its branches and leaves twisting together tighter and tighter to make it smaller, but here it was, filling up every corner.
“It is the kind of destruction I would expect from a boy,” it said, its breath blowing back Conor’s hair.
“What are you doing here?” Conor asked. He felt a sudden surge of hope.
“Am I asleep? Is this a dream? Like when you broke my bedroom window and I woke up and–”
I have come to tell you the second tale,” the monster said. Conor made an exasperated sound and looked back at the broken clock.
Is it going to be as bad as the last one?he asked, distractedly.
It ends in proper destruction, if that is what you mean.Conor turned back to the monster.
Its face had rearranged itself into the expression Conor recognized as the evil grin.
Is it a cheating story?” Conor asked. “Does it sound like it’s going to be one way and then it’s a total other way?
“No,” said the monster.It is about a man who thought only of himself.
The monster smiled again, looking even more wicked. “And he gets punished very, very badly indeed.”
Conor stood breathing for a second, thinking about the broken clock, about the scratches on the hardwood,
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