ME & THE MONSTER

practice

I was trapped inside a toilet cubicle, and honestly, I wanted to die.

I slid back the bolt and pulled at the handle. It didn't budge. Feeling a wave of fear, I shook it again.

Nothing.

I stood there, sweating under my thick, neon-bright firefighter uniform, while the sounds of the Park Royal Station cafeteria outside rang in my ears.

Crap.

The toilet cubicle was tiny, which did nothing to alleviate the panic. It'd been a long time since I'd felt claustrophobic, but I could feel it returning now with a vengeance. I'd visited a psychologist for almost two years to get it under control. It hadn't completely worked, though.

I was trapped trapped trapped trapped.

"Help!" I shouted, pounding on the door. "Please!"

Nearby, the patter of footsteps and the clank of plates in the cafeteria continued. But no matter how hard I rattled the door, no one came. No one responded to my cries.

I felt a fresh surge of terror. Could it be true, what I'd been dreading? Maybe they didn't hear me, didn't even register my existence any longer. Could I have already been – Forgotten? Just like that?

I knew what angels did to demons, of course I did; my parents had been whispering it into my ear as soon as I was old enough to walk. What I wasn't so sure about was how long it took for the effects to take place.

But – there was a but, thank Hell. He hadn't managed to hold onto me for long. I knew prolonged physical contact for at least five minutes or so was essential to make the curse work.

I remembered once when my family and I had gone to Cornwall for the summer holidays. We'd settled down on a spot overlooking the sea, about to tuck in our fish and chips, when this bloke had wandered past.

He was muttering to himself, and his hair was tangled and filthy, but the thing that made me gasp, horror-struck, was his arm. Well, or more accurately speaking, what was left of it. His arm ended in a bloody stump just below his elbow.

"Forgotten," my mother hissed as he wobbled past us. "Hacked off his own arm."

I jumped up from my seat. "We – we have to do something! He might – throw himself off a cliff or something. We have to help him!"

My mother seized me and pulled me down again. Her voice was icy when she said: "Don't make a fool of yourself. We're demons, Rae. We help nobody; you keep your head down, mind your own business, warp the world a little." She held my chin and looked into my eyes. "You don't want to end up like that man, do you? That's why we must fight angels. Do you understand me, child? They're evil. They'll stop at nothing to remove the world of our kind."

When she'd let go of me, I'd found I'd completely lost my appetite.

I steeled myself now, locked in the cubicle. There was a gap beneath the door, I realised. Would it be large enough for me to crawl through? I clenched my teeth – there was no other way. I had to get out of this toilet, or I'd rot inside. I lay down, on my tummy, and started to push myself out. Little by little, inch by inch. I'd never been so glad before of being small. I squeezed past the door and dragged myself out. I swore, and stumbled to my feet.

Forgotten or not, I was free.

I raced out into the corridor, past the cafeteria, down a flight of stairs, into the open. The February sky above me was bleak. I came to a panting halt, and scrutinised the courtyard.

I broke into a run again, until I reached a small huddle of people, all wearing matching uniforms, training at the left far side. My squad.

"Hey," I gasped out to Janet, a tall brunette whom I'd been getting on well with lately.