me bury it, if youre not beasts, Albert pleaded, wiping tears from his cheek.
George felt a sudden pity for Albert and even for his son, and for Sam, whose flesh the beast had ripped. Everyone was a victim. Was anyone truly at fault? George, for a fleeting second, regretted having told his parents.
They would not let Albert keep the monsters remains. The police arrived, dispersed the crowd, and soon militaryclad officers came, ordering everyone to keep silent under threat of severe punishment. No one knew where the creatures body was taken. Albert himself fell ill soon after, dying within a year of the monsters death. His cottage finally collapsed, overgrown with impassable brambles, a relic of a dark chapter that the people of Littleford would whisper about for generations.
