5.

When the sun begins peeling strips of dark skin off the horizon, I jump down and stand outside her gate, careful to stay half-hidden behind the lily bushes. I don’t remember much from last night, but I can’t forget her face staring at my statue. I need to explain — or rather, tell her a story. So I stand there until sunlight grows hot on my neck.

Stella doesn’t come.

That’s okay. Maybe she can’t come outside. Maybe she’s gone to a friend’s place or had an early dinner.

Maybe she just doesn’t feel like talking.

Maybe.

Nights start passing by each other, one black memory blurring into another. I don’t see Stella. I spend my time prowling along the fenceline and eating snatches of conversation, or sitting in the redwood trees counting stars, catching beetles and waiting. Before dawn I sharpen long sticks and prod the gates, stabbing the chained locks again and again, like I’m attacking an animal that’s already dead. And then, when everything inside me explodes, I hit the gates, over and over, until my stick snaps. I know wood can’t break iron, but watching the branch splinter … well, it makes me feels better.

Still, Stella doesn’t come.

Little parts of my memory fleck off: what colour was her coat? Or her eyes? Who was she staying with? I’ve forgotten so much, but I remember she’s seen my statue and I need to convince her there’s nothing to worry about. I carve her face into the brickwork underneath my bridge, forcing her eyes into stone with sharp rocks. But it doesn’t help, she’s slipping away.

I think I had a friend once, even for just a night or two, and her name was Stella. That’s worth remembering. So I spend my nights high in the trees, muttering her name Stella, Stella and holding onto her memory with my teeth.

When the garden reaches its darkest hour, I climb up the wooden Victorian bandstand next to the playground. Looking down, I can see herbs and moss sprout through hairline cracks in the gutter, and huge patterns of lichen explode across the slate roof, bursting into circular rings like frozen fireworks. The nearest branch of an oak twists past the sloping metal wall, its wooden arms outstretched. Turning around, I climb onto the branch and watch my city, wondering.

Wind whistles through the branches, turning the last of autumn’s leaves into flags. Grabbing hold of a few, I toss them into the air like confetti. They fall through the darkness, city lights flashing behind them, adding silver and gold in a joint celebration.

Except, there’s nothing to celebrate.

What’s it like out there, among houses where city lights line the streets like fallen stars? Or walking among students who stream along the pavements, turning the footpaths into a multi-coloured current as they head to places I’ve only seen in memories? I’ll never know. It’s just me and the trees, night after night, staring at the town.

Above me, a shard of moonlight cuts the night sky and I shake my head. I want to visit Stella, but can’t. I need to think. So I sit here, waiting until the wanting’s strong enough to push me down towards her gate, looking for … wait.

What’s that?

Glancing back at my garden, I see another moon, and my heart stops. Full and round, the glowing circle creeps over the grass, past the children’s playground. Stopping in front of the old bandstand, it waits and sucks in one breath. But of course, moons don’t breathe or crawl across lawns.

It’s a girl, carrying a torch.

Stella?

Everything inside me jumps. Sitting on the highest branches of my tree, I lean forward. Yes, she’s standing there in jeans with a burgundy, hooded jacket flicked over her head. One foot taps on the grass. The earthbound moon flickers and then disappears. Testing, Stella slaps the back of her torch and growls, ‘Stupid thing …’

Light flickers back onto the grass.

I don’t think. I jump. Landing on the bandstand’s slate roof my feet slam against the stone, echoing across the park.

‘Holy …’ She jumps and takes a step back, then another. Staring up at me from the lawn, she hisses, ‘Don’t do that.’

My heart strikes like a chisel, trying to shape words from emotions, but I only manage to snap at her, ‘You shouldn’t be here after dark. You’ll get yourself into serious trouble.’

‘Don’t bet on it.’ She stares up at me, one hand on her hip, glaring.

Her voice throws me, it’s rough but so small. Doesn’t she realise? There’s no iron fence, she isn’t safe. Seeing her weakness creates strange melting sensations in my chest and the pain drops back. I give a sharp sigh. ‘Stella … what do you want?’

‘You, obviously.’ She keeps her voice calm, but the moon trembles on the grass. ‘I’m not out here for the exercise.’

I look her up and down, from the roof she seems smaller than usual. ‘Okay, but why are you here?’

Stella lifts her shoulders and the moon bounces, mirroring her shrug. I turn my head sideways, as if I could understand her better from a different angle. ‘You look upset about … something.’

No answer.

‘Well?’ I throw up my hands. ‘Where’ve you been? Is everything okay? I haven’t seen you for ages.’ I don’t mention a tally chart on the tree, marking out the days I don’t see her, in case I forget.

‘I’ve been thinking …’ but she doesn’t say anything else and I watch her breath fluttering like white moths on the cold air.

She’s frowning. She knows too much. But at the same time, she knows nothing at all.

I move towards the edge of the roof. ‘Maybe we should talk.’

‘Don’t!’ She folds her arms, shoving the torch under her armpit and casting strange lights across the lawn behind her. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

‘Why not? I can’t keep yelling at you from up here.’ I take a step towards the gutter and she skips backwards, like she’s going to run away. ‘Stella, you said you were looking for me.’

‘I was but …’ she takes a deep breath. ‘Don’t come any closer. I — I know what you are.’

My chest grows cold, like I’ve swallowed ice water. We stand there, staring at each other. She knows what I am?

‘I doubt that.’ I try keeping my voice light. ‘Look, I can’t stay here all night.’

‘Yes you can.’

‘Stella, I can’t hear you properly, not from up here.’

I’ve got excellent hearing, but Stella doesn’t know and she bites her lip. Taking advantage of her silence, I swing myself over the side, leaping onto the grass before she can argue. It’s a long way to fall for a human, but not for me and I should’ve made it look harder.

She stares at me, eyes wide.

I’m staring back too. She looks different. I’ve seen her during twilight and dawn, when colours soak back into the world. Tonight she’s made out of shadows, shades of black and grey, part of my world instead of hers. Stella pulls her hood back and her hair looks different to my carved drawing, pulled tight and clipped down. I don’t know why, but I’m almost disappointed. I drew it better, wild like branches in a gale, whipping all around her head. In my pictures her hair seemed alive, almost burying her face in a storm.

Stella growls, ‘I told you not to come any closer.’

‘You came looking for me, remember?’ I fold my arms. ‘And what do you mean, you know what I am? You’re not making any sense, you know that, right?’

Her chin rises and she folds her arms, maybe daring me to argue or trying to stop herself from shaking, either with cold or fear. ‘I checked you out on the internet.’

‘Really?’ Forcing my lips to smile, I stand there, waiting. ‘I doubt I’m on it.’

‘Want a bet?’

I shrug, trying not to show I’m worried. She can’t be right and yet, if I’m on the internet, anyone could find me and Celeste. We’d be in terrible danger. Not that I’ve ever seen a computer in real life, but stealing memories and listening in to conversations pays off. The internet’s a dangerous invention.

‘Okay then, if you’re so smart. Who am I?’

‘Can you read?’ Her words are strong, but the lips tremble.

‘Uh …’

She’s thrown me. What’s reading got to do with turning into a statue? I only know the garden’s signs because I’ve heard humans say them aloud, although Latin plant names aren’t easy. For some reason, I’m embarrassed to answer.

She shakes her head. ‘No, I didn’t think so.’

Wait, how did she know? But I don’t ask, I want her to do the talking. So I keep my mouth shut and watch while she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a silver phone. ‘I’ve recorded everything on this, instead of writing it down.’ Bending her knees, Stella keeps her eyes on me as she lays her phone on the grass. I can’t help noticing there’s writing on the back of her hand, scribbled notes from a ballpoint pen, and I wonder why, but now’s not the time to ask.

She points at her phone. ‘It’s everything I wanted to say.’

‘That’s stupid. Why don’t you just tell me?’

‘You know why. And the question isn’t who you are, it’s what.’

Okay, now I’m worried.

We stare at each other. The silence in the garden thickens, breathing between every branch and closed flower, spilling through the garden. My own breath grows heavy.

She lifts her chin and says, ‘Lately I’ve been forgetful. Will I even remember this conversation?’

And there it is. No need to lie, not any more. Somehow, she really does know.

‘Yes.’ What am I doing? Deny everything! But I’ve always hated lies and I’ve told too many. They’re hollow things — no bone, no meat. Just empty mouthfuls.

She nods. ‘How?’

I hear myself saying, ‘It’s not a memory, it’s happening now. Tell me about this conversation tomorrow, though, and the results will be different. If you say anything about the past, you’ll forget it. If you even refer to this conversation while we’re having it, you’ll forget we spoke.’

She frowns. ‘You mean, you can take my memory?’

‘Only if you let me.’

There, I’ve warned her. My breath lightens … why is that? I shake the thought out, watching Stella’s every move. There are more important things to worry about.

She nods again, a sharp flick of her head. ‘Okay, let’s stick with the recording. Just press play on the screen. Um, look for a sideways triangle. You know what a triangle is, right?’

‘I’m not an idiot. Unlike some people who go looking for trouble in the middle of the night.’

She glares at me. But her hands reach up, fiddling with her hair clips. Snap-snap. Snap-snap.

‘Wikipedia,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘That’s how I figured you out. At first I thought you were some kind of hypnotist …’ She blinks, a confused look clouding her face, as the memory slips off her tongue. I catch a glimpse of fingers on the keyboard, her eyes searching the screen for clues.

Sharp and bitter, the taste turns inside my mouth. I flinch, fingers curling into my palms.

She frowns. ‘What’s wrong?’

Her memories don’t taste right, but I’m not telling her. She already knows too much. ‘Nothing.’

Stella opens her mouth, then closes it. She pulls herself back and her mouth tightens into a thin line. ‘Just hit the triangle.’

I stare at the silver box. I shouldn’t touch it. But I need to know.

‘Okay.’ I walk over the grass and notice her body’s shaking like leaves when autumn winds rattle the trees. But this girl is not a leaf. Not by a long shot. In fact, I’d say she’s like the wind.

Stella takes another step back and says, ‘Don’t get too close. You’re creeping me out enough as it is.’

‘Thanks very much.’

I bend down and pick up the mobile, which is damp with dew from the grass. Hitting the button, I try watching her face but she looks away. Her voice echoes from the cold box, small and yet clear:

‘Okay Seth, maybe this is stupid … I dunno. But I knew something wasn’t right about you, I just wasn’t sure what, until last week. But now — I’ve figured it out.’

I stare down, my eyes fixed on the phone.

‘Every time we talked I got a weird feeling. Like afterwards, there were tiny holes in our conversation. I wasn’t sure, thought maybe I’d imagined it. I didn’t really worry because it didn’t make sense. But when Connor lost his memory, well, that was weird.’

I look back at her and this time, she locks eyes, not blinking. I’ve underestimated humans, or at least her. She watches me, black wires of hair escaping from the clips and flying about her face like feelers testing the world. Could humans carry extra senses in their hair? What do I really know about their biology? How else could they be so clever?

The box echoes again.

‘See, my brother can’t remember falling over. It’s weird, he told everyone about his accident on Tuesday, but on Wednesday he freaked out and cried for an hour. Said he didn’t know where the stitches came from. Doesn’t that sound weird to you?’

Her voice falls silent. The recorded Stella sighs and the sound of air rustles against speakers. Shaking my head, I ask, ‘Why did you come here? Why …’

But the recorded voice cuts in:

‘I had this idea. I wrote down my memory about a birthday cake. Then I told you and guess what? I can’t remember it. But the words are still in my exercise book, describing a Humpty Dumpty cake … warning me not to trust you. I even stuck in an old photo from my birthday — so it must be true.’ She pauses and her silence appears like a sudden hole; I almost feel myself falling into it. ‘Seth, you took my memory.’

Stupid, stupid me! She wrote everything down? I stab the screen with my thumb, again and again, shutting off her voice.

‘Well?’ she snaps, folding her arms. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

My chest grows heavy like it’s dragging me down and I don’t understand. I don’t feel well. ‘You,’ I mutter. ‘It’s your fault. I never had pains inside me. Not until I met you.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop trying to change the subject. You took my memories, didn’t you?’

Slowly, I nod my head. It feels heavy, as if my skin were turning into rock. But there isn’t any sun. I’m burning from inside.

Stella sucks in her breath. ‘There’s more. Keep playing the phone.’

I don’t want to hear. I open my mouth to refuse, but … better that there are no surprises. I need to know everything. Forcing my thumb to move, I push the button again.

‘So I googled mind control, magicians and that sort of thing. But nothing matched you.’

She scrapes her feet along the ground, staring at me with no expression on her features. It’s a face waiting for something to happen.

‘And then I saw your statue …’

She did? I don’t remember, and my hands shake.

‘It freaked me right out, but I couldn’t be sure. There’s no way that was a new statue. The stone looked worn, like you’ve been out in the rain for ages.’

‘Centuries,’ I mutter, watching to see if she flinches, and I’m not disappointed. She has no idea what she’s dealing with or what I could do. Worse, what Celeste might do if she ever finds out. We’re much stronger than Stella. She’s in over her head.

But the recorded voice continues …

‘After what happened with Connor, there were too many weird coincidences. So I googled creatures that turn into stone. A whole lot of rubbish came up, until I searched under Scandinavian folklore and there it was: trolls.’

‘That’s enough.’

Flicking my wrist, I toss the phone over her head, far into the darkness. Her voice disappears into the garden and there’s a thunk as her phone hits a tree and splinters. I don’t need to hear any more, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have fed from one person for so long. Why didn’t I just write her a confession and hand it over?

Stella blinks. ‘Hey! That was mine!’ She turns as if to run after it, but then changes her mind and looks back at me. Probably thinks it isn’t safe to turn her back right now. And she’s not wrong.

Folding my arms, I shrug. ‘So I suppose you think you’re clever, figuring this all out?’

‘No, it doesn’t take a genius to do a Google search. I also found out … wait, if I tell you I’ll lose the memory.

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘I thought you had all the answers.’ She just frowns and I swallow what I really want to say. I need to keep the conversation going so I can find out if she knows more. I press words higher into the air, forcing my voice to sound lighter, ‘Okay, look, I didn’t mean that. I’m just a bit shocked, but I’m not keeping any secrets, not any more. If you really want to know something, go ahead and ask.’

She steps back and her mouth tightens again, as if she’s holding memories in with her lips. But then she whispers like she’s afraid of her own voice. ‘Is it true, what I found out?’

I nod.

She blinks twice. ‘And that daylight …’

‘Turns me into stone? Yeah, you’ve seen my statue. But I don’t stay stone, not when the sun goes away.’

‘It also said you’re allergic to iron.’ As I nod, she takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. ‘And is it true? Do you eat … you know?’

‘What?’

She stares back at me, unwilling to risk saying something important. Something she might forget. And then, she points at herself.

‘People?’ My stomach turns as I shake my head. ‘Of course not. I already told you, we just eat memories.’

She jolts backwards like my words were a sudden gust of wind.

‘Just?’ One hand reaches up, grabbing for her black ponytail. ‘Are you kidding me? That’s everything.’

I don’t look up, I can’t. I didn’t expect her to understand so quickly.

For a second, neither of us speaks. The wind sighs between the trees, almost crying as the willows creak. Behind these noises my river whispers, shhhh, over and over the rocks, like it’s begging me to keep quiet. But it’s too late, we’re past keeping secrets.

Her mouth pops open, pushing out a single word. ‘How?’

I hear myself muttering, ‘Humans are made from blood, bone and memories. When you’re old, that’s what’s left — a collection of stories inside your head. You can eat them like any part of a human, if you’re a troll.’

Her voice cracks. ‘I — I see.’

But Stella stands her ground. She doesn’t even blink. I’d almost say she looks like a statue, but she’s too fragile and I think she’s just waiting for me to explain. Truth is, I’m only repeating what Celeste told me; our shared memories taste old and dry like rotting trees.

Taking a deep breath, I say, ‘But you came here, anyway? Knowing I’m a troll?’

And she says, ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

She looks down and pulls on her sleeve, suddenly awkward. ‘I-I need you to do something for me.’

She’s thrown me. Stella came here for a reason and it’s bigger than her fear of monsters or being eaten. Again she reminds me of the wind, shifting without warning, so I test the direction. ‘Let’s just say I was interested in helping you — what do you want?’

She holds up her chin, swallowing hard. ‘I-I want you to eat my bad memories, the stuff I don’t want to remember.’

I stare at her, not sure I’ve heard right. ‘You’re kidding?’

Stella’s fingers pull harder on her sleeve, turning white around the knuckles. She blinks fast and her voice grows lower, less certain as she mutters, ‘If — if you do, I won’t tell anyone about you.’

‘Wait, you’re blackmailing me?’

She stares and her voice drops, whispering, ‘Don’t act like I’m doing something terrible. You look like a kid, but you’re not. Blackmailing you doesn’t even count. You’re some kind of a … a monster.’

A monster? I want to argue, but I can’t. In a way she’s right. Stella thinks I’m evil and she doesn’t believe fairness applies to monsters — and maybe it doesn’t. Only winning matters.

My own fingers tighten, clenching into fists. Digging nails into my palms, I look away at the black tangle of trees rubbing their hands together above the bandstand and say, ‘You can’t make me do anything. Haven’t you figured that out, yet? Do you know how much stronger I am than you?’ I take a deep breath, letting my words sink in. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

Now she’s breathing harder and giving me a look stamped with that word again: monster.

I’ve eaten memories of horror movies and the flavour rotted in my stomach. Is that how the memory of me would taste? I stare at her, noticing as she swallows again. What do I look like to her?

Out loud I say, ‘You should go, right now.’

Stella already knows too much. What should I do? Tell Celeste? Maybe there’s something else, something less terrible?

But Stella says, ‘No.’

I growl, letting the back of my throat crack with my own language, a sound like breaking stones. ‘I’m warning you.’

She blinks and stumbles backwards as if my words were hands, shoving her away. But at the same time, she throws words back. ‘That wasn’t the only recording. If anything happens to me, people will hear the tape. They’ll come looking for you.’

‘Didn’t you hear me the first time?’ She stares, lips tight as I wave my arms, icing the air between us. ‘I could break you into little pieces.’

For a moment we don’t speak. We stare at each other, and then she curls her trembling fingers into balls and lifts her chin an inch higher. I’m an expert on body language. My own mouth drops, surprised by her stubbornness. Stella’s scared, but not giving up.

‘No, I’m warning you. You’ve got one night to think it over, after that I’ll tell anyone. Don’t act like you can say no. I’ve got the recording, remember?’

Twisting around, she storms off across the wet grass, her feet crushing the blades. I don’t chase after her. I’m not like Celeste, I couldn’t really hurt her. Instead, I listen to the soft mud slurping against her shoes and focus on that, rather than her words. But questions gather like clouds, muffling every sound and, without warning, an old memory opens like fireworks inside my mind, splashing colours across the darkness.

I’m watching another girl storm off, across a carpet and through a doorway, stomping her small feet and dragging an oversized toy giraffe. She’s throwing a tantrum and the ferocious swinging of her ponytail pours strange sensations into my chest; a warm rush of affection mixed with the rumbling of a swallowed chuckle.

I know it’s Stella.

She’s younger, though. An impossible memory. We’ve never met before, have we? True, I could forget, but wouldn’t she remember me? No. I’ve a nasty feeling I’ve stepped on a web. And every step I take might be vibrating, encouraging the spider to find me.

I need help.

And there’s only one person to ask. Well, not exactly a person … and I need to be careful. Stella could end up being the least of my problems.