Darren Shan - Lord Loss (Demonata, Book 1)

Demonata - 01

Darren Shan

Lord Loss sows all the sorrows of the world

Lord Loss seeds the grief-starched trees

In the centre of the web, lowly Lord Loss bows his head

Mangled hands, naked eyes

Fanged snakes his soul line

Curled inside like textured sin

Bloody, curdled sheets for skin

In the centre of the web, vile Lord Loss torments the dead

Over strands of red, Lord Loss crawls

Dispensing pain, despising all

Shuns friends, nurtures Joes

Ravages hope, breeds woe

Drinks moons, devours suns

Twirls his thumbs till the reaper comes

In the centre of the web, lush Lord Loss is all thats left

Double history on a Wednesday afternoontotal nightmare! A few minutes ago, I would have said I couldnt imagine anything worse. But when theres a knock at the door, and it opens, and I spot my mum outside, I realiselife can always get worse.

When a parent turns up at school, unexpected, it means one of two things. Either somebody close to you has been seriously injured or died, or youre in trouble.

My immediate reactionplease dont let anybody be dead! I think of Dad, Gret, uncles, aunts, cousins. It could be any of them. Alive and kicking this morning. Now stiff and cold, tongue sticking out, a slab of dead meat just waiting to be buried. I remember Grans funeral. The open coffin. Her shining flesh, having to kiss her forehead, the pain, the tears. Please dont let anyone be dead! Please! Please! Please! Ple

Then I see Mums face, white with rage, and I know shes here to punish, not comfort.

I groan, roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, Bring on the corpses!

The heads office. Me, Mum and Mr. Donnellan. Mums ranting and raving about cigarettes. Ive been seen smoking behind the bike shed (the oldest clich in the book!). She wants to know if the heads aware of this, of what the pupils in his school are getting up to.

I feel a bit sorry for Mr. Donnellan. He has to sit there, looking like a schoolboy himself, shuffling his feet and saying he didnt know this was going on and hell launch an investigation and put a quick end to it. Liar! Of course he knew. Every school has a smoking area. Thats life. Teachers dont approve, but they turn a blind eye most of the time. Certain kids smokefact. Safer to have them smoking at school than sneaking off the grounds during breaks and at lunch.

Mum knows that too. She must! She was young once, like shes always reminding me. Kids were no different in Mums time. If she stopped for a minute and thought back, shed see what a bloody embarrassment shes being, I wouldnt mind her having a go at me at home, but you dont march into school and start laying down the law in the headmasters office. Shes out of orderbig time.

But its not like I can tell her, is it? I cant pipe up with, Oi! Mother! Youre disgracing us both, so shut yer trap!

I smirk at the thought, and of course thats when Mum pauses for the briefest of moments and catches me. What are you grinning at? she roars, and then shes off againIm smoking myself into an early grave, the schools responsible, what sort of a freak show is Mr. Donnellan running, la-di-la-di-la-di-bloody-la!

BAWring!

Her rant at schools nothing compared to the one I get at home. Screaming at the top of her lungs, blue bloody murder. Shes going to send me off to boarding schoolno, military school! See how I like that, having to get up at dawn each morning and do a hundred press-ups before breakfast. How does that sound?

Is breakfast a fry-up or some cereally, yoghurty crap? is my response, and I know the second its out of my mouth that its the wrong thing to say. This isnt the time for the famed Grubbs Grady brand of cutting-edge humour.

Cue the enraged Mum fireworks. Who do I think I am? Do I know how much they spend on me? What if I get kicked out of school? Then the clincher, the one mums all over the world love pulling out of the hatJust wait till your father gets home!

* * * * *

Dads not as freaked out as Mum, but hes not happy. He tells me how disappointed he is. Theyve warned me so many times about the dangers of smoking, how it destroys peoples lungs and gives them cancer.

Smokings dumb, he says. Were in the kitchen (I havent been out of it since Mum dragged me home from school early, except to go to the toilet). Its disgusting, antisocial and lethal. Why do it, Grubbs? I thought you had more sense.

I shrug wordlessly. Whats there to say? Theyre being unfair. Of course smokings dumb. Of course it gives you cancer. Of course I shouldnt be doing it. But my friends smoke. Its cool. You get to hang out with cool people at lunch and talk about cool things. But only if you smoke. You cant be in if youre out. And they know that. Yet here they stand, acting all Gestapo, asking me to account for my actions.

How long has he been smoking? Thats what I want to know! Mums started referring to me in the third person since Dad arrived. Im beneath direct mention.

Yes, Dad says. How long, Grubbs?

I dunno.

Weeks? Months? Longer?

A few months maybe. But only a couple a day.

If he says a couple, he means at least five or six, Mum snorts.

No, I dont! I shout. I mean a couple!

Dont raise your voice to me! Mum roars back.

Easy, Dad begins, but Mum goes on as if he isnt there.

Do you think its clever? Filling your lungs with rubbish, killing yourself? We didnt bring you up to watch you give yourself cancer! We dont need this, certainly not at this time, not when

Enough! Dad shouts, and we both jump. Dad almost never shouts. He usually gets very quiet when hes angry. Now his face is red and hes glaringbut at both of us, not just me.

Mum coughs, as if shes embarrassed. She sits, brushes her hair back off her face and looks at me with wounded eyes. I hate when she pulls a face like this. Its impossible to look at her straight or argue.

I want you to stop, Grubbs, Dad says, back in control now. Were not going to punish you Mum starts to object, but Dad silences her with a curt wave of his hand but I want your word that youll stop. I know it wont be easy. I know your friends will give you a hard time. But this is important. Some things matter more than looking cool. Will you promise, Grubbs? He pauses. Of course, thats if youre able to quit

Of course Im able, I mutter. Im not addicted or anything.

Then will you? For your sakenot ours?

I shrug, trying to act like its no big thing, like I was planning to stop anyway. Sure, if youre going to make that much of a fuss about it, I yawn.

Dad smiles. Mum smiles. I smile.

Then Gret walks in the back door and shes smiling toobut its an evil, big-sister-superior smile. Have we sorted all our little problems out yet? she asks, voice high and fake-innocent.

And I know instantlyGret grassed me up to Mum! She found out I was smoking and she told. The cow!

As she swishes past, beaming like an angel, I burn fiery holes in the back of her head with my eyes, and a single word echoes through my head like the sound of ungodly thunder

Revenge!

I love rubbish dumps. You can find all sorts of disgusting stuff there. The perfect place to go browsing if you want to get even with your annoying traitor of a sister.

I climb over mounds of garbage and root through black bags and soggy cardboard boxes. Im not sure exactly what Im going to use, or in what fashion, so I wait for inspiration to strike. Then, in a small plastic bag, I find six dead rats, necks broken, just starting to rot.

Excellent!

Look out, Grethere I come!

* * * * *

Eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Radio turned down low. Listening to the noises upstairs. Trying not to giggle. Waiting for the outburst.