“Young people and their lack of history, I tell you. Where the rubber factory was until they moved it again. And the brickyard.”
Elsa’s expression gives away the possibility that she doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.
Alf claws at the remains of his hair and disappears into the flat. Comes back with a topped-up cup of coffee and a map. Puts down the coffee cup with a slam on a shelf in the hall and marks the map with a thick ring using a ballpoint pen.
“Oh, theeere! That’s where the shopping center is. Why didn’t you just say?”
Alf says something that Elsa can’t quite make out and closes the door in her face.
“I’ll keep the map!” Elsa hollers cheerfully into his mail slot.
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s the Christmas holidays, if you’re wondering! That’s why I’m not at school!” she calls out.
He doesn’t answer that either.
The wurse is lying on its side with two legs comfortably stretched up into the air when Elsa walks into the storage unit, as if it has very gravely misunderstood a Pilates exercise. The Monster is standing in the passage outside, rubbing his hands. He looks very uncomfortable.
Elsa holds up the envelope to him.
“Are you coming?”
The Monster nods. The hood glides away a few inches from his face, and the big scar gleams momentarily in the fluorescent light. He doesn’t even ask where they’re going. It’s difficult not to feel a pang of affection for him.
Elsa looks first at him and then at the wurse. She knows that Mum is going to be angry with her for playing hooky and going off without permission, but when Elsa asks her why she’s always so worried about her, Mum always says, “Because I’m so bloody afraid something may happen to you.” But Elsa is having a pretty hard time thinking that anything can happen to you when you have a monster and a wurse tagging along. So she feels it should be okay, given the circumstances.
The wurse tries to lick The Monster when it walks out of the storage unit. The Monster jumps in terror and snatches back his hand and grabs a broom leaning up against another storage unit. The wurse, as if it’s teasing and having a bit of a laugh, sweeps its tongue back and forth in long, provocative movements.
“Stop it!” Elsa tells it.
The Monster holds out the broom like a lance and tries to force the wurse back by pushing the bristles into its nose.
“I said stop it!” Elsa snaps at both of them.
The wurse closes its jaws around the broom and crunches it to smithereens.
“Stop i—” Elsa begins but doesn’t have time to finish the last “it” before The Monster has thrown both broom and wurse across the cellar with all his might, sending the heavy animal crashing hard into the wall several yards away.
The wurse rolls up and flexes its body in one movement, and is in the middle of a terrifying spring before it has even landed. Its jaws are open, and rows of kitchen knife–size teeth exposed. The Monster faces it with a broad chest and the blood pumping in his fists.
“CUT IT OUT, I SAID!” Elsa roars, throwing her little body right between the two furious creatures, unprotected between claws as sharp as spears and fists probably big enough to separate her head from her shoulders. She stands her ground, armed with nothing but the indifference of an almost-eight-year-old to her own physical shortcomings. Which goes a long way.
The wurse stops itself midleap and lands softly beside her. The Monster takes a few steps back. Slowly, muscles relax and lungs release air. Neither of them meets her gaze.
“The idea here is that you’re supposed to protect me,” Elsa says in a quieter voice, trying not to cry, which doesn’t go so terrifically well. “I’ve never had any friends and now you two try to kill the only two I’ve ever had, just after I’ve found you!”
The wurse lowers its nose. The Monster rubs his hands, disappears into his hood, and makes a rocking motion towards the wurse.
“Started it,” The Monster manages to say.
The wurse growls back.