Short Story: The Shapes in the Corner

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXIX, Issue 20077, 6 April 1935, Page 9

Short Story: The Shapes in the Corner

DAVID could not be sure whether he liked the Big House or whether he,hated it; he liked Mr Calder who owned the Big House; he liked Mrs Calder who always sided with him, when he got into mischief; and especially he liked Mrs Calder’s puffed-up trifle, with the cherries and white almonds on top. He liked, too, the garden with its plum and apple trees, and its bushes that helped him to hide from nurse. These were some of the nice things about the Big House. But coming here seemed to alter people. It altered daddy and mum. They wore different clothes and spoke to him differently. Mum at home was jolly and gamey; she played games fine. Here she never played, and she made nurse take him to bed at halfpast six when his proper time was seven. He hated her sometimes. He hated her when she put on the black dress that showed a lot of her skin. And he hated daddy when he put on a big white shirt and called him Old Man when other people were there, and then took no more notice of him. At home daddy never wore the shirt and never called him Old Man either. Nurse was different, too. At home she was gamey, but here she was so full of don’ts, he mostly hated her. His biggest like and his biggest hate in the Big House was his room. It was right at the top of the house, up the thousand stairs (he was just learning to count), and he slept in it alone. In the morning, when he awoke and the sun shone through the window with its little panes all like diamonds, David loved the room, because it was his own and nobody else’s, not even nurse’s. Then he could see the room quite clearly; he could see into every comer and under the bed, too, if he dangled his head over the side and pulled up the sheet. He did this every morning before nurse came in to dress him, pretendhe was the driver of an airship, looking down thousands of miles to the world. This was a good game, because there were always bits of blue coloured fluff beneath the bed that were clouds and cabbage things in the green oilcloth that were trees.

When his head started to bump through hanging down he would sit up and jump up and down on the bed, making ticking noises with his tongue. The mattress springs helped him by clicking like a horse’s hoofs. Usually he managed to win a race, but sometimes nurse came in half-way and spoilt everything by don’ting at him. Between getting up and going to bed David never went to the room. During the day he often wondered what it was like, whether things were still just as he had left them, or whether the change had started. It was the change he hated about the room, because it frightened him so. Once he told nurse about, and she had laughed at him and told him not to be a silly boy to go imagining things like that. But David knew the change was real, like himself. And because it was his own change, not a thing that anybody else could see, it frightened him more than ever. He felt the change before nurse took him up to the room at bedtime. Usually he felt it at tea time, when none of the others was talking to him. This tea-time, though, he had been sitting on Mrs Calder’s fat, warm knees, and he didn’t feel the change until he had to kiss her good-night.

Up the thousand stairs he kept very close to nurse, letting his fingers brush very light in her skirt. He hated the room now, but he was not really frightened. He knew that so long as nurse was with him the change could not really hurt him. He would keep her with him as long as possible. In the hope of slowing her, he dropped a stair behind, still keeping contact with her skirt. From where he was her back was grey shadow, and the candle she carried made the line of her thin nose and the tops of her ears all gold. She turned round sharply, and exclaimed: “Come on now! Don’t dawdle.” “I’m not,” protested David.

“Don’t contradict,” said nurse. “I’ve taught you better manners than that. Hurry on.” Now they were at the door of the room. He fixed his eyes to nurse’s belt. Without looking about him he was certain the change had happened. The room was bigger, higher. The wardrobe against the far wall was bigger, and blacker, too; when nurse put the candle on the washstand it threw a horrid dark shadow that stretched right up into the corner by the window.

It was* that corner David hated most, for it was easily the darkest part of the room. When the change happened, bricks in the corner melted and left a small round hole in the wall, through which shapes could creep when he was alone.

“Come on, lazybones,” said nurse, lifting him on to the bed. “Oh, David! —your nails! I don’t know whatever your mother would say if she saw them in that state.”

“Perhaps we’d better go and wash dem,” he suggested, hopefully. “Oh, it’s too late, now. And you must learn to speak properly. It’s them, not dem. Like this— ther . . . ther. Now hold still while I undo your blouse.”

“Ther . . . ther ,” repeated David, still looking steadily at nurse. She was a nice old nurse, after all. He wanted to please her. But as she lifted him to pull his knicker-bockers from his legs, his eyes moved upwards to the dark corner.

He saw at once that the bricks had melted. He was terrified. Then he felt nurse’s warm hand on his naked thigh. He looked up into her grey eyes, and for the moment was safe.

By HOWARD JONES.

But the terror of the corner still lingered. He cried out the first words that came to him: “Rub-a-dub-dub.” “Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub,” said nurse. “You must learn not to shout so, David.” “I didn’t shout. I only spoke, Rub-a-dub-dub.” “How many more times must I tell ■»»* ♦;« *i* *> ♦> - >;* »’* <■’* »> v v •!' v *l* *J* •'* •£«

you not to contradict?” Nurse was angry with him now. He was sure he hadn’t shouted. Why should she say he had when he hadn’t? She buttoned his nightshirt, and lifted him from the bed. “My, you are getting a weight! Now kneel down and say your prayers. Yes, kneel here on the mat, or else you’ll

) catch your death. Come on, now, don’t j be all night.” j David looked up at her, and said: “Nurse, I’ve forgotten dem again. | Will you help?” She smiled at him, and he liked her. “Yes, I’ll help.” He followed her phrase by phrase. But with his eyes closed, he couldn’t think of God. He tried to think about Nurse, and how she smiled at him. For a moment or two, he succeeded; and then he saw the dark corner again. He pressed his thumbs hard on his lids, and turned his face, so that his cheek brushed on his nurse’s sleeve. “Amen,” said Nurse. “Amen,” said David, very quickly; and opened his eyes to see her. She turned back the sheet, and lifted him to the bed. He wanted desperately to cling to her. She was so warm and comforting, and he was full of love for her. He wanted to tell her not to leave him, but somehow the words would not come. Oh, if only she would stop and talk to him! If only she would tell him a story! She bent over him and pressed her lips against his cheek. “Good-night, dear,” she said. “Be a good boy and go to sleep quickly.” He hesitated, then cried: “Oh, Nurse, leave me the candle!” “Whatever next!” exclaimed Nurse. “Why, you’d be catching the whole house alight.” “I won't. I promise, I won't. I won’t even go near it.” “I’ll see to that,’ answered Nurse. “You’re much too big to have a light. Only little girls have lights.”

David saw that he was beaten there. There would be no candle. But if only Nurse would stay for just—just another minute! He asked her: “Well, can I have a drink of water?” “Certainly not. It’ll keep you awake.” “I don’t fink it will. It hasn’t other times.”

“Now, be a good boy and go to sleep,” said Nurse firmly as though he hadn’t said anything. David stared at her, hoping she would somehow guess how much he wanted her to stay. She moved towards the door, taking the candle, and cold black shadows jerked and twisted as she went. “Oh,” moaned David to himself, “if I die it’ll be her fault, it’ll be her fault.” Nurse paused

with one hand on the door handle. “Good-night, dear,” she said. David didn’t answer. He hated her. He was cold with the terror that now entirely possessed him. Nurse went out and closed the door. He was alone. He lay quite still, staring at the spot where Nurse had stood. Everything was dim and dark and horrible. Perhaps if he lay quite still he would be all right. The bed and washstand were always quite still, and nothing ever happened to them. They weren’t vanished or broken up. If—if Shapes came, perhaps they wouldn’t notice him. They would think him part of the bed. He would be all right. He tried to think of good things. He thought of God. He saw a beard, dark, long, and thick. It was all twisted. He wanted to close his eyes, but dare not in case . . . something came into the room. He looked quickly up towards the dark corner, and back again. There was nothing. Only darkness. Well, he was all right. God would look after him. He wanted to hum a little hymn tune, but the hum wouldn’t come from him. It was so quiet in the room. He heard a rustling beyond the window. His heart went faster and faster; he could hear it bumping in his ears. His legs, one on top of the other, were hot and sticky. The rustling stopped, then started again. His eyes flicked towards the comer . . Yes! ... he was sure something was coming through the melted bricks. It looked like an old man’s head. It looked like arms.

He somehow shut his eyes. But he still saw the old man’s head and the arms. Now they were clearer and reddish-brown in colour. “A Shape,” he thought. “It’s a Shape, a Shape.” He had no hope. The old man would reach him. He was getting nearer. David had no voice to scream. He had nothing except a heart. But at last he was able to open his eyes. The old man had gone. David could not even be sure he saw the hole where the bricks had melted.

The rustling went on. Perhaps after all, it was only the wind in the trees. A little courage returned with the thought. He turned very quickly in the bed. He was even able to whisper softly to himself: “Rub -a - dub - dub, rub-a-dub-dub. three men in a tub, three men in a tub . .

Three nice old men, three old men who liked little boys. He was able to see them through his lids. They all had beards and long, thin arms. They were horrid. They were Shapes. He stared and stared. He heard a Shape beneath the bed. Then it was silent, and the old men vanished. David was very hot. After some moments he discovered the sheet was over his head. He felt a little better that way. He was hidden from Shapes, from the dark corner, from everything. Like this, he would be all right . . . But it was so hot! His heart was not so noisy now. Presently he pulled the sheet down a little and turned his head. He saw the dark comer. His heart bumped again. He saw the old man. He saw the arms. He buried his face in the pillow and whispered: “Oh, take it away . . . take it away! . . .

Don’t let it come, the old man ... in a tub . . . rub-a-dub-dub . . . rub-a-dub-dub . . . rub-a-dub-dub . . .” And so, whispering, he fell asleep.