Henry opened his eyes. Then closed them instinctively. Then sounds of ‘boo’ ringed about his ears and he opened his eyes again in automatic shock and bewilderment. The booing stopped. A spotlight was piercing into his retinas, temporarily blurring his sight. Using his left hand as a shield over his eyes, he quickly managed to adjust to the blinding light and focus on what was around him.
He was sitting on a wooden chair. A huge spotlight shone directly into his face.
He was sitting on a chair.
Alone on a stage.
And an audience was watching him.
The theatre (or what at least seemed to be a theatre) was darkened, the only light being the intrusive spotlight. He was the only person on stage, and the chair he was sitting on was the only stage prop. The audience was large. Henry had no idea what he was doing sitting on a stage in front of a large audience. Had he been asleep, or drugged? Had he lost his memory? A dream…must be, he thought. I’ll ask the audience
This is a dream, right?
…………………….
Silence
Henry had experienced dreams like this before. Lucid dreams were fairly common to him, but usually he could control the environment of his dream world once he had become aware that he was inside a dream. But in this case nothing seemed to be happening. By now, several things would have happened, he would have started to levitate or make the audience rise off their seats or conjure up a naked woman on stage carrying a bowl of strawberries, or something delightful and unexpected… but nothing seemed to be happening. He was not the one in control.
‘Ok, can someone tell me what’s going on?’
Again, silence…………as before…
Henry glanced to either side of the stage and could see that there were ‘Exit’ signs. He turned to his right and began to walk off the stage.
‘BOOOOO’ clamoured the audience.
Henry turned to look at them, and he could hear ‘boos’ but could see no facial expressions in the subdued dark of the auditorium. Clearly they didn’t want him to leave the stage, but what did they want him to do?
He walked back to the centre. The booing stopped. He felt unsteady on his feet so he sat down on the wooden chair in the centre of the stage, under the heavy glare of the spotlight, and exhaled strongly.
Applause rang out from the audience.
Now he was confused. Do they want me to sit here? he thought.
‘YES’ came a voice from the crowd. Amused laughs followed.
‘IS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?’ Henry bellowed out.
Deathly silence.
Suddenly Henry could feel the eyes of the watching audience narrow intensely and scowl silently into his heart. He could feel the air grow thin, as the claustrophobia of disapproval caved in on him. Ok, I’ll play along. Let’s find out what this is about.
Henry stood up. Waited a moment to see if the audience reacted. They did not. What next? He felt into his trouser pockets, but nothing was in them. Then he reached inside his jacket. Sniggers from the audience. He felt something cold and metallic and he took it out of his inside pocket. It was a harmonica.
Brief applause.
‘You want me to play a tune?’
Amused murmurings and a few sporadic whistles from the back rows.
Ok, here goes. He put his lips to the harmonica and blew.
…………………..
‘HA HA HA HA HA HA’
No sound came out of the harmonica, and the audience were killing themselves with laughter.
‘I’M NOT FUCKING TAKING THIS’ and Henry stormed off the stage, throwing the harmonica out into the audience.
Boos rang out but this time he made it as far as actually walking off the stage into the wing, when there appeared entering from the ‘Exit’ door two people hunched over wearing black robes. Their faces were pale, stretched and vaguely masculine, but they were small, no more than five feet. Their hunches made them look smaller than they probably were when erect. They did not appear to be moving, and seemed to be blocking the ‘Exit’ door. Then one of them spoke,
‘We do not want you to leave’ hissed one of the hunchbacks
‘No we wouldn’t like that’ said the other
Then the first to speak spoke again,
‘Henry, we like you’
‘Henry we like you’ repeated his companion
‘Can’t you hear how sad they are Henry?’
‘Can’t you see what you have done… Henry’
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Henry demanded
‘We are your friends, Henry’
‘Don’t go now Henry’
‘We… love you’
‘We love you Henry’
‘Don’t go Henry’
‘Stay with us’
Henry we want you to stay’
‘We love y…’
‘STOP GOD DAMN IT STOP’
Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry Henry … came the chant of the audience, growing louder and louder.
‘You see Henry’ began one of the hunchbacks; ‘ They want you back with them’
‘They miss you Henry’
‘They worship you’
‘ALRIGHT’ Henry said. ‘I will go back on. But before I do, explain to me. Explain what the hell is going on here?’
‘Don’t you love us Henry’ said the first hunchback
‘We are your friends Henry’ said the second
‘Do you not love us anymore’
‘Henry don’t be mad at us’
‘We want you to stay with us’
It was becoming a horrible nightmare. A nauseating and absurd practical joke. But with every second that passed, the more this was continuing, Henry felt more and more desperate. A knife was twisting inside his stomach each time the hunched men spoke. The chant of the audience made him want to throw up. His insides were turning inside out. He felt raw, and the hunched figures were now chanting,
‘henry henry… henry we love you … henry henry… henry we miss you… henry henry’
Henry turned away from them and walked back towards the stage.
Applause rang out and the audience stood up to receive him.
The noise of jubilation swelled around the theatre. The spotlight was on him again, but this time it didn’t feel hostile. He felt shrouded in glory and worship. The audience seemed to love him.
He milked the applause; it went on for several minutes. It was as though he was a war-hero who had returned home to be greeted by his very own people. As the applause continued Henry forgot for a moment his confusion and anger of a few moments ago. He was not thinking of anything. He felt complete, like his existence had meaning. There were no questions inside his head, no doubts lurking deep in the crevices of his vast skull. The audience had made him a god, and he despised them, but revelled in the sensation of being adored. Gradually the applause died down and the audience sat back down on their seats. Now what?
Henry heard a shuffling of feet along the wooden floor of the stage and turned round to see the hunches pushing a grand piano onto the stage. They slithered off the stage, whispering as they left, ‘ henry henry… henry we love you…’
Resting on the beautifully polished piano were three objects: a white facial mask, a glass of milk and an orange cloak. The hunches had also placed a stool in front of the piano, and the spotlight was now on the stool, inviting Henry to sit down. Henry knew what the audience wanted. But he had never played the piano properly in his life… he sat down on the stool and stared at the piano keys.
Again came the chant of his name, but it was’nt loud, it was slow and hushed, as if the audience were mimicking his sub-conscious, goading him to strike that first note, daring him to play a tune, as though they were daring him to steal something from a shop or pop a naughty pill inside his mouth. Risk it Henry, be daring Henry, do it because you know it is what you want to do – all these voices, these urges filtered into his head as the slow incessant chant of his name seeped through his skin, consuming his body, his physical impulses. His left hand trembling, it moved towards the piano keys. He had no control over it. A stronger will than his rationale had power over his actions. The audience, the hunchbacks, the theatre, the stage – all of these were ruling him, and he was powerless to stop them.
His finger pressed a note. Cheers went up
‘henry henry henry’
A second note
‘HENRY HENRY’ the chant was louder
Then he began to hit the notes randomly, and a wave of applause broke out again. He stopped for a moment, looked to the audience and beamed with gratitude and satisfaction. Now he had more confidence and began hitting lots of keys with great enthusiasm. Suddenly the noise from the audience stopped.
Silence…………….. once more
He had to think fast. The silence was more terrifying and degrading than the boos. Silence was menacing, silence was the invisible sound of the hunter. Think fast, Henry.
The objects…. Ah!
They must have placed these here for a reason. Henry looked at the objects, and first picked up the glass of milk. The silence broke and a few friendlier-sounding hums came from the audience.
‘That’s right Henry’ came a hissing voice. One of the hunches again
‘Play with us Henry’ said the other
‘You always liked our games Henry’
What do they want me to do with this?
He wondered if the milk was drugged. He wondered if this is what had happened, that someone had spiked his drink with a tranquilliser and while he slept had brought him to this awful place. There was no telling what might happen to him if he was drugged again. But he suddenly realised how thirsty he was under the intense heat of the spotlight, and he stared longingly at the liquid in the glass.
‘Yessssss’ hissed one of the hunches
‘You’ll like the milk, Henry’
‘We made it just for you’
It was a ritual. On cue came the chant of his name from the audience. The hunches were standing on stage urging him on. For the first time, their faces had lost the shadowy aura they had previously, and their eyes became wider like black marbles, cold and dense, impenetrable. Their hissing grated in his ears, he could almost feel their slimy tongues slither across his face and eyes, wet tongues and sickening desires crawling beneath his skin, making him stand up, making him sit down, making him play a tune. He raised the glass to his lips and said,
‘To my friends, here’s to fun and games’
And he drank the milk.
‘HENRY HENRY HENRY HENRY’
Cheers again, and whistles and applause and laughter. The glass was still half-full. Henry then swung the cloak around his shoulders and put the mask over his face.
It was time to put on a show.
He struck a few keys, and found a few notes he liked. With caution abandoned, he began playing a tune. In a style that the untrained ear could mistake for improvised jazz, Henry delivered a tune that delighted the audience. His lack of musical expertise guaranteed that the sequence of notes did not follow a pattern, but the effect, in the context of what he was happening to him, was one of intense drama. And he began to realise that a true moment of revelation, of discovery, maybe even of epiphany mixed with the darkest horror, was unfolding on that very stage, from the very music he was playing. He banged the notes hard, sculpting from his head an expression of the agony, the torture he had endured throughout his buried and forgotten existence. He lost awareness of how the audience were reacting, of what the hunches were doing or saying – he no longer cared, and no longer thought. He just played, and gave no thought to how he was playing.
The music ended.
Silence.
The hunches were staring at him. He could not tell what they were feeling. Exhausted and perspiring heavily he turned to the audience.
From the hazy darkness, he could make out that a member of the audience had stood up from one of the back rows
‘BRAVO’
‘Bravo bravo’ came another
and now a chant had begun again
‘BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO’
Henry stood up and walked towards the front of the stage, and the loudest applause yet rang out, and with it a standing ovation. For the first time, he could see some of the audience’s faces, and just how many of them there were.
The auditorium was huge, containing at least four or five thousand people. People of all ages comprised the audience. Thousands of smiles beamed at him. He was once again a deity of the stage, a spectacle of wonder.
He had forgotten himself and suddenly realised he was still wearing the mask. He removed it and the noise notched up another level. This was the most satisfactory moment yet.
Then came a sound of shuffling and the hunches had crept forward to the front of the stage, signalling to the audience to sit down and lower the applause.
Calm had settled once again. The audience seated, the performance was over. One of the hunches spoke,
‘Well done Henry. You see how much fun we had’
‘We could tell you enjoyed yourself Henry’ said the other
‘And we will do this again, won’t we Henry’
‘Yes we know you can’t wait to play with us again’
‘You will come back and play with us, won’t you Henry?’
Henry shook his head.
A sneering grin arose from the corner of one of the hunches’ mouth.
‘We have been nice to you so far, Henry’
‘You don’t want to upset your friends’
‘You will play with us Henry, you have no choice’
‘And you will want to play with us’
‘In the end you will choose to be with us’
Silence. Henry remained silent too. He did not speak.
He simply looked into the eyes of the hunchbacks, wondering what horror, what undesirable fantasies lurked behind them, what world existed behind those black, empty eyes. He looked out into the quiet audience, and began to feel now and hear the sound and the emotion within the silence. Henry could feel laughter, cruel laughter and delight waiting to burst out. But the silence carried it. It fed it into his ears, his eyes, his heart, and this time he was ready for their next move.
‘You seem sure of yourself, Henry’ said one of the hunches. The other continued their routine.
‘You seemed very sure of yourself after you drank the milk. Why not have some more Henry?’
‘Yes, have some more lovely milk… you like your milk Henry’
‘It will make you strong’
‘It will make you want to play and have fun’
‘Go on Henry, drink your milk’
Henry smiled and shook his head.
Murmurs from the audience.
‘HA!’ said one of the hunches
‘You think you’re being a clever boy now do you?’
‘You think just because you have played such a pretty tune you can ruin everyone’s fun?’
‘You think you know everything, don’t you Henry?’
‘Don’t want to play with us, don’t want to have fun anymore, eh Henry?’
A pause. Henry still said nothing. The audience waited.
The first hunchback spoke again
‘Well now’, he sneered, ‘ You were not so clever enough to have drunk half the milk glass’
‘Ha ha ha’ laughed the other. ‘ Yessss we made the milk specially for you’
‘You must be getting tired now Henry’
‘Yes poor Henry, after being on stage for so long, he must be so so tired’
‘You can sleep if you want to Henry’
‘Soon you will fall faaast asleep…’
‘And when you wake up we can play again’
‘All of us can play together’
‘We love you Henry’
‘Sleep well Henry’
Henry carried on staring at the hunches. They bent lower and looked up at him, peering inquisitively into his eyes, as if there were expecting to find something.
Henry stepped forward towards the hunches who retreated slightly. Henry smiled and spat at one of them.
The milk splashed all over the hunch’s face. He had kept the milk in his mouth the whole time.
Gasps from the audience.
Everyone was in shock. The hunch who was spat at started blubbering. His face became stretched and contorted, his nose leaked and his thin cracked lips shook violently. The other hunch shouted,
‘YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU WILL PLAY WITH US’
‘WE… HATE YOU… HENRY’ snarled the other.
‘WE HATE YOU’
‘HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE’ chanted the hunches and the audience in unison.
Henry had broken the house rules. He was despised, and hated. He no longer cared about their approval and he was no longer afraid. As the hateful mantra resounded around the theatre, he began to feel a deep sense of emptiness opening up inside him. But it was’nt the emptiness of rejection. It was the aching realisation that even now in this unscripted, unwanted confrontation, he was still playing their game. He sighed and walked off stage through the exit door, with the hissing and the venomous chants still booming from behind, and following him all the way to the outside.
It was still dark outside, but light was beginning to creep into the sky. He was in a narrow alleyway, with rubbish bags everywhere and newspaper flying along the ground in the wind. Henry walked out of the alley onto an adjacent street. He walked for about amile. He did not encounter anybody, and even though he was looking around, gazing into shop windows and peering into other side streets as he walked past, he might as well have been blind, for his mind and his eyes were still on that stage. He was still sitting there on that stage, playing the piano, with the hunchbacks skulking in the wings, with the audience chanting his name in approval and recognition.
A strong wave of wind blew and he wrapped the cloak tighter around his body. The cloak!
He still had it on. And in the cold of early winter dawn, it was an ideal garment to wear. He rubbed the soft fabric with his fingers, and remembered the adrenalin, the buzz of excitement he felt as he put on the cloak and the mask on stage and began to play. He knew he could go back there. He knew that he could make them cheer and make them love him again. He just had to play, and wear the cloak, and wear the mask, and drink the milk. He could be special again.
I’ll take my chance
With sadness, he removed the cloak from his shoulders and threw it to the ground.
He carried on walking.
It was another hour or so before sunlight began to fill the sky. Henry was standing on a bridge looking out into the city river. The white wings of flying seagulls seemed to cut through the water like knives through ice. He was shivering but inside there was a warmth that kept him there, standing on the bridge watching the river.
The city was beginning to wake up just as he was beginning to feel tired. His house was a mile away. He thought he would give work a miss and sleep in. He thought about what had happened, and now that his bizarre experience was over, it didn’t matter to him how he had ended up on stage or who those people were.
Cars were on the road again. Buses were running. People were out of their houses going to work.
He was just around the corner from his house when he decided to sit down on a bench. A thought had just occurred to him.
Now that I know what their game is, why don’t I return and fool them again? Hurt them just as much as they were prepared to hurt me.
It was an appetising thought, and a surge of relish and power oozed from his belly. But then it stopped. His hands were numb, and fatigue settled in again.
‘Excuse me’ said a voice from somewhere
Henry looked up and saw a younger lad, maybe fifteen or so, sitting on a bike in front of him.
‘Are you Henry, by any chance?’ the boy asked
Henry was a bit unnerved, but tried to be polite. ‘My name is Henry, yes.’ he said, ‘ Do I know you?’
‘Thought you were!’ the boy said, pleased with himself.
‘You know I’ve seen you on stage. You’re great. My mum and dad think you haven’t been your usual self recently, but I tell them that you’re an artist. Your act is different, and it changes. That’s why I like watching you’
‘You’ve seen me on stage?’ asked Henry
‘Oh yes’ replied the boy
‘How many times’ Henry asked
The boy looked embarrassed, ‘ Well, I’d rather not say. But seriously you’re brilliant. Its such a shame you are not doing any more shows’
How did he know…? What the hell is going on? Is this boy in league with…
‘Right I had best be off’ said the boy, interrupting Henry’s train of thought, ‘ I have paper-rounds to do. Got to save money so I can pay for college, and be on stage like you’
‘Nice talking to you’ said Henry
‘You too, its great to meet you Henry’ replied the boy, ‘You think you’ll do any more shows?’
Henry scratched his nose and gazed at the ground. The boy waited for an answer.
He looked up at the boy, and smiled to himself.
‘ Just for you kid. Just for you’
