Free The Owl Service by Alan Garner Page B

your torch.”
    â€œGo away.”
    He put his hand on the door frame.
    â€œGo. Away.”
    There was a fluttering in the darkness, like wings, but dry and hard as a rattlesnake.
    â€œAlison, I’m coming in.”
    â€œGo. Away.”
    The warning, the menace of the sound terrified him – the quick ruffling of the stacked plates.
    â€œDon’t, Alison. You’ve got to stop.”
    â€œGo. Away.”
    The plates clashed. Gwyn dived.
    He hit Alison with his shoulder and pinned her arms to her sides. She fought, threshing, kicking, but Gwyn held her. His head was tucked close in to her anorak out of her reach. The dinner service splintered under them. Gwyn held her until her strength was gone, and he let her cry herself to silence.
    Then he felt for the torch.
    â€œYou all right, are you?” said Gwyn.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry if I hurt, but I had to stop you making those owls.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy?” said Gwyn. “Don’t you know why?”
    â€œI have to make them,” said Alison. “I get all worked up and edgy, and its the only thing that makes me feel better.”
    â€œBetter?” said Gwyn. “Or flaked out?”
    â€œI can’t explain,” said Alison. “I feel I’m going to burst, and if I can trace the pattern it goes into that. I’d nearly finished. It wouldn’t take long—”
    â€œNo,” said Gwyn. “You leave them, and go to bed.”
    â€œI couldn’t. I’m all strung up. Please let me finish them, then I’ll be all right.”
    â€œHow do you make things take off?” sad Gwyn. “Like the book at me, and the plate at my Mam?”
    â€œDo I?” said Alison. “It’s this feeling I’m going to burst – it’s losing your temper and being frightened, only more. My body gets tighter and tighter and – and then it’s as if my skin’s suddenly holes like that chicken wire, and it all shoots out.”
    â€œHas it ever happened before you made the owls?”
    â€œâ€”No.”
    â€œThen don’t you see you have to stop?”
    â€œI can’t, Gwyn. You don’t know what it’s like. I must finish them.”
    â€œHow many are there to do?”
    â€œI was on the last one. Please, Gwyn. Then I can sleep. I’m dead beat.”
    â€œYou look it,” said Gwyn. “OK. But you promise—”
    â€œI promise,” said Alison, and she picked up the scissors.
    She cut round the tracing she had made from the plate. She had taken only the main outline of the pattern, without much detail, but enough for her to make the owl.
    â€œThere,” she said. “That’s the whole dinner service.”
    â€œI’ll have the scissors, please,” said Gwyn. “Thank you. Can I keep this owl?”
    â€œYes,” said Alison. “Do what you want.”
    Gwyn folded the owl into his pocket.
    â€œNow then, come on, back up the house.”
    He put his hand on Alison’s arm. She was trembling and her teeth began to chatter.
    â€œCome on, Alison. You’re done in.”
    Alison clutched at his sleeve, twisting the cloth with both hands.
    â€œI’m frightened. Help me. It’s awful. You don’t know. Please. Gwyn. I’m frightened. Gwyn.”
    â€œI’m here,” said Gwyn. “What are you frightened of?”
    â€œEverything,” said Alison. “I feel it’s – I can’t tell you. It’s as if—”
    â€œYou keep saying you can’t tell me, and I don’t know. Why not try?”
    â€œI haven’t the words,” said Alison.
    â€œTry.”
    â€œNothing’s safe any more. I don’t know where I am. ‘Yesterday’, ‘today’, ‘tomorrow’ – they don’t mean anything. I feel they’re here at the same time: waiting.”
    â€œHow long have you felt this?”
    â€œI don’t