

### Alex and The Gruff

### Dawn of the Bully Hunter

### A Fable by C. Sean McGee

Alex and The Gruff: Dawn of the Bully Hunter

Copyright© C. Sean McGee

CSM Publishing

Published at Smashwords

Araraquara, São Paulo, Brazil 2018

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, scanning or digital information storage and retrieval without permission from the author.
CONTENTS

1 - Of Wolf and Man

2 - The Insidious Ms. Tremblebottom's Institute of Bullies

3 – The Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine

4 - Intermission I

5 - Deus Ex-Machina

6 - Contrary to Popular Belief, Curiosity Did Not Kill the Cat

7 - The Semantics of Being Friends

8 - The Peculiar After-Taste of Sweet Revenge

9 - How Exactly Does an Elephant Even Get in a Room?

10 - The Abyss also Looks Long into You

11 - Dark Matters I –Or How the Coward Becomes Courageous

12 - Pride Goes Before the Fall

13 - Intermission II

14 - Dark Matters II – Or How the Courageous Learn Control

15 - Counting Backwards from Zero

16 - Black Hole Son

17 - The Colour of Silence

18 - Schrodinger's Cat is Out of the Bag

19 - Of Blood and Stone

20 - The Physics of Harmony

21 - The Land of Poop and Honey

22 - The Bend in the Dimensional River

23 - Past the Point of Null Infinity

24 - 11:11

25 - Warring Fractions

26 - The Promethean Constant

27 - A Menina Cega e o Menino Chamado Luz

28 - The God Particle

29 - Unpicking the Pocket of Scientific Ignorance

30 - The End and the Revelations

for the child in you

#  Of Wolf and Man

Of course monsters are real. Who said otherwise? Was it a grown-up? I bet it was; you can't believe anything they say; grown-ups conspire against kids - and that's the truth!

Alex knew monsters were real; he saw them all the time. The first monster he ever saw had to bend in half just to fit inside his bedroom; it had razor blades for fingernails and teeth that were so strong they could gnaw through the side of a mountain. It had spiders for eyes, a scorpion's tail, and when it smiled, you could see the thousands of children that it had already eaten, stuck in its teeth.

Alex was barely a day old when he saw that monster. It came as soon as the lights were out; sneaking into his room beneath the howling wind and lashing rain. Monsters always came at night; mainly because that was when mums and dads preferred to leave their babies alone.

Mums and dads were funny like that.

This particular monster's name was Pazuzu, and he introduced himself as a harvest king. He said his father was a God, and that his brother had a much worse temper than he did. Alex didn't have a brother, but he did have a big sister. Her name was Alexis and she was seven years older than him. She was always seven years older, no matter how hard he tried or how big he got; and she had a temper too.

"Not all monsters are bad," said the monster, Pazuzu.

It was hard to imagine anything worse than the winged beast that stood above his crib, but the monster, Pazuzu was right. You see, out in the garden 'neath a canopy of strangling vines, there stood a vicious looking beast with hell in its eyes that were the size of a hundred men. Its name was The Roggenwolf, and its favourite food was brand new babies.

"But some monsters," said the monster, Pazuzu pointing to the salivating beast in the garden. "Some of them are the worst of all."

His voice sounded like a mix between a hissing snake and a popping balloon; two things Alex would learn to fear and loathe.

"Don't cry, little baby," said the monster, Pazuzu, reaching into the crib. "Don't you dare cry."

But as the monster, Pazuzu flapped its wings, Alex wailed as loud as he could. He kicked and screamed and made such a racket that before the monster could steal him, Alex's mother came rushing up the hallway; her stampeding feet louder than the thunder that clapped outside.

And just like that, as if it was magic, when the light switched on, the monsters disappeared. Gone was the winged beast and its long sharp fingers; gone too was the salivating and snarling wolf out under the tree.

In their place was The Mother- her big eyes like spotlights of love and affection; her soft hands like a giant net, always ready to catch him should he fall; and her voice – as quiet as a whisper, but oh it could soothe the most ferocious storm.

Alex loved his mother. From the first time he heard her heartbeat until the first time he looked into her eyes he knew that as long as she was near, nothing in this world could hurt him.

"You have to get to sleep, my love," she said, looking as if her patience had already worn so terribly thin. "Mummy is exhausted."

The Mother picked Alex up from his crib and held him tight, rocking back and forth as she kissed the top of his head; this was easily Alex's favourite thing in the whole world. It was a shame The Mother only did it as a last resort.

"If I sing you a song," she said, "will you go to sleep?"

What child in their right mind would say no?

And so The Mother sang:

"There's a cat on the windowsill,

With a rat in its stomach,

That had eaten the cheese,

That my love had left behind,

The day he went away."

Her voice was like a kiss from a cloud made of opiates, and in seconds little Alex had forgotten his woes, and lightly drifted off to sleep. Then The Mother put him back in the crib, tucked him tight into his blankets, kissed her favourite cheek, and then once again, she turned out the lights.

"Good night," she said in a faint whisper. "Sweet dreams."

And as the door shut and a blanket of darkness swept over the room, all the scary things that only children could see came out from where they were hiding and crept upon the boy's crib once more. And it was all their creeping about with woke Alex up – the creaking walls and drawers, and all the pitter-pattering beneath his bed.

Darkness was the worst; it had its own set of rules. But there were things that made the darkness even more horrible, and one of them was the thunder and lightning - like ghosts they burst out of cracks in the heavens; as if God and all his angels had nothing better to do than scare little children.

And with each crack of thunder, The Roggenwolf howled; and with each flash of lightning, it inched slowly through the garden until eventually, its savage face was pressed against the bedroom window.

The Roggenwolf let out a harrowing howl neath the pouring rain; its stinky breath fogging up the windows so that, in the dark, only its hellish red eyes could be seen.

"Aghast," it screamed, and it woke poor Alex into a terrible state.

Alex screamed and then he burst out in tears, but this time, nobody came. The Roggenwolf was a patient beast, but it had a wild and dismissive hunger. And as the boy desperately looked and listened for the sound of his mother's feet or her soft congealing voice, The Roggenwolf bided its time under the lashing rain, pacing back and forth, dragging its teeth against the bedroom window.

Alex screamed louder and louder until his face turned bright red and his voice cracked under the sheer force of his plight. The sound was terrifying. Surely someone would come running at any moment; if not his mother than a concerned citizen, a neighbour, or a superhero. But nobody did. No matter loud he cried, nobody came to save him.

The Roggenwolf howled.

And Alex howled.

And then finally, The Mother howled too.

"For the love of GOD, go to sleep," she shouted.

Her voice carried like thunder, and it had just as much warmth and care about it. She told herself that it was tough love, that any good mother would do the same; that there was nothing to feel guilty about.

"He'll learn to soothe himself," she said as she turned up the television and poured herself a glass of her favourite wine. "All babies do. It's for his own good."

Grown-ups sure had strange ideas about what was good for kids.

And once the silence had again settled in, it was just Alex alone in the dark.

He screamed as loud as he could; the kind of racket that would wake the dead. As much noise as he made, still, nobody came; more so, it seemed as if nobody cared. Nobody cared about the darkness; that which swept over Alex like a giant sea of nothingness; and nobody cared about the diabolical creatures which swam beneath with their fangs and tentacles and webbed feet and dragon's wings too.

"Maybe I should just check in on him," said The Mother to herself.

But the pamphlet in her hand said something else.

'An attended cry makes for a weak and necessitous child," it read. "A boy cannot rely on his mother forever. Better he learn that lesson now'.

And that was that. The Mother's doubts and indecisions were put to rest. Instead of consoling her son's tears, she worked on consoling herself; and she did so with a glass of wine and her favourite romance novel.

Meanwhile, The Roggenwolf had already climbed in through the bedroom window and was now at the end of Alex's crib. Its filthy paws had dragged blood and dirt all over the carpet, and there were a dozen skulls piled up by the orange tree like some kind shrine. The beast stared at Alex as he lay on his back, kicking his chubby little feet. And as it stared, The Roggenwolf licked its horrible lips.

"Aghast," it said again.

And then Alex screamed like never before.

"For God's sake, go to sleep, Alex," shouted The Mother, almost spilling her wine. "You have to learn to soothe yourself."

The Roggenwolf, now, had its snout against Alex's tiny body. Its razor-like teeth snapped at the loose threads from the boy's pyjamas. It was clear that at any second the great beast would swallow him whole.

Sensing the end, Alex bid one last, desperate cry. It was primal and it was urgent.

"Shut up and go to sleep," shouted The Mother.

The Roggenwolf smiled. It knew what Alex did not; babies were always left alone. And all it had to do was wait until nobody would come to its defense – for that was the sad fate of all children.

Alex stared the horrible beast in the eyes. He tried to cry but he could not. He had already cried so much that his voice had worn through to its very soul. If the fight was to be heard and being heard made being saved, then not only had he given up the fight, but he had given up on himself.

From the other end of the house, it sounded as if the child had finally given up his struggle and fallen asleep. "Good boy," said The Mother as The Roggenwolf opened its gigantic mouth. "See you in the morning," she said, as blood and saliva dripped on the boy's pyjamas. "Love you."

It was at that second, with a snarling monster about to eat him in his own bed, that Alex realised a sad and terrible truth. Alone, as he was, abandoned in his crib, it did not matter the volume of his despondence or the force of his tears; for when he was alone and frightened, nobody, especially his mother, would ever come to his rescue.

This would be something that he would never forget.

And so, as The Roggenwolf licked its horrible lips, Alex didn't soothe himself to sleep as his mother believed, instead, he merely surrendered. And at this very second, while caged in his crib, Alex learned an unfortunate truth; in the face of demons, he should remain silent and submitting like a good little boy.

And so Alex lay there - quiet, still, and barely putting up a fight.

The Roggenwolf belched and bellowed as it opened its mouth wide enough to fit the boy's tiny head. Alex closed his little eyes and held his breath – he hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. And just as The Roggenwolf was about to snap its jaws shut, the monster, Pazuzu appeared, whipping the great beast with his massive scorpion tail.

"Be gone, fetid beast," shouted the ancient one. "Leave the child alone."

The Roggenwolf howled, stamping its bloodied paws onto the floor.

This would be no easy fight.

Both monsters circled the bedroom, snarling their teeth and scratching their claws. All the while, Alex lay completely still in his crib; desperate and hopeful that someone would save him. He could hear the television in the background and his mother's snorting laugh.

Nobody was coming, though; nobody ever would.

"Find yourself another child," said the monster, Pazuzu. "This one is mine."

"What claim do you have to this child?" said The Roggenwolf, its body pressed low to the ground, ready to pounce and strike. "I was here first."

The monster, Pazuzu stood staunch and noble.

"This child is of the seed in which I have sewn. It is mine to reap."

The Roggenwolf howled; if only to save face. As hungry as it was, there was nothing it could do; the monster, Pazuzu was far too strong. The Roggenwolf was vile and vicious, yes, and it was the most savage beast to have crawled out of the pits of hell – but it was not a king.

"I'll have my revenge," it said, backing away. "I'll savage this boy, even if I have to wait for him to become a man. I shall get drunk on his blood."

The monster, Pazuzu smiled.

"There shall be blood, yes; I promise you that."

Before The Roggenwolf could respond, the monster, Pazuzu clicked its fingers, and just like that, the wild and savage beast disappeared – seemingly into thin air.

And then everything went quiet and dark again in Alex's room. In the background, the television blared, as did The Mother's burping and laughing. Alex lay still on his back, staring up at the winged beast that hovered above him.

"Go to sleep, Alex," said the monster, Pazuzu. "Your time has yet to come."

#  The Insidious Ms. Tremblebottom's Institute of Bullies

It was a long time before Alex ever saw the monster, Pazuzu again, but that's not to say that he stopped seeing monsters altogether. No, on the contrary, Alex saw monsters everywhere.

He heard them creeping about beneath his bed, and he saw them crawling out of his half-opened sock drawer. There were ghosts in the living room, werewolves in the garden, and man-eating sharks in the toilet and kitchen sink. There wasn't a place on Earth that wasn't hiding some kind of creature.

At night, to prove that he was strong and shouldn't be messed with, Alex would crawl between his mother's legs while she was at the front door, and he would shout as loud as he could - out to the darkness and the night: "I don't believe in ghosts!"

He'd shout it once and twice, and then tenfold more, hoping that every ghost in the world heard his message and that they believed it too.

Insects were another thing that scared poor Alex to death – and they weren't even myths. When he was three, his sister, Alexis told him that when he slept, spiders crawled in and out of his mouth looking for smaller bugs to eat.

Alex didn't sleep for the whole month of May.

Worse than spiders, bats, and leviathans, though, were the monsters that looked like people. There were the drivers of buses and taxis and trains; and the man who cursed at pigeons in the rain. There were doctors and dentists, and the postman too; and the old ladies with their pinching, just like monsters would do.

Mums and dads could never tell the difference. To them, people were people and monsters were just a figment of a child's imagination. But almost every kid knew that grown-ups could be monsters too.

One of the scariest things of all, paradoxically, was also the best – going to the mall. Alex loved seeing all the shops and toys, and all the different people walking about. Everything was so big, loud, and extraordinary. But if any of those things were to turn and look at him, it was the scariest thing in the world.

Sometimes, when a stranger approached, Alex would cling to his mother's leg; and sometimes he would even crawl between them and hide. Strangers were monsters; there was no doubt about that!

In the wild, animals protected their babies from strangers. They hid them under their bellies and sometimes, like when polar bears or lions were close, they made a circle around the babies so that the stranger couldn't touch them or steal them away.

Alex's mum probably never knew that because she always did the opposite. She'd tell him, "Don't be rude," and she'd make excuses for his behaviour saying, "He's not normally this shy." Then she'd unclasp Alex's little fingers and push him forwards so that the stranger could squeeze his cheeks or mess up his hair.

Alex used to wonder if mummy seals ever told their cubs to stop being rude and whether they held them out so that a polar bear could mess up their fur or squeeze their pudgy cheeks. He wondered if they made their babies sleep by themselves too; if they left them alone in a crevice at night so that the mummy and daddy seal could still watch their favourite television shows.

By the time he was old enough to start school; Alex was already a polite and well-mannered boy. He didn't cry at night anymore, he respected his elders, he ate with his mouth shut, and he didn't complain when strangers messed up his hair. He was a good boy, and he made his mum proud – most of the time anyway.

You see, it wasn't until he started school that Alex realized that there was something worse than even the attic monster, and that was the school bully.

Every school had one; sometimes every class too.

Now, Alex wasn't a bully, not at all. He was like any boy his age. He loved dinosaurs and Transformers, and he preferred pulling toys apart more than he did, putting them back together. Alex loved rockets and spaceships and seeing a tractor in a parking lot was the coolest thing in the world. Alex was curious just like any boy, and he was just as happy too.

That was until he met his first bully.

"Improper children are sinners!"

As spooky as insects and poltergeists were, this one particular bully was a thousand times worse. She was as kind as a crocodile, as warm as a glacier, and as pretty as a bag full of flies. Ms. Tremblebottom was her name and scaring children was her game.

"Fix your hair," she screamed, her face as red as a tomato. "The Devil has a place for children whose manners are ungodly and whose appearance is unpleasant."

Ms. Tremblebottom marched up and down the line of children, poking at their ill-fitted shirts and tugging at their half-done ponytails. All the children stood up straight, tucked in their bellies, and held their breaths. Even the teachers were on their best behaviour too; looking as smart as they could while Ms. Tremblebottom went from class to class, inspecting clothes, nails, and mannerly posture.

In her right hand, she carried a long wooden cane that she tapped against the legs of every child with sloppy shoulders or crooked knees. In her other hand, she held a set of white beads that were wrapped around her thick and wrinkly knuckles. She always looked like she was about to strangle someone.

All the children knew that the beads were the source of her power.

Alex was new to the school. He didn't just find Mrs. Tremblebottom scary, he found everything scary. Because he didn't know anyone, he was scared to talk to everyone; and so, because he kept to himself, all the other kids made fun of him.

They called him all sorts of terrible names and spread rumours about him to all the girls; none of which were true. At recess, they would steal his snacks, while at lunch, they would lock him in the storeroom beneath the stairs, and laugh about it for the rest of the day.

Just for the record, kids could be monsters too.

"Fear," shouted Ms. Tremblebottom. "Is the foundation upon which love is built."

She paced back and forth like a prison guard.

"Let me make something clear. I am not your mother and I am not your friend. I have no interest in what you think or how you feel. You are children. You have no opinions. You have no rights. You have no voice. If you fear me," she said, addressing the whole school. "You will come to love me."

She was a force to be reckoned with; a mean and despicable force indeed. She looked and sounded as if she hated children – not just disliked them, but actually hated them - in the same way that Alex hated spinach and math homework. And yet there she was, surrounded by the one thing she hated the most.

"Life is suffering," she said. "It is a work of tragedy and sacrifice. There is nothing funny about it whatsoever. So to those disgusting boys, who think it is funny to see who can urinate the highest in the bathrooms, let me tell you right now, there will be penance."

She marched back and forth staring each and every boy; her eyes filled with disgust and disdain. The rattle of her strangling beads was made worse only by the sound of her grinding teeth.

"Our lord and saviour was lashed, and beaten, and tortured, and crowned with thorns before he was nailed to a cross, and suffered the most heinous death imaginable for you – for all of you. And this is how you repay him? This is how you show your gratitude? You children are foul sinful creations. It has been bestowed upon me, the burden to mould you into decent men and women. So mark my words, there will be changes around this school."

Ms. Tremblebottom cracked her cane, and all the children winced.

"For starters," she said. "Smiling is now prohibited. Any child caught smiling will receive a dozen lashes. Your lord and saviour suffered and so shall you. You shall come to love your suffering and through the course of your life, you shall seek it out."

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom," said the whole school.

"Secondly," she said, again cracking her cane. "I have assembled a team of prefects who shall be my eyes and ears at all times."

Behind her, a group of well-dressed but savage looking children all nodded. Neither of them wore smiles, but then again, neither of them looked like they would – even if they could. They were lined up side by side with their arms crossed, their chests all puffed out, and bullish looks on their faces. They were the school bullies, and as of today, they were in charge.

"Faith is surrender," said Ms. Tremblebottom, whacking the backs of feet with her cane as she marched back to the front of the assembly. And there, she dangled her long white beads from her outstretched hand and stared out over the entire school. "You will have faith," she said.

It was then that a girl called Margarie pinched Alex's bum so hard that he screamed and he jumped out of the line.

"Ow!" he said, grabbing his bum.

All the other kids sniggered, and then the whole school turned.

"Alexander White," screamed Ms. Tremblebottom.

Then Alex jumped a second time.

"It wasn't me," he said, his only form of defense.

He jumped back in line, standing as straight and tall as he could, but it didn't matter.

"Excuse me?" said Ms. Tremblebottom, but it wasn't a question. "How dare you," she said, whipping Alex's leg with her cane. She'd have strangled him if no-one was watching. "Were you asked to speak?

"No," said Alex, his eyes anchored to his feet.

"You look at me when I speak to you, child."

It was as if the only joy she got was seeing the boy's punishment in his eyes.

"Better," she said, making the scariest face imaginable. "Now, were you asked to speak?" she said again, this time as if she was a second away from punching Alex in the chin.

"No," said Alex.

"No?"

"No," he said again.

"No, Ms. Tremblebottom," she declared. "Now, I ask again. Were you asked to speak?"

"No, Ms. Tremblebottom."

"And what did you do?"

"I...uh..."

"What did you do, you disrespectful cretin?"

"I spoke, Ms. Tremblebottom."

"What? Say it louder, child. Speak up so that your saviour can hear you."

"I spoke, Ms. Tremblebottom," shouted Alex, his voice cracking as he tried not to cry.

Ms. Tremblebottom smiled.

"That's it," she said. "Cry the weak and wickedness out of you."

Alex could feel the whole class staring at him now. All of those kids and not one of them said a damn thing. Together they outnumbered her; they could overpower her, easily. Sometimes it didn't matter, though, how big your army was. Each kid felt just as scared and as Alex with only a breath of relief that it wasn't happening to them.

"So you think you're special, Alexander White?" said Ms. Tremblebottom, hovering behind Alex and shouting in his ear. "Is that why you get to do as you please?"

"No, Ms. Tremblebottom."

"Well, then why are you not in line?"

Alex stared at his class and all the kids stared back at him. They all had the same unquestionable expression. Each and every one of them, their eyes all said: "Don't you dare say a word."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" shouted Ms. Tremblebottom. "Stupid, yes. Stupid, ignorant, and unruly. But sorry? You don't know what sorry is, boy.

She pulled Alex back out of his line and dragged him by the ear to the front of the school. There she paraded him around like he was a wolf she had caught, sneaking through her camp.

"I'll make you sorry, child," she said. "Just you see."

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom."

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom? Are you retarded? Was your mother a donkey and your father an oaf? Are you slow in there," she said, tapping the boy's head with her thick fingers.

It was then that Alex peed his pants.

"Did I ask you or did I tell you I would make you sorry?"

She stepped back and stared at the wet ground by Alex's foot.

"Who do you think you are, child?" she said.

Grown-ups often asked questions that were not supposed to be answered. They called them rhetorical questions; whatever that meant. They were traps, though, and every kid had to watch out for them. They wanted you to answer so they had another reason to shout at you; even louder than before. Grown-ups were sneaky. They were always looking for new ways to punish kids.

"Well?" said Ms. Tremblebottom.

Some kids at the back of the assembly laughed, but Mrs. Tremblebottom gave a quick wack of her cane and they quickly stopped. She circled Alex back and forth like some ravenous carnivore.

"Go on then," she said, already making Alex look like a laughing stock. "Enlighten us. Who exactly do you think you are?"

It wasn't just the bullies in his class watching and sniggering; it was the whole school. Even the teachers and the janitors and the lady with the missing teeth and crooked nose who served jelly at lunch; they were all watching too - and they all had the same stupid expression as if they were waiting for someone to fall on their favourite television show.

Alex felt like a bug about to be squashed.

"Who do you think you are?" she said one last time, almost growling.

"A...lex?" he said, squinting as he did.

The whole school erupted in laughter. The kids, the teachers, the janitor, and the lady with the missing teeth and crooked nose too – loud, obnoxious, belly aching laughter; as if Alex had fallen off his tricycle, slipped on slippery ice or been bowled over by a dog playing fetch.

All Alex could do was cry; so he did.

"You will learn your place, Alexander White," said Ms. Tremblebottom above the roar of laughter. "Respect is a virtue of the virtuous and your wild, unfettered rebellion will be squashed – mark my words."

The whole school nodded in agreement. There was not one face that looked kind or felt sorry for Alex; it was as if they were thankful that this wrath was being set upon somebody else and not them. It didn't matter that Alex had done not a single thing wrong.

"William," shouted Ms. Tremblebottom.

William was the school bully. He was the size of a tenth grader and was probably as old as one too, but for whatever reason, he never made it out of third grade.

"Come to the front."

If there was anything or anyone even remotely as scary as Ms. Tremblebottom, it was the bully, William; followed closely of course by man-eating spiders, earthquakes, and popping balloons.

The bully, William always had a mean expression, even when he was trying to be sweet and sincere. His face looked like a wasp's nest - his mother must have had to wear a special suit just to give him a kiss before bed every night. Considering how mean he was, he probably never did get that kiss.

The bully, William was the leader of The Prefects. His shirt always tucked in and his hair was always parted in the middle, just how Ms. Tremblebottom liked. All of the bullies, in fact, wore their hair the same way. And it was this that made them seem more like monsters than anything else. He, like the other bullies, was polite in the words he used, but not at all in how he used them. Only he could make an apology end up sounding like a threat. He was already ready to punch a kid – always. It's like it had been promised to him.

He followed the rules so he could police the rules – and he policed the rules so he'd be able to punch a kid in the face and then not get into trouble.

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom," said the bully, William. "How can I be of help?"

It was so obvious that he was full of it; such a butt-kisser.

"I want you to take Alexander here to my office."

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom."

"Take him to the lavatory so he can clean himself."

Then she pointed out what nobody else had seen, and the students, the teachers, the janitor and the toothless lady all scoffed and pointed at the boy in front of the assembly. None of them could believe what they were seeing. They didn't know whether to laugh or feel ashamed for him. But definitely, it was the type of thing that should have been punished. And so they looked on disgustingly.

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom," said the bully, William, poking Alex so that he started the long march towards the bathrooms.

The whole school followed his every step. Most of them looked like they were kind of sorry for him – now that someone had been blamed. They looked just as sorry and scared as Alex was. And it was then that the boy wondered, "Why didn't anyone say anything?"

"Keep going, you stupid twerp," said the bully, William, pushing Alex in the back every couple of steps.

If Alex were a tiger, he could bite the bully and run away. If he were a bear, he could just eat him for lunch. But Alex wasn't a wild animal; he was a seven-year-old boy. And the only thing he could do was to try to not trip whenever he got pushed and shoved in the back – that and to not cry because tears gave bullies their power.

"You know what happened to the last kid who looked like you?" said the bully, William as he pushed Alex along.

Whatever he was going to say next was definitely true!

Alex shook his head; he had no idea.

"You don't wanna know," said the bully, William.

Then he gave Alex a heavy shove.

"Just know that you'll get it worse."

Where was help when you needed it? All the corridors and rooms were empty. There was no-one but him and the bully, William – no-one at all. Seven billion people on this planet and not one person happened to be standing around? Why was he seven, all alone, and about to be beaten up by a bully?

If Alexis were here, she'd do something, but nobody had seen her since last summer.

"You're lucky you're going to Trouble Butt's office or you'd be getting it right now," said the bully, William.

"Trouble Butt? Ha! That's funny," Alex thought.

Then he laughed, and when he did, the bully, William smacked his ear.

"Don't make me hit you," he said, even though that's exactly what he just did.

Marching along that corridor, Alex felt as alone and vulnerable as he had all those times his mother had left him in the crib. The bully, William might as well have been The Roggenwolf or the monster, Pazuzu. It sure as heck felt like he was.

"This is my school, you stupid twerp," he said, grabbing Alex by the back of the neck.

Alex wanted to scream more than anything else in the world. The feeling was there in the pit of his belly; it tumbled and turned, it ached and it burned. He wanted to shout so loud that a crack in the Earth opened up; large enough for him to fit through but small enough to hide. He wanted to create such a racket, one that no-one would be able to ignore.

All he wanted was to be safe.

"I'm gonna make your life a living hell," said the bully, William, poking Alex with every word. "You know what a royal flush is, don't ya?"

Of course, he did; it was every kid's worst nightmare.

The bully, William pushed Alex through the toilet door and then knocked him to the floor. The one kid that was inside, ran out as fast as he could; he didn't even wash his hands.

"You step out of line," said the bully, William, kicking open one of the bathroom stalls. "Then you're done for."

He dragged Alex by the shoulder until his head was over the toilet seat.

"You don't do what I say; when I say it; then where you're gonna get it. Got it?"

"Yes," said Alex, crying.

He tried to pull his head away but the bully, William was too strong.

"Do ya get it?" he screamed again, shaking Alex like a rickety old birdcage.

"Yes," said Alex, the only word he could say. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"You'd better," said the bully, William, turning Alex and around and the squeezing his throat again. "Or else...."

'Or else' was the worst thing you could say to a kid; especially Alex. He always imagined the craziest and worst things possible. Whenever his mum said it, he would imagine being spanked or having all of his toys thrown in the bin; that or he would imagine her running away and never coming home. If his sister ever said it, at the very least he would get punched.

Imagine then what a bully would do – bullies were a thousand times worse.

It was then that the bully, William pushed Alex's face so far into the toilet that when he breathed, it made tiny ripples in the toilet water. So close that Alex had to close his eyes and hold his breath just to save his own life.

And like the crib, Alex gave up. He let the bully, William have his way, and he accepted there was nothing he could do. And just like in the crib, Alex eventually stopped hoping that someone would rescue him. He stopped his struggle, lost his voice entirely, and just kind of accepted his fate.

"I heard you're a bastard," said the bully, William – pulling Alex's head out of the bowl. "That you got no dad and your sister's a runaway. You got no friends here. Nobody likes you. You're a weirdo. You're a freak. And if you're not lucky I'm gonna punch ya, got it?"

Alex shook his head. He looked petrified. He looked like he was made of jelly.

"Yes," he said. "I got it."

The bully, William pushed Alex's face so that it touched the water. Alex was strong enough, right at the end, to twist his head so he only wet his cheek – but it took all the fight in the world.

"Next time," said the bully, William. "Next time you get flushed."

And then he let go of Alex and lit a cigarette while fixed his hair.

Alex wiped his cheek and crawled to the back of the stall.

"You tell anybody and you're dead," said the bully, William.

And when his cigarette was done, he made Alex get on his feet, and he continued marching him down the hall. Finally, they made it to Ms. Tremblebottom's office.

"Sit down, twerp," he said, pushing Alex into a seat.

It wasn't fair that he was here. He didn't do anything wrong. Not that it mattered, though. He was in serious trouble now and there was nothing he could do but submit and just and hope that the punishment would not be too severe.

"Why are children always left alone with monsters?" he thought.

The bully, William pushed his head into Alex's face like a feuding ram.

"Here's the deal," he said. "You wanna live then you pay me money. Next time I see you, you better have ten bucks for me, or else..."

Then he pushed his finger in Alex's chest.

"No, make that twenty. If you're empty-handed, you're gonna get it, you hear?" he said. "And if you so much as tell anyone what I said then you're gonna get it even worse. I know where you live. I know where your mum works. If you tell on me you're dead, and so is everyone you know. Got it?"

Alex nodded fast.

"I'll be seeing you," said the bully, William, leaving as the receptionist got back from her morning tea. He smiled at her and she smiled at him.

The second he was gone, Alex finally took a breath; he must have been holding it in the entire time. He was panting and sweating and shaking; if you didn't know he'd just been picked on by a bully, you'd swear that he'd just run a marathon.

That's what the receptionist thought when she peeked in the door.

"You shouldn't be running in the halls," she said. "You'd do good to pull yourself together before Ms. Tremblebottom comes. Disobedient little..."

All anyone in this school ever did was make threats.

This wasn't Alex's first time inside a principal's office, and probably wouldn't be his last. Each time, though, was scarier than the last. Alex sat there for what felt like forever, waiting for Ms. Tremblebottom to come. He tried to distract himself by looking around but everything in her office looked like it was good for punishing children. Even the books on the table looked like they'd been thrown around a fair bit. Needless to say, it was hard to think happy thoughts.

The other thing was the chair. It was way too big. His feet couldn't even touch the floor. If he did have to run, he'd have to jump first. He hoped if it came to that, that at the very least she'd give him a head start.

And then he heard her marching up the corridor. Alex gulped. His stomach twisted and turned and it tied into an unpickable knot. Then he felt faint and sick, and kind of slumped back into his chair. If he couldn't run, maybe he could hide.

"So," said Ms. Tremblebottom, squeezing through the open door. "Who do we have here?"

She knew perfectly well. She didn't have to ask the question. She was just handing Alex the shovel and asking him to dig. She did it anyway, though, because that's exactly what she wanted him to do.

"Alexander White," she said as she pulled his file from a pile on her desk. "I've been waiting for you."

"What a liar," thought Alex. "She just got here."

Grown-ups always lied.

"You don't remember, do you?" she said, pressing her face right up against his.

Alex shook his head. He didn't know. At the same time, though, something about her was horribly familiar - her stinky breath that smelled like wet socks; the curling whiskers that stuck out of her ears; and her long fingernails which looked like they could cut through bone.

"So...," said Ms. Tremblebottom again. "Why are you in my office?"

Was she crazy? She sent him here; she should know. She did know – didn't she?

Alex shrugged. "I was bad?" he said, unsure of the question.

"You have gotten yourself into a fair amount of trouble since you arrived at this school, Alexander White; and in a short time too. Seems as if trouble follows you around – either that or you're always on the lookout for it. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The second Alex opened his mouth; Ms. Tremblebottom swung her giant arm and cracked down on the desk with her wooden cane. "How dare you talk back to me," she shouted. "You insolent and insubordinate, ragged looking..."

Then she held her breath and went red in the face. She looked as if she wanted to say the worst word imaginable but that her manners just wouldn't permit.

"Child," she said, saying the proper word in an improper way.

She had a file in her hand with every one of Alex's infractions – everything he had ever done wrong, and all of his poor notes and grades. He had barely been here a semester and already the file was as big as the Bible, and with as much gory details too.

Ms. Tremblebottom smiled at Alex showing her yellow fang-like teeth. It was hard to tell what kind of monster she was; that was of course when she wasn't wearing a principal's skin. If she were a bug she'd be a leech. If she were a flower she'd be a stinging vine. If she were a disease, she'd be one that was impossible to cure.

"You have been tardy every day this week," she said with a scowling look on her face.

Alex had been tardy, yes, but only because he was always getting thrown down stairs, and locked inside dark storerooms. You'd be tardy too if it happened to you.

"You have been continuously disruptive to your class and it says here you are unwilling to participate in group activities. You know who else also lacked empathy?" she asked.

Alex shook his head.

"The Devil," she said, cracking her cane like thunder. "Now, I've had just about enough of your attitude. I think it's time we bring in your mother and father."

Alex sat with his hands flat on the table, expecting a whack of the cane.

"I don't have a dad," he said.

Ms. Tremblebottom gave him a concerned and kind of disgusted look as if he has said that he had forgotten his pencil case or come to school wearing mismatched socks.

"A fatherless child?" she said in a snotty kind of way. "Well, that explains a lot."

The way she talked down to Alex you'd think she lived on a mountain.

"So where is he then? In prison, is he? Driving trucks, is he? Living under an overpass, is he?"

"I don't know."

He didn't even know what an overpass was.

"Well, at least we know what kind of man you'll grow up to be."

She paused as if she had asked a question.

"The kind that leaves his family," she said. "That's who. No kind of man at all if you ask me."

She whipped her cane against the table and leaned in close to Alex's ear.

"So what do you think your mother will say, huh?"

Alex knew exactly would she would think. She'd be so mad that she'd want to scream but she wouldn't be able to, so she'd hold it in and go red in the face until her head exploded.

"Will she be angry? Will she be concerned?" whispered Ms. Tremblebottom in a dark, nefarious tone. "Will she even come?"

She smiled as if she knew something that Alex didn't.

"So what do we do with you?"

"I'll be good Ms. Tremblebottom, I promise. I won't let trouble find me. Please, just don't call my mum."

Alex never looked or felt as small as he did now.

"You are a weak little boy," said Ms. Tremblebottom.

She took the beads from around her neck and wrapped them around her two fists. The way she pulled them tight, you'd think she was about to strangle the poor boy.

"One more infraction and you go to the sinner's room."

Alex shook and cringed; he almost peed his pants – again.

"Do you understand?"

He nodded fast.

"Do you understand me, Alexander White!"

"Yes, Ms. Tremblebottom," sputtered Alex, barely able to hold back his tears.

She then draped her long white beads over the boy's shoulder so that they ran all the way down to his trembling legs. And she wriggled them so they sounded like chattering teeth or like little bones being crunched and broken.

"This world will eat you up," she said, licking her lips. "And I will be there."

It was then that Alex caught her reflection in the glass.

"I have my eyes on you, Alexander White," she said, clutching his shoulder.

The first thing he recognised was the look in her eyes. How could he have forgotten? They were the same hellish red eyes that had tormented him as a baby; that and the smell of death and decay on her foul and fetid breath.

"The Roggenwolf," he thought.

"There is no Pazuzu to help you this time," she said, laughing quietly in his ear. "There's no-one you can turn to. There's nothing you can do. I'm gonna take my time with you, Alexander White. And then I'm gonna eat you."

It was her. She was it. She was The Roggenwolf. She had to be!

"Now get back to class!" she screamed.

Alex turned and ran; he ran as fast as he could. He ran out of her office and past the receptionist who yelled at him and told him not to run. Then he ran even faster. He ran so fast his that feet almost didn't touch the floor. If he were a rocket he'd be in space by now. If he were a car, he'd be orbiting somewhere around Mars.

He ran down the hallway, past all the classrooms, and out the front door.

He ran down the pathway, past the swing set, and out the front gate.

He ran down the street, past all the danger, and out of harm's way.

But Alex didn't stop running. With every step, he could feel The Roggenwolf just one step behind. He could hear its rumbling belly and chattering teeth, and he could feel its breath blowing like gusts of wind. He didn't dare look, though, in case he should get caught.

And so he ran - he ran and ran until he could run no more.

"Please, help me," he said in his head over and over until he couldn't stomach the words anymore.

Not since he was a baby was such a thing possible.

Barely a stone's throw from his apartment, Alex collapsed in a heap on the ground. He was breathing so fast that he thought his heart was going to explode. Already, though, he could see that nobody was home. There was nowhere in the world that was safe.

"Hey, kid."

Alex jumped. The door behind him creaked open and he backed up as quickly as he could against a railing that overlooked a secluded alley full of trash cans and piled up radios.

"Psst. Kid," said the voice again.

Alex stared at the open door, scared to look anywhere else. If he blinked or turned away, even for a millisecond, he knew that something was bound to grab him and pull him into the darkness. That was guaranteed. And so the scariest possible thing to do – staring through the crack in the door – was the safest thing to do.

It was the only thing he could do.

"Hello?" he said, as quiet as he could.

He was sure that at any second a million spiders would scurry out of the darkness and climb up onto his body and cover his face, wrapping him in their sticky web so that they could carry him back into the darkness where they would lay their eggs in his hair and slowly feed on him until their children – millions and billions of tiny spiders – were ready to be born.

"Hello," he said again, in spite of the risk and threat.

It was almost as if he thought that the closer he put himself to danger, the less damage it could do to his small and fragile body. This wasn't the only time he felt that, though. Whenever he was on a balcony, he would have to will himself away from the edge because he was so scared of falling; or like whenever he saw police officers up close and had to tell himself not to grab at their holstered guns.

"In here, kid," said the voice coming from somewhere in the dark.

It didn't sound like a kid; but then again, it didn't sound like a grown-up either. It did, though, sound like someone who probably smoked a lot of cigars and had a gambling problem.

"Come in if you want. You can hang out here until your parents get home."

Alex knew he should say no, he could feel it at the bottom of his belly. It was there beneath his breakfast, rumbling, and telling him to run – to run as fast as he could.

"It's alright," said the voice. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. Don't get me wrong, I could if I wanted to, I'm tough like that. But I don't wanna hurt ya. I just wanna be your friend."

#  The Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine

Alex definitely shouldn't have gone in; but then again, there were about a thousand things that he shouldn't have done today. For the records, though, this was the worst.

"Oh, cool," he said, as he stood inside. "I love video games."

One wall of the apartment had nothing but games and comic books.

"Really?" said the voice.

It was so dark inside it was hard to tell where the sound was coming from. The windows were boarded up and Alex had no idea where the light switches would be.

When his eyes did adjust, he could see the most awesome collection toys, action figures, posters, and magazines that he had ever seen in his life - and all of them still in their packages, stacked neatly on shelves or in piles on the floor.

There was definitely nobody here, though.

"I don't know," said Alex, not knowing where to speak. "Mum won't let me have a console. She says games are a distraction. But River Raid is probably the best game ever. It's ace; that's what everyone else says."

The voice laughed. It was a deep, bellowing laugh. Sounded like a hungry walrus.

"Well," said the voice. "Mums and dads know what's best I suppose."

"I don't know my dad," said Alex, poking through all the collectables.

"Well that might be best too, I suppose."

"Is all this stuff yours?" asked Alex. "Some of these games are older than my granddad."

Alex blew the dust off of stone doll's head he picked up off the floor.

"I wouldn't if I were you," said the voice.

"Why not?" said Alex, looking the doll right in the eyes.

"Because it's haunted," said the voice.

Alex screamed and dropped the stone head onto his toe; then he screamed again.

"Ha! That was great," laughed the voice. "I didn't think you'd do that. That was funny."

"It's not haunted?"

He was so relieved it wasn't that he didn't care he just made fun of.

"I'm just kidding, kid. It's just an old rock. I didn't mean to rattle your bones. It's Alex, right?"

How did he know?

Alex looked around, trying to find the voice. In front of the windows was a curtain that ended about a few inches away from the floor. He looked for anything that might be sticking out – like a big fat belly, a pair of shoes, or a machete.

But the voice echoed as if coming from a tap or a drain.

"It's ok, Alex," it said. "You can trust me; I'm not a baddie."

He sure sounded like it, though. He sounded like he was fifty feet tall and had hands as big as bulldozers. He sounded like someone who shouted a lot and was always in a really bad mood. He sounded like he was tough and really strong. He sounded like he ate cinder blocks for breakfast. It was hard to tell, though, if he sounded good or bad.

Alex thought the very worst for a split second.

"I don't want to die," he said.

"Neither do I, kid, neither do I," said the voice, laughing. "Hey, that's one thing we got in common, right?"

He didn't sound mean anymore. Well, he sounded mean, but in a friendly way.

"Who are you?" said Alex, his voice shaking. "What's your name? What do you want?"

"Woah, slow down there, kid. This is beginning to sound more like an interrogation and less like two buddies hanging out."

"Sorry," said Alex.

"No reason for that type of language."

Alex had no idea what the voice meant.

"What do you want?" he said.

"What do I want? What do you want? You're the one breaking in."

"I didn't break in, you invited me in."

"Ah, touché, you got me there, kid. Alright then, what were you doing outside? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"I don't like school," said Alex.

"Ha! Who does? Stupid teachers thinking they have all the answers – and that's only cause they spend their whole lives asking the same sorry old questions. Principals are no good and gardeners always walking around grumpy like somebody unrooted their favourite Geranium; that and the bullies. Oh," said the voice, sounding as if he'd had his fair share. "Don't get me started on bullies."

Bullies were like friends for kids with no friends. In school, you either had a friend or you had a bully; there was no way around it.

"So what's the deal?" said the voice, trying to make friends. "It's bullies, right?"

Of course, it was bullies; what else would it be?

"They chased me," said Alex.

What he meant to say was that his principal wanted to bite his head off, and if he that didn't get ten bucks soon, then the school bully was gonna rip it off too.

"There was nowhere to go," he said. "Nowhere safe anyway."

"And you think it's safe here?"

"I don't know," said Alex.

It was definitely safer than Ms. Tremblebottom's office.

"Where are you?"

"Over here," said the voice – from somewhere in the darkness.

"Over here, where? I don't see anybody. Are you behind the door?"

Alex headed towards the bedroom door.

"No," shouted the voice in a hoarse and raspy manner. "Not there."

Alex jumped.

"I mean, not over there, kid," said the voice, now sounding as if it was trying to calm a skittish deer. "You're a jumpy one, aren't ya? Look, I didn't mean to shout like that. It's just, uh... you don't wanna open that door."

Alex stared ominously at the bedroom door. Now he had to know.

"It's nothing bad, I swear," said the voice. "Nothing worth pooping your pants over. Just, you know... you don't wanna go over there."

"Well where are you then?" said Alex, looking around the room.

It wasn't a big apartment. There was only one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom that had no door on its hinges. There was nowhere for the voice to be except...

"Yep," said the voice. "You got it. I'm stuck in the toilet."

Alex laughed. He totally forgot he was supposed to be scared.

"Toilet? That's crazy. What are you doing in a toilet?" he said, almost in hysterics.

The voice didn't sound happy.

"It's rude to laugh," it said.

But Alex couldn't stop. How could anyone get stuck in a toilet?

"You laughing at me?" said the voice.

It sounded serious now, and really angry.

"Yes," shouted Alex amidst a belly aching fit of laughter.

"Well stop it!" screamed the voice. He sounded like he wanted to punch Alex in the face. "You shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you!"

Alex froze He held his breath and bit his tongue, and he dared not say a word.

"Oh crap," said the voice. "I did it again, didn't I?"

All of a sudden it didn't sound so mean.

"It's an emotional thing," it said. "I get a bit worked up sometimes. I thought I had it under wraps. That was reckless of me; reckless, inconsiderate, and plain old mean. Do you forgive me?"

The voice sounded genuine; but then again, so did its anger.

"Ok," said Alex, "I guess so."

"It's not a toilet by the way," said the voice. "Well it is....but eh... it isn't; if you know what I mean."

"Well what is it then?" asked Alex.

He absolutely had to know.

"It's a special machine," said the voice. "A type of doorway."

"It doesn't look like a normal door," said Alex.

"Well, that's because this door doesn't go to any normal place."

"Where does it go?"

"Somewhere different than here."

"Is it China?"

The strangest place that Alex ever knew about was China.

"No, kid, it's not China."

"Can I have a look?"

Fear was no match for this boy's curiosity.

"Do you promise not to touch anything?" said the voice.

Alex would promise anything if it meant that he could see the machine up close.

"Ok. Yep. Definitely. I promise. I swear," he said, almost jumping out of his skin. "Can I? Can I see? Please?"

"Ok," said the voice. "But don't get too close, we don't want you to fall in. How else would you get me out?"

Alex had no idea what he meant. How could you fall into a toilet?

That's just what the machine was; an old toilet with the number seven painted on it. It had a tonne of cables and stuff connected to it, and they were connected to a small brown radio that was sitting beside it, on the floor. It wasn't a fancy radio. It looked like it was probably one of the first ones ever made. It had big round knobs and all these lights that blipped and bleeped. The machine itself, though, looked exactly like a toilet.

"What does it do?" asked Alex.

"It's a Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine," said the voice.

It was about as hard to think about as it was to say.

"Cool," said Alex, sounding like he had no idea what that meant. "Kinda looks like a toilet."

To be fair, it did look exactly like a toilet.

"It goes to another here," said the voice, being all serious again. "A portal between dimensions."

Alex was about as quiet as you'd expect.

"If you fold a piece of paper," said the voice. "That one-dimensional paper becomes two dimensions – up and across. This machine here is like the fold in that paper. It takes you from one dimension to the other."

"Where is the dimension?" said Alex, looking around the room.

"It's a here that we can't see, but it's a here that is everywhere nonetheless."

"Cool," said Alex, still not understanding a single thing.

Some things you didn't have to understand for them to be cool.

Alex stared into the bowl. It looked just like any other backyard toilet – one that was probably covered in spiders and had snakes living in the cistern. It was the kind of toilet you probably had to walk a mile to get to, and it was the type of toilet you'd never want to use.

It reminded him of his grandma's house; for the records, she was a bully too.

The voice was still mumbling away but Alex couldn't see a thing. There was just a toilet, a broken seat, and a little bit of dirty water at the bottom of the bowl. There was no person, though, and definitely no space for one.

As scared as he was, Alex peered into the toilet bowl.

"Do I know you?" he said.

There was a cough and a splutter.

"You tell me, kid."

"Are you a friend of my mum?"

"Friends with grown-ups? Phhh! No way. Grown-ups are stupid - and they're ugly, and they stink too."

Alex stared deep into the bowl.

"Where are you?" he said, sticking his head right inside.

How on Earth could a person fit inside?

"I can't see anyone."

The voice laughed.

"That's because I'm not anyone."

"You have to be someone. Who are you? What are you then?"

"I'm The Gruff," said The Gruff.

"The Gruff? What's a Gruff?"

"Me," said The Gruff. "I'm a Gruff. I'm The Gruff; the one and only."

"Ok, cool," said Alex, as if that made absolute sense.

Alex stared at the toilet and all its contraptions. He tugged on the wires that stuck out the side, and he followed them down to the old radio. There were tonnes of lights and knobs and switches, but Alex hadn't the foggiest of what any of them actually did.

"How does it work?" he said.

The Gruff took a deep breath.

"You know anything about particle physics?" he said.

"I know where rain comes from," said Alex. "Is that the same thing?"

The Gruff shook his head in woeful disbelief.

"No... I mean yes... but...You know what a particle accelerator is at least, right?"

Alex thought long and hard for a second.

"It what makes the car go fast?" he said, thinking that maybe he was close.

"What? No! What the hell do they teach you at school? What about Protons? Neutrons? Quarks?"

"I know about windmills," said Alex. "And when they spin real fast it makes electricity and you need electricity to watch television, and my favourite cartoon is....."

"Alex, you're killing me," said The Gruff. "You at least know what strings are, right? For the love of entanglement, tell me you do."

He sounded desperate now.

"I think so," said Alex.

"Ok good," said The Gruff. "So the thing about strings is...."

"We use them mostly to tie up balloons on birthdays," said Alex. "But I don't much like balloons."

"What?"

"I get scared when they pop."

There was a loud thump again and that was followed by a lot of cursing.

"You shouldn't swear," said Alex. "It's impolite."

Then there was another thump followed by even more cursing.

"Alex?" said The Gruff, sounding as if he was about to swear again.

"Yes," said Alex.

The Gruff took a deep breath, preparing to explain the machine.

"......ah forget it," he said, giving up. "It's a magic toilet."

"Woah," said Alex. "That's awesome."

The Gruff wished he hadn't said a thing.

"Is it really magical?" asked Alex.

"Well actually it's all mathematics but I suppose you could say that..."

"A magic toilet? Wow, that's awesome," said Alex.

Deep inside The Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine, The Gruff sighed.

"So," said The Gruff, lightening the vibe. "You like jokes?" asked The Gruff.

"Yeah. I love jokes," shouted Alex.

Alex had a joke. Few people knew that. He made it up himself. Alex was so happy that he didn't even notice the man who had been standing in the doorway the whole time. If he had, he would have noticed the large sack that the man was holding in his left hand, and the butcher's knife he was holding in the other.

"Me first," said The Gruff.

Alex was already laughing before a single joke had even been told.

"So," said The Gruff, stopping just to clear his throat. "So this guy goes into a bar. And he asks the barman for a glass of water. And the barman says, 'Get outta here, we only sell beer'. So he leaves the bar and he goes to a restaurant across the street, and he asks the manager for a bottle of water, and the manager says, 'Get out of here ya bum!' And so by now, he's really thirsty. And just as he's about to give up, he sees a queue of people lining up for free water and juice. So he joins the back of the queue and he asks the lady in front, 'Excuse me, is this the water line?' And then she says, 'No; this is the bloody punchline'."

The Gruff burst out laughing; so hard that the pipes in the toilet shook.

"I don't get it," said Alex.

The Gruff stopped laughing instantly. He got serious and sounded a little offended.

"What do you mean you don't get it? Ya do know what a punchline is, don't ya?"

"Punch is like juice, right?"

"Oh forget it."

"Oh wait, I think I get it. Tell me again."

"No, it's ruined now," said The Gruff.

"Wasn't really funny," said Alex.

"Oh really? I'd like to see you try if you think it's so easy."

"Ok," said Alex. "Mine is the best in the world," said Alex. "I made it up myself."

"Go on then. Let's see how funny you are."

"Ok."

He took a second or two to remember all the words.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?" he said.

"I dunno," said The Gruff. "Why?"

Then he waited for another second, just for effect.

"Because it had no legs," he said.

And then he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that his sides hurt. He laughed so hard that he nearly peed his pants. He laughed so hard that...

"That was stupid," said The Gruff.

"You're stupid," said Alex, still laughing.

"No, you're stupid."

"Yeah well, at least I'm not stuck in a toilet."

"Touché," said The Gruff.

It was then that The Gruff stopped his complaining and imagined a chicken sitting on the side of a road, and the chicken had no legs. And then he started to laugh too. He laughed so hard that, like Alex, his belly hurt and his voice crackled. He laughed so hard that he hit his head, and when he did he got angry, and when he did that, Alex laughed even more. And because Alex was now laughing at him, The Gruff got even angrier, and then he hit his head again, and then Alex laughed even more.

"Stop," he shouted. "I'm gonna burst my sides."

Then they both laughed. They both laughed so hard that the man holding the sack and knife in the doorway got sad. They laughed so hard that it was hard to believe they had just met.

"That was actually brilliant, Alex. You're a friggin genius. I think I just found my new best friend."

"You think?"

"Not the joke," said The Gruff still chuckling. "The joke was terrible but laughing, that was kind of fun."

Then Alex heard what sounded like his mother's voice.

"I have to go," he said. "If I don't get back the same time as the bus, mum will know I wasn't in school."

"Listen, kid, you gotta get me out of here."

"Where was here?" thought Alex.

He was quiet for a bit. Eventually, he nodded.

"Speak up, kid. I'm not a flamin' mind reader."

"Sorry," said Alex.

The Gruff grumbled. It must have been something he said.

"So, here's the deal. You help me and I'll help you. I'm an expert with bullies."

"Expert how?"

"I train bully hunters," said The Gruff.

"You can stop bullies?"

"Oh yeah," said The Gruff. "I can do a lot more than that."

He made it sound easier than cracking an egg. Shame Alex couldn't crack an egg.

"You promise you'll help me?"

"You're kidding, right? We're buddies now, me and you. Alex and The Gruff. You help me and I'll help you. That's exactly what friends do."

"OK," said Alex, excitedly. "What do I have to do?"

"Listen up," said The Gruff.

It was obvious that he loved making plans.

"There's a way to make this machine work," he said. "We need something to help with the configurations."

Alex checked his pockets.

"I don't have anything," he said.

"It can't be something of yours. It has to be something that doesn't belong to you."

"Like stealing?"

Alex had never stolen anything before; not even a grape from the supermarket.

"It's the only way to make the machine work, kid. You wanna help me get out, don't you?"

Alex was dead quiet.

"Come on, I don't wanna be stuck in here. I wanna be out there hanging out with you. Think of all the cool stuff we'll do. Plus, it stinks of poop in here – badly."

Alex laughed.

"Are you sure?" said Alex. "Wil you help me?"

"Absolutely. You wanna be scared your whole life?"

"No," said Alex.

"Then trust me."

He made it sound like the smartest thing in the world to do.

"Ok," said Alex.

"Awesome," said The Gruff. "Now, go home and you take something; something you'd be hated you for, if anyone found out it was gone."

Alex knew just what.

"And then what?"

"Then come back as quick as you can. Leave the rest to me."

"Ok," said Alex.

He sounded overwhelmed.

"You will come back, though, won't you?" said The Gruff. "I mean, we are friends, right?"

Alex took a second to respond.

"Alex?"

"Yeah. We are," said Alex. "You're right. We're friends."

He'd never imagined saying those words out loud.

"I'll be back," he said. "I promise."

"You pinkie promise?" said The Gruff.

Alex laughed. He'd never make a boy make pinkie promise before; only girls did that.

"You think that's funny? I'm trapped in a damn wormhole. You too tough for a pinkie promise, is that it? Huh?"

"Yes, I mean no, I mean....Ok Mr. Gruff, sir."

"Sir? Who's Sir? I'm not a prince. I don't own fancy pants. I'm The Gruff!" he shouted, this time boisterous and jovial. He sounded like a tiny pirate.

Alex felt less scared all of a sudden

"So, you pinkie promise you'll come back? You know you can't break a pinkie promise; it's the law."

Alex stared at his littlest finger.

"I promise," he said. "I pinkie promise I'll be back."

"Alright," shouted The Gruff. "Woohoo! Alex and The Gruff, best friends forever. That's got a ring to it. Whattaya think?"

Even when he was happy, The Gruff sounded as if he was picking a fight.

"Best friends," said Alex, a little unsure. "Yeah, I think so...I mean I guess so, yeah."

Alex had never had a friend before; let alone a best one.

"Go bring it here straight away. We don't have long."

Alan ran to the front door.

"Best friends forever," shouted The Gruff.

And then Alex was gone.

#  Intermission I

"So, whattaya think?" said The Gruff.

The man with the sack stepped out from his hiding place.

"Well?" said The Gruff.

He sounded impatient as if he'd asked the question an hour ago.

"Do ya think he bought it or what?"

The man cast no shadow and bore no shape. He was dressed from head to toe in black, except for a dazzling white collar around his neck. Though he was invisible in the dark, his hissing breath was not. He coughed and wheezed as he made its way through the dark and sat down beside The Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine, poking the tip of his finger with a knife.

"Hard to say," he said. "He might just tell on us."

"Nah, he won't," said The Gruff.

"He might, though."

"Yeah, but he probably won't."

"But if he does, that'll spell the end of us."

The Gruff moaned.

"Ugh! Would it hurt ya for an inch of optimism?"

"I can be optimistic."

"No, you can't."

"Can too. I just don't see the point. The second law of thermodynamics says..."

"You know this is why you don't have a girlfriend."

The man with the sack gasped.

"You're a monster," he said.

"Of course I'm a monster. We're all monsters. The question is; what kind of monster are you? Personally, I see myself as open-minded and considerate – and a good listener."

"All I'm saying is..."

"He's not gonna tell anyone, stupid. Stop being such a friggin killjoy," said The Gruff.

The Gruff could be mean, even without wanting to. The man with the sack sulked for some time while The Gruff flexed his muscles and ground his teeth. After some minutes though, the air started to clear.

"He is perfect, though, isn't he?" he said, now sounding happy again. "He's just like you said he'd be. He's weak and scared to death of everything. He's been picked on and pushed around his whole life. He's a good boy; polite, quiet, a perfect victim."

"I'm tired, Gruff," said the man with the sack.

He looked it too. If ever he was ever a young man, it was near impossible to tell. Some people just looked like they had always been old – as if they had been born that way.

"I can't do this anymore," he said.

"After this, we're through. I won't be requiring your services. We've found him now. We finally have our Alex. I promise," said The Gruff, sounding noble and wise, "this will be the last time."

"That's what you said last time."

"Yeah, well this time it's different."

"What about his sister?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"You really think he's the one?"

"How long have we been doing this?"

The man let out a long heaving sigh.

"Too long," he said.

"Believe you me," said The Gruff. "He's the one."

#  Deus Ex-Machina

Alex sat on his bed shaking with nerves. In the other room, he could hear his mum preparing dinner while she gossiped on the phone about her day. He could tell she was in a bad mood by the way she swore at the meat. But it wasn't her temper that had him shaking.

Outside his window, the wind was wreaking havoc. It made the trees twist and bend in the scariest fashion. The branches looked like the pointed fingernails of some tall and scrawny child stealing monster; tapping and scratching at his window with every gust and gale.

The thunder and lightning, too, were cracking and banging all over the place. It looked and sounded as if the sky was exploding and about to crash down at any second.

But that's too wasn't why Alex shook. It's not why he trembled and tremored, and it's not why he was hiding out in his room when he could have been doing a thousand other things.

Alex shook with nerves because of a promise he had made; a promise he wished he could unmake. He sat on the edge of his bed staring at his sister's Walkman which was sitting neatly on her bedside table along with some of her favourite things.

Alex loved his sister, but he was scared to death of her too. She was bigger than he was so she could beat him up if she wanted, or, she could just get one of her boyfriends to do it for her. Alexis was, on one hand, the coolest person in the world, and on the other, she was the meanest person that had ever lived.

That didn't stop him from wanting to be just like her.

He wondered what she would do if she were in the same position. Would she steal something that didn't belong to her or would she go to a grownup for help?

People like Alexis probably never got bullied; and as for mums and dads, they never listened to anything. And even if they did, what could they do? Bullies were untouchable. They were above the law. And even when they were found out, that usually only made things worse. That's why no-one ever told on bullies.

Alex stared at the Walkman, sick to his stomach with nerves.

Alexis had always been pedantic with her things; especially her Walkman. She loved it so much that she even kept the original box and plastic that it came in; and she kept them in just as good, if not better, condition. She loved it more than life itself; which was all the more strange that she left it behind.

Alex never went to his sister's side of the room. There was an imaginary line that he didn't dare cross. It was kind of like being at a museum. Her half of the room was bigger of course and it had become somewhat of a memorial – a kind of shrine. Everyone believed she would come home at some point; and when she did, everything would be just as she had left it.

Alex stared at the Walkman and it honestly felt like the Walkman was staring right back. He felt as if the whole world knew he was about to steal it. He didn't want to; but what choice did he have?

"Alex," shouted The Mother. "Are you ready yet? Don't make me come in there."

She hadn't started counting so he still had time but what the heck should he do? He wished he hadn't gone into that apartment. He wished he hadn't made that darn pinkie promise. If he took the Walkman, all his problems would go away. But if Alexis found out, the worst of his problems would have only just begun.

"On the count of three," shouted The Mother, finally getting serious. "You'd better be outside."

"One."

What should he do? Should he run away? Should he steal a boat and sail to an island full of otters, meerkats, and bunny rabbits?

"Two."

Or should he steal the Walkman? Should he save The Gruff? And should he finally deal with all the bullies in his life? What the heck should he do?

"Three," shouted The Mother.

Alex was already out the front door, dressed in his best Sunday clothes. And why were the best clothes always kept for Sundays? It's not like anything was ever open – only churches and gas stations.

"You be on your best behaviour, Alex, ok? I don't want any repeats of the iron incident now do we?"

She was never going to let that down. So he accidentally left an iron face down on his grandma's favourite bedsheets, and so the iron was accidentally plugged in; and so he may or may not have gone off to play and forgotten it was plugged in; and so the bedsheets might have caught on fire; and so that fire might have spread to one or two houses; and so an eighteenth-century cathedral may have burned to the ground – still, there was no reason to always be bringing it up; it's not like he did it on purpose.

"You look so smart," said The Mother, fixing Alex's hair so that it looked totally uncool.

The only thing worse than being smart was looking smart – bullies hated smart.

"So how was school today?"

Every day she asked the same question and every day Alex gave the same response.

"Ok."

Really, though, it wasn't. School was terrible. Nobody liked him, bullies beat him up, he was always in detention, and math was the stupidest subject on Earth.

Schools made learning boring. The teachers were all old, tired, and cynical. They looked like they had stopped caring decades ago, and most of them acted as if they didn't like kids at all. They'd shout a lot and some would even curse; and just to break a kid's spirit, they'd say things like, 'Curiosity killed the cat'.

The smart kids were the ones with all the answers, not questions.

Alex was only seven and he'd already had enough; of school and chicken dinners.

"Your principal called me today," said The Mother. "Any idea what this is about?"

Of course, he knew, but he wasn't going to say it. Instead, he did what any kid his age would do; he shrugged his shoulders and acted as surprised as her.

"I honestly don't know what we're gonna do with you, Alex. We can't just keep moving. We don't have the resources, and there just aren't enough schools."

She gave her son a long hard stare.

"I know you miss your sister. We all do, but that's no excuse for your behaviour. New schools are rough, I get it, but you're just gonna have to figure out how to fit in."

Mums and dads had no idea - no idea at all.

Alex and his mum lived in a big block of flats that was far from everything except for the orange factory, the crazy people hospital, and of course, his new school. It wasn't the worst place in the world to live, but it was pretty close to it.

His neighbours were all mean – every one of them. Even when they were being kind and helpful, they acted as if everything required them being a little bit angry. Even the other kids kinda made being a kid look like it was an obligation or a chore. They made having fun look like it required hard work and focus.

And they were just as mean as everyone else.

The one thing this place did have was a pretty awesome rec room. It had everything a kid would ever want to do – and it had a tonne of stuff for grown-ups too. Once a fortnight, they'd get all dressed up and go to the games night. Alex's mum worked a lot and she didn't have time to make friends, so nights like these were important – she needed them to help her forget, and so Alex was always dragged along even though he preferred to watch TV at home.

On the way to the rec room, there was only one thing on Alex's mind. He'd never fit in, not like his mum thought he would; and it was only a matter of time before he was expelled from this school too. If he wasn't gonna tell his mum about the bullies then he'd have to do something himself. Alex knew exactly what he had to do but that didn't mean he felt good about it.

"OK, so you know I love you," said The Mother. "Now this is mummy's friend time. I don't get a lot of chances to relax. Neither of us does. I'm working so damn hard just to put food in the fridge and socks on your bloody feet. Please, for the love of God give me this hour, ok?"

She was pleading more than anything. There wasn't a hint of bravado in her voice. She sounded sad and tired. She sounded as if she had already outstayed her wit's end.

"Ok, mum," said Alex, sounding twenty years older.

The Mother hugged him but it was faint and almost non-existent. It was hard to hold Alex and not think of everything she had lost in her life. She did her best, though, as she always had.

"It's like the pamphlet said: 'There's times for hugs and kisses, and there's times for a young boy to just suck it up and become a man.' I'm not going to be able to hold your hand forever. You gotta grow up son. You can't be this boy forever. You can't hide from the world."

"Ok, mum," said Alex, sounding seven again.

"I love you, son," she said, as they walked in the door. "Just, be good, or else..."

Alex hated unfinished threats. Bullies made them all the time.

"You'd better get my money or else...."

"You'd better do my homework or else...."

"You'd better change your stupid face or else..."

"You'd better not tell a grown-up or else...."

"Or else..." was the worst.

For bullies it meant being dunked in toilets, being beaten up, or having your pants pulled down during assembly. While for grown-ups, it meant being locked in a dark room with monsters and goblins until you were so scared that you swore you'd never do a bad thing again.

His mum was always threatening to run away and join the circus, so when she said, "Or else...," that's exactly what Alex would think. What was she thinking, though? She couldn't even do a handstand.

"Or else..." was like the lights being turned out – in your own head.

Not knowing what would happen next was the scariest thing in the world. When the lights went out everything that was normal and good was replaced by things that wanted to kill you and then eat you – and not in that order.

And it wasn't just kids that felt that way, either; grown-ups had their own problems too. Whenever mums didn't pick up their phones, dads immediately thought they had crashed their cars, whereas, when dads didn't pick up their phones, mums thought that they were off making other families.

Everybody was scared of the dark – not just kids.

"Remember," said The Mother. "I've got eyes in the back of my head."

She didn't, though. She had her hair tied in a bun just like all the other mums.

Alex entered the rec room into a world of commotion. There were so many kids and so many grown-ups too, and all of them having their own particular kind of fun. Alex stood there in the middle of everything in stupid, paralysing awe.

"Out of the way," shouted one kid as he pushed past Alex, trying to outrun another kid who had been 'It' for the last twenty minutes. The kid wasn't being mean; he just didn't want to be tagged.

Everywhere Alex looked, there were bigger kids having the time of their lives. They didn't have mums and dads breathing down their necks, and they didn't have teachers or principals telling them what they could or couldn't do.

Absolutely everywhere he looked, gangs of kids of all ages were playing games, shooting pool, kicking footballs, playing table tennis, reading comic books, smoking cigarettes, listening to cassette tapes; and just being awesome, incredible, amazing, and cool.

Alex wanted to be older, more than anything else in the world.

Older kids got to stay up late; they got to watch scary movies, and they hung out at the park after school. They wore cooler clothes; listened to rock 'n roll, and they chewed gum and swore all the time - not because they were angry like dads, but because they were cool.

Alexis was definitely cool. She did all those things and more. Alex wanted to be just like her when he grew up; and for that, he couldn't grow up fast enough. No matter how old he got, Alexis would always be seven years older.

He missed her so much.

"Out of the way, kid," shouted the same boy coming round again.

This time he pushed Alex to the ground. Alex wasn't fazed, though. He got right back on his feet; smiling as if he was part of the game. He even waved to the boy who pushed him and pretended that his grazed knee didn't hurt one bit.

Alex was at one end of the rec room while his parents were at the other. The grown-ups sat in a circle talking about boring things they had heard on the news. They argued a lot and there was always one or two that talked louder than everyone else. They were the ones who said that their opinions mattered the most. They were also the ones who drank the most beer and wine.

The grown-ups were outnumbered, though, compared to all the kids. There were hundreds of kids; maybe even millions. It was hard to tell for sure, but there was definitely a lot.

The pool tables were on one side of the room. There were four of them in all. Behind them were rows of seats filled with older kids who were either watching or waiting for their turn. Anyone that wanted to play had to put a dollar on the table and wait for the next person to lose; winner always stayed on.

Alex wanted to play but not only was he too small; that he didn't know how. One time when his mum took him to a barber shop he tried to play, but he ended up scuffing the table with the stick and then everybody got upset.

They never did go back to that barbershop.

Behind the pool tables were the table tennis tables. Those kids were cool too but in a different way. The game happened so much faster and the two kids were jumping from one side of the table to the other and smashing that ball over the place. Sometimes when they lost, they threw their rackets; sometimes when they won they threw them too.

There was a group of kids sitting by an emergency exit reading magazines for rock bands and tattoos. Alexis used to sit in a group like that. She used to sit right in the middle, kind of like the sun. She always looked so cool that it was hard to imagine she was even his big sister. Alex always hoped that one day he would be as cool as her too. Of course, he hoped that she would come home first.

The rock kids stared at Alex, but just for a second, and then they turned away.

It wasn't just them that ignored him; everyone else did too – the kids playing hopscotch; the kids flipping marbles; the kids playing dungeons and dragons, and the kids throwing rocks at the older kids who were making out under a fig tree in the park.

And then out of nowhere, someone shoved his back.

"Where's my money, creep?"

Alex didn't have to turn around; he knew exactly who it was. The bully, William wasn't just a school bully, he was an everywhere bully. No matter where Alex went, the bully, William was there – school, home, the rec room; nowhere was safe. This time he had a whole gang with him this time; not that he needed it.

"You'd better have my money or else..." he said.

Again with the, "Or else..."

Alex's heart was beating a million miles per hour. His legs were wobbling – just as much as his bottom lip - and he felt like he was going to be sick right then and there.

Alex saw a video once about animals being chased by lions on the Savannah. They called this the fight or flight response. To deal with a threat or danger, the little animal's brain releases these hormones called cortisol and noradrenaline and it made the animal's heartbeat real fast so it could either run to the hills or turn and fight the bear that had been stalking it all day.

The thing is, most of the times in those documentaries, the little animal didn't fight or make flight; it just stayed there frozen, scared out of its mind. It made itself as small as it could and kind of hoped the bear would think it was dead and just walk away. Sometimes this happened, but most of the time the bear just got an easy meal.

Alex felt exactly like that right now. Even if he did know how to fight, he was so scared that he wouldn't even be able to lift his hands. They were shaking so much that he couldn't even make a fist. And as for the flight part, he would if he could. Instead, his legs felt two clumps of spaghetti. There was that and also the fact that his stomach felt like it was churning cement and lava.

Fight or flight, my butt; more like flop.

"I'm gonna beat you to a pulp," said the bully, William.

He was punching the palm of his hand, showing what he would do to Alex's face.

"So where is it?" he said. "Where's my money?"

"I don't have it," said Alex.

"Just beat him up, boss," said a kid from the gang.

"Yeah," said another. "Let's take him out back and teach him a lesson."

The gang of bullies surrounded Alex. They started to walk in circles, taunting him as they did. Alex crouched in the middle like a tiny atom while around him, the bullies swarmed like a cloud of probability – one of violent ends.

Alex peeked through their marching feet for his mother, but she was too busy to notice. That's the way it always was. When bullies or monsters were over here, grown-ups were too busy to notice, somewhere over there. He could shout, but it would do no good.

He wished Alexis was here. She could save him. She beat up a whole gang of boys once. If she came to his rescue, none of these bullies would stand a chance.

"You got two minutes," said the bully, William.

He grabbed Alex by the throat and shook him.

"You tell anyone and you're dead."

Alex nodded. He also peed his pants, just a little.

"Time's ticking, twerp."

Alex got up and ran straight to his mum. When he got there, he tried grabbing her hand but she brushed him away. "Not now," she said. "Go with your friends over there and play." She thought the bully, William was his friend. She probably thought that being picked on was a game.

Alex looked back at the gang of bullies. They looked as mad as badgers. The bully, William was tapping the X-Men watch on his wrist. If he didn't get the money soon, Alex would be dead; and so he went to the rock kids.

The whole group stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

"What's up, dude?"

Alex wanted to ask for help; to tell them that he was scared – now and every day of his life. He wanted to ask, "Can you save me?" Instead, he asked, "Whatchya listening to?"

The rock kids were all dressed in black. They wore black shirts, black jeans, and black boots with black socks and black laces. And their favourite bands were written on the front and backs of their shirts – all of them heavy metal.

It was a stupid question for him to ask. He knew it straight away. He knew before he even asked it. Sometimes you want to say one thing but you end up saying something entirely different. He was half expecting the rock kids to laugh in his face, so when they didn't, Alex was speechless.

"It's Metallica," said The Rock Kid. "You like em?"

Alex nodded, even though he had no idea who they were.

The rock kids all made rock 'n roll symbols with their hands. Alex was so stupid happy he forgot about the bullies. He was so stupid happy he almost started to cry. He was so stupidly happy that everyone could tell, or at least that's how it seemed anyway.

When he did turn, the bullies were still waiting. They weren't gonna go easy on him, not this time. He didn't get their money and he didn't have the guts to ask for any help either. He did, though, manage to get an inch of respect from the rock kids, something he never imagined getting.

But, you can't pay bullies with respect.

"Hurry up, twerp," mouthed the bully, William.

And again, Alex was surrounded by so many people and yet he felt completely alone. It was as if bullies, like ghosts, existed in a dimension that grown-ups and older kids couldn't see. To them, the bully, William didn't exist; he was just another made up friend or another lame excuse for not being like everyone expected him to be.

It was clear now, though. He had no choice. Nobody was ever going save him. He would have to save himself, even if that meant becoming someone that even he could never imagine being. Sometimes the right thing meant doing something wrong.

It was then that he heard The Gruff's voice in his head.

"Best friends forever," it said, his voice sounding like a broken vacuum.

For a second, Alex's anxiety, doubt, and fear all vanished. It was as if a cord had been cut and just like that, the sound had been turned off the television. He knew what he had to do, except now, he no longer felt bad about it.

And so Alex ran.

He ran past the bullies; past the kids playing marbles; past all the pool tables; past his mum; past the kids playing chasey; and past the security guard who was asleep by the door.

He ran as fast as he could, a hundred percent sure that the bullies were running after him. He ran even faster still, imagining insects and monsters too, hot on his tail. He ran, thinking that if he stopped for air or directions, he'd be done for. He ran, thinking only of the bright yellow Walkman, and barely able to see where he was going.

He ran out into the parking lot where the street lights flickered on off, casting shadows, even in the dark. With each flicker, Alex could see the outline of a thousand monsters, each of them crawling out of their hiding spaces. The looked like rough sketches and they moved like smudges of ink across a page – always in the corner of his eye.

The wind that blew was like a cold wet blanket.

Alex took a sharp breath and, envisioning the Walkman, he ran.

And boy did he run!

He ran past the rows of trash cans and skip bins where he was sure The Roggenwolf was raising its young. He ran past the old lady who was always squeezing kid's cheeks in the same way that she did - bruised and ripened fruit. He ran past the policeman and the criminal he had caught, and he ran right past all the busybodies watching on.

He ran as fast as he could up nearly a dozen sets of stairs.

He ran and ran and ran until he had the Walkman in his hands.

#  Contrary to Popular Belief, Curiosity Did Not Kill the Cat

"Mr. Gruff?"

Alex tiptoed into the apartment looking blindly for a light switch or at the very least, a shotgun or a ninja sword. Everything was so dark and creepy. There were shadows dancing everywhere. It felt like he had walked into a disco for the dead.

The carpet was all soft and squishy. He was certain that at any moment, he would step on a stingray or an octopus, and that if he fell down, he'd probably sink and drown.

"Mr. Gruff?" he said again, as quiet as he could manage.

Alex crept about, trying to distract himself from thinking about ghosts and goblins and ghouls; but how the heck was he supposed to do something like that in the dark?

He called out another half a dozen times; each time more desperate and frightened than the last. Courage, it seemed, could not swim against the tide of entropy.

"This is it," he thought. "If he doesn't answer then I'll go. I'll go home and I'll tell mum everything. And I'll make sure she listens too. I'll even tell her about The Roggenwolf too."

Alex leaned his head into the toilet and whispered one last time.

"Mr. Gruff?"

His voice echoed in the filthy bowl.

*sniff*

"Mr. Gruff?" he said again, a little unsure.

*sniff* *sniff*

"Hello?" he said.

"Did you pee your pants?" said The Gruff.

"Mr. Gruff? It's me, I got the..."

"Tell me you didn't."

"What?"

Alex had no idea what The Gruff was talking about.

"I can smell pee," said The Gruff. "Tell me that's not you."

All of a sudden, Alex was entirely aware that he had peed his pants. He went red, as you'd expect, like a ripe old tomato, and he had no idea what to say next.

"I...uh...."

"You know in some worlds peeing your pants is considered a sign of bravery."

"Really?"

"Nah, I'm messing with ya, kid," said The Gruff laughing.

Alex started to pout and sniffle.

"Oh don't cry about it," lamented The Gruff. "What's next, you're gonna want your bottle and a swaddle? So you peed your pants, who cares? I've done worse on a dare alone. Stop being such a...."

The Gruff said a word that Alex had only ever heard grown-ups say. And even then, only a certain type of grown-up; like the ones you'd see half asleep on the steps of liquor stores, or starting fights at traffic lights.

Alex sulked immediately; it's what he did – it's what he always did.

"Are you crying for real?" said The Gruff.

He sounded a little angry, like any father when they couldn't hear the news.

"No," said Alex.

He clearly was, though.

"I don't like crying," said The Gruff.

He might as well have said, "I don't like you." That's what it felt like.

"I'm sorry," said Alex.

The Gruff grumbled again. There was something about that word.

"Don't you ever say that word. I'm the one who didn't like what you said, why the hell should you apologise for how I feel – subjectively – about what you've said or done?"

All of a sudden Alex felt like he was in school again.

"False?" he said, hesitant, confused, and hoping it was the right answer.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," said Alex, almost in tears again. "I don't know the answer."

"What answer? Stop saying sorry," shouted The Gruff.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

"Alex!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."

"Stop saying that word!"

The last time he'd heard anyone shout like that was his grandmother; that was before she broke a wooden spoon on his backside after he used a curse word that he'd picked up off of some older boys who were riding their bicycles in the street.

"If there's anything I hate most," said The Gruff, sounding as if this was one rule Alex had better not forget. "Aside from bloody crying, it's the word sorry. Nothing gets me angrier. And you don't want me to be angry at you, Alex. Isn't that right?"

He sounded like he was as tall as a skyscraper and as tough as a dung beetle.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Gruff, sir," said Alex.

"Oh, stop with the sir nonsense. I swear you're like a circus animal; jumping through hoops and standing on one leg, and bowing for your bloody applause. Is there even any kid left in you? Geeze, things are worse than I thought; I really hope it's not too late."

"Too late for what?" thought Alex.

"Did you bring the thing?" asked The Gruff. "We 'ain't got all day, kid. You got it?"

Alex took the Walkman out from beneath his jacket.

"I have it," he said. "But you'll be careful with it, right? Alexis will be...."

"Don't worry about Alexis right now. Tell me, was it hard to get?"

"It wasn't easy," said Alex.

He told The Gruff all about the bullies and how if he didn't get them money so they could play Bubble Bobble, they'd make a jelly sandwich out of him.

"Let's focus on one problem at a time, shall we?"

The Gruff had a way of making Alex's anxiety dissolve like the tiniest particles in the open sea. No matter how worried he got, his problems were like a grain of sand when looked at from a different perspective – like the Earth, the biggest thing in the world when it's right below your feet, but just a pale blue dot, when looked at by a tiny voyager.

"What should I do?" said Alex. "Throw it in?"

"No," shouted The Gruff. "Are you mad?"

Was he mad? After all, he was having a conversation with a toilet.

"Nah, I'm just messing. Put it on the windowsill over there. Then come back here. There's some magic words you have to recite; an invocation more or less – think of it like some silly nonsense words that mean I can get out of here and we can get to fixing all your troubles pronto."

Alex did as he said. He walked back towards the main window and left the Walkman on the windowsill. Then he crept back and waited for further instruction.

"You ready?" asked The Gruff.

Alex had never been more ready in his life.

"I guess so," he said – but only because it was starting to feel like a test.

"Ok, here goes," said The Gruff. "Repeat after me."

The first word he said sounded like it had every letter in the alphabet. Alex could barely pronounce three syllable words, let alone whatever that was.

"Alright, hold up," said The Gruff, sounding a little annoyed again. "Before we go any further, you do speak Sumerian, right? Because you can't mess up the words or else it won't work."

"I speak English," said Alex. "But I can count to five in Spanish if you like."

"That won't help," said The Gruff, shaking his head. "How is Sumerian not part of your school curriculum? It's no wonder the farthest you humans have gotten is the moon. Alright," he said, sounding as if he had a plan. "Let me change a few settings here; just ahhh....Don't cry."

The Gruff tinkered away at the inside of the toilet. He banged at this and knocked at that and the whole while, he was cursing away like some cigarette smoking teenager. Alex had never heard so many bad words. Some of them didn't even sound that bad, but the way The Gruff used them, he could tell that they were.

"Got it," shouted The Gruff. "This had better work. I tell ya, you humans are cute and all, but you're so terribly unevolved."

Alex pressed his ear closer to the bowl so he could hear better.

"You ready?"

"Yep," said Alex, excited.

"Ok, here goes. Repeat after me."

Alex repeated perfectly, word for word.

"I summon thee, awake. I summon thee, arise. I summon thee to come forth from thy tomb. I, seed of Pazuzu, summon thee. Arise with thy wisdom. Come forth with thy light. Like a blessed flower, lift thy wings and be cast off thy shackles; come unto the night. I, seed of Pazuzu; flower of mankind; I, of thorns and precious petals, graciously summon thee."

"I, of thorns and precious petals," said Alex. "Graciously summon thee."

And then everything went quiet and darker than dark. The whole room filled with emptiness. Alex was engulfed, enveloped, and enraptured by a blanket of nothingness. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to touch, nothing to smell or taste, and nothing at all of which he could perceive.

There was nothing but the dark.

"Did it work?" asked The Gruff, his voice no longer echoing. "Did it? It did, it did; it worked. You did it! We did it! You bloody beauty."

And then the next thing you know, The Gruff is bouncing around the living room like a slinky or a broken spring. He bounced off the sofa, the kitchen sink, the magazine racks, the walls, and even off the top of Alex's head. Eventually, he came crashing back on the ground beside Alex.

"Gimme a hug," he shouted.

He had his arms outstretched and a crazy smile on his face.

"Where are you?" asked Alex, looking up at the ceiling.

He expected to see some hundred feet giant with legs as long as mountains and hands like big smashing boulders. He expected to see someone with a head as big a Jupiter and eyes that swirled about like any one of its Galilean moons. He expected to be looking at the biggest thing he'd ever seen in his life – the biggest thing in the world.

"Way to make a fella feel insecure about his height," said The Gruff.

"What?"

Alex couldn't see a thing.

"Down here," said The Gruff.

"Where?" said Alex, still looking up towards the roof. "I don't see anyone."

Then The Gruff kicked Alex's shins.

"Ow," shouted Alex.

And that's when he saw him. Like some celestial spectacle, he saw The Gruff in all his glory, and there was nothing mountainous about him whatsoever. He wasn't a hundred feet tall like Alex had imagined him being and his fists looked less like smashing boulders, and more like the little pebbles that people placed at the bottom of wishing wells.

He wasn't a man at all; he was a toy – a talking toy.

The Gruff was no bigger than a teddy bear, but he didn't look like the kind of toy that any kid would want to keep. His body was small and muscly, and there were tattoos all over his arms and even on his neck too. He wore black boots, black jeans, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up; and his hands were clenched shut as if he were the kind of toy that was always about to punch someone or break down a front door.

Then there was his face. It was all scrunched up and sour looking. If he were a fruit, he'd be a spoiled one; if he were a flower, it'd be one with a wasp in the middle. He had crooked yellow teeth and a mean old smirk, and he had a look on his face as if he was about to spit or curse.

The strangest thing, though, was his hair. It was like someone had stuck a half dozen springs on his head and then painted them all sorts of bright neon colours. They bounced whenever he jumped; they bounced whenever he ran; they even bounced around when he was standing still and acting all serious-like.

When he got angry, though, it was amazing.

The Gruff looked so proud, but all Alex could do was laugh.

"Hey, what the hell, kid?" screamed The Gruff. "You think I look funny?"

The Gruff exploded in a fit of rage. As he did, his spring-like hair twisted and twirled and sprang back and forth making the most stupendously funny noises as it did. The colours were amazing; he could have passed for a Christmas tree. Better than that, though, were the little tufts of steam that sprayed out of The Gruff's tiny little ears, and the two spurts from his itsy bitsy nose. The angrier The Gruff got, the funnier he looked.

"Stop laughing at me," he shouted.

That only made things worse.

"I'm sorry," said Alex in side-splitting hysterics.

"Stop saying sorry," shouted The Gruff, angrier than ever before.

And now he looked even funnier. He was so mad that he was bouncing around the room hitting his head on the ceiling. And when he finally stopped, his face went all red and he started steaming again. He looked like an angry kettle.

"Hey! Cut it out or I'll punch ya," shouted The Gruff.

Instantly, Alex stopped laughing. The Gruff looked dead serious – sort of. He looked like he wasn't joking around, though; as if he'd tired and had had enough. Alex knew this look; so did most household pets.

"We've got work to do, Alex," said The Gruff.

He dusted off his pants, re-rolled the sleeves on his t-shirt, and then lit a cigarette.

"What are we going to do?" asked Alex.

With The Gruff, anything was possible.

"We're gonna kick us some bully butt," he said, flexing his muscles.

#  The Semantics of Being Friends

The next thing he knew, Alex was ducked beside a trash can trying to understand the plan that The Gruff was drawing out in the sand before them. On one hand, it was kind of fun, on the other, he was scared to death about what would happen if anyone saw them; or worse yet, if the bullies got so mad that they wanted revenge.

"Don't worry about that, kid. When we're done with these bullies, nobody's gonna touch you again."

He stopped his drawing for a second and grabbed Alex by the shoulders.

"I need you to trust me, kid. What we're gonna do goes against anything you've ever learned. And I want you to know, this doesn't make you a bad person at all, no matter what anyone else says. You hear me?"

The Gruff sounded just like Alex imagined a big brother would.

"Uh-huh," said Alex, nodding away.

"Good," said The Gruff, flexing his muscles.

He did that quite a lot; more than necessary really. When he had an idea he flexed his muscles; whenever he asked a question, he flexed them too – usually while he was waiting for an answer. He flexed them when he was happy; he flexed them when he was sad - barely a minute ever went by where he wasn't in some kind of heroic pose.

The Gruff sure loved his muscles.

"So you know what to do, right?"

Alex nodded.

"I sneak in," he said, pointing to sand. "In-ca-sic..."

"Inconspicuous," said The Gruff sternly.

"In-cran-speak..."

"In-conspicuous."

"Un.."

"Just make sure nobody sees you," interrupted The Gruff. "Geeze, kid, you sure you're seven?"

"Yeah, why?"

Alex's bottom lip started to tremor; it always did that before he cried.

"Hey," screamed The Gruff, the coloured springs on his head bouncing up and down and round and round. "No tears, ok? No crying. No sulking. Whinging and complaining you can do all you want, but no bloody tears, you go it?"

"Got it," said Alex, biting his tongue as he did, just so he wouldn't cry.

"You're an ok kid, Alex, but your mum and dad did a number on you. It's gonna take some real work to get your claws sharp again."

Alex stared at his little hands.

"It's a metaphor, kid – a figurative expression. I have to ask; now don't get all hurt feelings..."

"Ok," said Alex.

"Are all kids like you on this planet?"

"I think so. I don't know. Why?"

"You're seven years old and not only can you not grasp the bare basics of particle physics, but you can barely pronounce anything longer than your own name. I'm not judging, it's just an observation."

"Mum says I'm a genius and that I can do anything in the world like build a billy cart, or fly to the moon, or even be the President of the world."

"Yeah, mums say things like that. Mums don't have a clue, even in my world. They mean well, they do, but mums are horrible at the truth – don't believe anything they say."

"Your world?"

It hadn't occurred to him that The Gruff might be an alien or some type of creature from a strange dimension where toys could walk and talk, and probably kids came in cellophane packages. The idea should have scared him; it should have sent him running to the hills.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

The Gruff had a look on his face as if he had just remembered the most terrible dream.

"That's none of your business," he said, sounding really rude for the first time; just like a grown up.

Even The Gruff knew that he had overstepped his mark.

"Sorry, kid," he said, sounding as if he meant every word of it.

Alex looked confused.

"But you said sorry was a bad word."

"I did, didn't I?" said The Gruff, realizing Alex was sharper than he looked. "Sometimes old pal, there's no better word than a bad word."

For the first time Alex felt like he had a real friend; someone who wasn't a cousin of course, or who wasn't forced to play with him as a punishment or as a good deed to get an honour badge or an after-dinner treat – The Gruff was a real friend.

"So let's go over the plan once more."

They both huddled over the map that was drawn into the sand. The Gruff explained a dozen times what Alex had to do, what he had to say, and most important, how he should say it.

"Words are just words," he said. "It's the spaces between and underneath words that give them their strength and power. You wanna cut down a tree, you don't hit as fast as you can; no, you swing that axe back as high as it'll go, and you strike down on that tree with all of your might. The distance between us," said The Gruff, all sage-like, "...is the force that holds us together."

Then he flexed his muscles; so much that it looked like his head might explode.

"It's all physics, kid."

"Is that like the two times table?"

The Gruff shook his head.

"Forget it, kid," he said. "Right now it's time to kick some butt. You ready?"

"Ready," said Alex.

The Gruff rested his little hand on Alex's shoulder.

"All you need to know is that I'll be here, I'll never let you down. Alright?"

Alex nodded.

"Best friends forever?" he said.

Alex smiled. Today was the best day ever.

"Best friends forever," he said.

"Alright," said The Gruff sounding as proud as he looked. "Go get 'em, buddy."

Alex walked towards the rec room door. He didn't feel fear or worry; he wasn't frightened or afraid. The shadows no longer scared him; neither the quiet nor vacuous dark.

"Hey fatso," he said, because the bully, William was as round as a weather balloon. "Bet you can't catch me."

And thus the chase began.

#  The Peculiar After-Taste of Sweet Revenge

"You're gonna get it, you skinny little twerp. I'm gonna smash your bones into dust and sweep you up with your own stupid skull."

"Gotta catch me first, fatso."

Alex was confident; probably for the first time in his life – and why shouldn't he be? The bullies had no idea what was in store for them. If they did, they'd be running the other way.

Alex stopped in front of the trash cans, trying desperately to catch his breath before the bullies caught up to him. He scanned left and right. The Gruff was supposed to be here; but where was he? Everything was pitch-black. He could barely see his own hand in front of his face. Where the heck was The Gruff?

"I'll give it to ya, twerp," said the bully, William, now an inch away from Alex's face. "You got some guts."

He pushed Alex's chest and sent him falling backward into the trash cans.

"But I'm gonna rip 'em out," he said. "And I'm gonna eat 'em."

Alex could feel that whole fight or flop thing happening again. Half his body wanted to run whereas his legs, which he needed to run, wanted nothing more than to fold up like an accordion and hide under the rest of his body from all the punches and kicks that were bound to come.

"Help me, Gruff," said Alex.

Some people prayed to their Gods for divine intervention; some people called out to their friends or family for some kind of retribution; but Alex, he cried out for a small foul-mouthed doll with a wicked temper.

"Gruff!" he shouted.

The bully, William laughed, smashing his fist into the palm of his hand.

"What? Some stupid goat is gonna save you?"

They all made billy goat sounds and laughed like drunken hyenas.

"I take offense to that," said The Gruff, punching his own hand.

His voice was like a night-light or a policeman's whistle. All of a sudden, Alex's fear and panic vanished, replaced by demented exhilaration and a thirst for revenge.

"Who said that?" said the bully, William, spinning in circles like a frightened ballerina.

"Down here, fatso," said The Gruff.

It was at that very second that the bullies realised how much trouble they were in.

"Let me get this straight," said The Gruff, flexing his muscles as the bullies all huddled together like a clump of wriggling worms. "Forgive me if I accidentally leave out some minute details – my memory is a little fuzzy on account of the size of these guns," he said, flexing his muscles. "Now, you said you would rip out Alex's guts... and then...what was it?"

The bully, William had already wet his trousers.

"Eat them, wasn't it?" said The Gruff turning to Alex.

The last time the bully, William was this scared it was before his dad went to prison.

"You know who I am?" said The Gruff.

"No, sir," said the bully, William.

He was so polite when he was scared; just like all kids were.

"What do you mean you don't know who I am? You," he said, pointing at one of the smaller bullies. "What's my name?"

The smaller bully wished he knew; you could see it on his face. Instead, he shrugged.

"And you?" said The Gruff.

He went one by one, getting more and more infuriated each time.

"I was just in a world like this," said The Gruff sounding more like a condescending teacher than a muscle-flexing maniac. "And everybody knew my name – everyone!"

The bully, William looked to Alex who by now looked as big a Grizzly bear.

"Help," he whispered.

For the first time, Alex felt what bullies felt. Seeing those no-good kids like that -looking and sounding so weak and scared - made Alex feel like he was a thousand feet tall. He felt indestructible; as if he could blow out the sun just like a birthday candle. It felt good feeling like this; it felt better than good. And Alex wasn't about to give that power up.

"Please," said the bully, William. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I won't pick on you, I promise. I won't pick on anyone. I'll stop, I promise, I will."

But that didn't matter, not now. It was too late to go back.

"Get 'em Gruff," said Alex.

And that was all The Gruff needed. What happened next was terrible. It was shocking and unbelievable; it was the worst and most dire thing that anyone could ever imagine. Nobody died or anything, but by the end of it, pretty much all the bullies wished they'd never been born. And The Gruff wasn't done yet.

"Come 'ere, Alex," he said, lifting the bully, William's face which was messed up with dirt and tears. "It's time to sharpen your claws."

Alex stepped forward slowly. He had energy running through him that he had never felt before. He didn't just feel bigger than all the bullies, he was bigger. The five of them lay on their backs, begging and pleading for a reprieve. Their fear made Alex stronger. He could smell it wafting off their tattered clothes and grazed skin; he could hear it in their feeble cries, and he could see it in their pathetic attempt to shield themselves.

"Feel the anger," said The Gruff. "Feel it coursing through your veins. Nevermore shall you be a victim. Nevermore shall you fear the dark. Nevermore, Alex. Nevermore."

The bully, William started to cry.

"This is it, Alex. Your time has come. Get the revenge you deserve."

Alex stood over the bully, William and stared down at him like he had been stared down at all those times before. His hands were clenched like two wrecking balls and his eyes were like two pits of roaring fire. The anger had changed him; he had become someone else.

"I'm sorry," mouthed the bully, William.

He had never looked so weak; he had never looked so useless and pathetic. All of his courage was gone – half of it had soiled his pants and underwear. He didn't look tough anymore. He didn't look mean and imposing. Curled up as he was and begging for his life, the bully, William, looked like every scared kid who had ever been left alone.

It was then, as he stared into the bully, William's eyes, that Alex saw himself.

And so he ran. He ran as fast as he could; through the parking lot; past the old men playing checkers; up a half dozen flights of stairs; past the janitor, a drunk, and some teenage lovebirds; and then non-stop until he collapsed outside his front door. There he scrunched himself into a tiny ball and rocked back and forth, waiting for his mum to come home.

All that power he had felt before had gone away, and now he just felt sick. And as he stared off into the night, the only thing he could think was, "What have I done?"

Eventually, The Gruff caught up to Alex and sat by his side.

"You did good," he said. "Better than I thought you would."

"Good? I ran away. I failed, just like I failed at everything. I'm no good at this . I'm no good at anything. I suck."

"Who the hell told you failure was a bad thing?"

"Everyone," said Alex. "Nobody wants to look dumb or stupid."

"If you're not failing, you're not trying," exclaimed The Gruff. "Failure is the outcome of reaching further than your potential. Failure," he said, flexing his muscles, "is a pre-requisite for success. You ever heard the expression, 'walk before you run'?"

"No," said Alex.

Alex wasn't really big on words.

"Well, it's pretty self-evident. You ever seen a baby learning to walk?"

Alex nodded.

"They suck," shouted The Gruff laughing. "They're terrible. All that wobbling and falling over. A baby's centre of gravity is in its big toe; the second it stands upright it topples over. But does that stop it? No, of course not. Because it's mum and dad are genetically prone to celebrate failure as a measure of effort. They clap and cheer and dance around making the most astounding spectacle; and that baby wants to try even harder because if failing is this good, imagine what success is like? And then what happens? You go to school and they start judging you. You fail you're a failure. They stop clapping and cheering and instead, do what?"

"Point and laugh," said Alex.

"No wonder you develop a crappy relationship with trying to be great; you're scared to death of looking stupid. So you're either born running or you spend the rest of existence lying flat on your back. Alex," said The Gruff, lifting the boy's chin. "You failed tonight, and I'm friggin proud of you."

Alex smiled.

"Best friends forever?" said The Gruff.

"Best friends forever," said Alex.

"Now," said The Gruff cracking his knuckles. "You better rest up. Tomorrow's another day and we've a lot of work to do yet. Those claws are nowhere near sharp. Lucky for us, this world 'aint short of bullies."

#  How Exactly Does an Elephant Even Get in a Room?

That night Alex had the worst sleep ever. It felt like small explosions were going off in his mind the whole night. The last time he had slept that bad was just before he started crawling, and then again when he started walking, and finally, he cut his first tooth.

As scared as he was, though, whenever he woke up, The Gruff was always right there beside him; flexing his muscles; and saying comforting things like, "Dreams are just innocuous projections of a waking mind."

Alex had no idea what that meant but it sounded neat - and it kinda worked too! Any time The Gruff said it, Alex merely smiled and then drifted back off to sleep as if whatever was going on inside his head was absolutely normal and there was nothing at all to worry about.

Breakfast was the usual rush; mum was in a bad mood and couldn't find her keys.

"Alex, you'll have to take the bus this morning," she said. "I don't have time to walk you. I've already spoken to the school, though, so they're expecting you."

The bus was like a prison on wheels. There were all sorts of kids on there of all sorts of ages and if you didn't know anyone, they'd make your life a living hell. Alex had only ridden the bus once before but it was the kind of experience that he'd rather forget.

"I can't forget I have that meeting with your principal this afternoon," said The Mother. She leaned into Alex's ear and whispered, "I really hope for your sake that it's not a repeat of last time."

Alex had no idea why she had been called in but he assumed the worst. As he finished his cereal, The Mother rushed to finish the lunches; found her keys; threw them in her purse; kissed Alex and ran out the door.

"I love you," she said, and then, "Don't get into trouble."

And then it was just Alex and The Gruff, sitting at the table, all by themselves.

"First things first," said The Gruff. "What's the deal with this principal?"

He was standing on the kitchen table shadowboxing – basically just punching the air.

"I don't like school," said Alex.

"Of course you don't," said The Gruff. "I'd be worried if you did."

"I'm always getting into trouble. I'm always doing the wrong thing, and it's never my fault. But even still," he said, starting to cry. "I'm the one who gets the blame."

"Hey," screamed The Gruff kicking cereal in Alex's face. "No, no, no, no. Stop it! Stop that right now!" Then he picked up the cereal bowl and smashed it on the floor.

"Gruff no!" shouted Alex. "What are you doing? Mum will go crazy."

If anyone was going crazy, it was The Gruff.

"I don't like tears," he said, looking as if he might punch Alex in the face. "You wanna be strong, you bury that crap," he said. "Alright?"

It sounded more like a threat than anything else.

"Ok," said Alex nodding away. "I'm so..."

Before he could finish The Gruff gave him a mean looking stare.

"I mean...Ok, I won't cry, I promise. And I won't say the other word too; I promise."

"Pinkie promise," said The Gruff sticking out his tiny little finger.

Kids did pinkie promises all the time, but they never did it like The Gruff. He made it look tough and cool like a secret handshake, but the look on his face also said that he wasn't kidding around. Nothing can break a pinkie promise.

"Ok," said Alex, getting just as serious. "I pinkie promise I won't say that word ever again."

And he looked just as tough and cool.

"You ready for today's lesson?" said The Gruff.

Alex had no idea what he meant, but that didn't matter.

"By the time this day is done," said The Gruff, flexing his muscles. "You'll have your voice back."

"But I have a voice," said Alex.

"Nah, you just say what grown-ups want to hear, all kids do. That's not your voice. It's theirs. Trust me, you'll know it when you hear it."

He had no idea what that meant but it was The Gruff so it didn't matter. Alex packed his lunch into his schoolbag, took The Gruff under his arm and headed off to catch the bus.

"So," he said. "Where did you come from? Where's your home?"

The Gruff was rigid under his arms, pretending he was a normal action figure.

"I'm from another dimension," said The Gruff. "Another world in another universe in another dimension, to be precise."

"Like China?"

"Yes," said The Gruff, realising how complicated interdimensional reality might be for a seven-year-old boy. "Kind of like China."

"My sister told me that if you drop a rock into a well, it keeps going all the way until it reaches China."

They pondered that for a bit, that was until the bus pulled up.

Alex's heart raced.

"Relax," said The Gruff. "Follow my lead. You're a bully hunter now. Nobody's gonna mess with you anymore."

#  The Abyss also Looks Long into You

And he was right, too. Word had already gotten around about The Bully Hunter so when Alex did step onto the bus, he did so amongst reverent stares and deathly silence. Seat after seat was offered as he made his way to the back of the bus, but Alex had his eye on only one.

"You're in my seat," he said.

For the first time in his life, he looked like could defend himself. He stood there with his chest puffed out and his two hands already scrunched into a fist just in case he had to punch his way out of this.

The bully, William didn't argue.

"I'm sorry," he said, jumping right off.

Alex kicked his schoolbag out of the way. It slid down the aisle and the kids went, "Ooohh." Nobody had ever really seen a bully getting jerked around before. It was kinda fun.

The Gruff whispered something that only Alex could hear.

"I don't like the word sorry," said Alex, poking the bully, William's chest.

By now even the bus driver was watching, as well as people passing by. As the two boys squared off, The Gruff quietly continued whispering in Alex's ear; telling him exactly what to say.

"You think that by saying one word, you can erase all the bad things that you did," said Alex. "You say sorry as if it makes everything better as if it's a remedy - as if it cures all the pain that you've caused. You say sorry as if it's your right, and as if it's my obligation to forgive you. You say sorry as if that forgives how humiliated and scared you made me feel."

"But I really am," said the bully, William.

"You say sorry so you don't have to feel like a monster – cause you're not strong enough to be a monster. I don't forgive you," said Alex, taking one step forward; forcing the bully, William to take another step back. "No-one forgives you," he said.

And then he said it over and over again, sounding more like The Gruff each time. He said it a dozen times, maybe more, before it caught on, and in no time, the whole bus was singing it too. It was loud and boisterous, and it was the last thing a bully wanted to hear. Every kid was on their seats roaring like bears and they shook their fists at the bully, William, chanting as one, "No-one forgives you; no-one forgives you."

Even the bus driver sang along.

The bully, William ran onto the street crying. He left his school bag behind, right beside his pride, and he ran home with his tail between his legs. The whole bus clapped and cheered, and then chanted for their new hero – Alex, The Bully Hunter.

"Great job, kid," said The Gruff. "Word for word; that was pure class. You were born for this. How do you feel?"

"Important," said Alex.

And like that, he had gone from being a nobody to being someone.

"I'm proud of ya, kid," said The Gruff. "But we've still a long way to go."

Alex was shaking but it was a different kind of energy. He didn't feel like flopping on the floor anymore, and he had no intention of ever running away. It was as if something had exploded in his chest like an atom bomb or a supernova, and now he had this inexhaustible will to fight every bully in the world.

"Sweet," said The Gruff as the bus pulled up at the school. "Check that out."

Across the road, a young girl was clinging to her mother's legs as a grown-up \- obviously a stranger - was trying to pinch the girl's cheeks. The sheer difference in size was immense; that giant woman picking on such a small and defenseless child.

"School can wait," said The Gruff, cracking his knuckles. "Looks like we've got us another bully. You wanna take this one or shall I?"

Alex stared at the poor girl being paraded like a piece of battered fish or a half worn sweater. He knew exactly what she was feeling. He'd been in that situation a hundred times before. He knew the fear. He knew the tingles of disgust that came with it.

"I've got this," he said.

It was clear that he needed no help at all. Alex stormed off the bus and ignored the line of kids, kicking and fussing as they made their way into school. He walked right across the traffic without any care whatsoever. Then he marched straight up to the woman in question.

"Don't hold back," said The Gruff. "Give that bully a taste of her own medicine."

Alex clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.

"Hey, you," he shouted. "Stop doing that."

The Bully leaned in to pinch the girl's cheeks but the girl turned away.

"Aww," said The Bully, in feint rejection. "She's shy."

The Girl's mother agreed, nodding her head as if she were terribly embarrassed, and then roughly telling the girl, "Stop being so rude." The mother herself looked as if this was not a pleasant experience for her either, but because she had good manners, and because she was a properly educated woman, she couldn't turn The Bully away.

And again, The Bully swooped in with her ghastly talons.

"Are you shy?" she said, taunting the little girl. "Or are you ashamed?

It was easy to see the girl was neither of those things.

"Come here and let me give those cheeks a squeeze."

The Girl clutched even harder to her mother's leg.

"Stop it," screamed Alex, kicking kicked The Bully's leg. "Leave her alone."

The Bully jumped, and then the girl and her mother jumped too.

"What in tarnation?" said The Bully.

She sounded shocked at first as if this were the last thing she expected. But then when she saw the young boy, not only shaking his fists but out and about without his mother, her shock turned to rage – appalling and disgusted rage.

"What the devil did you do that for, you wild little beast?"

"She's not shy," said Alex.

His voice was so quiet and calm – you'd hardly think he had violence on his mind.

"How dare you!"

"You heard me," said Alex, stepping between the little girl and her attacker "She's not shy; she's scared."

The Bully gasped.

"Well I never," she said.

Alex took a deep breath. He composed himself. And then he spoke on behalf of all the kids in the world who were sick to death of being poked and prodded and being placed, against their will, into the hands of monsters.

"You heard me," he said. "Look at her."

The little girl looked like a half-eaten mouse. There was nothing but panic in her eyes.

"After today, you will never scare another child."

"Excuse me?"

"You will never again stalk, hunt, or prey on defenseless children. And you," he shouted, pointing at the girl's mother. "You will never again put your child in danger and make her feel so useless, insignificant, invisible, and small."

"How dare you," said The Bully. "You rude little...."

That was when The Bully lost her fancy veneer and she showed her true colours. She used all the worst and most vile words imaginable to describe the boy when really, that was how she felt about herself. And all the while, the girl's mother said nothing. She knew, though, that the boy was absolutely right – everyone did.

"Who do you think you are?" said The Bully. "Do you know who I am? I have a right mind to call your..."

"Shut your trap, lady," said Alex. "I'm not done."

Alex was a tiny boy, but right now he seemed gargantuan.

"Shy is just a word you use so you don't feel bad about what you're doing."

"And what, pray tell, am I doing?"

They all turned to the girl who by now was tucked behind her mother's legs.

"You're scaring her," shouted Alex.

"I'm doing no such thing," replied The Bully, angered by this foul-mouthed boy.

She stormed off immediately, cursing to herself and shaking her head in constant discordance. The girl's mother gave Alex a particular look. She seemed disgusted; not with Alex, though. She seemed disgusted with herself. And she too left before any more was said. It was the little girl, though, who looked over her mother's shoulder as she was being carried back to her car and smiled at Alex as if finally, someone had taught her how to speak for herself; someone had taught her how to say no.

"You're one in a gazillion, kid, you know that? I said it a thousand times before and I'm sure I'll be saying a thousand times more – I'm proud of ya."

Alex had always craved for a father's validation. Mothers gave it too freely; it sometimes meant nothing at all. All he ever wanted was a high-five or a pat on the back. Hearing it from The Gruff wasn't the same, but that doesn't mean it wasn't any less good. He wanted more, though. He didn't want fame as such; he wanted infamy.

He wanted to confront the world.

#  Dark Matters I –Or How the Coward Becomes Courageous

It wasn't too hard to find what he was looking for. No matter where he turned, grown-ups were being bullies to children. How could those, whose love was unconditional, choose to put their child through the worst kinds of conditions?

The first bully they caught was an old man with a bad habit of messing up kids' hair. He'd already done it to about twenty kids by the time Alex and The Gruff even got there – and he looked kind of proud of it too.

"What aisle are adult diapers?" he said to the attendant.

The Gruff was already waiting, hiding behind a row of diapers. When the old man was near, he pushed a packet off the rack and onto the floor beside his feet. Then, when the old bent down to pick it up, Alex rushed by and scuffed up the old man's neat looking hair.

"Hey," shouted the old man, patting his hair back down. "What the darn heck do you think you're doing?"

"Not nice is it?" shouted Alex, not stopping until he was at the end of the aisle.

"Of course not," shouted the old man.

"Then why do it to kids?" said Alex, and then he ran away.

The old man shook his fist but that didn't matter. Alex ran with a tremendous smile on his face. He didn't care what the old man thought. He didn't care what anyone thought. Right now, with his best friend beside him, he felt unstoppable. They both ran until they couldn't run anymore, and then they collapsed on the ground laughing and giving each other high-fives. And when they finally caught their breaths, they flexed their muscles and planned their next attack.

"Over there," said Alex. "The kid by the wall."

There was a small clinic next to an ice-cream store. In it, a young boy lay on a table, on his back. He was squirming about and making a fuss over a bully who stood over him with a stethoscope and a chisel. The boy's father stood beside The Bully holding the boy's arms. He didn't look like he was enjoying what was happening, not as much as The Bully, but he did nothing to intervene.

"That's it, dad, hold his arms tight," said The Bully, looking to pry open the boy's teeth with a small wooden stick. "Let's show him some democracy."

But the kid has his mouth wedged shut. He wasn't gonna open it for anybody – let alone for a bully in a white coat who didn't have the decency to say please. So instead, he wriggled about and pleaded with his father with nothing but a dire look in his eyes. It was lucky Alex got there when he did. Any later and who knows what would have happened?

"Don't you know that hurting kids is bad?" he said.

The Bully and The Father both turned. The Bully was furious – as all bullies were when they were called out. This one was a thousand times worse. He looked like he'd spent the last fifty years telling people what to do and he wasn't quite ready for anyone, let alone a seven-year-old kid, putting him in his place.

"He's not a can of paint," said Alex. "Stop trying to open his mouth that way. You're scaring him."

"I don't give a good god damn if the child is scared or not. I am his doctor. Without me, this boy gets sick and dies. It is my job to heal not to make him feel good about himself – that's for his mother."

"Actually his mother is..."

"You get the hell out of here boy before you get the hiding you deserve."

Alex wasn't going anywhere.

"Why do you like hurting children so much?"

"How dare you," said the bully, still prying at the boy's mouth.

"Look how big you are?" said Alex. "And look how small he is. That's not a fair fight."

"I'll show you fare. You could do with a little democracy yourself."

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

It was now that The Father loosened his grip on his son's wrists. He hadn't revolted entirely. His good manners and his proper education ensured that he never questioned a doctor or a priest – or anyone else who liked to restrain children. But he was definitely waking from his spell. He wanted nothing more than to take his boy and run – to run far, far away.

"You don't have to hurt kids to get them to do things," said Alex. "How hard is it to just be nice?"

"Where are your parents?" said The Bully, taking the attention off himself. "What kind of mother would leave her child alone in a shopping mall?"

The Gruff whispered in Alex's ear.

"What kind of person," said Alex, now leading to The Bully's sense of reason. "Would willingly do physical harm to a child that weighs less than a sack of rice?"

"You mind your own business," said The Bully. "I tell you if you were my child..."

"You would what? You would hit me? You would shake me? You'd break a wooden spoon on my bum? You'd lock me up? You'd throw away the key? You'd scare the life out of me? What? What would you do?"

The Bully shook his head with rage.

"You call it discipline, I call it abuse," said Alex. "But it's not too late to break the cycle. It's not too late to become a good person."

And before The Bully could respond, the boy's father pulled him out of harm's way and safe into his arms – his face was laden with guilt. The Bully then jumped up and down in a maddened rage. He threw a pile of papers in the air and a chair against a wall, and then he packed up his things and left; swearing never to return.

"That was great," said The Gruff, high-fiving Alex. "You know I honestly thought this whole prophecy thing was gonna be complete hocus pocus but I gotta admit, you proved me wrong. You're a natural, kid. The best bully hunter I've ever seen."

"What's a prophecy?"

It was then that The Gruff realised he had said too much.

"Nothing. It's uh... French. It's like croissant or rainbow or something."

"Are rainbows really made in France."

"I dunno, kid, I'm no physicist."

Alex could barely stomach the silence as they walked through the mall. He had a hundred thousand questions and each of them was itching to be asked one after the other.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Black."

"What's your favourite food?"

"Apples."

"Really?"

"Something wrong with apples?"

He looked like he was about to punch Alex in the face.

"Apples are good."

"Good then. What else you wanna know?"

"What are you?"

Now the questions were getting serious.

"I'm The Gruff," said The Gruff. "That's obvious, isn't it?"

"I know that, but I mean, what are you? Are you a doll? Are you a person? Are you an alien? Are you a monster?"

"A doll?" screamed The Gruff.

Never before had he been so mad at a friend.

"Action figure, damnit," he said. "Not a doll. I'm an action figure."

The Gruff was furious. His hair sprung back and forth and tufts of steam burst out of his ears. Maybe it was because they were friends, maybe it was something else, but Alex was no longer scared of The Gruff's tantrums. Sure, he shouted a lot and he often said bad words, but it wasn't anything personal; it's just how The Gruff was.

"You're always angry," said Alex.

"So!"

"I learned in school that angry people are usually sad about something."

"Pfft. School. Think they have all the answers."

"So what are you sad about?" asked Alex.

"You sure ask a bunch of questions, don't you?"

Alex went quiet straight away.

"That's not a bad thing," said The Gruff, no longer sounding mad. "Geeze, whoever prepared you for the world did a lousy job, kid. Questions are everything. Even answers should be questioned, over and over again. You know what curiosity got the cat?"

"Dead," said Alex.

"Dead? What? No! The kitty got some salmon and a cuddle. Dead? Why? I mean, who would say something like that?"

"My teacher," said Alex. "The principal. The lady at the convenience store. The fat man at the video library. Basically everyone at the museum. And mum too. Curiosity killed the cat. Everyone says it."

"Woah, kid. Talk about an odd way to look at life. Curiosity, kid, is the fire that will light up the loneliest parts of your journey. You're gonna feel lost a hundred thousand times in your life – you'll forget where you came from or where the hell you're going. Curiosity is the torch that guides you. Curiosity is everything."

"My teacher doesn't like questions."

"Question everything, Alex, especially your teachers."

"Ok then, so why are you so angry all the time?"

"That's none of your business," said The Gruff. "But that's the spirit."

The Gruff was as tough on the inside as he was on the outside.

"Do you want to know about me?"

"Not really," said The Gruff.

Alex went quiet again.

"Oh man, you're too easy to screw with. I was just messing with you, alright?"

It was hard to know when The Gruff was being serious or joking around.

"Seriously, though," said The Gruff. "I know all about you. There is literally nothing you can tell me that I didn't read in the dossier."

"Dossy?"

The Gruff was distracted by a horrible sight.

"I'm no physicist, Alex. Choose your battles as they say."

"What do you mean? How do you know about me? I'm just a kid. I'm just..."

The Gruff stopped him in his tracks.

"Shhhh," he said. "You see that?"

The two of them hid behind a corner that overlooked a supermarket. There, an old man in black clothes and a funny white collar was loading soft drinks and candy into a giant hessian sack. It didn't seem all that suspicious, not until Alex saw the devious look in the old man's eye. He had seen that look before; eyes that salivated, and a long pointed nose that scoured the air for the scent of fear and innocence.

"It's The Roggenwolf," said Alex.

It had to be; nothing that gross or disgusting could be a person.

"That's not The Roggenwolf," said The Gruff. "That's something else altogether."

They both watched as the man wiped away a glob of drool from one side of his mouth. What's worse was that he put the drool back in his mouth and swished it around like it was his favourite fruit juice.

Don't get me started on what he did with what he picked from his nose.

"What is he?" asked Alex. "It's not a person, is it? It's a thing. It's a monster, right?"

Who'd have thought a seven-year-old would be so keen to spot monsters?

"That's right, kid. That 'aint no person. It's from a different world altogether."

"Like China?" said Alex.

"Just like China," said The Gruff.

The man opened his hessian sack wide, sticking half his body inside as he filled it with items from the register. He put so many things inside it was amazing that any of them fit. Despite the strange physics, the creepy old man didn't stop.

Alex squinted so he could see inside, but the man and the sack were too far away.

"That's The Collector," said The Gruff.

His name made him sound as old as the things he collected.

"Do you know him?"

Alex wasn't nearly as scared as he should have been. Instead, he was arched as far forward as he could without falling over and being seen.

"Where I'm from," said The Gruff. "Everybody knows him."

Alex watched as The Collector piled thing after thing into his enormous hessian sack. There were bottles of this and bags of that, and even some toys and balloons, and a funny old hat.

"Collector? That's a funny name. What does he collect?"

"Children," said The Gruff in a burly tone.

"What? Children? Who collects children? Stamps, sure. Pennies, maybe. But kids? What does he want with all those children?"

"Who knows," said The Gruff.

The Collector paid with a single gold coin and hurled the hessian sack over his shoulder. Bent over as he was, he looked about as conspicuous as you could imagine. His face was all wrinkled like an old man's elbow, and his eyes were small and narrow – and what teeth he had were all crooked and yellow.

"Follow him," said The Gruff.

"Do I have to?"

"There's probably a small child in that sack, Alex."

"I don't want to follow him. What if I end up in the sack as well?"

The Gruff pushed Alex against the wall.

"You wanted my help, right?"

"Yeah but...."

"You've been pushed and shoved around your whole life," said The Gruff, poking the boy's chest. "You've been picked on and picked at and left to fend for yourself like some mangy old dog. I know all about you, Alex. I know how your mum left you in the dark all by yourself when you were small and defenseless. I know about all the ghosts and ghouls, and all the horrible monsters that visited you every night. I know all about The Roggenwolf; and I know about the monster, Pazuzu too. I even know about that day at the shopping mall. I know all the bad things that happened. I know because they happen to nearly every kid. You were trained, Alex; domesticated like some stray dog and then turned into a polite, servile boy with no courage, no confidence, no voice, and no peace. If you don't stand up for yourself now, Alex, you'll be a victim you're whole life. You have to find your voice."

"But I know how to speak," said Alex. "I'm doing it now."

"You know how to talk but you don't know how to speak. That voice you have, it's not yours. It's your mother's. It's your father's. It's your auntie's. It's your teacher's. It's your principal's. It's the old lady at the convenience store's and it's everyone else's in-between. You got a voice, Alex, but like a dog, you only know how to say what grown-ups wanna hear – enough to get you a treat and a pat on the head. You know that feeling in your belly when someone wants to do something and you don't?"

Of course, he knew that feeling; every kid did.

"That's your voice," said The Gruff. "Buried all the way down there beneath last night's supper. That's what you need to unleash. You're a good boy, Alex. I can see that. But here's the thing. Your good manners have made you weak and unable to defend yourself. You've been pinioned, kid. You know what that means?"

Alex shook his head.

"It means you can't fly, even if flying is the only thing that can save your life."

"Good manners really do all that? I never liked learning manners."

"No hero ever did."

"I'm too young to have a voice."

"You have just as much a voice as anyone else; and just as much right to be heard."

"But I'm just a kid; what can I do?"

"More than you know. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. That's why I'm here; I came here to help you find your voice; so that we can help other kids find theirs. We don't have long, though."

"You have to go? We only just became friends. That's not fair."

"Say that again," shouted The Gruff.

Alex looked confused. "We only just became friends?" he said, squinting.

The Gruff smiled and threw his arms wide.

"Come here, buddy," he said in a deranged kind of glee.

It looked like he wanted to hug Alex but with The Gruff you could never tell. His eyes were wide and maddening. He looked like a tiger, eying off its lunch. His smile too was concerning. It wasn't a happy smile at all; not like when their dads' favourite football teams won, or when mums got flowers on their birthdays. This looked like the front grill of a runaway freight train. He may have wanted a hug, but the way The Gruff looked, he might just as easily break Alex in half; either by accident or on purpose.

"Best friends forever," said The Gruff, waving the boy in.

Having a friend was the coolest thing in the world.

"Best friends forever," said Alex, hugging The Gruff.

The Gruff hugged with the same vigour he used when he punched his enemies.

"You know what we have to do," said The Gruff.

"I know," said Alex. "Ok, we'll follow him."

The Gruff took Alex by the shoulders and gave him the most serious look ever.

"You're a bully hunter now, Alex. But not just any bully hunter. You're The One."

"The One?"

It made him sound like an action hero.

"That's right, Alex. You're The One."

"Mum did say I was special."

"Yeah, mums have a habit of saying things like that. I'm pretty sure she was talking about being a dentist or something but listen, you have to trust me, Alex. Your destiny is in your hands. The fate of the multiverse is in your hands. You can save us all."

What a hell of a thing to say!

And for Alex, what a burden to bear!

"Are you ready to be a hero?" said The Gruff, flexing his muscles.

What a ridiculous question; of course he was!

#  Pride Goes Before the Fall

It was almost like The Collector wanted to be followed. Whereas any normal villain would have used their bulletproof car or a helicopter to get about, The Collector, on the other hand, made his escape on foot, dragging his giant hessian sack out of the shopping mall, through the parking lot, and across the road towards the school. He stopped every few steps to rest his scrawny body and to catch his breath. And there, by the entrance to the school, he lit a cigarette and went through all the possessions he had in his sack, rummaging about with his long dirty fingers.

Alex and The Gruff meanwhile, hid behind the school bus, watching from afar.

"What's he doing?" asked Alex.

His heart was pounding; his palms sweaty. He was scared to death, yes, but not as much as he had been before. His fear was now turning into courage; as gradual and as seamless as night becomes day; but courage was hard to keep under control.

"Why don't we just go and punch him?" said Alex. "Do what we did to the other bullies."

"I like your gusto, kid," said The Gruff, spying like an elite soldier. "That's exactly what we're gonna do."

"So what's the plan?" said Alex, pacing impatiently.

"Hold your horses, kid. I don't like the look of..."

Before he could even finish, Alex had already gone. He crept along the side of the bus, really slow and low to the ground; just like in all the action movies. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there; whatever it was, though, it was gonna be big.

"Wait up," screamed The Gruff. "You're gonna get yourself caught."

It was no use, though; there was no stopping or turning back – not now. There was so much adrenaline pumping through Alex's body that he couldn't hear a thing; only the sound of his own beating heart. It sounded like bombs exploding in his ears. The Gruff's dire plea went unheard. He did the best he could, but it was too late.

Alex had already gone too far.

"Crazy kid," said The Gruff, ignoring all the risks and running after his friend.

He had never met anyone as wild and reckless as Alex; a boy who, only a day ago, had been as fragile and timid as a cat made of eggshells. Now, though, the boy was like a landslide. His newfound courage bordered on stupidity. And if there was anything The Gruff loved, it was stupid courage.

"Hey you," shouted Alex, but as he did, he dived to the ground.

The Gruff caught up and dived down beside him.

"What is it, kid?" he said.

"Ms. Tremblebottom," said Alex.

The two lay on the ground, barely hidden from Ms. Tremblebottom's advances. There they watched as the wicked looking principal gave a hug and a kiss on the cheek to the filthy old man and a quick peek inside his hessian sack.

"They know each other?" asked The Gruff.

He sounded surprised.

"It kinda looks like..."

"What the hell is he doing talking to her?" said The Gruff.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, kid," said The Gruff. "Just thinking out loud. Nothing suspicious at all."

"You know her too?"

It felt like he was unravelling some grand conspiracy where everything he had once been told was nonsense, was now apparently so patently true.

"That," said The Gruff, sounding both fearful and defiant. "...is The Roggenwolf."

Alex should have been terrified but instead, he looked proud.

"I knew it," he said. "I knew she was The Roggenwolf. Nobody ever believed me."

"There's a lot you're yet to figure out, kid; and that's why I'm here."

Alex couldn't believe he was finally right about something.

"Is it true that monsters are real?"

"Ha! Of course. What a question."

"I knew it! Mum always said they were just in my head."

"Hell of a place for a monster to be if you ask me."

"And the Easter Bunny too?"

"Never heard of it. What's special about this rabbit?"

"It lays chocolate eggs and then you have to hunt for them in the garden."

"A rabbit?"

"Yeah."

"You know what a mammal is, right?"

"Last year I found four eggs," said Alex, sounding quite nostalgic.

The Gruff shook his head.

And so the spying continued; Alex and The Gruff hidden behind a yellow bus while Ms. Tremblebottom and The Collector conspired by the school's wrought iron gates. Whatever they were discussing must have been serious because Ms. Tremblebottom was talking sternly in The Collector's ear in a no-nonsense kind of way. It looked like she was going to bite his head off at any second.

"Let's punch em both," said Alex.

He was already on his feet punching the air. Alex had never actually punched another person before but he had seen a lot of movies so...

"No," said The Gruff. "We wait. We watch."

"I thought you wanted to get this guy?" said Alex, a little annoyed.

"I do," said The Gruff.

"Then why are we here when we should be over there?"

"It's just..."

"Just what?"

This next thing, The Gruff said to himself.

"This was not part of the deal."

"I'm going," said Alex.

He sounded as if consequence had nothing on courage. And so, he marched along the path with a heroic look in his eye.

"Oh boy,' said The Gruff, knowing already how this was all gonna unfold.

"Hey, you big idiots," said Alex.

"Excuse me?" said Ms. Tremblebottom, furious. "Alexander? What are you doing outside of class?"

"I know just who you are," he said; his once courageous voice now cracked and unsteady.

"And who do you think you are, speaking to me that way?"

"You're The Roggenwolf," said Alex.

"The Roggenwhat?"

It all made sense now; of course, she was The Roggenwolf!

"Alexander White," shouted Ms. Tremblebottom. "I am your principal and you will show me respect, you despicable child. March yourself to my office... Now!"

"No," said Alex.

"No? What do you mean no? Do you want a whipping, boy?"

Every child was scared of her leather strap. It hanged at the side of her waist, always a hand's grasp away from wreaking havoc on a small child's buttocks or open palms. There were hundreds of stories, maybe more, about the hell she had unleashed with that instrument of pain and suffering.

"Well?" she said, for the answer was always no. "Do you?"

"I don't care," said Alex.

Even The Collector was shocked. He'd never heard such a young boy speak in such a way. He whispered something into Ms. Tremblebottom's ear; whatever it was, it was enough for the old hag to take a few steps back and to give The Collector some space to move.

"What is your name boy, and have you the time? For if you have none you can make haste with mine."

The Collector took a fluorescent wrist watch from his hessian sack, handing it to the boy. Alex knew, though, that this was some kind of trick; a ploy to distract him. He wouldn't be fooled that easily.

"I'm Alex and this is my best friend The Gruff," he said.

As he held The Gruff high, The Collector gave a conspicuous stare.

"Tis charming and sweet, but that's hardly a toy; not for the likes of a rambunctious boy, with the strength of a bear and the mind of a sage, wisdom profound for a boy of such age."

Alex blushed; he had never heard such words before.

"My boy if you spare me a moment of time," said The Collector, holding up the blue watch. "I promise I'll spare you a moment of mine."

The Collector danced around like a straggly weed, blowing in the wind. It was kind of hypnotic.

"What do you want?" asked Alex.

The Gruff grabbed Alex's hand.

"Only to know how a boy got so great, to outsmart the whole world before he even turned eight."

Once again, Alex blushed. This time, though, his anger completely disappeared. Instead, after having heard so many compliments, he started to feel timid and skittish. All of his defenses he had dismantled himself. And so, instead of a grimace and clenched fist, Alex stood there smiling in an irrational and dumbfounded stupor.

"I..uh..."

"No need to say it, it's perfectly clear, you are the smartest and strongest one here. That's why I mention I thought of it strange for a doll to be had by a boy of your age. Allow me to offer from my large hessian sack; whatever you fancy, whatever you lack. For I have everything a child could enjoy; I have every game, I have every toy. My boy, you´re so clever, then care you a treat? I have in this bag a prize for your feat."

The Collector opened the back wide in front of Alex. The boy couldn't see anything at first so he looked a little closer. Still, all he could see were shadows – it was all so dark. And so he poked his head inside.

"My child if you will reach as far as you can; a surprise for you waits at the stretch of your hand. Wiggle your fingers and tip on your toes, the deserve you desire is beyond your nose."

Alex pushed as far down into the sack as he could until only his shoes could be seen. It was then that The Collector tugged on a string and the large hessian sack swallowed Alex up.

"Good work," said Ms. Tremblebottom. "Now take him to my office."

"Not so fast and not so quick, the child he is mine on account of my trick. If it is that you wish to have one of your own then you pay me a million and we call it a loan. A deal is a deal, and fair is what's fair, I'll give you the boy for some truth or some dare."

The Collector grinned. It was a sneaky and conniving grin, made all the worse by his missing teeth and swollen bloodied gums. The only thing creepier was how curled and uncurled his long fingers like a dying spider.

It seemed Ms. Tremblebottom had found herself, for the first time in her life, on the wrong end of the whipping cane. Were The Collector a child, she could whip him with her beads until he eventually gave in – all the children did. If he were a child, there would be no discussion, only shouting and tears. If The Collector were a child, she'd have killed him by now.

"Truth or dare?" she screamed, smacking her cane on the ground. "Are you eight?"

It seemed Ms. Tremblebottom only had one mode of discourse – angry principal.

"Be realistic," she said. "What do you want for the boy?

It was clear that no side would come out of this a winner.

"Give me the damn boy," said Ms. Tremblebottom, snatching at the hessian sack.

It was no use, though; only The Collector's hand could touch it. Even if she did pry it free, only The Collector could untie its unpickable knot. Her hands were tied, so to speak, as long as The Collector had the boy.

"Fine," she said. "You win. What do you want?"

The Collector whispered in her ear.

"I'll give you the boy before the end of the day," he said. "You then give me a prize and I'll be out of your way."

Nobody had ever had one over Ms. Tremblebottom before. She knew it and The Collector knew it two. That was two tricks in one day and he hadn't even had lunch yet.

"Ok," said Ms. Tremblebottom. "When and where?"

"Lunchtime by bike racks," said The Collector, breaking his rhyme.

And just like that, he up and left, taking with him his large hessian sack; and inside there squirmed a collectable toy, with moveable parts, a collectable boy.

#  Intermission II

"What the heck was that?"

"What was what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I would wager I do not."

"Don't play stupid. And stop your bloody rhyming. I need to think."

"Gruff? What if he's not The One?"

"Of course he's The One. It's Alex. Who he is and what he is; is not in question."

"Then what is?"

"I think that's obvious, don't you?"

The Collector fidgeted like a guilt-laden child.

"It was nothing," he said, finally admitting that there was, in fact, something to refute. "Honestly, she was just...."

It seemed The Collector was short of enough words for a believable lie.

"I'm telling the truth," said The Collector sounding exactly like somebody who had just been caught in the middle of a lie. "Trust me," he pleaded.

"I'm not angry," said The Gruff. "I'm just bitterly disappointed, and really, I don't know where we go from here."

"Please," said The Collector. "I promise I won't speak to her again. Honestly," he said, now down on one knee. "It meant nothing."

"The Roggenwolf," said The Gruff shaking his head. "You cannot collude with other demons, do you understand?"

"Yes," said The Collector nodding like a broken toy.

"Everything has to go to plan."

"Oh I agree," said The Collector. "Everything to plan. Absolutely."

"If I find out you've been going behind my back," said The Gruff, grabbing The Collector by the scruff of the neck. "I'll kill you myself; got it?"

"Yes, sir," said The Collector.

The Gruff winced.

"I mean, yes Gruff. I will Gruff. I mean, I won't Gruff. I won't stray from the plan. You can trust me. I promise."

"I hope so," said The Gruff scratching his belly.

"You hungry?"

"I could go with a boost."

"This bag is so heavy," said The Collector, struggling with every step. "Weirdly, though, at the same time, it's as light as a feather. But, oh my back."

The Collector heaved the hessian sack onto the ground.

"You want anything?" he asked.

"Gimme a beetroot," said The Gruff.

"I'll have to check. Pretty sure it's just soft drink and sweets."

The Collector opened the hessian sack and pushed his hand all the way into the darkness. The sack itself was no bigger than an elderly lady, but inside it had all the empty space of an entire galaxy. The Collector rummaged and rummaged until he found what he thought he was looking for.

"There you go," he said.

"That's beet juice," said The Gruff.

"Yeah, and?"

"You realise how much sugar is in that? May as well just take my teeth and my left toe while you're at it."

"Sorry, Gruff," said The Collector, instantly recognising his mistake. "I mean, I'm not sorry, I uh..."

The Gruff gave The Collector a mean kind of stare.

"I messed up," said The Collector. "It won't happen again."

"Better not," said The Gruff.

The Collector reached so far into the sack that even he nearly disappeared and he didn't come out until he had exactly what The Gruff had asked for.

"So what do you think of the kid?"

"He's strong," said The Collector, remembering when he too was once just as strong.

"He is strong, isn't he? He's got the willpower of a hurricane, that boy."

The Collector wondered if The Gruff had ever spoken of him in that way.

"You think this time will be the last time?" he asked.

"I hope so," said The Gruff.

"And what about us?"

"What about us?"

"If this all goes to plan – which it will – but if it does, I can't home anymore. If anyone finds out what I did, if they know my part in this, they'll..."

"They'll kill you," interrupted The Gruff. "And if you let me down then I'll kill you. And no matter which way it turns out, one day you'll be dead; so stop piping on about dying. We gotta job to do."

"Gruff?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Will we still be friends?"

#  Dark Matters II – Or How the Courageous Learn Control

Wherever Alex was, he had all the space in the known universe, and yet, at the same time, he had never felt so darn restricted in his life. He was inside a large hessian sack, yes, but inside that sack, he somewhere else entirely – and it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

He couldn't see anything.

He couldn't hear anything.

There was nothing to touch, taste, or smell.

And it didn't seem like there was any way out.

All of his senses were confined.

The only thing that Alex could do was to breathe and think; one of which was terribly boring and the other caused a great deal of bother and worry.

You see Alex never learned to control his thoughts, let alone train them. In school, he learned what a door was, how to differentiate it from a wall or a window, and for the sake of good manners, how to close one when once he had passed through. What he didn't know, though, was why he sometimes got angry for no reason. And he didn't know either, why afterward; he would often feel scared or ashamed.

He didn't know what other people wanted to hear, and worse than that was that he didn't know how to say in proper words, the things he actually intended to say. He didn't, for the life of him, know anything about the experience of being a human – though he knew a heck of a lot about doors.

His own thoughts were the worst. They were never quiet. Alex was always thinking about the worst kind of things – like bus crashes, alien attacks, and getting dunked in toilets. And when he did have something worth worrying about – like a math problem, or show-and-tell - he felt the kind of anxiety that a person might feel in the middle of an earthquake or a plane crash.

Here, in the black nothingness, there were no distractions. He couldn't see his hands, and even if he could, there was nothing to hold onto – therefore he did not have any hands. He also had no feet for there was nothing to stand on, and he had no body at all for there was nothing to graze or bump into. There was nothing to see so he had no eyes and nothing to hear so he had no ears, and because there was no-one to look at him, he had no face at all. In the deep black, his body vanished entirely. All he had were his thoughts for he was only his conscious mind.

At first, it was horrible. Like swimming in the open sea, Alex had no idea what was in the darkness below and all around him. He imagined the most dreadful creatures, all of whom were barely an inch from his delectable skin. Most of them were so big they could bite his head off in one go or so small they could creep into the pores in his skin and he'd never know. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that they all liked to eat little boys.

The infinite space was suffocating.

All he could do was breathe and try to focus on something else, but how could something so trivial be so darn tricky? He persisted, though, and in what seemed like many months and years, he managed to slow his rampant breath and his beating heart; and with it, the thoughts in his mind of fear, failure, and shame.

Soon enough he was calm and able to take the reins of his out of control thoughts, focusing his entire consciousness on the rise and fall of his breath. He forgot all about the monsters and ghouls, and the waves of fear and anxiety that often accompanied those thoughts simply vanished into thin air.

It was the first time Alex had ever been able to control the way he felt. It was almost as if those bad thoughts were merely clouds in his conscious sky, and his breath was the liberating gale that blew them away, leaving his mind light and clear.

"I am not the cloud that blinds my sight," he said aloud. "I am neither the cloud nor am I blind."

#  Counting Backwards from Zero

The Collector placed the hessian sack down on the floor next to a dusty old record player; seemed like everything he owned was dusty and old. It was once he got home that he realized how hungry he actually was. There was nothing in the fridge, though, except for some salad dressing and half a spoiled tomato. There were nothing in any of the cupboards too – no pasta, no rice, not even a can of baked beans. What there was, though, was a boy in a sack, no older than eight; a delectable feast to be served on a plate.

"No eating the boy," said The Gruff.

"Well I never," said The Collector, doing a terrible job at sounding offended. "You think that lowly of me?"

The Gruff pointed to The Collector's necklace which was made from the bones of itsy bitsy pinkie fingers. There was nothing for The Collector to do except lick his salted fingers and slowly back away from the hessian sack. Whatever The Gruff had over him, it was greater than his desire to carve the boy up and eat him with his afternoon sandwiches.

Inside the large hessian sack, at a singular point where both time and space converged, Alex sat with his legs lightly crossed and his eyes lightly shut as he confronted the very essence of his fears.

Here, in the farthest and loneliest part of the dark, inside the grand nothingness, every monster he had ever met presented themselves – sometimes one by one, sometimes em masse; laughing and cussing as they promised to do the most despicable things to him, should he turn away or blink one eye for that matter.

At first, it was overwhelming. Alex could barely muster a breath, let alone hold onto one long enough to focus on it. It was one frightful image after the other.

First, there were the monsters of which he knew so well; all of them, like dastardly cowboys, riding on the backs of spiders, tapeworms, and bumblebees. They chanted his name as they professed of all the terrible things they were going to do. Hissing like cut snakes; they pranced around Alex as if the boy's glaring eyes were the crackling flames of a giant bonfire.

Then came the monsters that he had never seen before. Words do these diabolical beasts no justice at all. These were the creatures that were far too horrific to be found underneath beds or in hallways late at night. They didn't travel on the backs of insects and they made no bargains for Earthly possessions. These were the things that had no shape or form. They were the things that could not be seen with eyes or felt in any way whatsoever. They were the things that existed in the darkest hour of the night, but only in the blackest and most desolate part of the sky. They were the things that kept ghosts and ghouls awake at night. They were the things far too despicable for words.

They were the things with no name.

All Alex could do was breathe. As it turns out, though, this was more than he could have ever imagined. With every breath, each monster vanished as quickly as it appeared – and with it, the feelings of helplessness that came with them.

And this, he learned, was his weapon. Soon enough he went from swinging wildly - taking rampant and out-of-control breaths - to taking strategic strikes with long, sustained breaths.

Hundreds of thousands of goblins and ghouls all appeared out of the darkness, doing their best to rile the boy, but as quickly as they came, one by one they were all banished into oblivion – sent back from whence they came.

And all by the power of a single breath.

Alex must have defeated every monster there was before finally he was confronted with the scariest image of them all – hundreds of thousands of people all around him pointing and laughing as if he had done the stupidest thing of all.

He tried to pretend the opinions of other people didn't matter – but how could he lie to himself? The opinions of other people had always mattered – from his first steps to his first dance.

Validation was everything; and from his mother, it was the most important thing in the world. And he wasn't the only one either. Most kids wanted to shout out, "Hey mum," or "Hey dad, look what I did," while kids with bad mums and dads wanted to shout, "Hey mum," or "Hey dad, look what I did without you."

Either way, though, everyone needed praise and approval.

Alex was no different from most kids. When he did take his first steps, he looked to his mother as if to say, "Am I doing it? Am I doing it?" And then in school, even though he knew the answer to one plus one was two, still he would thrust his arm in the air and give the teacher his answer thinking, "Am I right? Am I right?"

There was nothing worse, though than being wrong; except for being wrong and looking stupid – especially if it's in front of a whole pile of people. At least monsters kill you; at some point, it's over. Looking stupid, though, lasts forever.

Fear had nothing on shame.

And so, while a grand conspiracy was underway outside of the hessian sack, inside, with nothing but a single breath, Alex faced the greatest monster of them all – himself.

#  Black Hole Son

Alex was just a kid. He was seven years old and yet he had already lived his whole life. Every good day and every bad day, and all the other days in-between – they made up who he was. And pretty much all of those memories – some of the great, some of them crappy, played out like a bad movie or like one of mum's family photo nights. And one memory, in particular, stuck in Alex's head; one that was as hard to face as it was, hard to avoid.

It might have been four years earlier – or it might have been four hundred, that's how much time made sense when it came to looking into the past. Time was funny like that, where the things that were worst of all were the things that felt like they'd only just happened; whereas Alex couldn't for the life of him remember what he had for dinner last night.

Seated as he was, at a point in the black void where time and space converged, Alex was of all a sudden surrounded by familiarity. To his right, he could see the newspaper store that sold the tangy candy that he was biting down on, while to his left were the coffee shops and stalls where ladies bought perfume while old men picked snot from their noses.

The memory always started here, barely a stone's throw from the automatic doors that exit the shopping mall. Who knows what he did before and if he had had the time of his life? For whatever reason, the memory always started here.

"What time is it?" asked The Gruff.

The Collector had thousands of watches and old grandfather clocks; each of them kept their own time. Just by looking you could tell that time wasn't just something he loved to collect, it was his most treasured possession.

"Which one of these is right?"

"All of them," replied The Collector. "A second, a day, a week or a year are treasures to keep, dear Gruff, nothing to fear."

"Why so many?"

"One can never have enough time."

"What time is it now, here, in this world, in this city, in this space?"

"Eleven thirty," said The Collector.

The Gruff stared at the hessian sack.

"How do you think he's doing?"

"If he is who you say then I'm sure he's ok. But if he is not The One as legend hath said, then I fear that your hero is vanished or dead."

"How can we be sure?"

The Collector opened up the hessian sack and it was empty.

"Call for your life, and thus call for your friend; from here where you stand till infinity's end. All I can tell you is all that I know; your voice will not travel where light will not go. A singular point in time and space is where the boy is, and from there must escape. What are his chances and what are the odds? No man can escape, not even a God."

The Gruff peered into the black abyss.

"Alex," he screamed but to no avail.

The only sound Alex could hear was that of his mother complaining about the things she still had to do and making a big deal out of the things she probably would never get done no matter how much time she had.

It's hard to know why a boy of his age would think such a thing, but as his family neared the automatic doors, Alex had this stupendous revelation:

"If they love me, they'll know that I'm left behind."

And so, at a singular point in time and space, Alex watched as his family walked through the giant doors while his four-year-old self stopped still on the welcome mat, waiting for his mother and sister to notice that he was gone.

He watched with dismay as his family continued out the door, through the parking lot, and all the way to the car without noticing a thing. Like his younger self, his dismay turned to heartbreak as he watched the car reverse out of the parking spot and slowly drive away.

Alex watched the car leaving as he had every time this thought plagued his mind. This time, though, as the car pulled away from the traffic lights and disappeared in the distance, Alex stared at his younger self at the very moment he realised his family was not coming back and that they had left him here, in the world all alone.

Before his younger self could even shed his first tear, Alex walked up beside him and held his hand. He knew the pain the boy was feeling; he felt it too, every day of his life. Neither boy looked the other but instead squeezed for dear life.

"You're not alone," said Alex to his younger self.

"Neither are you," his younger self replied.

#  The Colour of Silence

"I want one of those," said The Collector pointing at random things along the way. "And one of those, and those, and those, and those, and...Ooohh, one of those too."

"Why have so many things?" asked The Gruff. "All you need is a set of muscles and a can-do attitude. The rest is child's play."

"I'm not a child anymore," said The Collector.

The way he said it, you'd think it had been on his mind for centuries; long before he even grew up and stopped becoming one.

"If you keep so many things," said The Gruff. "You might just lose yourself."

"Collecting is good, collecting is fun, collecting is all I have ever done. The toys and the games, and all the Alexs too; collecting for me and collecting for you."

The Gruff rarely thought about all the other Alexs; there had been so many that it was almost impossible to count. But this Alex was different; he wouldn't succumb to the same kind of fate; or would he?

The Gruff stamped on The Collector's toes and punched his calves.

"Ow," screamed The Collector. "What the heck?"

"Don't ever talk about the other Alexs," said The Gruff.

The Collector knew that the only worse than an angry Gruff was a sad one.

"I shall not be remiss from now on I promise."

The Collector seemed genuine in his apology. That's not to say that he looked kind or amiable; in fact, such was his appearance that even in his most pleasant address, he looked more like a shaved cat than he did an actual person – if at all The Collector was an actual person.

The two arrived at the bike racks just after noon. There was no sign of Ms. Tremblebottom yet, or the prize for which The Collector so greatly yearned.

In that farthest point of the large hessian sack, where time and space converged, Alex started his great ascent. On one hand, it was nothing like climbing a mountain, on the other; it was exactly like climbing a mountain.

But no height would keep this boy down.

"Here she comes," said The Gruff.

Ms. Tremblebottom didn't so much walk as she did stalk and prowl. The sight of her alone was dark and ominous. Even The Collector was scared, and he was a revolting child stealer.

"Let's make this fast," said Ms. Tremblebottom. "It's not good for my image to be caught with your kind. Where is the boy?"

"Where he hath been is where he now lies; there he will stay without payment or prize."

"Take your damn prize," said Ms. Tremblebottom, throwing a small cassette at The Collector who fumbled about on the grass like a raving lunatic. "Now give me the boy."

Ms. Tremblebottom snatched at the sack but it burned her greedy hands.

"Is it real and is it true, is it really truly you?" he sang, holding the tape up to the sun.

He held the cassette as if it were a child, one that had been lost or left behind.

Speaking of children who had been lost or left behind, Alex now was halfway up the mountain. His fingers were hurt and his body was sore all over – not to mention the toll that had been taken on his mind. But this was no ordinary boy; not anymore.

"I am the boy at the door," he said, whenever his mind tired, sooner than his body ever could.

And like a mantra, his thoughts instantly repaired themselves. No longer was he weak and fragmented. No longer was he doubtful and in cahoots with indecision.

"I am the boy at the door," he said, as he passed the first of a thousand children who, unlike him, hadn't been able to escape their own inner selves.

"I am the boy at the door," he said, as he let go of each of their hands knowing that there was nothing that he could do.

"I am the boy at the door," he said, whenever he lost his way.

Crawling back up the mountain, he could feel his every atom being ripped and torn apart one by one; and at the heart of every atom, he could feel each and every vibrating string being twisted and turned until its ends frayed like an unkempt shoelace.

"I am the boy at the door," he said as he clung to a rock face, unable to breathe.

"Help me," pleaded a young woman, ravaged by the incredible weight pulling down on her.

She looked like a grown-up, but one that had yet to grow up. Her hands were big and her legs were long, but the look in her eyes was unmistakably that of a lost and abandoned child.

"You have to let go," said Alex.

"I can't let go of the past."

"It's the only way."

"But I don't want to be alone," shouted the young woman.

"You're never alone," shouted Alex. "Even when you are."

The young woman gave one last hopeful stare.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Life is the art of letting go," said Alex. "Trust me. Just let go."

The muscles in the young woman's arms were the first to let go, followed by her legs and then one by one, each of her fingers. As she fell backward into the surging swell of gravity, her eyes never once lost sight of the young boy who had set her free. Soon enough her thoughts and fears would let go too.

"I am the boy at the door," said Alex as he pushed against the force of a hundred billion suns, dragging himself inch by inch up the jagged cliff face towards an infinitesimal speck of light, no larger than a single quark.

Alex had never felt so determined in his life; he had never felt such strength. Onwards he climbed, his eyes closed, riding the wind of his breath. The closer he got to the sack's apparent horizon, the more desperate he became.

But nothing would hold back this boy.

Outside on the grass, bedlam ensued. Ms. Tremblebottom, scorned by The Collector's trickery, dived upon him and pinned his scrawny body to the ground, trying to yank the cassette free. The Collector screamed like a startled girl and did his best to struggle free; even The Gruff got involved.

It was no good, though, she was The Roggenwolf. And as quickly as she pounced, her body started to twist and morph – she was starting to change. Her brutish hands became a wolf's paws and the rest of her body followed. Her strangling beads became an upright tail, while her mouth grew into a bloodthirsty, snarling snout; with her whipping cane becoming rows of jagged child eating teeth.

Alex rested against the very tip of the mountain and imagined himself holding his younger self's hand. The speck of light was now the size of a grain of sand. From where he stood, he could barely reach it; he was going to have to jump.

"I am the boy at the door," he screamed as he dived from the cliff face towards that single speck of light.

The Roggenwolf howled.

"Give me the boy," she screamed. "And I will kill you swiftly and kindly."

She pressed her paw against The Collector's throat.

"But if you try me, I will eat you for weeks. Your death will be slow and horrible. And I will make a burrow out of your insides for my cubs."

Unbeknownst to The Roggenwolf; out of her reach and still far from her sight, stirred the making of trouble, the start of a fight. From inside the sack well now wouldn't you know, there wriggled a wriggling wriggly toe. Then came a foot and from there came a leg and a hand and an arm and a little boy's head.

#  Schrodinger's Cat is Out of the Bag

The Roggenwolf was the size of fifty men and no doubt the strength of twice that many. The hair on its neck stood up so that it looked as if it was dressed in battle armour of spikes and stabbing spears. Its breath smelt like a rotting carcass and when it howled, flies and maggots poured out from beneath its salivating tongue. There was no man on Earth who could tame this beast, let alone carve it up and serve it for dinner.

"Why did The Roggenwolf cross the road?"

The Roggenwolf, The Collector, and The Gruff all turned. One was shocked, one was startled, and the other flexed his muscles with glee. There, beneath the afternoon sun stood no man at all; for there, with an indomitable look in his eye, stood a boy with a razor sharp stone in his hand.

"To look for a place to hide," said Alex.

The Roggenwolf snapped and snarled in vile repulsion.

"Alexander White," it said in a horrible gurgling sound.

It lifted its paws off The Collector's body, almost breaking his neck as it did.

"Enough games and trickery," it said. "I've been waiting a long time for this. I should have eaten you in your crib."

Alex didn't even flinch. He looked as cool and as tough as the stone in his hand.

"There is no Pazuzu to help you this time, boy," said The Roggenwolf as it prowled in long drawn circles.

"I beg to di..." said The Gruff before being kicked in the face by The Roggenwolf's hind leg.

"I am gonna eat you whole," said The Roggenwolf. "Even your teeth and bones!"

Alex was as cool as a cucumber. He didn't seem bothered or fazed by anything. The Collector, on the other hand, was shaking so much you'd think it was the middle of winter. But Alex, he was so so cool.

"Come get some."

By now, half the school had gathered to see, clinging to one another like a tangled chain of carbon atoms. When one child moved, they all moved, surging and swarming in and out of each other. And when one child cheered, they all cheered.

The sound was rapturous.

Even beneath that spotlight and pressure, Alex didn't budge an inch. He didn't fret and he didn't worry. And unlike The Roggenwolf, he didn't gloat about what he could have done, and he didn't make any empty promises about what he that he thought he could do. He didn't pose and he didn't posture, and he made no idle threats.

He was cool, and every kid knew it.

"Alex is the best," they cheered. "Better than all the rest."

Even the bully, William sang along.

"Fine," said The Roggenwolf speaking to anyone who would dare to listen. "The hour of reckoning is upon us. You all shall die!"

It stalked Alex in circles, its front paws extended and its snout scraping the ground. It looked as if it might pounce at any second. Round and round it went, one paw crossing over the other, never once taking its eyes off the young boy's delicious looking throat.

Were this anybody else, their heart would be pounding like some tribal drum; their hands would be sweaty and numb; their chest would be burning and their stomach turning, and their legs would be turning to jelly.

Lucky for the world, then; this wasn't anybody else.

"I am the boy at the door," he thought, as he slowly followed The Roggenwolf's stare.

His mind should have been frantic. His thoughts should have been racing out of control. They should have, but they weren't. Instead, Alex was as calm and untroubled as a cat lying about in the sun. He hadn't a pinch of worry or a drop of bother. It was as if the wolf and all the screaming kids weren't there at all. His mind was filled with so much comfort and ease.

Alex took a proper grip of the stone in his hand.

"Who do you think you are?" snarled The Roggenwolf.

Alex smiled.

"I'm The Bully Hunter," he said.

And with a stone in hand, he dived onto The Roggenwolf's back.

#  Of Blood and Stone

The battle was loud and bloody; it was the most ferocious thing that anybody had ever seen. Who'd have thought that a boy as small Alex could unleash such wicked and vitriolic violence upon a beast as fierce as The Roggenwolf, one whose legend had been built upon the savage deaths of hundreds of thousands of children throughout the ages; let alone all of the men and women it too had torn to shreds.

But that is exactly what happened.

Words cannot suffice what was witnessed that day. Some would call them acts of bravery, while others would describe it as sheer madness and stupidity. By the end, though, when Alex wiped The Roggenwolf's blood from his face, there was no denying it.

Stupid or brave, Alex was their hero.

The whole school erupted in applause. And it wasn't just the students either. The teachers too were over the moon. It seemed as if the child within all of them had been awoken and unshackled from their Promethean stones, for child and grown-up alike set aside their differences and jumped about in stupendous glee; holding hands as they sang, danced and spun about in circles.

But Alex didn't care. He had defeated the most hideous creature he had ever known but still, he was not entirely at ease. There was something unsettling in the back of his mind.

"We're not done," he said.

He then turned to The Collector who was already slowly backing up. He had been since the start of the battle, using the cloud of blood and violence to make his cunning getaway.

"My boy if you do you're no better than me for to kill of one's will is to set hatred free; for desire, it rules from the heart to the hand from the ground where I lay to the ground where you stand".

The whole time, The Collector was staring at his large hessian sack.

It was open on the floor behind Alex.

"I promise to be good," pleaded The Collector. "I've nowhere to run. I shall never again do the things I have done."

But Alex didn't care for rhymes; that's not to say he didn't have one of his own.

"These things you collect," he sang, "...and forever keep near hath done nothing to vanquish the state of your fear, for this hell you preserve above one, above all; it deepens your downing; it heightens your fall."

Alex leaned down and with one hand, took The Collector by the throat.

"You siphon the past through a memorial sieve as a bitter old man with a life gone unlived."

Before Alex could strike with his razor-sharp stone, The Collector made one last stand.

"I know where your sister is," he said.

Alex stopped. His hand and the stone froze in mid-air.

"What?"

"She's not dead," said The Collector. "Not like everyone thinks. Not yet, anyway."

Alex's hand gripped tighter on The Collector's throat.

"It's Alexis, right?" he said, his voice cracking under the pressure.

Alex loosened his grip.

"What do you know about her?" he said.

"I know where she is."

The Collector could see the worry in Alex's stare.

"An eye for an eye," he said. "A tooth for a tooth; spare me my life and I'll tell you the truth."

"Don't trust him," shouted The Gruff. "He's a liar. Strike him now!"

The Collector smiled, though, for he knew he had the upper hand.

"Listen to me and do listen well, your sister is under a magical spell. Bound in a dungeon, impossible to find, unless you are cunning, unless you are I. You have to believe me And know that I'm right, I took her myself in the middle of the night."

Alex screamed.

"Woah, woah, woah," said The Collector. "Can't we just chat? There's no need for murder; there's no need for that."

"Where is she?" said Alex.

He dropped The Collector onto the ground and reached for the large hessian sack.

"Is she here?" he screamed, ripping the sack open.

The Collector was in awe.

"Never in my life had I thought I would see a sight such as this by a child such as thee."

"Where is she?"

The Collector turned to The Gruff.

"He's holding the sack," he mouthed.

The Gruff couldn't believe it too.

"Is she here," said Alex, opening the sack as wide as he could.

The Collector shook his head.

"No," he said. "She is somewhere new; a place that's as strange to me as to you; in a different time, in a different space, in another dimension, in an alien place."

"Take me to her," he said, his heart beating out of control.

Cool and calm he was not. The thought of Alexis being alive threw his mind into a whirlwind of doubt and indecision. He felt giddy and excited, just as he did, nervous and distraught. His heart and mind tiptoed on the line between fear and exhilaration.

"It's a trap," said The Gruff.

"Maybe," said Alex. "But I have to know for sure."

Though he had the upper hand, The Collector remained cautious for the boy still had a sharp and bloodied stone in his hands; and it appeared that he was, as legend had it, The Bully Hunter.

#  The Physics of Harmony

Nothing at all was said from the playground to the complex. The Collector led the way while Alex followed with The Gruff by his side, holding his hand the entire time. Alex was no longer scared of anything. No matter what it took, he would find his sister; and together, they would find their way home.

The Collector knew exactly where they were going so already, he was grieving the loss of everything he owned; everything he would have to leave behind. One by one, in his mind, he said goodbye to every little thing he had collected in his time here on Earth.

It was hard to keep a straight face in; to not wallow in tears. If he were alone it would be a far different affair. There would be tears and music, and mournful singing from dusk until dawn. Were he alone he would give these things a fitting goodbye.

The Gruff, on the other hand, thought about things that were as tough as steel, and as he did, he flexed his muscles; in his arms, and then in his chest. The Gruff didn't imagine things he would have to overcome or get brought down by things he would be made to leave behind. Instead, The Gruff thought about the things that were as strong as him - like freight trains and boxing gloves.

"How you doin, kid?" he asked. "You're awfully quiet."

The look on Alex's face said he didn't have time for small talk, and he wasn't about to start now. He looked bold and irascible; he looked out of control and impossible to stop.

The Collector took them into the apartment and wept a little, as he passed through his museum of collectable things. Alex didn't need more directions; he knew what lay ahead.

"Is she in there?" he asked, pointing at the filthy toilet.

The Gruff hanged his head as if there was something that he knew.

"Yes," said The Collector, nodding frantically as if all the tendons and muscles in his neck had suddenly cut loose.

He bit on the ends of his long grimy fingers as the boy walked slowly circled the toilet.

"It's a doorway, right?"

The Collector nodded.

"Ok, so where does it go to? Where did it send Alexis?"

He moved back and forth, above and around the toilet, studying it like a diver would, the perfect spot to launch into the ocean below. He hadn't the wonder and curiosity of a child anymore; something had changed deep inside – Alex would never be the same again.

"Well what are we waiting for?" he said.

"You sure you wanna do this?" said The Gruff.

"Are you courageous or a coward," said Alex. "Are you a chicken or The Gruff?"

It's like they had been best friends for years. Alex knew exactly how to rile him; he knew exactly what to say to provoke him into marching to war. The Gruff was not inspired by tales of honour or valour, and The Gruff was not driven by promises of heartfelt reward. No. The Gruff believed in one thing and one thing only – his own self-image.

If there was anything that The Gruff wasn't, it was a chicken.

"Alright, fire this thing up," he said, pulling off a plastic cover that protected the machine's electronics.

The Collector was still lost in some mournful tribute to his collectable things. There was part of him that hoped, if he stayed far enough behind, the boy and the doll might go on their quest, and leave him alone with his life.

In his hands, he held his most favourite thing of all – a small yellow cassette with a single song that was no more than a minute long. The Collector stuck his long dirty fingernails into the teeth of the two small circles on the cassette, winding the tape inside nice and tight; it had to be that way in case the tape should loop and catch when he pressed play on a device.

"Where is it?" asked The Collector.

"Where is what?" said Alex.

"The yellow thing," said The Collector, holding his cassette to The Gruff. "That plays this music. You said you'd get it for me. You promised. You said if it..."

The Gruff stamped on The Collector's toe.

"Shut up," he said, with a single look in his eye.

Luckily Alex hadn't heard a thing.

"It's by the window," said The Gruff.

Then he climbed up The Collector's frail body and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing until the frail old man's face turned blue, then purple, then grey.

"I am of my word," he said, in a low gruff voice.

While secrets were being told, Alex turned his attention to the old radio on the floor beside the toilet. He finally figured out how to turn it on, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand the purpose of all the knobs and buttons.

"How do you make it work?" he said.

The Collector and The Gruff stopped their arguing.

"You need to adjust the settings," said The Collector.

Before he could even say another word, Alex twisted the first knob.

"No," shouted The Gruff. "Don't do that."

The Collector turned and laughed when he saw what had been done.

"You've no hope of finding her now," he said. "No hope at all."

"What do mean?" said Alex.

He rushed over and slapped the Walkman out of the Collector's hands.

"What the hell do you mean?" he shouted.

Alex stood over him like he stood over The Roggenwolf before he cut off its head.

"Fix it," he said.

"It's not that easy," said The Gruff. "The settings are co-ordinates; but not exact coordinates. They're co-ordinates or probability."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the settings are precise but the outcome is not," said The Collector, his eyes on the Walkman and his beloved cassette, under Alex's foot.

"I don't understand," said Alex.

"What's he trying to say," said The Gruff, "is that even with the precise settings, there is a one in infinity chance of ever arriving at the same place twice."

Alex felt his stomach fall to the floor.

"So what are you saying? We can't find her?"

The Gruff lowered his head.

"I don't believe you. You're cowards. You're all cowards. What were the coordinates? What were they?"

Now The Gruff just shook his head solemnly.

"They were particular," he said. "For her."

"Well then just put them back the way they were."

"It's not that easy."

"Stop saying that," screamed Alex. "Nothing is easy. That's why we do it. Now fix the settings. Someone make the damn toilet work."

The Collector casually knelt down in front of the radio.

"Which one did you move?" he asked, hoping it was just one.

"All of them," said Alex. "Why?"

The Collector stared at The Gruff and shook his head.

"Why?" screamed Alex. "What does that mean? What? What? You promised me," he said, pointing the razor sharp rock at The Collector's neck. "You told me you knew where she was."

Alex pushed The Collector out of the way and started frantically turning the knobs.

"Please," he said as if he were praying to chance. "This has to work."

"The settings were tuned specifically to her ear like all music is. Each of those knobs," said The Gruff, "represents an emotion – a frequency in the case of the radio, but an emotion nonetheless for your sister; for thoughts and emotions are measured as such."

Alex instantly took his hands off the device.

"I don't understand anything," said Alex.

"Alex, this machine is a bridge between this world and an infinite other number, and from an infinite number of universes. And in the probability of all those infinities, it also leads to anyone of eleven dimensions."

"Special, she was," said The Collector with glee. "The richness and colour of her harmony."

Alex had no idea what he was talking about, except for the fact that it was probably going to be impossible to find Alexis – but that was no reason to quit.

"So what do you need?" he said, determined once more.

The Gruff could feel it too. Alex wasn't going to quit any time soon so he may as well buck up like the boy and do the very best he can.

"We need to know how she listens to music – what frequencies at what level."

"How do we do that?"

Alex and The Gruff looked at each other, dumbfounded and dismayed.

"Under your feet is the answer you seek," sang The Collector.

"Of course," said Alex, grabbing the Walkman from the floor.

On the front of the Walkman, where the tape sat inside, was a small equalizer. Why didn't he think of this before? The number of times Alexis had yelled at him about touching the switches, or moving the dials in case he would ruin her sound – a sound that had taken her years to perfect.

Alex twisted each knob slowly until they matched the Walkman – exactly.

"Now what?" he said.

"Now you sit on the toilet and flush," said The Gruff.

"Then what?"

"Like I told you before," said The Gruff. "I'm no physicist."

"Do I have to squeeze through the pipes? Will it hurt?"

"It's not like that. You don't feel pain. Well, you do but you don't"

"What do you mean? It either hurts or it doesn't"

"You feel everything," said The Gruff. "And at the same time, you feel nothing. It's hard to explain, but it's amazing. You're gonna love it."

"Do you think this will work?" asked Alex.

"Maybe," said The Gruff. "There's a chance."

"Well, what's the chance then?"

"Not much."

"How much?" shouted Alex.

"Let's just say the number is bigger than this entire universe," said The Gruff sounding glum.

Alex hopped off the seat and stood over The Collector again.

"So you don't know where she is, do you?"

The Collector shook his head.

"Then why did you say you did? Why did you lie?"

"To save my life," said The Collector looking feeble and meek. "Is there a better reason to lie," he said.

"Kill him," said The Gruff. "We don't need him."

Alex's hands clutched the razor-sharp stone.

"You took my sister," he said.

"Please," said The Collector, holding his hands in front of his face. "I was only following orders."

"And then you took me."

Alex grabbed The Collector by the hand and dragged him over to the toilet. He stood there for a minute or so with the razor-sharp stone in his hands and it was all The Collector could see. He didn't want to die; nobody wanted to die. But Alex didn't care. He pushed The Collector's face into the bowl and then his body too. He pushed as far as it would go.

And then he flushed.

The second he pulled on the string, The Collector was gone. Where he went, Alex had no idea. It happened so fast he didn't see a thing. All that remained was the tremendous whirring of the radio. It was louder than a jet engine.

"You ready?" screamed Alex, sitting down and pulling The Gruff onto his lap.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Best friends forever?"

The Gruff nearly cried; this was easily the happiest day of his life.

"Best friends forever," he shouted back.

And then Alex pulled the string.

#  The Land of Poop and Honey

"Woohoo!" shouted The Gruff as he burst of a cylindrical object; out over a river of steaming sewage.

The way he flew, you'd think he'd spent half his life as a bird or a pilot.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" screamed Alex, with hardly as much poise and grace.

He did so from the second his body was compressed into a single quark, and he didn't let up; not until he was projected through a backdoor in the space-time continuum like a seed being spat out of an elephant's trunk.

The two landed on a pile of dung by a river of poop.

"So what'd you think?" said The Gruff.

He was jumping up and down and doing backflips on the spot; clearly having the time of his life. Alex, on the other hand, had never felt so disorientated, disillusioned, and discontent.

"I'm gonna vomit," he said.

"If I had a penny for the amount of times I heard that at the end of a fun night."

"Is it done?"

"Is what done?"

"That! The twisty and squashy thing."

The Gruff looked all nostalgic for a moment.

"It is twisty, isn't it? Lots of whirring too. I'm an old hand at this so I kind of forget."

"What was that? It felt like I was being folded in half and in half again – like a million times."

"More like one point six times ten to the power of minus thirty-five, but eh, who's counting, right? Particle origami, kid; it's the only way to travel. Not quite the speed of light, but what are ya gonna do?"

It hadn't even occurred to Alex yet that he was in another dimension. He was too busy unfolding inside himself, or at least that's what it felt like. It wasn't painful as such, but it was the worst sensation he had ever felt.

"Suck it up, kid. The seventh dimension is no place for hippies or the queasy."

"The seventh what?"

It was then that Alex finally opened his eyes and took stock of where they were.

"Where's the sky?" he said because it was apparent that there wasn't one. "And the sun and the moon and the stars..."

Alex spun in dizzying circles as he tried to make sense of what he saw; he hadn't even noticed the mound of steaming dung beneath his feet – that, and the giant slug swimming along the sewage canals.

"Aint this friggin great?" said The Gruff.

"It's awful," said Alex, his mouth agape. "And awesome too; I don't know which."

"Both," shouted The Gruff gleefully.

He dusted himself off, stretched out his legs, and then flexed his every muscle.

"You see, here, up is down and down is up. You wanna go up, then just go up. But if you've gone up and you really wanted to go down then don't worry because you're already down."

"That made no sense."

"And yet at the same time, it made absolute sense. Welcome to the seventh dimension, kid."

It was then that Alex noticed the mound of steaming dung beneath his feet.

"Ahhhhhh!" he screamed, as he jumped from foot to foot, only making it worse. "There's poo on the ground!"

"Is the ground," said The Gruff, interjecting. "The poo is the ground; not the other way round."

"Why are we on a pile of poo?"

"We travelled through a toilet, remember? Geeze, kid. The naïve thing was cute for a bit, now it's just bordering on insanity. I'm surprised you can even remember how to tie your laces."

"I use Velcro," said Alex.

The Gruff shook his head.

"We gotta go. The Collector got a good start. Lucky for us he's predictable as all hell so I know exactly where he'll be."

Then a horrible gurgling sound stole The Gruff's attention.

"It's because of the sound," said Alex.

"That sound? That's our ride."

"No," said Alex frustrated, clearly wanting to make his point. "I like the sound that Velcro makes."

"You're still going on about that?"

"And plus, the ends of laces are always breaking away, and when they do, you can't put the lace through the holes anymore."

"You're preaching to the choir, brother. I'm no fan of telomeres or aglets."

"Telomeres?"

The Gruff stuck out his thumbs and whistled as loud as he could. It wasn't like any sound that Alex had ever heard before. He didn't just hear it, he saw it too. It looked like the tiny wake that might follow a rowboat or a dingy.

"You might wanna step back a bit there, kid. There's usually some spray when this thing docks."

And then Alex saw it.

"What the heck is that?" he said.

He wasn't talking about the surging wave of photons.

"You've never ridden on a tardigrade before?"

What a bonkers question!

"Are you crazy?" said Alex. "Of course I haven't."

"You'll be fine. Just...uh...don't get nervous."

"Why?" said Alex, already sounding petrified.

"Nah, it's nothing; seriously, you're fine."

"What will happen? What? What?"

"It may explode."

"Explode?"

"I said, may! Geeze, kid, you are wound up, aren't ya?"

Alex shut his eyes and imagined himself back inside the grand nothingness; sitting cross-legged at the singular point where time and space converged. With the thought of exploding tardigrades out of his mind, Alex focused on nothing but the ebb and flow of his own breath and just as it had before, his fears and anxieties vanished instantaneously.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see the creature wading slowly towards them. The tardigrade looked like a caterpillar type slug thing. It was huge; bigger than a railroad train. It was brown and had no eyes, and instead, had a giant sucker for a face. And apparently, it was also a kind of boat.

"Get on, kid."

There were ropes and a ladder hanging off one side of the tardigrade's giant body.

"Yeah, try not to touch the sides or else you'll get a rash."

Alex's eyes lit up.

"Oh yeah, and remember. Keep cool or, you know....kaboom."

"You suck," said Alex, climbing into the stirrups and up the ladder.

Anger allowed him his first and second steps. Soon enough, though, the fear of the unknown started screaming in his ears and inventing terrible thoughts in his mind. Like black clouds of calamity, his thoughts swarmed and encircled his mind so that death, doom, and destruction were all that he could imagine.

It could have been horrific – it could have been a darn catastrophe, were Alex not so quick to react. The second he felt a trickle of self-doubt, Alex breathed in heavily, clearing his mind of those annoying black clouds, and when he exhaled, his mind was clear again; clear to focus on the only thing that mattered right now – finding his sister.

As strange as this all was, there was no way in hell he was going to give up.

"You're gutsy," said The Gruff. "I like that."

They were strapped in their seats and waiting for what felt like forever.

"Why is this stupid thing taking so long?"

Alex was growing impatient – and his impatience had horns and a wicked temper.

"Relax, kid. It's not called a tardigrade for nothing. Otherwise, it would be a punctualgrade."

The Gruff laughed. Everyone laughed. Even the tardigrade laughed too.

"I don't get it," said Alex.

It felt like everyone was just laughing at him for no good reason. It was like being back in school again and being the butt of everyone's damn stupid joke.

"I'm gonna call you Killjoy from now on," said The Gruff.

"I don't know what that means either."

"Hmm," said The Gruff introspectively. "Well, that takes all the fun out of it. Fair enough, I'll just keep calling you Alex, I suppose."

"We have to go – now!"

He was restless now – fidgeting in his seat and scrunching his hands into little fists. Every time The Conductor passed, Alex felt this urge to grab him by his lapels and shake him silly. He knew it was stupid but right now, it was the only thing he knew how to do.

"Why is it taking so long? What if something's happened to Alexis? Every second we waste here could be... it could..."

"Remember the exploding tardigrade? Not cool, right? Especially over The Sewage Canal. Also, not cool. Don't worry, kid, it'll be fine."

"Don't worry? It's taking forever!"

"And at the same time, we only just got on board and it hasn't taken any time at all."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that here in the seventh dimension, the arrow of time points in all directions at the same time. Early, late or just in time don't exist here. What do you know about gravity?"

"Make this stupid slug move!" shouted Alex.

It was then that the tardigrade made a terrible rumbling sound. It could have been gas or it could have been a bout of indigestion, who knows? But by the looks on all the passenger's faces, it was clear the problem was more severe.

"Excuse me," said The Conductor, leaning into The Gruff's seat. "Is this human yours?"

The Gruff nodded. Sure, his first instinct was to deny everything and look away but he quickly did the right thing and assumed the human as his own.

"It's his first time," said The Gruff. "He'll be fine, trust me."

The Conductor didn't look like trust was in his vocabulary. He stared at The Gruff as if he was waiting for The Gruff to correct himself and choose a more fitting verb.

"I'll keep him under control," said The Gruff.

"Very well then. Do you have sedatives or would you like to purchase from the gift store?"

"Sedatives?" said Alex.

He knew what that word meant. Last time he heard that word was when his cat got really sick. She was given sedatives, and she never came home again.

"Relax, kid. I got this," said The Gruff. "It's fine," he said, turning to The Conductor. "Already sorted."

"Fine," said The Conductor.

"Fine," repeated The Gruff.

"Already sorted?" said Alex. "Fine? What do you mean fine? What sedative? What did you...?"

Here's the thing about Alex; sure, he looked like a tiny kid, but if you ever heard him snore! It sounded like coal being dug out of a mine. He did look peaceful though, unconscious as he was.

"Get some sleep, buddy," said The Gruff, buckling the boy's belt. "Your journey's just begun. We've an army yet to battle and a war yet to win."

"Hey you, in front! Quit your stupid monologue, I'm trying to trim my toenails."

#  The Bend in the Dimensional River

When Alex finally came to, he couldn't believe his eyes. They were in a city – his city – but it wasn't his city; but at the same time it was, it was just totally different. It looked as if it had been stretched to the point of tearing, and then flipped around a dozen times, and then turned inside out – just for the heck of it.

"So here's the deal, kid," said The Gruff. "We gotta go to a kind of shady part of town. You cool?"

The road flowed like a river yet when Alex reached out his hand; it felt as ordinary as any other road he had ever seen. The buildings too, and sky as well, they seemed to bend and distort depending on how he looked at them. It looked as if the city was actually breathing – as if it were alive.

"I did some diggin' around too. Seems as if your sister has gone and made a name for herself."

The Gruff threw a leaflet onto Alex's lap.

"Is that Alexis?"

There was a rough sketch of a girl armed with machine guns and machetes. Below her picture was a word that Alex couldn't pronounce, written in a language that he could not read.

"Let me guess, you don't speak Algebra."

All Alex could do was shrug. How was speaking in math actually a thing?

"It says your sister has gotten herself into a bit of trouble."

"Is she alright?"

"Let's just say, we're not the only ones looking for her."

"Well let's go!"

The second Alex got up to run, he toppled over. The Gruff laughed.

"You're awesome, kid."

"Shut up, jerk," said Alex.

Then he tried again. This time he made an even bigger fool of himself. He toppled so much that everybody around stopped what they were doing just so they could point and laugh. This only made Alex angrier and more determined to get back on his feet. The angrier he got, though, the more he toppled over and the funnier it was for everyone watching.

"You're trying too hard, kid. You gotta relax, let your brain adjust. You're goin about things all three-dimensionally. It's hard to be inconspicuous when you're falling over all the time."

"Easy for you to say," said Alex, struggling to get on his feet.

"I know," said The Gruff. "That's why I said it. Now suck it up. I can't be mollycoddling you throughout this whole endeavour, now can I?"

It was true. He was making quite a scene – even in a place as strange as this.

"Well if it's so easy, then what am I supposed to do?"

"For starters, stop thinking so much. And then, you know, try not to fall so much. It's not rocket science. But eh, it is physics so....you know; just do your best."

Alex closed his eyes again and focused on nothing but his own breath coming in and out of his body. He floated his conscious mind upon every fleeting breath, riding each one like a slow-moving wave. As he did, his fears and indecisions vanished, along with his anxiety and his inability to stay upright.

"There ya go," said The Gruff, slapping Alex on the back. "It's not so hard once you put your mind to it. Now how about we make a disco move?"

Alex took his first step, and then he took another. He did so with his eyes closed, merely feeling his way around, over, and through every obstacle that was in his way. It was no picnic, though. His mind was easily distracted and it took great effort to focus on something as silly and basic as his own breath.

"If you want I can get us a trolley and push you."

"I got this!" shouted Alex.

He sounded angry now; angrier than he ever had before. He sounded mean and short tempered. He sounded volcanic and on the verge of some grand catastrophe. He sounded just like The Gruff.

When he opened his eyes again, this time he didn't topple over. Instead, he marvelled at the way buildings seemed to twist and turn like flags flapping in the wind. And no matter how much the buildings bent and contorted, the front door was always there – everywhere he looked.

Everything, it seemed, behaved differently depending on what he thought and how he felt. If he was anxious, it looked as if the roads, buildings, and people were all turning inside out like old socks; whereas, when he was calm, everything and everyone seemed to sway back and forth like a pendulum – soft and consistent.

For his own sake, he had to keep calm.

It was then that Alex noticed the black clouds rolling in, not far in the distance. They looked like a line of wild horses and wildebeest. They didn't so much roll in as they did charge and stampede.

"You bring an umbrella?" asked The Gruff.

It was as if asking stupid questions was how he explained things.

"Of course I didn't. Why? What is it?"

Whatever it was, it rumbled and roared, and sounded like the end of the world.

"Gravity storm," said The Gruff. "Listen, it's not the end of the world but things will get a little heavy until it passes. Just remember," he said as he stepped off the sidewalk. "No tears!"

"Why would I cry?"

It took barely a second for the storm clouds to gallop overhead, and as they did, Alex was instantly weighed down by a feeling of helplessness, failure, and inadequacy. The more he fought the worse it got. Soon enough he was toppled over again, this time with his hands pressed against his forehead, trying to relieve the pressure in his mind.

"What's happening? Help!" he screamed, but he did so only in his mind. For whatever reason, the words couldn't come out of his mouth.

Alex collapsed onto the sidewalk under the full weight and pressure of the storm passing over. He didn't feel one bad emotion, he felt all of them; at once.

And his thoughts were just as heavy. One after the other, each and every terrible experience he had ever had, came flooding back to haunt him; from all the stupid things he had said, to all the times he had let his mother down. He relived each and every one of those memories and the shame, regret, and disgust were so heavy that he couldn't even lift his arms anymore; instead, he lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"Get out of the rain, you idiot," shouted a passer-by, neath the cover of an umbrella.

The word idiot reverberated in Alex's ears. "Am I an idiot?" he thought. "I never do anything right. I always get into trouble. I'm always breaking things. I can't remember the seven times table. I can't even walk right without falling over. Am I an idiot? I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. I'm an...."

The Gruff grabbed Alex by the collar and pulled him out of the rain.

"Geeze, kid, another second and we would have lost ya. Here," he said, throwing Alex a rag. "Dry yourself off. The storm should pass in a jiffy; then we get going again. I told ya, though, didn't I?"

"What was that? I've never felt so.... I don't know....so..."

"Sad?"

"No, worse. It felt like I had a bag of rocks on my shoulders. Everything was so heavy. My body was heavy and my thoughts were heavy – everything was heavy."

"It's gravity. It leaks in from the third dimension – from your dimension. Pretty much the same way we did. When it does, you get these storms. They suck; unless you got an umbrella."

"You can say that again," said a person walking by who had a hand for a head and two heads for hands.

"Let's get cracking before the nuts."

Alex laughed; he thought it was a joke – one that he didn't understand.

"Oh no," said The Gruff.

From inside a place of worship, a man dressed in elegant robes and glittering clothes came out into the street with an abacus in one hand, and an immeasurable amount of hope in the other.

"The universe is a honeycomb," he shouted, spitting as he did, and twirling about like some rabid ballerina. "And we are but worms for trans-dimensional bumblebees. Repent now! It's not too late."

"Oh geez," said The Gruff. "Listen, kid, pay no mind. Just, uh, don't make eye contact."

"What do I do?"

Alex was panicking.

"Think about balloons."

"But I hate balloons."

"All the better."

The Mad Man grabbed Alex and shook him.

"You must exorcise your demons, boy," he said, his voice sounding like bubbles being blown through a straw. "Thus spake Gödel," he shouted, carrying on down the street, "There is no proof outside of I. I am the system. I am the proof. Your only salvation is through me. I am your divine Go..."

The Gruff punched him right in the crotch.

"Sometimes, kid," said The Gruff. "A punch in the nuts is your best bet."

"What did he mean, exercise my demons?"

Alex looked worried. Truth be told, he wasn't much for football or running around – not like other kids his age. How the heck was he supposed to exercise a demon when he didn't even exercise himself?

"There's wackos in every dimension, kid. Spend their lives being blinded by the light because their too bloody scared of what lies in the dark."

"What lies in the dark," said Alex, sounding pretty bloody scared.

"Knowledge," said The Gruff.

"Is that a one-legged dog?" asked Alex, pointing across the street.

"Sure is, kid. You should see it when it tries to pee. Ha! Hilarious."

"Is that normal?"

"A one-legged dog? Expect the unexpected, kid, that's normal. You remember your chicken crossing the road joke?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You know why it wasn't funny?"

"I thought it was funny."

"It wasn't."

"But you laughed?"

"I didn't wanna make you cry. Now, you wanna know why it wasn't funny or not?"

"Why?"

"Because in the seventh dimension, legless chickens cross the road every day. Hell, I've seen like three since we got here. Look," he said, pointing to a traffic light. "There goes one now."

And wouldn't you know it; there, on the corner of the street stood a chicken with no legs. Alex couldn't believe his eyes. The Gruff, on the other hand, couldn't really understand all the fuss. And as for the chicken, well, it waited patiently at the traffic light until it was safe to cross, and then it walked to the other side.

"Seriously, kid, we should skedaddle."

"Can't we stay? Can I pat the chicken?"

"No and no. You'll have plenty of time for sightseeing afterward. Plus you haven't met a seventh-dimensional intestinal monster yet and well, it's almost four thirty, so..."

"I'm not scared of anything," said Alex.

"Alright, look, from now on, just ignore everything you think you know and shut up and listen. The monsters here are different from the monsters in your world. What you thought were monsters were just the shadows of monsters; three-dimensional projections of seven-dimensional creatures."

Alex had that same confused expression.

"Geeze, it's like trying to tell a square how to think like a cube."

Something The Gruff had done many times before.

"In your world, all monsters could do was scare your pants off. Here, they'll gobble you up."

Alex tried to think of every monster he had ever seen and then he tried to imagine what they would look like in seven dimensions – but he gave up at two.

"Look, kid, I'm fairly sure you don't wanna see what the monsters in your closet look like in 7-D, so, eh, how about we get going?"

Alex didn't need to be told twice.

"Here, put this on."

The Gruff handed Alex what looked like a friendship bracelet.

"Is that a..."

"No. It's not. Friendship is frowned on in the seventh dimension; bragging about it, much worse."

"It looks just like a..."

"Well, it's not. It's a Perpendicular Acceleration Lace or P.A.L for short."

"What does it do?"

"It means we go everywhere together."

"That sounds just like a..."

"You wanna argue or you wanna save the damn universe?"

The Gruff sure had a way of taking the fun out of things.

"Is it far?" said Alex.

He hated walking.

"We're already here," said The Gruff.

They hadn't even budged an inch.

"What?"

Alex spun around; everything had changed – everything was brand new. They were on a street, yes, but it wasn't downtown anymore. The trees and buildings still swayed back and forth as before; as if the whole city was printed on a piece of fabric and was lightly blowing in the wind. This part was the same, but everything else was different.

"Woah! I mean, how? Or what?"

"Where you're from, kid, time and space are relative. It takes time to move through space. You can't do one without the other. In the seventh dimension, time is not that important and so, as a result, neither is distance."

Alex looked as blank as an unpainted canvas.

"It means, Mr. Genius, we can travel anywhere we want just by thinking it."

"Awesome!" said Alex.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No."

"Eh, at least you're honest kid. Half the time neither do I."

"Can I have a go?"

"This is better left for the experts. You'll have your time."

"But I can think of Alexis and we can save her."

"Not so fast there, champ; a bit of caution never went astray. There's a knack to it, you see. You think the wrong kind of thought and you can wind up in a pretty bad place. You gotta get the right angle or else..."

Alex gulped.

"So you gotta be sharp in the old noggin' there – like me."

"I am strong, though," said Alex. "Just like you."

"You're no weakling that's for sure, kid, but you're no Gruff."

"Oh yeah? Well, watch this then."

#  Past the Point of Null Infinity

"Ah, crap."

"Where are we?" said Alex.

It was dark and smelly, and all wet and sticky.

"You got a pocket knife or something?"

"I'm not allowed to have pointy things," said Alex.

"Of course you're not."

The Gruff sighed.

"Is this bad?"

He honestly had no idea if he should laugh or cry. He wasn't as scared as he was confused. It was like being in a math or science class, except one where all the diagrams could eat you if they wanted to.

"You remember that intestinal monster I told you about?"

Alex nodded.

"Yeah, well, we're inside its intestines."

"Ewww!"

"It gets worse. If we're here, it means it's inside of you."

"What?"

"We're inside the intestines of a worm that's inside your intestines. That, I did not expect."

Alex stared at his belly. He was frozen solid. He was scared out of his wits.

"Get it out," he said.

"It's not that eas..."

"Get it out; get it out; please, please, please - get it out."

He started scratching at his stomach and as he did, thick clumps of slime dripped from the monster's intestines onto the back of his neck.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Alex jumped around, slapping his neck.

"Do something. Kill it."

"No can do, buddy."

"What do you mean no can do? You're The Gruff, you can do anything."

"You got me there."

"What about the wrist thingy? It got us in here, it can get us out."

"We're in a loop, kid; the PAL doesn't work. Can't think your way out of a paradox."

"Then we punch our way out."

Alex clenched his fist as tight as he could and punched the worm's intestinal wall.

"Take that," he shouted.

The monster screamed and writhed in agony before biting down on Alex's intestinal wall causing him to collapse on the ground in the worst kind of pain imaginable. Alex writhed on the intestinal floor, clutching his stomach and screaming in pain.

"I'm telling ya, kid, you hurt it and it hurts you, and so on and so on. As much as it pains me to say it, violence is not the way out of this. I won't lie to ya; this is a pretty hairy situation. That being said, you gotta admit, it's kinda neat."

"Neat? I'm in the guts of a thing that's inside my guts."

"And there's another you inside its guts – and so on."

"What?"

The Gruff laughed.

"Neat, right?"

"No. How many me's are there?"

"What's the biggest number you can think of?"

"Thirty-nine," said Alex.

"Thirty-nine? No. Aleph-null."

"A leaf?"

"Infinity, Alex; infinity. There's an infinite number of you and me, all of us trapped inside the belly of a monster that is inside your belly."

Alex looked dumbfounded.

"Told you it was neat."

"Are you crazy?"

"It's the seventh dimension, kid. The sooner you accept that everything is crazy, the sooner you stop being controlled by it."

"I hate the seventh dimension!"

"If it's any consolation, you're not alone."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"Well then, how about we do something about it and get ourselves out of here?"

"But how?"

"You got feet, don't you?"

Alex had to look down; just to be sure – it was, after all, the seventh dimension.

"I do," he said, thankful and surprised.

"We walk our way out," said The Gruff.

"Which way?"

"It's not that complicated, kid. There's the way in and the way out. Personally, I'd choose the exit with no teeth."

"Teeth?"

"The ass it is then. Good choice. Now, which way do you think leads to the worm's butt; left or right?"

"Worm's butt?"

"Right it is."

"But what if it's left? What if we go in the wrong direction?"

"We will," said The Gruff.

"What?"

"Don't freak out, kid. We go in the right direction too. That's just the way things go round here."

"How can we go two ways at the same time?"

"We just do. You're in the belly of something that's in the belly of someone that's in the belly of something that...well you get what I'm saying here, right? You can't cherry pick weird, kid. It doesn't matter where we go – left or right – because we go both ways. If we go right, a version of us goes left. And if we go left, vice-versa."

"But what if we go the wrong way?"

"Relax kid; we always go the right way."

"And what about the other me."

"The other us," said The Gruff, "go to the left."

"Do they die?"

"Do I have to explain entropy to you, kid? People get old and die; so do rabbits and monsters and even Gruffs."

"Not that. The other me, does he die by going left?"

"Hard to tell; probably not. He'll wind up in a brand new universe with a whole set of new rules and ways that things work so maybe in that universe, having to climb over a worm's jagged teeth might be a good thing."

"That's how a universe is made?"

"Why?" said The Gruff, chuckling. "How did you think they were made?

"I dunno; a bomb."

"Ha! You're either a genius or an absolute dunce."

"Or both," said Alex.

The Gruff was gobsmacked.

"Ha! I know which Alex I got then."

The whole idea of having to crawl out of a monster's anus had become yesterday's worry. It was amazing how easy it was to jam up a three-dimensional brain. Alex, for the first time, was actually learning something.

"Well then, Mr. Know-it-all, if universes make universes then what made the first universe?"

"A chicken," said The Gruff.

# 11:11

The worm's intestines were dark and murky but there were patches of light here or there, like pockets of air, where Alex and The Gruff could stop and gather their senses – if only for a little while. And with each of their pauses, Alex stared at the picture of his sister and imagined - not only what kind of danger she must be in - but also, how she would no doubt defy it and laugh in its mean old face.

Alexis was just that type of girl. Not only was she the coolest person in the world, but she was also the toughest too. If you asked Alex, he'd tell you that she could outrun a bullet, and not just that, by the time the bullet caught up, she could also catch it in her teeth too. Alexis wasn't just his big sister, she was his hero – she was his whole world.

"She's probably kicking somebody's butt," he said.

"If it makes you feel better," said The Gruff. "Then, yeah, sure, she probably is; mathematically speaking."

Alex was in awe of her picture. It was exactly how he had always imagined her being – an unstoppable force armed to the teeth with interdimensional firepower and a super cool attitude to boot. In their three dimensional world, she was just a rebellious teen hell-bent on self-destruction. Here, though, in the seventh dimension, she was the most dangerous person alive – and for that reason alone, everyone wanted her dead.

Alex tried to make sense of what was written below her picture but it was all gobbledegook. "Just looks like a bunch of stupid letters and numbers," he said.

"Gimme a look," said The Gruff, snatching the picture from Alex's hands. "Well, 2x + 1(x+y), so, a girl and a boy equals..."

"Equals what?"

Alex had all the patience of a newborn puppy. What he lacked, though, was any kind of restraint on his growing aggressive side. He snatched the picture back off The Gruff turning the paper round and round as if reading on any other angle might help to make a lick of sense.

"What about all these other numbers and letters? What do they mean? Equals what?"

He grabbed The Gruff by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

"Equals what, Gruff?"

Instantly, he let go, either feeling guilty for what he had done, or timid and scared of who he was about to become. The Gruff, though, looked as if his puppy had just learned the first of many tricks that would turn him into a savage beast.

"The other side of the equation is kind of complicated," he said.

"You said you could speak it."

"No," said The Gruff. "If you remember, I made fun of you because you couldn't speak it. The Gruff does not make light of what The Gruff can or cannot do."

"What good are you?"

The Gruff flexed his muscles and winked.

"Huh? Yeah? Huh?"

"How does that help?"

"Well with that attitude..."

"Stop playing around, Gruff. This is serious."

"You think I don't know that, kid? Difference is, I'm not in a rush to be a dried up prune. You, on the other hand, are in too much of a rush to grow up. The fate of the universe depends on you being a kid. You get that, right?"

"Why is being a kid so important? Kids can't do anything."

"Curiosity, kid; and perspective. You can see what the rest of us can't."

"And what's that?"

"A solution."

"A solution? To what?"

"Everything. You know what a skeleton key is, right?"

Alex instantly thought about skeletons locking their coffins.

"It's a key, Alex; a key that can open any door."

Alex nodded; he really was doing his best to try and keep up, it's just that physics was incredibly boring, even if he was the example in an ultra-weird textbook. It was so much easier, you see, thinking about a song that he liked or in this case, where a skeleton would actually keep its key, especially if it had no pockets. Just by looking at him, though, you'd swear he was following along.

"Well, just like that key, what this universe needs is an equation that explains all equations."

"What would that do?"

"What would it do? Everything, kid, it would do absolutely everything. Are you kidding me? You realise how much energy that's gotta pack? And the fact that not one being in any dimension of any reality of any world in any universe has found it –until now."

"Why?"

"How do you find something that doesn't want to be found?"

"Why don't you use a calculator?"

"What? No! You don't look for a word that doesn't exist in a dictionary."

"I'd just ask my mum," said Alex. "She knows everything. Why don't you just ask somebody's mum?"

"You're not getting the..."

"Or a person who works at a checkout; they have to count in their heads all the time – especially when you buy lots of one cent candies."

"Kid, stop!" shouted The Gruff.

He'd make a terrible teacher.

"First of all, mums lie, ok? It's like, part of their genetics or something. Somewhere between a mother and a father is the actual truth."

"I don't know my dad."

"And secondly," shouted The Gruff. "Focus! Try to stay on track, kid."

This was starting to feel just like school.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that you and your sister are that key."

"What key?"

"You're killing me, kid. The key, the equation that calculates all equations, that's you-you and your sister. And the other side, well that's a little more complicated. It explains the energy derived from tearing the fabric of space in two."

"Like a bedsheet?"

"More like a tissue; that's how easy it would be."

"What will happen then?"

"No idea."

"Then why do it?"

"To see what happens. Why else?"

"What if everyone dies?"

The Gruff rarely dwelled on consequence.

"With that type of power, kid, you'd never have to use it. Nobody would even think of messing with ya."

"Are you looking for it too?"

"The key? We are all, kid. We're born looking for it. Haven't you wondered why you were naturally inclined to want to know things and to constantly learn?"

"No."

"Well you are; we all are. Every intelligent civilisation and every conscious being that has ever come into existence has been looking for that key; even if they think they haven't."

"What about Alexis?"

"If The Collector has her then there's still time; he doesn't part with his treasures cheaply."

"So I'm a bomb?"

It was like he cherry-picked just the interesting words and disregarded the rest.

"Theoretically...yes. Basically, in the eyes of physics, you and your sister make for one hell of a weapon."

"Woah," said Alex, imagining himself shooting out of a cannon into outer space.

"That's why we gotta keep you safe and find your sister before all hell breaks loose."

He folded up the picture and slipped it into his waistcoat.

"Before we go any further, I gotta ask," he said, as they pushed their way past an enormous ball of phlegm. "Have you been eating anything strange?"

"Probably, why?"

He tried to think of all the random things he had stuck in his mouth and up his nose just in the last week alone and it was too many to count.

"Intestinal worms feed on your repressions – all the crap you couldn't deal with it your real life and buried deep down in your belly."

"Like ghosts?"

"Sure. Your fear, shame, and disgust," said The Gruff.

"I ate a lot of Lego pieces too."

"Safe to assume this won't be an easy escape."

He didn't seem worried, though. On the contrary, he sounded as if facing death and uncertainty were his two favourite things in the entire universe.

"Do you think we'll see them?"

"Oh yeah," said The Gruff, laughing. "We're gonna see everything; that you can count on."

Alex was scared, yes, he'd be mistaken if he weren't. But for all the shaking nerves and cold feet, there was also a raging inferno that blazed in his head and which no thought could extinguish; there was that and a primal need to break and smash things – like any healthy boy.

"I got us here," he said, flexing his tiny muscles. "I'll get us out."

The Gruff smiled. He tried to act cool but inside he was doing backflips.

"Proud of you, kid."

It was hard not to be inspired watching Alex walk off as he did. There was not an inch of indecision in him. He was a totally different kid. He looked like he was the threat; as if he was the thing that crept around in the dark, preying and feasting upon everyone else's fears and superstitions.

The two walked through the belly of the beast, itching to get into trouble. And then, after what seemed like an eternity of fist smashing and teeth grinding, Alex and The Gruff got just what they were bargaining for.

"I see something," said Alex, crouching behind what felt like a block of old play dough.

By the light of the next bend, a shadow from around the corner twisted and contorted and stretched almost as far as the eye could see. It looked as if it could just easily be a lion or a bear. Its broad shadow crept back and forth and made it patently clear that whatever it was, it had teeth like a hacksaw and most probably, fingers made of knives.

"Whatever you do," said The Gruff. "Don't think of what it could be."

"Why?"

It was obvious he already had. Alex had a vivid imagination; a shame then that all he ever thought about the things that scared him to death.

"You'll create a universe where whatever you imagine does or does not happen, and then we either will or will not end up in that crappy universe."

"What do you think about?"

"The Gruff only thinks about The Gruff."

At least he was honest.

That shadow could have been anything. Alex had invented enough goblins and ghouls throughout his life to start a small colony. Each of them was just as bad, if not worse, than the other. So what it was around the corner, if it was any of these creatures, was bound to be ghastly and fierce.

"You can do this," said The Gruff. "Feel the spark of anger inside you."

Alex clenched his fists. "I can feel it," he said. "I can feel it."

He sounded as mad as he looked.

"Now," said The Gruff. "Set it on fire."

Alex screamed and ran, and then The Gruff screamed and followed.

And the shadow around the corner, it screamed too.

#  Warring Fractions

Alex dived onto what he thought was some kind of reptile or lizard. He screamed mercilessly, as coarse as the beast itself, and sunk his teeth into its dry scaly skin.

At the same time, The Gruff was tackling his own ghoulish glob of death – a creature so strange that it had no mouth or face of any kind; instead, it merely swallowed its victims into its viscous body and dissolved them atom by atom. The Gruff being The Gruff, punched his way into the creature's stomach, and once there, he punched all of its insides, and then when he was done, he punched his way back out again.

"This is great," he said, wiping the red slime from his hands. "How you doin on your end, kid?"

"I'm cool," said Alex.

He didn't look it, though. If appearances counted for anything, then Alex looked about as far from cool as you could imagine. He looked like something that was supposed to be cool but had been left out of the refrigerator and had gone all soft and disgusting. Half his body was draping out of the scaly beast's mouth, clutching at anything to stop himself from being swallowed whole.

"At least it ain't got teeth," said The Gruff laughing.

As dire as the experience was for Alex, for The Gruff, this was the equivalent of an old lady picking roses on a Sunday; he was having the time of his life. He loved punching things; it was probably the one thing he was best at – aside from flexing his muscles and cursing of course. There was something about punching things, especially people and blobs, which was almost impossible to explain. In the same way that mums loved kissing their newborn babies, The Gruff loved punching them when they grew up.

"You let me know when you need some help," said The Gruff.

Alex wasn't going to admit that he needed anything, even though by this point he had barely a hand sticking out of the monster's mouth. The rest of him was wedged in the beast's trachea; digging and scratching with the tips of his shoes, trying to climb his way back out.

"Transformers or dinosaurs?" said The Gruff.

He could clearly see that Alex was a gulp away from being swallowed whole, but instead of actually helping out, The Gruff was doing push-ups and asking trivia.

Inside the beast, Alex stretched his legs as far as he could to stop the creature's throat from closing in around him and sucking him down to its fetid belly. Even if he could speak, it'd be impossible to choose between one and the other. Alex had a favourite, yes, but this wasn't the time or place to get into it.

Alex felt himself being sucked towards the lizard's last meal. His legs were wobbling and his arms had barely the strength to pick a hair off the floor. Worse than that was the exhaustion in his mind. Just thinking had become impossible. His thoughts were the heaviest matter in the universe and as much as he tried, he just couldn't hold onto them long enough to do himself any favours.

His fingers were the first to slip. They scratched at the beast's throat but were less of a bother than he would have hoped; and when his fingers finally gave up, so too did the will in his mind. After that, everything else gave way.

"Honestly," said The Gruff, "Transformers are awesome but at the end of the day, I prefer a toy that's gonna eat people and smash things. Whatta you think?"

As he let go, a thought occurred to him, and as he slipped down the monster's throat, Alex curled into a ball; one that was awkward and jagged and near impossible to swallow without being wrapped in ice-cream or cheese.

Instantly the creature started to gag and convulse, and there was little Alex could do except hold onto his legs as tight as he could and keep himself as something that was impossible to swallow. He felt like a nut being squashed between two thick calloused fingers, but as much as it hurt, he kept strong in his mind and because of that, he kept strong in his body too. And after a dozen or so convulsions, the creature made the most frightening sound as it convulsed one last time and then vomited Alex onto the mucousy ground once more.

"Count yourself lucky he wasn't a suppository," said The Gruff, laughing.

The lizard creature continued to convulse; it couldn't stop, even though the boy was spat out on the floor. A process had started that had to be seen through to the end. Its convulsions grew so intense that with one great heave, it vomited itself inside out.

"Nice," said The Gruff.

He wasn't surprised, but he was impressed.

By now Alex was just a mess of slime and phlegm. It seemed kind of pointless to try and wipe it off considering where they were. Not only that but where they had to escape from; best not to think about that, though.

"Have to admit, I was wondering for a second there whether I was gonna have to climb in there or not."

Alex stretched out his body. He felt almost as crumpled as when he was folded to a plank length. His body quickly inflated, though, and went back to its normal scrawny shape.

"Did you see? Did you?"

Alex was ecstatic; bordering maniacal and crazy.

"That I did, good sir," said The Gruff.

"Its insides are all on the outside. Do you dare me to touch it?"

He was already reaching in to poke it with his fingers; boys will be boys after-all.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said The Gruff.

That's the last thing you tell a boy with a stick in his hand. Alex poked the creature's liver, and at first, nothing extraordinary happened. It wobbled a bit and its intestines gurgled, but aside from that, it wasn't as impressive as he would have hoped – so he poked it again. This time the creature's belly snapped back inwards and its head, body and tail snapped back out – swallowing the stick and nearly taking off Alex's hand at the same time.

Before the lizard could get its revenge, The Gruff punched it in the nose.

"I'm not bragging or nothing," he said, kissing his bicep. "But, uh, did you see that?"

The lizard creature scurried off in the other direction, screeching as it did; like the brakes of a car, skidding off the edge of a cliff.

"So what?" said Alex. "I still made it do something cool."

"Yeah? And how did that work out?"

"You're a jerk."

"Simplicity, kid. It never fails."

And then Alex collapsed on the ground, gripping his stomach.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic. I was having some fun, is all. Sure, entirely at your expense, but it's not like I..."

Alex flipped onto his back and writhed in agony, sticking his chest out as far as he could. His scream was like a rogue wave smashing on a cardboard shore.

"What's happening?" he screamed.

"Ah crap," said The Gruff. "We gotta get the hell out of here."

"What do I do?" said Alex, clutching at his stomach with one hand and flipping himself back and forth with the other. "What do I do?"

"What would The Gruff do?" said The Gruff.

In spite of the horrendous pain, Alex knew exactly what he should do.

"Take that," he shouted before punching himself in the stomach. "Take that," he said, another dozen or so times.

The more he hit himself, the more the walls and ground shook; and the more they shook, the more livid was the slithery creature inside his own stomach. It bit, and he screamed, and he punched himself some more – and this terrible cycle of idiocy continued for some time until The Gruff got bored of watching his best friend beating himself up.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he said. "So you got an intestinal worm inside of you, so what? Nobody's perfect. We're all messed up in one way or another. Don't beat yourself up because of it. Worst comes to worst then you start eating for two. Imagine if your mother did that to you."

Alex lay on the ground staring at the creature writing in his belly. Its wrinkly body pushed up through his skin looking as if he had swallowed one end of a bungee cord.

"If it's any consolation," said The Gruff. "I can't poop outside of my own bathroom. I know, it's weird. Here's the kicker, I haven't been home for years. You know what that means, right?"

"When people can't poop they get angry," said Alex.

"You just figure that out yourself, did you?"

"I saw it on a cereal box."

"I was being rhetorical, Einstein."

The Gruff stormed off in an angry little ball of fury. As he did, little tufts of steam puffed from his ears and his springy coloured hair bounced back and forth. He was mad, sure, but not to the point where he became hysterical and fun to be around – this was the kind of mad that sucked the life out of the party and the fun out of everything; this version of The Gruff was definitely the most annoying.

Alex followed The Gruff as he trampled his way through the winding corridor of bile and slime, mimicking the way he walked, which could only be described as an ire strut – how a bear would look if were forced to run a catwalk in heels.

"I'm not blind you know."

Immediately, Alex pretended to be doing something else altogether. Thing is, like all kids his age, he was a terrible liar; and so in the end, it not only looked like he was mocking him even more, but it looked like he didn't care if his joking made The Gruff upset – and strangely enough, this made The Gruff pleased.

"Alright, kid, this is where things get messy."

It looked like they had reached the end of a tunnel but one with no escape. There was no ladder to climb up and there was no door to walk out; so where were they supposed to go from here?

"We may not be able to just punch our way out of whatever we meet behind this wall; it's hard for The Gruff to admit that, but that's what makes The Gruff so strong. You get me?"

Alex thought he did.

"We run?" he said, unsure.

"Like cats from a pickle," said The Gruff.

He made running from a fight sound nowhere near as bad as most people did, and this was from someone whose favourite thing in the world was to stand his ground and fight. Finally, this would be a chance to show The Gruff a side of himself that came naturally – running away from danger.

"We get one shot at this before the intestinal worm realizes what we're doing and this gate will be shut for good."

The Gruff stood at one particular point in the wall with a feather in his hand. Who knows where he got a feather from; maybe he had it all along.

"As soon as I tickle this sphincter, we're gonna have a nano-second to jump through to the bowels. We miss that shot then we're stuck here. As soon as that wall opens, you dive in. We'll go on the count of three. One, two, three, tickle, jump – got it?"

"Got it," said Alex.

It sounded easy enough.

"You ready?"

Of course, he wasn't!

"What's on the other side?" said Alex.

The Gruff had no idea. All he could do was shrug and smile.

"Why are we here?"

"To get out," said The Gruff.

"No, here, in life. If I die," said Alex. "Does that mean my life has no meaning?"

The Gruff smiled and counted to three.

"The fact that you die," he said. "It gives your life meaning."

Then he tickled the monster's sphincter.

#  The Promethean Constant

There was no light at all; only the sound of footsteps in shallow murky water – murky, not because of the colour, but because of the stench. It wasn't hot and it wasn't cold; it was somewhere in-between – unpleasant and lukewarm.

"Stay close, kid."

The Gruff tiptoed through the murky water, trying his best not to splash about and spoil the element of surprise. The way things were, though, no matter what they encountered, as blind as they were, the surprise was bound to be on them.

Alex had nothing to hold onto, nothing except his own breath. And so he did just that. He clasped his mouth shut, and his eyes too as if to say, 'I have chosen the darkness; it has not chosen me'.

This all felt like some great big 'Or else..."

Anything could be waiting in the darkness. Anything could be swimming about in the dank water beneath their feet – assuming that it was water of course. Anything could be hanging from the ceiling, an inch from their nervous faces; smelling their fear and biding its time. Anything could be crawling along the walls - like spiders and scuttling centipedes. Anything could be right behind them, following their every step. Anything could be beneath them, patiently waiting for one of them to fall.

Anything could be in the darkness; anything at all.

First came a dull moan; it sounded like an injured calf calling for its mother. It echoed throughout the chamber and droned in Alex's ears. He wished the damn thing would shut the hell up.

Next came the rattling of chains. They followed every moan like the icy tail of a comet. They sounded as if they were everywhere as if the walls were made of links made out of hooks and iron. For Alex, it was hard not to imagine white-sheeted ghosts with two black slits for eyes, hovering in the darkness, rattling their cacophonous shackles.

"I'm sorry," said someone in the darkness, their voice full of despondency, but without a shred of hope. "It wasn't my fault."

"Shhhh," whispered The Gruff.

"It wasn't me," replied Alex.

Again the voice cried out, "Please, just let me go."

And again The Gruff whispered, "Do you want us to get caught?"

But it wasn't Alex making the noise. It may have sounded like him, but it wasn't. The real Alex was barely an inch away from The Gruff's back, biting his tongue and holding his breath. Whoever, or whatever was in the darkness sounded just like him, though.

Then came another voice. It was almost identical except for its coarse and somewhat offensive vernacular. It sounded just like Alex, except a version of Alex that had never had a single moment of joy in his entire life – as if this Alex had only ever experienced abuse, abandon, and malnutrition.

"Stay close," said The Gruff. "We'll try to sneak past."

As they did, a cracking sound like thunder whipped through the still darkness. Both Alex and The Gruff stopped dead in their tracks. The cracking sound echoed throughout the chamber and was followed by weeping and a plea for mercy.

"I want to go home," said the boy.

The Gruff had to double back and be sure that it wasn't his Alex begging to be freed.

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispered. "Hold onto me, and whatever you do, don't look or say a thing; no matter what you think you hear."

Alex nodded.

On any other day, he would have cringed hearing his own voice. It would have sounded as if he were being dubbed by someone sounding the total opposite to how he imagined himself sounding – someone totally not as cool. He'd get an icky shiver and turn it off right away. The thing is, though, this voice not only sounded like his, it felt like his too. To The Gruff, it sounded exactly like Alex, whereas to Alex, it sounded like the voice inside his head.

The closer they got, the louder the sniffling and weeping became. Alex tried to ignore it but it was no good. The more racket the boy made, the more ashamed and disgraced with himself he felt as they tried to sneak past unchecked.

"We have to help," said Alex, whispering in The Gruff's ear.

The Gruff ignored him at first, hoping the kid would get the message and shut the hell up – for both their sakes. But the closer they got to the source of the racket, the harder Alex tugged on The Gruff's leather jacket.

Again the boy cried out.

"Mummy, please!"

Alex fell to the floor; he couldn't go on. The pain wasn't from the creature in his intestines, it was coming from his heart – but it felt as if it were bound to some burning rock in his stomach.

"Get up, kid," whispered The Gruff – but he did so as if he were shouting; "Get the hell up."

"I can't," said Alex.

He started to cry, but they were not tears of loneliness or fear; they were tears of shame. To stop, he felt, would be worse. And so, as the young boy in the darkness wept and begged for his mother, so too did Alex. Not only did he beg for her to save him, but he was hounded, if not harassed, by memories of all the times he had let her down. And as pride crumbled between his fingers, all Alex could do was accept this unfortunate but understandable fate.

If he had been a better son, he wouldn't be in this mess. If he had tried to be, not just a better friend, but any kind of friend, then he wouldn't be in this alone. If he had tidied his room; if he hadn't broken that vase; if he had paid more attention at school; if he wasn't always getting bullied; if he had eaten all of his dinner; if he hadn't stolen money from mum's purse; if he hadn't...

"Kid, snap out of it," shouted The Gruff.

He shook Alex and slapped him, just enough to rattle his senses.

"There's nothing we can do," he said. "We have to go."

He grabbed Alex's collar and pulled him through the dank water towards a tiny speck of light that shimmered at the end of a long narrow tube. With every step, though, the pain got worse; and with escape in sight, it became too much to bear.

"Bugger it," said The Gruff, rolling up his sleeves.

He took a small container from his pocket the size of a match head and opened it up. It was as if he had let a bomb explode. The single electron he kept inside escaped. When it saw The Gruff, it got excited and lit up the chamber, inviting one and all to its depraved horror.

There in the middle of the room was a giant stone that was cold to the touch, but which seared one's skin. An enormous chain, the kind used to slow tankers, was wrapped around the rock and on the other end; it was tied to a young boy's ankles, stopping him from running away.

Standing beside the boy and the stone was Alex; but not our Alex, a different Alex altogether, but still Alex nonetheless. And the boy shackled to the stone, he was an Alex too.

"Touché, universe," said The Gruff. "Touché."

Both Alex's looked the same but very different as if one of them had been hugged his whole life while the other had experienced love only as a measure of torture and abuse. One was weak and incapable of anything on his own, while the other looked as if 'on his own' was all he had ever known.

"Look at what you've done," he said, pacing around the Alex that was tied up like a dog. "You're a disgrace," he said. "No-one will ever love you. What reason is there?"

He cracked on his whip as he continued his shame-filled tirade, saying the most horrible things imaginable; and not for his enjoyment, but rather for the deserved misery and suffering of the young Alex, tied to the stone.

"Your hair looks stupid; your teeth are crooked; you have no friends."

On and on he went, cracking his tongue and that damn whip while all the boy in chains could do was curl himself as tight as possible and wish the feeling of shame and disgust would go away.

"Stop it!" screamed Alex – our Alex mind you.

He jumped up from his own miserable state and snatched the whip out of the other Alex's hand. The two Alex's stared at one another and were it not for the look in their eyes, it would be impossible to tell one from the other

Both Alex's were full of rage, but one was driven by love and the other disgust. And it was easy to tell which one was which, and who was who.

"Whip him," shouted The Gruff. "Do it! Do it now!"

But Alex just stood there. He didn't raise his hand; he didn't even flinch. The whip stayed coupled inside one hand while the other was outstretched as if to offer a truce.

"Are you insane? Kill him, Alex. Kill him before he kills you."

But instead, Alex carefully placed the whip into the dank water and then extended his other hand; turning both palms upwards and inviting the other Alex to do the same.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he said. "Not anymore."

And then he took one slow step towards the other Alex.

"What are you doin', kid?"

Alex ignored him. The Gruff may have been a seven-dimensional being, but he had a one-dimensional perspective. There was no more clutching at straws, it was time for change. Violence would only make things worse.

And so Alex took one more step so that both Alex's were eye to eye. The rage was still there, it was still prevalent, but its bond was weak; and before another word could be said, both Alex's touched palms – one hand up and one hand down.

The Gruff watched on in strange awe. He wanted to break them up and deride them for being daisies when they should be prickly thorns. Battles were fought with fists, not tenderness and appreciation. His derision, though, quickly turned into stupendous awe as the look in the mean Alex's eyes changed from maniacal to fierce to stern to calm. It was then that a flicker of hope shone in his eyes, like the morning sun rising over a frostbitten land. It was then that one Alex hugged the other and both Alexs cried.

They were not tears of sadness. They were not tears of missing or forlorn. The two Alexs interwove and for a moment, looked as one. Theirs were tears of love and compassion. They were tears of wholehearted forgiveness.

"It's ok to make mistakes," said Alex. "Everyone does."

It was now impossible to tell one Alex from the other. They all bore the same look of relief; even the Alex that was chained to the stone. Hell, even The Gruff looked at ease.

"I love you," said Alex to the other two Alexs – the Alex that judged, and the Alex that paid the penance for both their mistakes.

Then he and The Gruff walked towards that small beam of light.

"Holy crap," said The Gruff. "That was stupid good."

Alex smiled, took The Gruff by the hand, and together they jumped out of the worm's anus.

#  A Menina Cega e o Menino Chamado Luz

"Would you look at that," said The Gruff, staring at the small worm wriggling on the ground. "It didn't have teeth after-all."

Alex was covered from head to toe in icky slime; so much that it seemed pointless to even try and wipe any off, whereas The Gruff was unfazed by the ooze dripping from his ears. In fact, he acted as if there was nothing disgusting about this at all.

The worm they had escaped from was no bigger than an infant's toe. It writhed about on the ground for a second or two before shrinking to the size of a match head and then dying altogether.

"How did we....?"

Alex turned to look at his own butt.

"Did I?"

The Gruff grabbed Alex by the wrist and shut his eyes.

"You ready?"

The Gruff didn't actually care what he'd say.

"Yes," said Alex.

His voice sounded like the cocking of a gun.

"Good."

The Gruff thought of the most decadent and filthy place he could imagine; a place where not even he would feel at home – a place ripe with remorse, regret, and M-16's.

"We're here," said The Gruff. "Don't say a whole bunch; not at first anyway;"

Alex didn't bother to argue; he was still smothered from head to toe in a coagulated mustard slime. "Where's Alexis?" he said.

They were in the middle of a slum; but not just any slum, they were in the worst slum of any dimension – the worst The Gruff could imagine. It wasn't big either; in fact, it was barely the size of a laneway or a cul-de-sac. There were three houses in total, two of which looked stupendous and deranged, while the third looked like a fort made out of cardboard, blankets and sticky tape.

In front of them was a road that was paved with the teeth and fingernails of geniuses – astronomers, physicists, poets, drunkards, and more. It was foul, yes, but only in its magnificence. The sidewalks were painted with colours which were as difficult to pronounce as they were to look away from – such exquisite scenic horror, and the textures were so refined and geometrically obscure, each blade of grass looked as if it had been hand painted by Dali himself.

The place reeked of opulence; no matter where you looked. If golden riches were the wealth of a dynasty, then no man had ever been king outside of this cul-de-sac. Worst of all, though, was the sense of absolute contentment. There was an air of peace and tranquillity, one of no worry and bother whatsoever. How could any being live like this?

"Which house is it?"

Alex had every right to be worried. He had every right to act as a seven-year-old boy should. But how many seven-year-old boys do you know that had to crawl out of the arse of a parasite that was ingested in their own stomach?

One; that's how many.

"Stuff it," he said.

He had no clue where his sister was but he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around for one of The Gruff's 'I'm so bloody strong' speeches. So he ran – as fast he could – up the house on the left and without a care in the world, he stormed inside.

"Did you not hear what I said?" shouted The Gruff.

The sign on the door said, 'Guardian of Dreams: Beware all ye who enter'.

But Alex was more of a pictures kind of kid. Were God an Egyptian and not American, he would have heeded every word, but Alex didn't give two hoots for words or letters, and he cared even less for arithmetic.

Everywhere he went, he whispered his sister's name

"Alexis," he said, peeking around cupboards and corridors.

For some stupid reason, he half expected her to respond. The other half of him was too busy looking out for bear traps to be of any real good; and so on he went, whispering her name in a desperate and forced hush; and the suspense was driving him mad.

The response he did get, though, was from The Gruff, doing a commando roll in the doorway and swearing his head off in the most mean-spirited whisper that ever existed; you'd hardly believe they were BFFs.

"What the hell are you doing?" he said, finally catching up to Alex. "Was a worm's butt not enough of an adventure? You thought you had to one-up it?"

The house was quiet; except for The Gruff's complaining of course.

"There's no-one here," said Alex.

"That's what I tried to tell ya,' said The Gruff. "But you don't bloody listen. You just run in, gung-ho, without a care in the..."

Alex was off again, this time creeping up the staircase, doing his best to also creep inside the shadow that hanged like a curtain from the roof down to the floor. The Gruff shook his head and then rolled up his sleeves. If the kid knew even half of what The Gruff did, he wouldn't be so quick to be snooping about.

"I hear something," said Alex.

It sounded like a girl's voice, but he couldn't be sure. He had to get closer. With every careful and cautious step, the wooden stairs screeched and squealed. In fact, the quieter he tried to be, the more noise he made. At this rate, they'd be found out before they even got halfway up the stairs.

The Gruff flexed his every muscle – it was almost like a roll call. And then, as if getting caught was no big deal, he stormed all the way to the top of the stairs – and he didn't make a single sound.

Alex followed, but it's safe to say he made a hell of a racket. And after thumping his way to the top of the stairs, he crouched down beside The Gruff in a corridor that led to three rooms – one of which was open with a stack of televisions playing.

"She's not here, kid, I'm telling ya."

But that didn't matter. Alex could hear someone. It may not have been Alexis, but it was definitely a girl, and she was definitely in distress. It's not like he wanted to get into trouble, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a good enough reason to run away – not yet anyway.

The Gruff cussed a bit, and then followed Alex along the corridor. To say he was hesitant was an understatement. He was somewhere between petrified and just plain old scared to death. But he didn't know if the girl was here or not; he hoped to hell she wasn't. What he did know what that this was not the place to be caught creeping about.

God, you see, had the wickedest of tempers.

Alex turned the knob on the first door and opened it, just enough to slip inside. It was dark and the air was warm and musky as if a thousand horses had just given birth to a thousand foals.

In the middle of the room was a raggedy old mattress covered in a bed sheet that looked more like a discarded set of surgical scrubs. There were dirty underwear and filthy socks strewn about, along with stale sandwiches, cartons of sour milk, and what looked like an unnecessary amount of pornography.

This was obviously where God slept, but it looked and smelt like the unwashed tiles behind a kitchen stove – where all the grease and chunks of uncooked chicken collected and stuck to the floor. What kind of dreams were had in such an abhorrent place as this?

"You see, I told ya," said The Gruff. "She ain't here; now can we go?"

"No," said Alex.

The fact alone that The Gruff was so scared made him want to look around a little more. Alex could sense that The Gruff knew more than he was letting on. He couldn't explain it and he may not have been entirely conscious of it, but the more The Gruff cussed and complained, the more courageous Alex became.

And so, without a second thought whatsoever, Alex crept up to the second door and slowly turned the handle. He did so staring at the open door in front of him where dozens of televisions flickered and buzzed so that even the hallway looked as if it was being lit by a broken disco ball.

Alex was certain that with all that light and noise, someone was definitely at home.

"Alexis," he whispered through the crack in the door.

Someone was definitely here. Why else would all the TVs be on like that?

Alex slowly opened the second door and crept inside. This room was not empty – not at all. In fact, the door was blocked by a bookshelf – it gave a thud as Alex pushed on the handle. His eyes had settled to the dark and though he could see, he couldn't see well. He could make out the shapes of objects; and looking at the ground, where not to step so as not to make a mess or make a sound.

The Gruff snuck in after him, but he did so objectionably, cussing to himself as he did. He hadn't an inch of the kid's curiosity, and by the looks of it, he was also lacking in just as much grit and fist fighting heroics.

The room was bigger than the last but it was crowded with so many things; most of them piles of scrapbooks and crumpled up papers. There was a writing desk in the middle of the room that was just as crowded with rubbish and dirty cups, and a half-drunk bottle of wine. There was a typewriter in the middle of the desk and a single blank sheet of paper hanging out the back.

Alex walked around the room and, as quietly as he could, he picked up each of the rolled up balls of paper and unfolded each one. There must have been hundreds, maybe even thousands, and all of them bore the same four words, 'Once upon a time'.

"He's writing a book," said Alex.

"Trying to," said The Gruff, putting as much worry into his words as he could muster.

The more Alex looked around, the more pity he felt for whoever lived here. This room was like an homage to failure and frustration.

"Once upon a time," said Alex, holding open one of the crumpled sheets. "There was a God who couldn't tell a story."

The Gruff laughed, but only for a second.

"You got guts, I'll give ya that, but this is not the place to be proving a point."

"It's kinda sad," said Alex, walking around the room.

The walls too were covered in the same helpless introduction. Some of the ink was new as if it had just been scribbled, while others looked as old as time itself.

"I have a story," said Alex.

He made it sound like everyone should have one – but that few ever did.

"That's nice," said The Gruff. "Now how about we get our butts out of here."

"Do you want to hear it?"

It was like the boy had no sense of danger whatsoever.

"Can it wait?"

Alex shook his head.

"Ah crap," said The Gruff, already at the door. "Alright, but make it fast."

The Gruff was terribly impatient – he'd make a wonderful father.

"It's not written down," said Alex. "It's in my head and I'll probably forget bits."

"Who gives a crap?" said The Gruff. "Just tell the bloody story."

Alex took a second to compose himself. He hadn't told this story in ages; he had to remember how it went. And so he sat down at God's writing desk and pretended that he was some important storyteller, and he gave it his very best.

"The little girl and the light," he said, pausing so that The Gruff could settle himself – at least that what teachers did whenever they told stories in class.

"Go, go, go," said The Gruff impatiently.

He was a terrible audience.

"Once upon a time," said Alex, reading the first line of every crumpled paper in this room. "There was a girl who lived all alone in a world full of darkness. She had no-one to talk to, no-one to play with, and no-one to tell her name. Every day, the little girl used to imagine a different world – one of colour and light. With her eyes closed, she imagined the most amazing things ever. She imagined gardens and flowers, and trees as high as mountains too; and not just that, she had to imagine the mountains that poked through the clouds that were almost as high in the sky as the sun and the stars that shone at night. She imagined rivers and oceans, and forests and deserts too. And she imagined a whole world of bugs and insects and birds and animals – and all sorts of things that swam in the water and played in the leaves and the long green grass. But when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness for there was no-one and nothing in her world – she was completely alone."

By now, The Gruff was lost in the story.

"And then one day, there was a knock on the door."

Alex knocked on the wooden desk three times.

"Hello?" he said, making a little girl's voice. "Who is it?"

And then he knocked on the table again. The Gruff turned to look behind him. He was riveted. He was frightened and anxious. He was excited and scared to bloody death.

"Who was it," he said. "Who the crap was it?"

Alex smiled, and he continued.

\- "Who is it?"

\- "I am Light," said the voice at the door; the voice of a young boy.

\- The little girl walked towards her front door. She had never heard another voice before, for there had never been another person in this world except her. So she opened the door and immediately a flash of light blinded her eyes. The little girl jumped backward and squinted to see a small boy at the door.

\- "Nice to meet you," he said.

\- "Nice to meet you too," said the little girl.

\- "Do you want to play?"

\- "I don't know any games," said the little girl.

\- "I do," said the boy. "We can fly. Have you ever flown before?"

\- "No," said the little girl. "But I've imagined it."

\- "All you have to do is hold my hand; I'll do the rest."

\- And the little girl did just that. She took the boy's hand and they lifted off into the air and they floated away like a bubble at the bottom of the deep blue sea. The first thing the little girl noticed was the colours. She couldn't believe how green the greens were; and how some greens were greener than others. And all the other colours too, they were so bold and magnificent.

\- "Look down below," said the boy.

\- And the little girl turned and saw herds of animals stampeding across an open plain, while below her, a flock of birds, gently flapped their wings. Wherever she looked, the little girl saw every creature that she had ever imagined, and they were painted in every colour that she had hoped would one day be true.

\- "This is amazing," she screamed. "I never want to close my eyes."

\- So they flew for hours and hours around the world she had imagined until the boy's body grew weak and tired.

\- "We should rest," he said. "And shut our eyes."

\- "No," shouted the little girl. "I want to fly forever. I don't want to see the dark ever again."

\- The boy tried to fly a little more but he was tired and this was starting to become quite a bore. The little girl made a scene and shouted aloud; "Take me back up, as high as the clouds."

\- The boy smiled and shook his head.

\- "Tomorrow," he said. "After we've rested our eyes."

\- The little girl screamed and stamped her feet on the ground.

\- "I will not shut my eyes," she shouted. "Never, ever again."

\- "You're tired," said the boy. "We get weak when we are tired, and we get angry when we are weak."

\- "But I don't want to close my eyes," said the little girl. "I've lived in the dark my whole life; I can't bear a single second more."

\- "I promise," said the boy. "When you open your eyes, I'll be there. And then we can fly all over this amazing world of yours. But you need to rest. You need to shut eyes. And you need to dream and imagine more places for us to go."

\- "Do you promise you'll be there when I open my eyes?"

\- "I promise," said the boy. "To be with you at the end of every day, and to be waiting beside you, at the end of every night; this I promise," he said, holding the little girl's hand.

\- And even though she was scared that she would never see her world this way again, the little girl trusted her new friend, and she closed her eyes like he said, and when she slept, she dreamt of the most amazing sights that anyone could imagine. And when she woke up in the morning and opened eyes, just like he had promised, the boy called Light was there. And every day they explored the world that she dreamt up, and every night he held her hand and waited by her side. And never again did the little girl fear or speak ill of the dark. The end.

"A little wordy for a seven-year-old but ah..."

"I'm almost eight," declared Alex.

"In Gruff years that doesn't mean much, kid. It's wasn't crap, I'll give you that. Just the whole anger thing I don't buy. We get angry when we are awesome, not weak."

"I didn't make it up," said Alex. "Alexis did. She gave it to me when I was five. And she told it to me every day so I'd never forget."

When The Gruff was five he was given a pair of knuckle dusters and a switchblade.

"Right," he said as if he'd just had a revelation. "Well, we better get her back for you then, hadn't we?"

Alex hugged The Gruff, almost breaking him in two.

"I stand by what I said," he said, barely able to sound out a single word. "Fightin' is for awesome, runnin' is for the weak."

"My mum said running is good for the heart."

"Yeah, and what's a heart good for? Crying and missing things. Like I said," he said, flexing his muscles. "We get angry when we're awesome."

There was only one room left and it seemed a shame to not give it a look. Once again, Alex was first, but it didn't take much convincing for The Gruff to fall behind. They stormed the third room without any consideration for who or what might be inside.

#  The God Particle

Not only was it blinding but it was deafening too. There were hundreds of televisions all piled on top of each other making a giant wall of light and sound. The light flickered constantly while the sound was static, interlaced with harrowing screams.

The Gruff was nervous and fidgety; it was a hell of a thing for someone like him to be acting like that. He knew more than he was letting on, and if he was trying to hide anything, he was doing a terrible job at it.

Alex, on the other hand, had never seen so many televisions in one place in his whole life. There were more than even at the television store in the shopping mall; and they used to say that they had the most TVs in the world – but then again, this was part of no world that Alex had ever seen before.

There was a common theme running through all of the televisions; there were either scenes of sadness and despair or of stupendous elation and relief – there was one or the other and absolutely nothing in-between.

"That's him," said The Gruff, pointing to one of the screens. "That's God."

There, on one of the screens, an absurd looking man, dressed like a sideshow spectacle, pranced about a classroom full of young children, no older than Alex himself, seemingly unseen by the teacher and the children themselves. Whoever he was, he looked like he was having the time of his life, as if jumping up on tables and sticking his tongue out at happy children was his favourite thing in the world.

"What's he doing?" said Alex.

The Gruff didn't say it, but he was hoping they would pack up and leave. He was feeling the complete opposite of awesome right now, and for good reason too.

As God danced around and made a mockery of the children and their teacher, he made a concerted effort to stare up at whatever camera was filming him, making love heart symbols out of his hands one minute and rude gestures the next. It was hard to hear what he was saying, though, with all the other televisions blaring as they were. It was hard to even think with all those screams of mourning and celebration.

And so Alex went TV by TV, turning down the volume on each one until the only sound he could hear was that of a burly primary school teacher handing out homework assignments to her class – that and a man who looked like he belonged on a deck of cards, laughing hysterically and shouting foul and vulgar insults; not at the teacher, but at the children – at each and every one of them.

"Very good work," said The Teacher, handing a paper to a quiet girl at the front of the class.

The young girl smiled when she saw her grade.

"Too bad you have bone cancer," said God, touching the girl on the head.

He rolled on the floor in hysterics as the little girl turned her paper upside down. Something had happened; something had changed inside her. Whatever it was, it was subtle. It wasn't anything obvious, like a swollen eye or a bloody tooth; but something inside the girl was different– and you could see it in the look in her eyes.

"And you get bone cancer too," laughed God, touching another child at the back of the head – and that child too seemed to slip into a quiet and unsuspecting stupor. "And you get dyslexia, and you get a funny nose – and you get a daddy that will never come home."

"What is he doing?" said Alex. "Why can't anyone see him?"

"Not every child is allowed to grow up, Alex. There has to be some balance."

It took a second or two and then the truth sunk in.

"He's killing them? We have to do something. We have to stop him."

He wasn't killing them, though, not yet anyway. He was planting a seed; or a cell to be more precise, one that would consume every drop of life in their ridiculously little bodies. For now, though, they could still run and play and laugh with their friends. Soon enough they would be like the children on other screens – sickly pale and collapsing in on themselves; soon to leave a momentous black hole in the hearts of their mothers and fathers, and all the other planets that revolved around them.

Alex shouted at the screen.

"Leave them alone, you bully."

But it was no good. God clicked his fingers and then moved from one TV to another; this time he was sitting on a stone wall and lighting a cigarette as a young child dug for worms in the mud behind her house while high up into the sky, an invisible drone, armed with a needless amount of explosives, flew silently overhead.

On a computer screen on the other end of the world, a spectacled man kissed the cross around his neck and thanked God for always being with him; for his aim and precision.

As the bombs dropped, God lit his cigarette, and as it exploded over the little girl's head, he was gone. He disappeared for maybe a second before appearing in one of the other television screens; this time in the back seat of a speeding driver – high on whiskey and coke – and maybe a tranquilizer or two.

The driver, too, kissed the cross around his neck for God loved to be adored.

The car coming in the other direction was driven a single mother whose five-year-old son was strapped into a booster in the back of the car – he'd be six in a week. The mother was liked at her work, she had a small but close circle of friends, and her young son was everybody's favourite at school.

God smiled at the television screen as one car hit the other.

The sound was horrendous – that of a mother's scream. They were eventually drowned out by the sound of sirens and the shouting from first responders. Her only saving grace was that her son did not suffer.

The driver of the first car kissed his cross once more as he was taken away.

And then God jumped from screen to screen, appearing at award ceremonies and football games; and was able to answer some prayers whilst completely ignoring the rest. He gave medals and trophies to some whilst stripping others of their pride and dignity. He tightened the straps of suicide bombers and was there to spoil in the humanity that derived from such travesty as he comforted the grieving mothers and fathers as they cradled their bloodied children.

God went from screen to screen handing out AIDS and cancer as if they were candy and balloons, and all of it was entirely unprovoked. Sure, sometimes he helped an old woman here or there to cross a street, but more often than not, he was the helping hand that pushed her down the stairs.

He smothered babies in their cribs and lit candles for their crying mothers; smiling as they screamed out his name. And when he had bored of that, he rolled coloured balls, the kind adored by toddlers, into the bottom of swimming pools and into the paths of oncoming cars.

"Why is he doing this?"

It was then that Alex noticed that all of the televisions were recording. A pile of cables sticking out from behind the wall of televisions fed to a pile of cassettes. The buzzing from the machines was like a thousand flies laying eggs in the innards of a buzzard's gaping wound.

"I am thought of," said The Gruff. "Therefore I am."

"What? That's not a reason why."

"He needs to be admired, revered, worshipped and feared. Pain and joy are the same thing, both are bound in disbelief, and that is how you pronounce his name."

"Well can't you just punch him?" said Alex still looking through the massive collection of cassette tapes. "You're The Gruff. You're the strongest person I know."

Flattery was easily The Gruff's weak point. He went red and fidgety straight away.

"You can't kill something that wasn't born."

Alex had no idea what he meant but he really wanted the last word.

"Then just make him go away," he said.

That was when Alex noticed the pile of video cassettes in piled up next to the stack of television. All of them were labelled and stacked neatly, and there was one cassette in particular that Alex noticed; one that stood out from all the rest.

"What's this?" he said.

He held up the video cassette and The Gruff's stomach sank.

"It says Alex and The Gruff on it. Why does it say that?"

"You don't wanna see that," said The Gruff. "In fact, give it here."

Alex threw him the tape and The Gruff quickly ripped it to pieces.

"What are these?" said Alex, going through cassette after cassette.

"He records the suffering," said The Gruff. "So that he can watch it over and over again."

Alex stared at the broken cassette in The Gruff's hands.

"His strength and power," said The Gruff, taking attention away from pieces of plastic in his hands. "Derives from the wailing of mothers and fathers. As long as there is disbelief in the universe, nothing can stand in his way. As long as he is thought of, he exists," said The Gruff.

"And what's on that tape?"

The Gruff shook his head, lowly.

"Suffering," he said.

God was a bully; there was no denying that whatsoever – and Alex hated bullies.

"What can we do? We have to help."

They stared around the bathroom.

"That," said The Gruff, pointing to the toilet.

"At the very least we can trap him."

The toilet was identical to the one they had travelled through themselves. It looked old and fetid, and like the bedroom, a harbinger of disease, infection, and self-loathing. And like their Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine, a dozen wires stuck out its side that led to a brown AM radio stacked beside it on the floor.

And so, without a thought whatsoever, as if he were slapping a mosquito, Alex picked up a chair and smashed it against the toilet in the corner. Then he yanked all the wires that linked it to the small radio beside it, on the floor. And then he smashed the radio to pieces too.

And then he went screen by screen and smashed them with his fists and pieces of the porcelain bowl. He tore out all the cables behind and smashed the stacks of VCRs into shards of plastic and tattered tape. One by one, each of the television screens died, and so too did the sound of horror and jubilant praise.

"That's it, kid," screamed The Gruff, standing back as Alex unleashed the savage beast within him – but The Gruff did not get involved.

There was only one television left – and it was still recording. On it, God was busy betting unfortunate outcomes on the lives of people who didn't really deserve it. By the time he realized something was amiss, enough damage had already been done.

"Get out of my goddamn house," he screamed. "I can see you, boy. You don't think I don't know who you are? Stay away from my machines or you will pay."

The toilet in the corner looked like the jagged stump of some felled tree. The wires that stuck out from its cistern buzzed, as did the old radio into which they were plugged.

"I need to do a pee," said Alex. "Close the door."

The Gruff didn't argue. He slipped out of the bathroom and sat against the wall in the hallway, holding his hands over his ears.

"Touch my things, boy, and I will kill everyone you know. Don't you know who I am?"

It felt like he's been holding this pee forever. He sighed in relief as sparks spat out of the back of the radio and the sound of The Trickster's taunts and threats was lost to the hissing of short circuits and fried electronics.

God stared right up at the television screen – he made it look like a window.

"You think you can trap me like some rat," he screamed.

But it seemed in that second as if he was. There was only one screen and one wire leading to one VCR. The only disbelief now was his own. He cursed his own name as loud as he could as he paced back and forth across the television screen – shouting to nobody but himself.

Even if wanted to leave, he couldn't – Alex had made sure of that. His Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine had been smashed into pieces, and those pieces had been rammed into the hole that was left behind so that not even a quark could crawl through.

God scowled.

"I know your mother, boy. I know everything about you. I know your father too. You're no better than him."

His face pressed against the screen.

"You're no better than me," he screamed.

But Alex had long gone. He was already zipping around the house lighting small fires with cooking oil and a box of matches. He lit the first one in the linen closet and the inferno spread quickly from there. By the time he was out the door before the whole place had turned into a raging pit of death.

"Where the crap is Alexis?" he said, from inside a blanket of smoke and soot.

He sounded like he had had enough.

"No more pretending," he said. "Where is she? Where is my sister?"

It took a moment or two for The Gruff to come to his senses. When he did, though, he seemed as if he had all the answers – as if he knew what was happening all along.

"I told you to wait up," he said. "Damn, kid, your rage is like a hurricane."

"Where is Alexis?" said Alex as if nothing at all scared him anymore.

He eyes looked like bullets.

His gritting teeth, like an armful of hacksaws and knives.

"She's in the other house," said The Gruff. "I tried to tell you, but..."

Alex stormed across the street; kicking over the mailbox and knocking out a half dozen sprinklers as he did. There was a guard dog in the front yard that was chained to a tree. It had the head of an alligator and a centipede for a wagging tail. Its bark was the only thing worse than its bite – like nails being broken as they dragged along a chalkboard.

But that dog shut the hell up when Alex came storming up the yard.

"I really hope he's the real Alex," said The Gruff, rolling up his sleeves. "I hope this was worth it. I hope the bloody works."

Alex burst through the front door, half expecting an army of werewolves and robot spiders to be waiting in the foyer. He expected lasers and ninja stars, and snares and bear traps to be snapping at his feet. He expected smoke grenades and gunfire, and chants of "Charge!" and "Get him!"

Instead, what he did get what was a polite introduction and a gentle handshake from a man who was as tall as he was thin – unbelievably, inconceivably, and stupendously.

"You must be Alex," said The Rubber Man, having to bend in half just to reach his spaghetti-like arms far enough.

His fingers moved like tentacles as if each had its own curious mind.

"No need to be afraid, boy, I wish you no harm. I am a man of science, after all."

"I'm not afraid of you," said Alex.

He sounded almost disappointed; mainly that there weren't any werewolves or robot spiders to contend with. He had a specific kind of tone about him, and a bullish kind of demeanour too as if he were out to pick a fight. And so he took The Rubber Man's hand and squeezed as hard as he could as if that were the next best thing.

The Rubber Man looked at The Gruff and smiled.

"You did good," he said.

He sounded smug and conniving. The Gruff, on the other hand, looked about as guilty as he should. He didn't say a thing, though. He didn't even flex a muscle.

"Tell me, boy," said The Rubber Man.

"My name is Alex," said Alex – and who could argue?

"My apologies, I did not mean to condescend."

He sounded genuine; irrespective of how he looked.

"Tell me then, Alex. What do you know about entropy?"

#  Unpicking the Pocket of Scientific Ignorance

"Welcome to the Abacus," said The Rubber Man.

He led Alex into the room and spun in dazzling circles as if to say, "Voilà, here is the most amazing room in the world." He looked so pleased with himself and he gestured to Alex as if he should be just as pleased too. It was a pity then that all Alex really wanted was to punch someone in the face.

"Here," said The Rubber Man, "is where science is thought up."

Then he whisked Alex to another part of the room where a team of black-coated men tapped away frantically on some archaic looking devices that clicked and beeped. It's safe to say that Alex was none too impressed.

"The third dimension is our wet lab, so to speak," said The Rubber Man. "It is where we test our ideas in a practical environment. These mathematicians you see here are coding ideas to be sent into the scientific pool of collective conscious where..."

He sounded just like every stupid science teacher that any kid had ever had; going on and on and on about things that nobody cared about, and that you would probably never use anyway after you finished school.

"We use the third dimension to see mathematics," said The Rubber Man, "in the same way that scientists in the third dimension use the second and first. Just as a mathematician might use a slide rule or an Intergraph, we use mathematicians. And the most interesting part is..."

On and on and on and on and on. This was starting to feel just like school.

The average person would have been more than impressed by what Alex was seeing. They would have been mesmerized, stupefied, and thrilled to the bone – they would have been blown away. They would have been filled with so much joy and wonder that their brains would become mush; and like a dog on a leash, they would be easily led.

But Alex didn't care for supercomputers or baryon scopes. He liked heavy metal and dinosaurs, and of course, watching cartoons all day long. He liked action movies and Kinder Surprise just as much as he liked ice-cream and chicken nuggets. He liked climbing up things and sliding down things, and most of all, like any boy his age, he liked breaking things apart. What he didn't give a crap about, though, was pipettes or Bunsen burners.

"Where's my sister?" he said.

He looked like a star on the verge of collapse. He looked like a dog that had already chewed through its leash and was waiting to be poked or patted, just for an excuse to bite a stranger's hand.

But The Rubber Man was too caught up in all his own splendour that he had no idea how close he was to being force-fed a knuckle sandwich. In fact, he hadn't looked Alex in the eyes once. It was almost as if he was looking everywhere but.

"Would you like to see the edge of infinity?" he said.

He led Alex to what looked like an old-fashioned telescope – the kind used by sailors that still thought the world was flat enough to have an edge that had no return. And now, apparently, he was observing that very edge.

"What you are looking at is the farthest edge of the multiverse. Amazing, isn't it?"

All Alex saw was black.

"You see that line between nothing and nothingness," said The Rubber Man, guiding Alex to a point in space where the darkness seemed to just disappear. "That was once all there ever was. As grand as the edge of the multiverse is, it was once compressed into the most infinitesimal speck, and yet it has taken me my entire life to find this edge."

"I can't see anything," said Alex, sounding unimpressed.

"What you're looking at is nothingness."

"That's what I just said."

The next word Alex said was under his breath. The Rubber Man couldn't hear, but it rhymed with midiot. Alex had had enough of grown-ups and the way they treated kids. They lied constantly, and the used manners as a reason to slap them and yell at them, and if not that, then lie to them, and make them look stupid and naïve.

"Let me explain it simpler."

The Rubber Man went on and on about how nothing was something. He went into extravagant detail and even drew a dozen or so pie charts and diagrams. In the end, though, it didn't matter how simple he made it, Alex didn't give a crap. There was only one thing on his mind.

"Where's my sister?" he said.

And again, The Rubber Man went on some spasmodic tangent as if this were a performance and not a discussion. He didn't so much ignore Alex's question as much as he didn't hear it whatsoever.

"Our multiverse has been expanding since its inception," said The Rubber Man. "It is like a balloon that is constantly filling with air. And like a deck of cards, though the rules change and the game changes, the elements are all the same. A neutrino is always the joker. What you're looking at, or not looking at, is the space outside of the balloon – it is the table on which the cards are dealt."

Alex stared through the telescope but his mind couldn't comprehend what he was seeing – or not seeing. It felt like someone was pouring hot wax and sticking needles into his eyes. It wasn't so much uncomfortable as it was incomprehensible and agonizing.

"Somewhere in that nothingness is not only the solution to entropy but also, the meaning to our existence. Somewhere amidst the nothingness is a formula which can..."

He might have thought Alex was listening, but if he did, that was just proof that grown-ups really were as stupid as kids and dogs made them out to be. Sure they could send sports cars to Mars, but they also had to wipe kids' butts and pick up dog poop every day.

"Do you know how many universes there are?" said The Rubber Man.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. He didn't care, to tell you the truth. Grown-ups always asked these types of questions to make themselves sound so much smarter than kids, but all kids really cared about was candy and cartoons.

"Where's my sister?"

Make that candy, cartoons, and vengeance.

"One point six one billion," said The Rubber Man, once again oblivious to the growing danger around him. "To the power of forty-two to be exact. And it all started in a single plank length – before time and dimension - just a tiny mote of consciousness, and within it, all the matter of the multiverse, neatly ordered and packed. And then," said The Rubber Man, as if he were the voice of some terrific action movie. "That conscious mote had an anxiety attack, and from it, the multiverse was born."

The more he talked, the angrier Alex got. He stared through that stupid eye thing, sure, but he was trying to figure out how to cut through all those good manners he'd acquired over the years and just beat the crap out of everybody in the room like he wanted to. He wondered if dogs felt like this, every time their lead was yanked, or a treat was held just out of their reach – whether they thought about biting their master's neck and taking the treat from his bloodied dead hands.

He sure as hell didn't give a crap about sciencey stuff – what was he, a nerd?

"And we have calculated the laws and mathematics of each and every one of those universes. It has not been easy, to say the least. But we are sure that this is the absolute edge of space. And beyond that," said The Rubber Man, hinting to the cosmic horizon. "Is all that there is to know."

Alex so didn't care.

"The universe will never end," said The Rubber Man. "And neither will entropy. Time will continue until space itself is nothing but a tepid sea of disorganised atoms with no chance or no potential for life whatsoever. Consciousness itself will become extinct. We are now almost nearing Thermal Equilibrium; there's no going back to a more ordered and useful universe. The end is nigh, my boy, that's for certain; but the answer to our cosmic independence lies in that vast nothingness."

Once again he hinted beyond the horizon; and once again, Alex didn't give a crap.

"For whatever reason," said The Rubber Man, thinking everyone cared as much as he did about what he had to say. "Entropy is the ticking clock of all matter. Because of this arrow of time, not just the sum of all universes, but the laws which govern them, not to mention all matter that lives by those laws, is doomed to at one point, not exist for the rest of eternity – and we can't let that happen."

Alex looked unfazed.

"No more sand castles," said The Rubber Man. "No more Lego trains. No more anything. Just scattered matter like a... like a...."

He stared at the boy.

"Like a child's bedroom," he said. "A useless, disorganised mess."

"Where. Is. My. Sister," said Alex.

By now he could taste metal in the back of his throat. At least he thought it was metal, but really it was the taste of blood. It was The Roggenwolf's blood.

"We're talking about the well-being a googolplex of intelligent beings in this multiverse; a googolplex squared," said The Rubber Man. "If we can stop entropy, we can save the past, the present, and the future."

"Where is she?" said Alex, clenching his fists as he looked through that damn telescope. "Where is my sister?"

"And that's why you're here," said The Rubber Man, completely ignoring the boy's plight. "That's why, out of all the beings in the multiverse, you were chosen. You are The One," said The Rubber Man. "You're the only one who can save us. You're the only one who can speak what cannot be spoken. You're the only one who can read what is not written. You're the only one who can hear what has not been said."

The Rubber Man wobbled about in sheer delight as he had all the other times he had given this speech. This time was different, though. This time he was sure would be the last. This time, he was sure, he had the right Alex. This time, though, it seemed as if Alex didn't care.

"Inscribed in your DNA, boy is the answer to a question that has plagued the brightest minds for aeons – a question that, until now, could not be answered. Somewhere in your genes is a code that can unlock the greatest mystery of the multiverse."

The other mathematicians all clapped and roared delightfully. They were all so terribly pleased with The Rubber Man's oration. Of all the times he had delivered it, this one was surely the best; even the less descript deities cheered along – even the ones with eight arms. It really was quite impressive.

"I'm gonna punch someone in a minute," said Alex.

The Gruff sniggered. He too had heard this speech told over and over, and yes, it was impressive, but not for The Rubber Man's passion or vernacular. No, it was impressive because Alex didn't give a crap. It was impressive if only for the fact that a boy, who had spent his life doing what he was told, was doing the complete opposite. Maybe he didn't understand anything that was being said, but the look on Alex's face said he still wouldn't give a crap, even if he did. This was not the same Alex that had been picked on his whole life. This Alex looked dangerous.

"I understand this must be overwhelming," said The Rubber Man.

"This is boring," said Alex.

He was a seven-year-old boy after-all – almost eight.

"Just look through the damn glass," said The Rubber Man, sounding just like every damn teacher on Earth - as if there were only one way to get through to a child.

It was at this point that The Gruff took his first shot of whiskey. A place like this there was always a bottle lying around. Mathematicians loved their symbols and you could be sure they'd nary touch a single drop. And so he had his first shot and then followed it with a dozen more.

The Gruff had done all that he could do. Alex was as ready as he would ever be. If he really was The One, then all hell was about to break loose. At this point, there was nothing to do but sit back and watch it all unfold; the rest was up to the kid.

"I know this must be frightening," said The Rubber Man.

They were both staring out past the vacuum of space; into the nothingness.

"I'm not scared of anything," said Alex.

The Rubber Man smiled. The boy was braver than he had expected. He was braver than any of the Alexs before. Heck, he might have been so brave that he wouldn't have to push him – the boy would jump on his own.

Staring into Out of Space, for both of them, it felt like their eyes had stopped working. They were both looking but neither of them could see. It wasn't like staring at nothing, for nothing was still something – it was the opposite of something. This was different. It felt like being stabbed with needles whilst staring at daisies.

"We've been waiting for you, Alex- long before you were alive. We've searched through an incredible amount of universes to find you. It has not been easy. The Gruff can be a testament to that."

"Testify!" shouted The Gruff, but that may have been the whiskey talking.

"Don't let it have all been for nothing," said The Rubber Man.

All for nothing? When did this all of a sudden become about them? They didn't find him; he found them – and he was gonna find his bloody sister too. All for nothing? Grown-ups had no idea of the crap they put kids through, but they would soon – believe you me.

"We need you to solve the Alexandrian Constant," said The Rubber Man.

"What?" said Alex, sounding as stumped as he was irked. "You're all crazy; making me look at things that aren't there. Do you even know what a thing is?"

The Gruff smirked. Everyone else, though, took great offense. How dare some bastard child mock, not only their intelligence, but the things they thought were fun.

"Give em hell, kid," said The Gruff.

He sounded like he was about to be sick at any second, and he looked like it too, wobbling about on his little legs. He probably shouldn't have had the twelfth shot of whiskey.

"We can see outside the known multiverse now, but we need to measure it," said The Rubber Man. "We have no idea what it's made of."

As he spoke, his assistant gently laid out all the tools and devices they would need to splice the code from Alex's DNA. By the looks of things, it would be less violent than in the past, although, with all the cutting tools, there was still bound to be a great deal of blood.

"We need to know how it's explained. Is it a singular point, like a shadow on a border, or does Out of Space an area that is being filled by space. We need to know if it too is measured in time and explained by entropy. If not then we need to know why, and we need to know fast. If we can stop entropy, we can save the multiverse. Then there will be no past or future – there will only be."

"Where the crap is my sister!" screamed Alex, though he was polite enough to keep looking through the small and smudged lens.

"Our greatest minds have come up with nothing so far," said The Rubber Man.

He bent himself not just in half, but all the way back up so to look Alex in the eyes.

"The fate of the universe is in your hands," he said. "All we need is your math."

Alex gave The Rubber Man a weird look.

"Math?"

And then the more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

"I hate math," he said. "Where's my damn sister?"

The Rubber Man was no novice; he'd already met a hundred thousand Alex's before. And he knew, more than anything, how an artist often hated their craft; so, instead of a philistine and illiterate dunce, he merely saw a small mathematician who hated his own prodigious effort.

"I know you're newish – your universe is just a pup – but you are the ideal percentage."

"The what?"

"There will always be an Alex – but you were the first Alex after the last Alex we found, and you are The One."

"The one what? What the crap does that mean?"

"Listen, we could have left you in your unfortunate life, but you were the ideal percentage, so we pulled you out and asked for your help – that's all. You're an average," said The Rubber Man. "Thirty-six percent."

Alex looked as confused as he was angry – which only made him angrier.

"There is more than just you. And there is more than just the sum of you. There is a heck of a lot more Alex's; so long as universe after universe continues to be born, one after the other, neither knowing the other one exists – like ideas drifting further and further apart – Alexs, like you, but different, will continue to exist. But you, out of all the Alexs, are supposed to save existence before existence becomes extinct."

Honestly, The Rubber Man didn't know where to go. The last ten thousand Alexs had been sold on the welcome balloons alone – he had never had to go into this great of a defense. Truth be told, he felt a little unprepared.

"Where is my sister?" said Alex.

Now it looked as if his eyes were fists - and his pupils, like two middle fingers.

"This is not a joke, Alex. The entire multiverse is relying on you. We're relying on your math."

"I don't even know math," said Alex.

And that was when the pin dropped.

"What?" said The Rubber Man.

Now it was him who sounded stupefied.

"We don't have time to play around, Alex," he said.

He wasn't looking at Alex, though. He was looking at everyone but. Mainly, he was trying to fetch his eyes on The Gruff – the one being responsible for kidnapping the right bloody Alex.

"I'm not playing," said Alex. "Now where's my sister?"

The Rubber Man wobbled and flapped about under the stress and anxiety.

"You at least have a firm grasp on the fundamentals of three-dimensional physics?" he said, hoping like hell the boy would nod his stupid little head.

Alex had no idea what he has just said – he assumed it was about math, though.

"What the crap is physics?" she said. "Everyone keeps saying that word."

The Rubber Man gave him a very worried kind of look; then he passed that look around the room. It was clear that nobody was expecting an average seven-year-old boy.

"What math do you speak then, boy?"

"Speak?" said Alex annoyed. "I speak English. You don't speak math; that's a subject at school. And the teachers are always stupid and mean. I hate math. Math is for losers."

At least two-thirds of the mathematicians lowered their heads.

"Math is a language, Alex. I have to say, I am a little concerned. How much math do you know?"

Alex's mum always said he was so smart; even when his teachers said otherwise.

"I know the 5 times table," he said.

He sounded so damn proud; and why shouldn't he? Base five mathematics was just as sound as base ten; plus the six times tables was kind of tricky.

The Rubber Man hanged his head and sighed. He didn't so much flail about as he did, sway miserably, like a branch, broken by the wind. When he did get the nerve to look up, he stared right at The Gruff despondingly. His face reeked of disappointment.

"Calculus?" he said, turning back to the boy.

"No," said Alex.

"Algebra?"

"No."

"Differential Geometry?"

"Look I don't know, ok!" screamed Alex.

Then he threw the telescope to the floor.

"I don't like math and I don't like school. I don't know what you're talking about and I don't care. Now, where is my sister?"

The Rubber Man turned to The Gruff.

"Really?" he said; his disappointment turning into improper rage. "This is the thirty-sixth percent? This unripened, uneducated, uncultured, un..."

The Gruff had his little hands like fists; he was furious. Not at Alex, though. Alex was exactly who he hoped he would be. He was angry at himself, and he was furious at everyone else in the room.

"This is not the Alex we were looking for," declared The Rubber Man. "He is not The One. Pack up your experiments. This has been a waste of damn time."

He was so mad he flapped about like a flag at half-mast.

"The future is not ahead of us," said a strange looking being with a face like a rhinoceros' ass. "The future is here and now," he said.

His name was The Cosmologist, and he was as old as time itself.

"One does not grow wings," he said. "One is born with wings. You look at the edge of space as a frontier – as a place of undiscovered knowledge, whereas I see only archaic and unchanging tradition."

There were maybe a dozen or more beings, all dressed in noble attire, circling Alex like buzzards. Some of them looked like men while others had no shape or form at all. What they did have in common though was their lack of humanity – at least the kind that Alex had come to expect.

They tugged on his ears and pulled on his hair, and poked and prodded him just to see how he would react. Needless to say, it was the boy's deep-rooted manners which kept him a guest to their poking and prodding – it was the lessons he had learned in his crib that had him numb and paralysed, yet still wanting to bite off each and every finger.

"This is not the Alex," declared The Rubber Man. "Would you not expect a prodigious painter to at least have a fancy for colour?"

"I would expect that," said The Cosmologist, already sounding as if he was opposed to whatever The Rubber Man – if only for the sake of seeming more astute. "When I was looking at evolution, I would understand very little of it."

The beings – all of them patriots of science, theology, and philosophy – continued to circle Alex and talk about him as if he were indeed just a line of numbers and letters scrawled on a blackboard – and not at all a seven-year-old boy.

"It's his fault," shouted The Rubber Man, pointing to The Gruff. "He picked the wrong boy."

"I would wager you he did not," said The Cosmologist. "Or at least I would advise you to not be so bold and hasty in your judgment. If anything, I would assume that your expectations are undoubtedly wrong – all of us for that matter. A child does not look for evolution in his father; it is the father who sees it in his son. The future and the past are both at one point of time until one outlives other. This boy was plucked from which universe?"

An army of spectacled bookkeepers frantically scoured through a thousand pages of figures and statistics. Their excitement almost overshadowed their response.

"Six," they said.

The Cosmologist smiled – a wide vertical smile.

"Perfect," he said. "Then we have the right Alex."

"I'm not so sure," said The Rubber Man.

"I'd be wary of any being who was sure of anything," said The Cosmologist.

The mathematicians all smiled and continued to orbit Alex excitedly. This wasn't the first time Alex had felt like an atom on the verge of being split. But a lot had changed since the last time he was a boy.

"Tell me where my sister is," he said.

At first, no-one paid any notice. They continued their gawking as if Alex were some roadside accident or an animal, stripped of its integrity and housed in a zoo.

"Or I'll break everything you own," said Alex, now sending a ripe shiver of fear throughout the whole room.

The mathematicians all put down their instruments and backed away from the boy who, right at this second, looked like a zero that they would have to divide against the sum of their hope.

"I beg your pardon?" said The Rubber Man.

"And when I'm done," said Alex, spitting on the floor. "I'll break each and every one of you."

The mood in The Abacus turned bleak and sour.

"What is he talking about?" said The Rubber Man. "Why does he keep going on about his dead sister? Can someone please shed some light here? This is supposed to be a place of logic and reason."

Everyone turned to The Gruff as if it was all his fault.

"Why is he acting like he doesn't know?" said The Rubber Man.

The Gruff had his arms crossed and muscles flexed, but he didn't say a damn thing.

"Well, this is just ridiculous. No wonder he's non-compliant."

The Gruff just smiled.

"What do you mean she's dead?" said Alex.

For a second, Alex looked like a kid again. He looked lost and frightened –unsure of absolutely everything; if only for a second.

"Gruff?" he said, looking to his best friend forever. "What does he mean? Alexis isn't dead. She can't be. She's here. She has to be. You said so."

But The Gruff could barely look at his friend in the eyes.

"Your sister is dead, Alex," said The Rubber Man, as if he was pleased to give the news. "So you can stop harping on about it? There's more to the multiverse than the death of some drug-addled teen with daddy issues. There's the math," he said triumphantly. "And that surrounds the people waiting to be discovered. We've all lost someone. You'll just have to..."

"Where is she?" said Alex. "She's not dead, I know it. She's here."

"Do you not remember?" said The Rubber Man, trying to reason with the boy's growing anger.

"Remember what?" said Alex.

The Gruff scrunched his hands into fists.

"How your sister died," said The Rubber Man. "Honestly I don't see what all this fuss is about. It was soon enough for you to remember and long enough for it to not be such a big thing. The other Alexs were far more comprehensive. Your sister, young Alex, has died in every universe; that is the one constant in the equation."

"What equation."

"Your equation," said The Rubber Man. "Everything in the universe is quantifiable; everything is measurable. Your life, Alex, is an equation. And if you'd stop being so damn ignorant for a second I could show you."

The Rubber Man threw down a piece of paper and started scribbling like a maddened child, marking the entire page with all sorts of numbers and symbols. And when he was done, like any artist, he smiled to himself before turning to the boy and showed him, like some mathematical mirror, his life as an equation.

The Rubber Man had never looked or sounded so incredibly sincere.

"This is who you are," he said, pointing to a symbol on one end of an equal sign. "And this here," he continued, showing the boy the same symbol in a different equation. "This constant is you."

Alex stared at the paper. He tried, he really did. He focused as hard as he could on all the symbols but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see what they could see. Math was just so stupid.

"This here," said The Rubber Man, pointing to one part of the equation. "This is your sister."

Then he pointed to the centre of the equation. None of it made any sense whatsoever. It was all Greek to Alex.

"And this is where she died," he said. "Your sister always dies."

Then he went ahead and threw scores of equations on the table; all showing the same fate and outcome of his sister – an equation for each and every Alex that had ever existed.

"In every universe, your sister dies – it's what defines you. It is the one constant in every one of your equations. It is your constant," he said.

Alex turned to The Gruff. He had a tear in his eyes, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna let it drop. He looked worn and beaten, but still unwilling to give up. He looked as if every year in his life had been to the power of ten.

"You lied," he said.

He said it quiet. He barely made a sound. Even still, The Gruff heard every word. There was an uncomfortable energy in the room. Not just amongst Alex and his BFF, but with all the mathematicians, and with all the deities too.

"I'm sorry," said The Gruff.

And he looked like he meant it.

Alex turned back to The Rubber Man who was bent over with an upside down smile on his face, still pointing at the part of the page where his sister had been eaten by a wolf.

"That's all in the past, Alex," said The Rubber Man. "Imagine then, if it weren't."

Something in Alex snapped. It may have been a synapse. It may have been patience, kindness, or a nerve. Whatever it was, everyone noticed, and it was a hell of a thing.

"Without entropy, there would be no arrow of time. You know what that means, boy? Do you have any concept on the magnitude of what this would mean for existence?"

He knew, and all the other mathematicians knew too; you could see it on their faces. But Alex, he didn't give a crap. His veins were filled with bloodied rage and vengeance, and all he wanted was the taste of a mathematician's blood.

"Boy," said The Rubber Man, doing his best to convince a child that there was something far greater in the universe than what he wanted at that very moment. "If we solve this equation, then there will be no death. Do you understand what I'm saying? We will be able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. The universe will be ours to determine. The fate of intelligence cannot evolve to merely discover its own futility. It simply cannot. Boy, look inside you and see how great you are and how infamous you shall be. You have to help us solve this equation. If not for every living being in this universe, then at least, think of your sister. Let her death not be..."

Alex screamed. It was long and loud, and to anybody within earshot, it felt as if nails were being driven into their ears. Alex screamed until his face turned red, then blue, then grey; and even then, he screamed some more.

Enough was god damn enough.

He sounded agonized, insurgent, and completely unwilling to stop – like a wild animal chewing through its own paw for the sake of its own life. His voice carried with it a lifetime of mishap and bad luck. It carried with it a lifetime of abuse and shortcomings. It was coarse and visceral and didn't sound the least bit weak or submitting. He sounded like a gun that had already been fired.

What followed next was nothing short of bedlam and chaos. Anything that could be broken was destroyed – smashed into unfixable pieces. The mathematicians all gasped as their baryonic scopes were wedged into the orifices of deities as the young boy treated their temple of wisdom and reason as a measly sand castle, smashing it to pieces with his wild and temper and two clenched fists.

For a little kid, he sure as hell did a fair amount of damage.

"Someone, do something," shouted someone.

But what could be done? And who the hell was gonna do it?

The Gruff didn't join in; he didn't need to. And who could blame him for not wanting to? Alex was savage, rabid, and thirsty for blood. Who knows if he would ever be tame again? And so The Gruff stayed out of the fight, watching instead, with a mix of pride and horror, as his BFF finally found his voice.

Those that could be killed were killed. Those that couldn't, wished they could.

"What the devil is going on?" shouted The Rubber Man.

He had been twisted and turned so many times that his ass and his face were side by side. And both trembled under the fury of this boy. Neither could reconcile what the hell was happening, and at what point it had all gone wrong.

"There is no excuse for violence," he shouted as if he could shame the boy into a peaceful surrender.

But there were excuses for violence. There were countless. And all one had to do was to feel how a child felt at the whim of a grown-ups punition to understand that each and every child had their own excuse – their own valid reason for violence.

Alex turned to The Rubber Man who was tied up in a corner. He had his hands clenched around the throat of a deity whose eight arms flailed about like decorative tassels.

"What were you gonna do to me?" he shouted.

The Rubber Man pleaded; "Your sacrifice is for all of humanity."

"You're not even human," said Alex, dropping the deity onto the floor so that it scuttled away on its eight arms like some half-squashed mollusc.

"You have to understand, boy."

"My name is Alex," said Alex, stepping over the wreckage of a lifetime of science.

He didn't look like a boy anymore – he didn't feel like one either.

"Listen to reason," begged The Rubber Man, but already his hope was all but gone. "You are the new Christ."

"I am Alex," he said again. "And I'll die for no man and no God."

Alex stood over The Rubber Man smiling.

"You're just a damn boy," said The Rubber Man; like every grown-up, using a threat as his last resort. "If you do this; if you kill me; if you destroy our temple; you will never find peace. We will hunt you, we will find you, and we will kill you."

And Alex laughed.

"Don't you know who I am?" he said; his smile as sharp as a knife.

He grabbed The Rubber Man by the ears and twisted his colourless and dumbfounded face around so that he could see how his holy temple had been reduced to ruin and rubble.

"I'm The Bully Hunter."

The Rubber Man gasped. It would be his last breath. And as the life was strangled from his body, he remarked to himself on how grand and magnificent the boy's smile was.

#  The End and the Revelations

"You did it," said The Gruff.

He sounded surprised – hopeful but surprised. He wasn't flexing his muscles though. This was not a happy occasion. His celebration was marred with guilt and remorse.

They both stood there in the ruins, The Gruff reeking of whiskey and cigarettes and Alex, covered from head to toe in blood and bone; and bits of glass and cement. The way he looked at The Gruff, you'd swear he'd just lost his best friend in the whole world.

"You lied," he said.

He had a tear running down his cheek.

"Why did you lie?"

All The Gruff could think of was the truth.

"I had to," he said. "There was no other way."

Even though there was.

"You said we were friends," said Alex, though his voice was weak and on the verge of tears, the words cut through to the bone. "I thought we were best friends."

"We were," said The Gruff. "I mean, we are. You have to believe me; I did this for you – for the both of us."

"You lied to me."

"There had to be a betrayal, Alex; there just had to."

Alex looked just as stupid as he felt.

"They were going to kill you, Alex," said The Gruff. "Like they have, each and every Alex before you."

"What are you on about?"

"It's what they do. It's what they've done – for as long as I can remember. Do you know how many Alexs have had to die because of their sick quest to understand everything? It's not just you, either; it's your sister too. Your sister's death has been a constant because they wrote the damn equation – they keep killing her. There has been so much bloodshed. There's been so much death; and for what?"

More than anything, The Gruff looked tired. He wasn't going to roll down his sleeves and quit or anything, but on face value, he looked like he hadn't the energy, the nerve, or the gall to lie anymore.

"How did Alexis die?"

The Gruff looked pale and blank.

"I don't know, kid," he said.

"Don't lie to me! You're The Gruff, you know everything."

How the hell could he argue with that?

"I never wanted to know," he said.

"Then why did you help them?"

Why did anyone do anything?

"I don't know," said The Gruff. "After the first Alex..."

And then his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and there it churned in the fetid in the scalding and corrosive sludge of his deepest regret until it settled by neath a pile rattling chains that tied his own Promethean stone of shame.

"How many Alexs were there?"

"I'm not sure, kid," said The Gruff. "There comes a point where you just stop counting."

"How many Gruffs were there?"

"Just me," said The Gruff. "It's always been me."

And then he lit and cigarette and he sat there and smoked it.

"Do you know how many times I've watched you die?" he said.

The answer was bound to be big, and so Alex shrugged.

"Neither do I," said The Gruff.

He had a way of making nothing sound like a hell of a lot.

"Every time you die," he said. "I lose another best friend."

The Gruff was terrible at feeling sad, so instead, he became angry and defensive. "I lied to you for your own good," he said.

Quickly, though, his anger and his defenses dropped.

"All the other Alexs were strong," he said, "and I thought that strength alone would be enough, but it never was. All of them succumbed to either praise or abuse. And they all did as were asked or told. You were different, though, kid. You were just like the first Alex. We were both prisoners, Alex. Me, the slave; and you, the sacrifice. If I had told you the truth you wouldn't have found your voice."

The two were locked in a heated stare. On either side of them were the crumbled and charred ruins of perversion on one side, and depravity on the other. The true devastation, though, was in the look in Alex's eyes.

"I never wanted to take you, kid; I never wanted to take any of you. It's the one bloody constant in my equation."

"I should punch your face right off," said Alex.

He didn't just look capable; he looked bloody well ready.

"I couldn't save the first Alex," said The Gruff. "And his face haunts me to this day."

And it felt right now just as if he was staring at a ghost.

"I watched him die in that damn telescope," he said, remembering how long it took for the boy to drift over that horizon. "I watched him scream," he said, his voice choking up. "I sat there as he begged to be let back in. I did nothing. And there was nothing that I could do. But I just froze. He was looking right at me, and didn't take my eyes off him - I didn't blink once."

The Gruff fought to hold back the tears; who'd have thought he even had it in him.

I'm sorry, Alex," he said. "I know I told you that word means nothing but I was wrong. I've never felt so much shame and regret in my life for what I did to you. You are The One, Alex, but not because you were meant to save existence, but because you were meant to save yourself."

And then that single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Believe me," he said. "This was all for you."

"We're supposed to be friends," said Alex.

He didn't sound sad; he sounded mean but in an understanding kind of way.

"So much for the pinkie promise," he said.

And that was enough. The Gruff got mad and put out his smoke.

"What was I supposed to do; let you die again?"

"I haven't died before, Gruff. I haven't died ever."

"Not you – the other you's," said The Gruff, almost spitting out the words. "The other Alexs."

"There is no other Alex. It's only me. It's always me - I'm me, I'm Alex. And you," he said, poking The Gruff in the chest. "You were supposed to be my best friend."

No-one had ever poked The Gruff in the chest before; he didn't quite know what to do. But he did put on his mean face and he got himself into a fighting stance. It didn't help that Alex had done the same - and he was looking as mean as a pair of bloodied knuckle dusters.

"What about Alexis? Where is she?"

"You know too well, Alex."

"Well, then how did she die? Why can't I remember?"

"Why the hell would you want to remember a thing like that?" shouted The Gruff.

The Gruff sat on the edge of the curb sulking and smoking his cigarette.

"Well how do you know she's dead?" said Alex.

"It says so on that damn equation."

"Are you stupid?" shouted Alex. "Well? Are you?"

He felt it, but only a fool would admit it.

"No," he said. "I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not stupid," said Alex. "Math is stupid. So if you didn't see Alexis die, how do you know she's dead?"

"I don't know," said The Gruff.

"What about The Collector? He said he took her, right?"

"He lied too, Alex. He only ever took you. He did what I didn't have the courage to do; not after the first time."

"No, I don't believe you. You don't know. I saw so many people on that mountain. He had to have taken her. She's not dead – she's not! I believe him. Why would he lie?"

"Everyone lies, Alex, and sometimes for no reason at all."

"Well what about that place then?" said Alex, pointing to the cardboard shack at the bend in the cul-de-sac; the only other place that was not in ruins or on fire.

"You don't wanna see that place," said The Gruff. "We should just get you home."

"No," said Alex. "We're here for one reason – to find Alexis. You didn't take me," he said. "I took you. Now, are you gonna be a crybaby or are we gonna keep looking for my sister?"

The cardboard shack was the size of a half dozen refrigerators stacks side by side. At the round of the cul-de-sac, it backed onto the very edge of the multiverse. Behind it was an infinite chasm of nothingness.

"Fuck it," said The Gruff, rolling up his sleeves.

They both flexed their muscles and gave each other a high five. It was Alex, though, who reached out his right pinkie.

"Best friends forever," he said, giving The Gruff a look that as tough as nails "No matter what."

The Gruff smiled. It was a rough 'n ready kind of smile.

"Best friends forever," he said. "No matter what."

And then, side by side, they both kicked down the front door. It was cardboard so it folded and bent like....cardboard. And there inside, they both witnessed the very worst kind of temple – a shrine of guilt.

"What is this place?" said Alex.

The walls were filled with the many drawings of a young child. There was so much colour, yet it could bring no light to the suffering that had gone on here for centuries.

"You lived here?"

The Gruff nodded.

"I couldn't leave. I was scared to."

"Scared of what? You're The Gruff. You're not scared of anything."

He took one of the pictures off the wall. It was a drawing of a small butterfly. It had a green body and different coloured wings – one of them pink and the other black.

"I was scared of forgetting," he said. "Of healing and moving on. So I stayed, and I promised myself that I would find a way to stop this madness."

There was a rattling sound coming from one of the rooms. Alex didn't hesitate. His fists were clenched like two wrecking balls once more and he stormed into the room, kicking at whatever it was hiding beneath a pile of filthy sheets.

"Hey!" said a voice. "Go away. I am in no mood to play."

Alex reached under the sheets and grabbed The Collector by his ankles, lifting him upside down over the edge of the multiverse.

"Where is she?"

The Collector was still clutching his prized possession.

"It's the sweetest song," said The Collector. "It's all I've ever wanted all along."

"Where is Alexis?"

He let go of one of The Collector's ankles, dangling him further into the abyss. The gangly child stealer didn't look fearful, though. If anything, he looked as if inexistence would come as sweet relief.

"I took her its true before I took you, but where she is now I do not have a clue."

"Is she alive?"

"Did your mother every sing as you lay in bed, to lessen your worry and lighten your head?"

Then The Collector kissed the cassette in his hands.

"The mathematicians were ghastly, yes it is true, but nothing compares to what beast fathered you. A devil with wings and no heart and no soul, the monster, Pazuzu, for whom the bell tolls. A monster so vile and in time you will see, the bell tolls for it as the bell tolls for thee."

The Collector pressed his precious tape against his ear, and then against his heart.

"Look after The Gruff," he said, before wriggling his gangly leg free.

And the second he crossed the horizon, he was gone.

"What now, kid?" said The Gruff.

They were both staring over the edge of the horizon.

"We don't stop until we find Alexis."

"Where do you wanna start?" said The Gruff.

"Home," said Alex.

And before Alex could set fire to the cardboard shack, The Gruff took one last look at the drawings and scribbles that covered the walls. For the first time, he could see all of the colours. He smiled, and he took the small butterfly and folded it neatly into his pocket.

"Let's get the crap out of here," said The Gruff, as he prepared his Perpendicular Acceleration Lace.

They had left so much bloodshed behind – and Alex hardly felt like a boy. One by one they sat on The Seventh Dimension Particle Displacement Machine and got folded into a plank length. And then one by one, they were both flushed to the third dimension.

And Alex was the first to notice.

"My home is on fire," he said. "My home is on fire."

Actually, everything was on fire – his home, the complex, the whole damn city. The sky was filled with smoke and ash. It was hard to tell if it was day or night – and every now and then, it felt as hot as the sun.

"Where are we?' said Alex.

This looked nothing like home, but it didn't feel like it. This was not the place they had left behind. In the background, they could hear the screams of babies being born mixed with what sounded like the crackling of gunfire and air raid sirens.

"This is it," said The Gruff.

"What do you mean this is it? This is not where I'm from."

"It's not just where you're from, Alex, it's when you're from."

"What?"

The air smelled of blood.

"Time has passed, Alex. Things have changed."

"How long has it been?"

"Hello, son," said the monster, Pazuzu.

It had its winged spread wide and its scorpion tail curled, ready to strike, but its arms were open in an outspoken and caring gesture.

"Your time has indeed come," it said. "I'm proud of you, son, proud of who you've become."

And then he swept down to embrace the boy at almost the speed of light – but Alex didn't flinch. He stepped on his Pazuzu's foot, kneed him in the chest, and he ripped off one of its wings.

"Yeah," he said as he hit the monster, Pazuzu over the head with his own dismembered limb. "Well, you're a terrible father."

The monster, Pazuzu screamed.

"How dare you," he screamed in dire pain. "I am your father. You should respect me."

And then Alex kicked him in the nuts.

"This is all your fault," he said.

"What is?"

"Where is Alexis?"

This question had become like a badge, and the more he asked it, the more he felt like an unquestionable authority.

"Why would I care about her? You're my only child."

"What happened here," said The Gruff.

The monster, Pazuzu, clutched his bloody wound.

"Someone embarrassed God," he said.

Both of them instantly thought of the broken toilet and television screens.

"Wouldn't be about that," said The Gruff. "Would it?"

"Nah," said Alex. "Impossible."

Though they both knew it was true.

"Time hasn't been kind. And now, thanks to you two nitwits, we have a homicidal deity on the loose."

"Where's mum?"

Its one wing flapped as it tried to steady it balance, and the monster, Pazuzu screamed in agony.

"God has ruined this world," it said. "I tried to save your mother. You have to believe me. You don't stop loving someone, just cause you can't stand them anymore. Not all demons are bad, you know; not all of the time."

"God killed her?"

"I'd never hit a woman," said the monster, Pazuzu. "But that's just me. God, on the other hand, let's just say, he's no stranger to domestic abuse."

"What did he do?"

"Everything," said the monster, Pazuzu with a vulgar look on his face.

"What about Alexis?"

"I don't know."

Alex looked at The Gruff. They both knew exactly what to do.

"Fine," said Alex. "I'll kill God if that's what will make the world a better place."

His face was still covered in the blood of his enemies.

"And I will find my sister," he said. "And I won't stop until I do."

The monster, Pazuzu could not have been more proud.

"You know," it said. "I had to abandon you, son. You know I had no choice, right? It was the only way to make you strong. And I know you hate me. You have every right. But I'm your father, not only should you respect me, but for all I've done for you, for the hunter you've become, you should be thanking me. I did it for your own good."

"Well then," said Alex, sounding like a merchant of death and destruction. "You had to have known that this was gonna happen."

And then he tore off his father's only good wing.

"You should have been there," he shouted as he walked away, leaving his father screaming in a pool of his own blood – not dead, but wishing he was.

All the monster, Pazuzu could do was weep. His pride swelled, but so too did his open wounds. The pain was horrendous but the look on his face said it had all been worth it. His seed had grown into an irascible flower with poisonous thorns.

Then Alex and The Gruff walked down the street towards a tower built out of stone and superstition. The screams of children and their mothers grew more and more deafening the closer they got.

"You ready to kick some bully butt?" said Alex.

The Gruff smiled.

"Always," he said.

Then they rolled up their sleeves, flexed their muscles, and high-fived each other as if violence was their favourite kind of fun.

"Hey God," screamed Alex. "Suck on this!"

# Also by C. Sean McGee:

A Rising Fall (CITY b00k 001)

Utopian Circus (CITY b00k 011)

Heaven is Full of Arseholes

Coffee and Sugar

Christine

Rock Book Volume I: The Boy from the County Hell

Rock Book Volume II: Dark Side of the Moon

Alex and The Gruff (a tale of horror)

The Terror{blist}

The Anarchist

Happy People Live Here

The Time Traveler's Wife

Ineffable

London When it Rains

The Inscrutable Mr. Robot

A Boy Called Stephany

Author Blog

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