Free A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

mucky riverbed.)
    The parson had two daughters,
the monster went on,
who were the light of his life.
    (Two young girls came screaming out of the parsonage, giggling and laughing and trying to hit each other with handfuls of grass. They ran around the trunk of the yew tree, hiding from one another.)
    (“That’s you,” Conor said, pointing at the tree, which for the moment was just a tree.)
    Yes, fine, on the parsonage grounds, there also grew a yew tree.
    (
And a very handsome yew tree it was
, said the monster.)
    (“If you say so yourself,” Conor said.)
    Now, the Apothecary wanted the yew tree very badly.
    (“He did?” Conor asked. “Why?”)
    (The monster looked surprised.
The yew tree is the most important of all the healing trees
, it said.
It lives for thousands of years. Its berries, its bark, its leaves, its sap, its pulp, its wood, they all thrum and burn and twist with life. It can cure almost any ailment man suffers from, mixed and treated by the right apothecary.
)
    (Conor furrowed his forehead. “You’re making that up.”)
    (The monster’s face went stormy.
You dare to question
me
, boy?
)
    (“No,” Conor said, stepping back at the monster’s anger. “I’d just never heard that before.”)
    (The monster frowned angrily for a moment longer, then got on with the story.)
    In order to harvest these things from the tree, the Apothecary would have had to cut it down. And this the parson would not allow. The yew had stood on this ground long before it was set aside for the church. A graveyard was already starting to be used and a new church building was in the planning stages. The yew would protect the church from the heavy rains and the harshest weather, and the parson – no matter how often the Apothecary asked, for he did ask very often – would not allow the Apothecary anywhere near the tree.
    Now, the parson was an enlightened man, and a kind one. He wanted the very best for his congregation, to take them out of the dark ages of superstition and witchery. He preached against the Apothecary’s use of the old ways, and the Apothecary’s foul temper and greed made certain these sermons fell on eager ears. His business shrank even further.
    But then one day, the parson’s daughters fell sick. First the one, and then the other, with an infection that swept the countryside.
    (The sky darkened, and Conor could hear the coughing of the daughters within the parsonage, could also hear the loud praying of the parson and the tears of the parson’s wife.)
    Nothing the parson did helped. No prayer, no cure from the modern doctor two towns over, no remedies of the field offered shyly and secretly by his parishioners. Nothing. The daughters wasted away and approached death. Finally, there was no other option but to approach the Apothecary. The parson swallowed his pride and went to beg the Apothecary’s forgiveness.
    “Won’t you help my daughters?” the parson asked, down on his knees at the Apothecary’s front door. “If not for me, then for my two innocent girls.”
    “Why should I?” the Apothecary asked. “You have driven away my business with your preachings. You have refused me the yew tree, my best source of healing. You have turned this village against me.”
    “You may have the yew tree,” the parson said. “I will preach sermons in your favour. I will send my parishioners to you for their every ailment. You may have anything you like, if you would only save my daughters.”
    The Apothecary was surprised. “You would give up everything you believed in?”
    “If it would save my daughters,” the parson said. “I’d give up everything.”
    “Then,” the Apothecary said, shutting his door on the parson, “there is nothing I can do to help you.”
    (“What?” Conor said.)
    That very night, both of the parson’s daughters died.
    (“
What?
” Conor said again, the nightmare feeling taking hold of his guts.)
    And that very night, I came walking.
    (“Good!” Conor shouted. “That