Free The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean by David Almond Page A

agen.
    “Blinkbonny!” she laffs. “Its a word that means a lovely view & wons it was wen I was small.”
    “Wen you wer small?”
    “Yes. Wons I was a littl girl lyk you wer wons a littl boy. And I had a start that was nerly as weard as yor start was.”
    She smiles at me agen.
    “Yes. Not yet,” she says “but youl lern the tayl of yung Veronica that grew up ful of hope & joy in the days befor disasta. And you must also lern the tayl of that disasta & of how it caym abowt & of all the things that grew from it.”
    Most wundros & most straynj are the livin creaturs passin by. The birds of cors. Wite seagulls weelin & screechin in the air. Pijons wippin past in little groops. Blak crows that hop across the erth & poke & tug at stuff in the rubbl & dust. Sparrows & finches & a blakbird or 2. And thers paks of dogs & prowlin cats & scuttlin rats.
    And ther are peple just a few of them totterin & warkin throu the waste. Mam says that the plase way bak was full of folk but now thers just a handful left. They are the abandond 1s the 1s the world has left behind. They are the 1s that love Blinkbonny too much to leev it. They are the 1s withowt the hart or wil or strenth to moov. Or they hav shayms & secrits & wont to stay hid or they hav lost ther marbls or are timid & frale & lonely & shy or hav bene destroyd insyd just lyk Blinkbonny on the 5th of May.
    “The 5th of May?” I say.
    “So much to tel so much to lern. Weell tel you soon. And look. That 1 is a treshur seeker.”
    She draws me bak into the shadows & we watch a man pass by. He holds a stick to the erth befor him.
    “He seeks the secrit treshurs in the erth” she says.
    He turns his fase in our direcshon & she draws me further bak.
    “They say ther are wunders waytin to be fownd,” she says. “But I think ther tym is past. Thers only rubbl underneeth the rubbl & dust beneeth the dust. You must kepe away from folk lyk that Billy.”
    “Wys that?” I wisper bak.
    “It cud bring daynjer Billy. They mite say you ar the hidden wunder Billy. Wich is true enuf but it mite mayk them want to tayk you from me.”
    She puts her arm rownd me.
    “And we wudnt want that wud we Billy?”
    I shake my hed.
    “No Mam. No.”
    We stand an age looking owt from the shados and seein others sumtyms passin by.
    “Thats Mister Blenkinsop,” she says. “Hes very niys hell be OK. Thats Emily Willyims & we sertinly musnt let her get to no. And Missus Jowns hoos a very swete sole & a very good customa that lyks to hav a perm dun evry munth.”
    “Whats a perm Mam?”
    “An important thing in haredressing.”
    She makes us a dinner of pies & sossijes & milk & bred.
    Owt ther beyond the curtan the lite begins to fayd.
    She stares into the air.
    “How brayv you feelin Billy?” she softly says.
    “Dont no. Brayv enuf I think.”
    “I think so too. So lets go owt.”
    I flinch & shake.
    “Yes lets go owt” she says. “ts nerly dark thers hardly anywon to see & if anybody dus appear just look away. Pretend that yor not here.”
    And she puts a hevy cote on me & a hat on me & opens the dore & owt we step.

Crunch crunch rattl crunch.
    Crunch crunch rattl rattl crunch.
    I hear it now the sownd of our steps as we tayk that first wark together acros Blinkbonnys waysts.
    Crunch crunch crunch crunch.
    I feel the erth beneth my fete. The dust & rubbl & grit that slips & slyds beneeth. The jaggid edjes of briks & stones the press of pebbls bits of snappd cabel bits of snappd timba. I feel my clumsy legs so weak & my mams hand in my hand the way she prevents me from trippin totterin farlin.
    Crunch crunch rattl crunch.
    I close my eyes & see us both the trubld woman the skinny lad in a cote thats far too big for him in a world thats far too big for him. His brane is stretchin lyk thers wings tremblin & flappin in it. His lungs ar gaspin at the comin in of the icy owtside evenin air & the skin of his fays is stingin with the fele of that straynj new air on it.
    Crunch crunch rattl