Knotwerk

2/2

With a burst of mischief he leapt over the counter and gently pulled off the handkerchief.

Underneath was an object the likes of which he had never seen before. It had a varnished wooden hand grip, almost like the hilt of a sword. From the handle sprung thin copper branches; spider-like and fragile. There were about six or seven in total. They intertwined in amongst each other, with hinges and pivots in segments along each branch. At the very tips were tiny hooks. The boy grasped the handle with one hand and noticed another part of the device; it looked like the reel of a fishing rod. He spun it round with his other hand very slowly and saw it all spring to life.

The branches flowed in all directions weaving in and out of one another, ducking and darting out of the way. The motion mesmerised the boy. He lost track of time quickly as he continued to stare at the hypnotic machine. None of the spindly arms seemed to travel in the same direction more than once; their movements were random, unpredictable. The more he stared the more baffling it was to him. What could this device possibly be for?

“Come back tomorrow with the extra pound.”

The boy jumped out of his skin and almost dropped the mechanical object onto the floor. His heart began to race and his palms sweat as he held out the device towards Mr. Lariat.

“Y... yes, Mr. Lariat. Sorry, Mr. Lariat”

He snatched the device from the boy and returned it to its shelf behind the counter, covering it in its blanket again. He threw the little green box down on to the counter and exclaimed through gritted teeth:

“Leave.”

The boy didn’t need any more persuasion. He ran home and burst into tears as he returned to his mother’s arms.

The next day the boy dashed over to the Knotwerkers again. He pulled the rope, waited for the door to open, and then threw the envelope containing the pound coin into the shop, running back home immediately after. For a while after that the boy didn’t venture outside his own home. The experience had left him paralysed with fear and worry. His mother would come up to his room every so often and stroke his hair, muttering soothing words to no avail.

Weeks went by and the boy hadn’t seen or heard from Mr. Lariat again. Sometimes he would dream about the device. Dream of what possible uses it had. He imagined that it was some sort of key, a key to a different world. Or perhaps a weapon of some kind, used to gauge out a person’s still beating heart. One night he even heard the squeaking of the reel in his dreams. The slow movement of the un-oiled mechanism grated at his subconscious as though it were mocking the boy, teasing him with its mystery.

On and on the mechanism turned in his mind, until the boy shot upright in his bed awake and wary. ‘Another dream,’ he thought. As he calmed himself and loosened his body to return to sleep, he heard the very slightest high pitched sound coming from somewhere outside his room. It was almost inaudible, like that of a tiny rodent, but it was definitely there. Could this have been the noise that had spurred his dream? He wanted to return to his slumber, but the sound had become unavoidable now. He had to find it.

He lifted himself out of bed and tiptoed bare footed towards his half open door. He hid behind it for a moment, watching light seeping from the corridor outside, checking for any moving shadows. He peeked around the corner; all clear. Carefully he crept out into the corridor and pricked his ears, listening for where the sound was coming from. He made his way silently across the wooden floorboards, towards his parent’s room. They had gone out for the evening to a different town, leaving him on his own. This wasn’t the first time he had slept alone in the house, the fear had worn off years ago but it had somehow returned now.

He walked as though each floorboard was made of glass, gently placing each foot down carefully with every step. The door to the room was slightly ajar, and from within the clear mechanical squeaking grew louder. Edging forward he grabbed one of the gas lanterns hanging on the wall and brought it with him. There was no light coming from the room. He placed his palm against the door and gently pushed, thanking God that it hadn’t made a sound.

To his horror, he saw a shape looming in the room. He panicked and hid back behind the door. He tried to calm his breathing and looked back again. The figure was still there facing the wardrobe, encompassed in darkness. The boy peered through the shadows, gaslight turned down low so as not to scare the figure away. What was it doing? Then he saw the figure raise its arm, holding his mother’s necklace tightly between long fingernails.

“Mr. Lariat!” he exclaimed under his breath

‘What is he doing in our house?’ the boy thought, terrified, ‘what is he doing to my mother’s jewellery?’ The boy moved closer, trying to sneak up behind him without him noticing. What was he doing? He was no more than a metre away now, creeping silently. The squeaking noise was now at its loudest. He knew that it was Mr. Lariat, but what was he doing?

All of a sudden the squeaking stopped. The boy froze. Mr. Lariat turned mechanically around and stared into his frightened eyes. He was too afraid to move, paralysed in fear as he had been all those weeks ago stepping foot upon the knotwerker’s doorstep. In his right hand he was holding the mechanical device that he had dreamed about for so long, only this time there was something different about it. Entwined in the branches, and looped around each hook was the same necklace he had brought in to the shop.

‘He broke into the house to unknot my mother’s necklaces?’ he thought.

Then it hit him. Mr. Lariat was not here to untangle knots, but to create them. The boy had seen the necklace just yesterday and it was in pristine condition, not a single knot in sight. The device must have been designed to twist string, chain, wire, into untangleable messes.

‘That means...’ he thought, ‘that means he earns his money making knots that only he can unknot. It’s all just a con?’

He realised how much trouble he was in now. His mind told him to run, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. His heart thudded manically in his chest.

“I...I won’t tell anyone. I s... swear,” he stuttered frantically.

Mr. Lariat smiled sinisterly and released the necklace from the device. Slowly he stepped forward, still brandishing it in his hands.

“No,” he whispered loudly, “you won’t.”

Ever so slowly he began to turn the reel.