Midnight’s Fables

A Brief Delay

You and Midnight walk for a long time, meandering through its endless museum of monstrosities, tragedies, horrors, and evils. Displays range from the grotesque to the sad to the confusing, but at no point do you think you have seen the same part of the museum twice. This place is vaster than you can even begin to comprehend, but why wouldn’t it be? The home of a twisted eldritch nightmare? Of course it’s an impossible maze with no end.

“You do not like my stories, do you?” Midnight asks glumly.

You shake your head, “they’re… sometimes they’re interesting, but… they’re always so sad. A lot of them are scary, and I might enjoy them more if they had a happier ending, but… no, they just end sad and everyone dies and… there’s no relief. No breath of fresh air at the end. Nothing.”

Midnight nods slowly, seeming to muse on this. “You like them but… they would do better to… have a different ending? A happy ending?”

“Yes!” you nod, almost shouting with how obvious you think that should be. “I like horror, but… it doesn’t have to be a tragedy. Some of them can, some of them have been really good. But when they all end so horribly, it just… it feels shitty. Things can be okay sometimes. Bad things can turn good sometimes. Yes, lots of bad things stay bad or get worse, but… not all of them.”

Midnight nods slowly, and doesn’t speak for a few moments, digesting your words. “I think I understand. You like the tragedy, the horror, the despair, but ultimately you want it to end in hope?”

You sigh. “I… guess? Life… isn’t always easy. It’s nice to feel seen, to know other people experience bad things too, it makes you feel less alone. But at the same time… if every story has the people experience horrible things, and then it stays horrible and they die… it doesn’t give you much hope for the future.”

“So you believe the point of horror and tragedy are to feel kinship, to know others share your suffering, but that ultimately things will be better?” Midnight asks, genuinely seeming not to have ever come across such a concept before. To its credit, it seems to be seriously considering this new approach. “I find that… unusual.”

“Maybe not the only point to all tragedy and horror and sad stories, no, but… if every single story you show me ends horribly, I’m not going to want to stay very long. You’ve got to give a little bit of hope, at least sometimes,” you try to explain.

“Ah, I see!” Midnight exclaims, excited. “Yes, a little hope! So that it can be taken away again, bringing even greater despair than before! I see!”

Excitedly, it begins leading you deeper into its maze, before you get the chance to correct it.

With a sigh, you follow, and arrive at a case holding an old smartphone, maybe from the 2010’s?

“The tale of Jack. Not the fairy-tale Jack. A different Jack. I think you would say this is hopeful…,” Midnight says menacingly…

***

“Can I tell you something?” Jack asked nervously. He didn’t look good, but he never did. The bags under his eyes, the greying skin, how thin his hair was, despite being fifteen, the constant stink of cigarettes and weed... But today, he looked particularly bad. He was paler than usual, his eyes a little yellow and the skin around them red, like he’d been crying a lot. His yellow and grey teeth were darker than normal, and his fingers, stained as usual with nicotine, were twitchy and shaky.

“You can tell me anything,” Jaime nodded. She probably didn’t look much better herself, or smell better for that matter. She certainly didn’t feel much better.

Jack took a long deep breath, and smiled softly. He looked calm, that much was a positive change. His normal anxious, jittery disposition had been replaced by one of stillness and peace. “I think I’ve left it long enough that nobody can do anything about it, so... I killed myself yesterday. About thirty hours ago now.”

Jaime just stared at her brother.

“What?” she asked slowly, assuming it was some dumb joke. “You’re a ghost?”

She gently punched his shoulder, and laughed nervously.

He didn’t laugh.

“I mean it. I swallowed a box of paracetamol, a box of ibuprofen, and enough caffeine pills to take out a horse. My liver and kidneys are already shutting down, and I don’t think my heart will last much longer,” Jack said weakly. He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly that... it was bullshit, right? Jaime was sure it must be bullshit.

“That’s not funny Jack,” she scowled at her twin. “Don’t joke about that shit.”

“I’m not joking. I promise, Jaime, I’m not joking.”

She just stared at him in horror.

Then she punched him on the shoulder, harder than she meant to, hard enough that she hurt her hand and he fell backwards of the swing set.

“You idiot, you fucking... I have to call 999... if Mum finds out she’s gonna...” Jaime stammered, panic and anxiety and overwhelming dread rising up in her stomach. Her heart was pounding, her fingers trembling as she pulled out her phone and began to dial.

Jack just lay there in the soft wood chips, staring up at the sky.

“You can call them, and I’ll go with them if they ask, but it won’t be any use. I’m already dead, there’s just been a brief delay,” Jack said calmly, staring blankly at the blue expanse above.

“Jack, stop fucking talking like that!” Jaime panicked. 999 rang through and before the operator even spoke, she began crying into the phone. “Hello? Ambulance! It’s my brother, Jack. He’s just told me he took loads of paracetamol, ibuprofen, and caffeine pills. Yesterday morning. He said thirty hours. He looks like shit, and he says it’s too late. We’re at the park on School Lane, almost opposite the church.”

There was a pause as the operator clacked on their keyboard. “We’ve dispatched an ambulance, they’ll be with you in six minutes. How old is your brother?”

“Fifteen.”

“And what’s your name? How old are you?”

“I’m fifteen too, we’re twins. My name’s Jaime.”

“Is Jack awake, and does he seem aware of his surroundings?”

“I’m fine!” Jack called over.

“Yes, to both, yes,” Jaime said, trembling.

“Do you know exactly how much he’s taken?” the operator asked.

“Jack, how much of what did you take?”

He sighed, sitting up, eyes yellow and red and drooping. “Just pass me the phone.”

Jaime did so.

“A box of paracetamol - I think that’s like eight grams. Same with ibuprofen, so like three grams. And about a gram-and-a-half of caffeine in pills. That’s not including all the energy drinks. It’s been thirty hours, I took the pills at the same time, I’m jaundiced and my corneas are yellow, and I’ve been pissing blood for twelve hours,” Jack informed the operator curtly, before hanging up the phone and tossing it back to his sister. “Five minutes, Jaime. They’ll be here soon, and I don’t want to say goodbye to you while you’re on the phone.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you!” Jaime shouted, dialling 999 again.

“It’s too late for that, sis,” Jack shrugged. “I’m already going. Please, they’re already coming, please just stay here with me and say goodbye properly.”

“Jack, I love you, but also fuck you!” Jaime hissed, 999 picking up as she did so. “Hello? I called a few minutes ago for my brother Jack, but he hung up.”

“Yes, it’s the same operator again,” the woman on the other end of the line assured her. “Your ambulance is four minutes out. Do you know how to check a pulse?”

“I do. Jack, give me your wrist.”

Begrudgingly, Jack did as he was told, extending his right arm into the air.

“I’m going to tell you start and stop after ten seconds. I need you to tell me how many beats you feel in that time,” the operator instructed. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Jaime nodded, her entire body shaking.

Jack was going to die.

Jack was going to die.

Jack was going to die...

“Go,” the woman instructed.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Eight...

“Stop,” she said. “How many?”

Jaime couldn’t...

She could do the maths. Eight in ten seconds meant forty-eight in a minute.

That was low. That was way too fucking low.

“Jaime, how many?” the operator asked insistently.

“eight,” she said in a very small voice.

“Forty-eight BPM. Okay, thank you, Jaime. You’re being very brave. You haven’t taken anything either have you?”

Jaime shook her head. “no...”

“Okay, that’s good Jaime. The ambulance is three minutes away. How’s Jack doing?”

“Sadly I’m still breathing,” the boy grumbled. “Jaime, please, I need to talk to you.”

“What can you do for him?” Jaime asked, her own heart beating a thousand times faster than her twin’s.

“It depends how far along he is. They can give him medicine to help fix the damage the pills did to his liver and kidneys. If he needs it, they might give him a liver transplant, and put him on dialysis, or a kidney transplant might also be an option. He’s young, which means he might have a better chance. They’ll also assess what damage the caffeine has done to his heart, but they have medicines and surgeries they can do to help him with that too,” the operator assured her.

“is he going to die?” Jaime asked, her voice so small, so weak.

“I don’t know, Jaime,” the operator said heavily. “I don’t know how badly he’s hurt himself inside. But he’s got a good chance of making it, and help is well on the way. About two minutes now. The ambulance crew will be able to assess him straight away, and they’ll start trying to fix what happened, nothing is for definite yet, and he has a good chance of making it. I can’t promise you anything either way Jaime, but he has a good chance.”

Jaime nodded slowly, vision blurry with tears as she stared at her brother, looking pissed-off and tired as he watched the sky above.

“Jaime, please,” he asked softly. “Let me say what I wanted to say.”

“Jack, I don’t want to hear your goodbye, I want my brother to survive, please! Let me help! Let them save you! I don’t want to lose my brother!”

Jack pursed his lips, looking ready to argue, but remained silent.

“Is he still alert?” the operator asked.

“Alert, argumentative, and being an asshole,” Jaime confirmed. “Nothing unusual.”

“See, that’s just mean,” Jack grumbled. “It isn’t why I killed myself, but it’s still mean.”

Jaime heard the distant sirens begin to approach, and stood up straight, listening for where they were coming from.

“I hear them coming!” she called to the phone excitedly.

“Good, let me know once the paramedics arrive, and I’ll leave you in their hands,” the operator said. “You’ve done a great job Jaime. I know it’s not easy, but calling was the right thing and you might just have saved your brother’s life.”

Jaime nodded, forgetting again that the operator couldn’t see that. “Thank you. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Tilly,” the operator said with a kind tone. “And that’s alright. Are they almost with you now?”

Jaime nodded again. “Yeah, I can see them coming down the road.”

“Then can you hang up and go to them? If you need anything else from us, just call again.”

Jaime nodded. “Thank you Tilly. Thank you.”

She hung up and ran out to the side of the road, waving at the ambulance.

It parked up promptly, and two paramedics climbed out the back and followed Jaime into the park and over to the swings, where...

Jack was gone.

“He was... he was right...” Jaime stammered, staring in disbelief at where her brother had been lying on the ground just a few moments ago.

“Jack!” one of the paramedics called, a big guy with a big beard and a bigger voice. “Jack, please, your sister needs you back here, come on buddy!”

“JACK!!!” Jaime started screaming, “JACK!!!”

She and the paramedics began searching around the park and the nearby bushes and trees, trying to find the boy. She’d been gone less than a minute, probably less than thirty seconds. How far could he have possibly gotten?

Jaime’s heart ached in her chest, and her whole body was shaking, her muscles threatening to give in and drop her with terror.

“JACK!!!” she screamed, slipping in the grass and falling down. “JACK!!! JACK!!! JA-...”

She began trembling with fear, her whole body shaking and jittering, fear tearing through her every muscle, her heart pounding so fast she could feel her neck vibrating, her breathing catching in her throat each time.

“Jack...,” she said weakly, breath barely coming any longer. “please...”

In her pocket, Jaime’s phone began to ring, and with slow, weak hands she reached in and fished it out.

It was Jack.

She answered it and listened as his voice came over the line.

“Jack, where are you? Come back, please come back,” she begged.

“I’m sorry Jaime, I tried to do this in person, but you didn’t give me the chance. I’m going to die. I want to. It’s okay, I’m happier this way. You know everything’s fucked up, you haven’t got it any better. I just wanted to say... I’m sorry. I know losing me is going to suck for you, but... I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living. I don’t want to be here, sis, I just... I tried, I really did, and everything is still shit and I... I love you. Tell Mum to go fuck herself for me. We both know how much she’s had a role in my decision here.”

“Jack, please. I can’t do this without you,” Jaime whispered through a breaking heart and spilling tears.

“You can,” he told her. “You’ve always been tougher than me. I love you, sis. Bye.”

The line went dead.

One of the paramedics came over to Jaime just then, and started asking her questions, but she couldn’t hear him through the screaming of her breaking heart.

***

They did find Jack, about fifteen minutes later. He was still alive, but barely. He had crawled into a bush on the other side of the park, unconscious and having thoroughly soiled himself, blood and piss and shit and vomit covering him and his clothes as he sat there, almost dead, leaning limply against the thin branches.

By the time they got him in the ambulance, his pulse was so weak that they couldn’t feel it by touch, only the machine confirmed it was still there. He was in a coma for days, but he did steadily respond to the medicines.

The paramedics didn’t realise it until the boy was at the hospital, but not only were Jack and Jaime twins, they were technically identical twins, though Jack’s transition made it less obvious. With Jack’s liver practically dead, and both kidneys fairing equally poorly, having an exact donor match right there in his hospital room was the only thing that saved his life.

And Jaime did save his life.

She called the ambulance.

She gave him a kidney and 40% of her liver – which of course grew into a full liver for each of them.

She also called social services.

All her life she’d felt powerless and small and weak and without agency or meaningful will of her own. Nobody would listen to her. Why would they? She was just the pothead scum daughter of an unemployed junkie, why would anybody care what she had to say? Why would anybody believe her.

They never had before.

The teachers ignored her, called her an attention seeker. The police, when they found her and Jack after they had run away, just took them home and left before the beating started.

Why would anyone believe her now?

Because Jack almost died.

Maybe this wouldn’t work. Maybe it would just make their Mum go off again. Maybe it would all be for nothing, or maybe it would make it all worse than ever.

But Jack almost died. She couldn’t do nothing.

So Jaime had called social services.

And this time they were believed.

They still had a long way to go. They were still mentally ill delinquent potheads, and now they were mentally ill delinquent potheads in the foster care system with a mother who had plenty of time on her hands and nothing better to do who wanted to make it as difficult as possible for everyone involved to get away from her.

But it was a start. And she would not lose her brother again.

***

You nod slowly. Midnight may not yet understand the point of hope, but that story… you were genuinely worried for a moment then that you were about to be told of the slow, painful death of a teenager. And yet, somehow, Midnight had actually been right. That was hope.

You look at the strange, alien shadow. Maybe it is capable of a little growth after all. You think carefully about how to phrase your request for the next story…