“No!” Conor said again, looking down into his mother’s face– As the truth came all of a sudden– As the nightmare reached its most perfect moment– “No!”
Conor screamed one more time– And his mother fell.
THE REST OF THE FOURTH TALE
This was the moment when he usually woke up.
When she fell, screaming, out of his grasp, into the abyss, taken by the nightmare, lost forever,
this was where he usually sat up in his bed, covered in sweat, his heart beating so fast he thought he might die.
But he didn’t wake up. The nightmare still surrounded him. The yew tree still stood behind him.
“The tale is not yet told,” it said. “Take me out of here,” Conor said, getting shakily to his feet.
“I need to see my mum.” “She is no longer here, Conor,” his original monster said. “You let her go.”
“This is just a nightmare,” Conor said, panting hard. “This isn’t the truth.”
“It is the truth,” said the monster. “You know it is. You let her go.”
“She fell,” Conor said. “I couldn’t hold on to her any more. She got so heavy.”
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