Archive of Our Own

"Tell me a story, Gran?"

"Well then. Once upon a time..."

"Not that sort of story. A real story. A true story."

"They're all true stories once, you know. But very well."

When I was your age, or maybe just a little older, there was a girl who lived over on the next street from here, and her name was Sarah. She lived with her mum and her dad, like you do, and her granny lived down the road.

"Like you do, Gran?"

"Yes, sweetie."

She was just home from school one afternoon, and eating a slice of toast, when her mum came into the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards.

"Oh, Sarah. Your granny just phoned -- she says she's out of stock cubes, and the mince she has in the fridge won't keep till tomorrow. Could you take these over to her?"

She held out a couple of Oxo cubes to Sarah, and Sarah put them into her pocket.

"OK, Mum."

"Oh, and take her this book, as well, I told her I'd lend it when I was finished. Now, mind you go straight there, no dawdling, and tell her to phone and let it ring twice when you get there."

That was what people used to do, then, you see, back before mobile phones and texts -- you'd phone, let it ring twice, and then put the phone back down, so it didn't cost anything.

"OK, Mum."

Sarah put on her coat -- a lovely red coat, it was, I always liked that coat -- and went down the street and across the road, and up to her granny's flat in the sheltered housing, without any dawdling, just like her mum had said. She rang the bell.

"It's on the latch, dear!" her granny called out, and Sarah rolled her eyes, because, really, she'd told her granny about that before. It wasn't safe. But she pushed the door open and went in.

There on the sofa was her granny, drinking a cup of tea and watching some black-and-white film on the TV; and on the other end of the sofa there was a Thing. It was big, and black, and shapeless, and it seemed, at the edges, to be oozing ever-so-slightly towards her granny. Her granny didn't seem to be paying it the slightest bit of attention. As Sarah looked at the Thing, something happened inside the shapelessness, and suddenly it was blinking big, black, saucer-huge eyes at her. Maybe, Sarah thought, they'd just been shut at first.

"Wow. Those are big eyes," Sarah said. Quite calmly, she congratulated herself.

"Oh, you mean my new glasses?" her granny said. "What do you think, dear? I was bored with my small frames, and the girl in the shop thought they rather suited me."

"Absolutely," Sarah agreed. "Hey, Granny, Mum said could you do the phone thing when I got here?"

"Of course, dear."

Sarah's granny got up from the sofa, away from the oozing puddle of Thing-darkness, and Sarah breathed a little sigh of relief, before looking back at the Thing. While they were talking, it had grown -- or had they been there all along? -- big satellite-dish ears, which were angling towards her, as though they were trying to focus on the source of her voice.

"And those are very big ears," Sarah said, under her breath. The ears got a little bigger, and the Thing started to ooze towards her, now, over the floor.

Sarah's granny put the phone back down. "While I'm on my feet, dear, would you like a cup of tea? And I made some biscuits this morning. I'm sure your mum wouldn't mind you having a biscuit or two."

"Yes please," Sarah said with some enthusiasm. Partly because that would put her granny safely in the kitchen, away from the slowly-expanding Thing. And partly because her granny made really very good biscuits, and as anyone knows, you always have room for a biscuit. Even if there's a Thing in the middle of the living-room.

At the mention of biscuits, the Thing yawned open a mouth that maybe Sarah just hadn't noticed before, and as it got steadily, improbably, wider, Sarah could see rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth, stacked up behind each other.

Because she was a sensible girl, who knew her fairy-stories, Sarah closed her mouth firmly on what she could feel wanting to be said next. She cast a glance round the room, and saw an empty bottle on the table next to her. Carefully watching the Thing again, as it spread little by little larger, and little by little further towards her, she pulled a ring off her finger, and dropped it into the bottle. Then, still without taking her eyes off the Thing, she pulled the safety-pin from the hem of her school kilt -- it was a silly uniform, that one, but occasionally useful -- and, with a wince, stabbed it into her finger. As the bead of blood welled up, the Thing began to move faster towards her, dark nostrils (it had nostrils now?) twitching, and even more teeth showing. Quickly, Sarah squeezed a drop of blood into the bottle, smeared her finger around the rim, and set the bottle down between her and the Thing.

"Teeth!" she said, and jumped backwards, sticking her finger in her mouth.

As Sarah knew, because she was a bright girl, and she knew about such things, it was blood that the Thing wanted. They always do, these beasts and monsters and bogeys, blood of one sort or another, although the old stories sometimes skirt around it a bit; and they're usually not very bright about it. The blood on and in the bottle sang louder to the Thing than the blood on Sarah's finger, safely hidden away in her mouth, and the Thing poured itself straight into the bottle after it. The moment the last particle of Thing had disappeared inside, Sarah jumped forwards again, grabbed the bottle, and slammed her mum's book over its mouth. There was a thump from inside the bottle, and a roaring noise, and a sound like a great many teeth clattering together. And then everything was still.

"Granny!" Sarah called, still holding the book over the bottle.

Her granny reappeared from the kitchen.

"You got it, then?" she asked.

"Yes," Sarah said. "Really, Granny, you should know better than to keep doing this. That's the third time this month!"

Her granny shrugged. "Well, no one else round here is fit to deal with them, dear. I can't just let them run wild through my neighbours, now can I?"

"You're not fit to deal with them, either, Granny," Sarah said severely. "You keep calling me round instead."

"And a lovely job you do of it, dear," her granny said, patting her on the shoulder. "Is it gone, then?"

"Yes," said Sarah, looking through the glass of the bottle. She took the book off the top, and upended the bottle on the table. The silver ring fell out, and rolled round on itself for a moment before it settled. Sarah picked it up and slipped it back onto her finger.

"That ring used to belong to my grandmother, you know," her granny said.

"I'm sure normal families don't hand down silver rings so as to deal with monsters," Sarah complained, but only half-heartedly.

"Better that than not being able to deal with the monsters at all, dear," her granny said. "Now, that tea should be ready by now. Biscuit? And if you could give me those stock cubes your mother sent, I'll get my mince going."

Sarah rolled her eyes again, but, well, her granny did make very good biscuits, and she was hungry, after dealing with the Thing. So she had a cup of tea, and a biscuit, and when she got home her mum told her off about spoiling her appetite. Which was ridiculous, because as anyone knows, you always have room for a biscuit.

And that was how it happened. When I was your age, or maybe just a little older.

"Hey, Gran?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Is your ring silver, Gran?"

"Yes, sweetie. It's useful, is silver, for all sorts of things."

"Can I have a silver ring, Gran? For dealing with monsters?"

"Maybe when you're just a little older. Now go to sleep, there's a good girl."

"Night, Gran."

"Night night. Sleep well."