Papier Château

Michelle Grade 9

The sleek white walls of the French hospital room glowed in the cool white light. Voices could be heard beyond the charcoal door that separated the room from the bustling corridor of the hospital.

“Should we be worried?” Pondered Madame Malheureuse.

Her newborn baby boy rested in her arms, eyes closed and face pale. White as the light from the ceiling; as still and colorless as a silken sheet of paper. He lay still and tranquil, not a sound came from his pale lips. Thus the beloved Papier was born into the world of light and warmth, although he seemed not to have received any from the universe.

Three years had passed since the dreary day of May 13 when Papier came into the world, and he sat silently in the living room with his little paper toys. Pieces of crisp white paper sat in little neat stacks around him. Every few minutes his small ghostly fingers reached out to grab a piece of paper, then delicately folded it into perfect shapes.

Madame Malheureuse gazed at her son lovingly. He really was no trouble. When she told him to eat his little breakfast or brush his little teeth or go to bed in his little room, he did so without a fuss. And every night she would watch him snuggle up into his covers, brush his ivory hair out of the way and kiss his little forehead goodnight.

The candlelight flickered in the moonlight, dancing, and prancing in little flares of joy. Papier sat close to the window, the shimmering light making his pale face even more ghostly. He picked up a sheet of paper and after a moment of examination, folded it. Clean and crisp.

A soft tapping sound came from the window. Tap, tap.

Papier glanced up, looking with a blank expression out the window into the dark street. A shadow flickered, and a man’s face appeared, grinning at him. Papier stared at the man tapping on the window. He seemed to be indicating at the lock that held the window firmly in place. But Papier couldn’t care less about the strange man’s silent inquiry and turned away.

“Papier! Just a few minutes more and then you must go to bed,” called Madame Malheureuse from the kitchen.

Papier nodded and continued to fold his piece of paper. He could hear the water rushing from the sink behind the kitchen door and the harsh scrubbing of the dishes. Papier smiled at his castle. Creak. The sound of the front door opening made Papier glance up again. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and the man stood at the entrance to the living room. He smiled, his cat eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Oh why, hello!” the man rasped, “I think you left your door unlocked.”

The man tutted, clicking his tongue against his yellow teeth, “You really should be more careful, don’t you think? Especially on a night like this.”

The man strutted across the wooden floor, peering at Papier’s castle.

“Amuse me child. Play with me,” the man smirked.

Papier shook his head, he liked to play alone.

“Well then,” the man muttered, stepping closer to Papier.

The man took another step, his shadow looming over small Papier, still folding a piece of paper. It was now a perfect little square.

“What is this?” the man asked, “A square? How charming. Now, what if I just…”

He plucked the square out of Papier’s hands, examining the smooth, sharp edges of the paper. The candle flickered in the darkness and the moon seemed to dull a shade. Papier looked up from his outstretched hands, his fingers still agape from the missing piece. With a yelp, the man dropped the paper and hopped backward. 

A paper cut.

He backed up into Papier’s paper castle, crushing the delicate pieces with his massive form. But instead of crumpling up, the papers stuck to his body, piercing his skin thoroughly. He howled with pain, and the sound of his deep voice and Papier’s rising scream mingled together to create a delicate harmony.

“What is this!” the man roared, pools of blood oozed and seeped into the cracks of the wooden floor. It puddled around the man and soaked the white paper that stuck to him like porcupine needles. The pure white paper around him had turned blood red, no longer crisp but soggy with liquid. His blurred vision served him no purpose as he blinked rapidly at the fading ceiling. The only thing he saw was the small white figure of a ghost standing over him, wide-eyed and pale. And because the man knew not how to scream, he gasped for breath as paper fell over his eyes.

Madame Malheureuse ran out of the kitchen, out of breath, with soap water still dripping from her rubber gloves. She gawked at the dead man lying in front of Papier. Running towards the phone, she dialed the police frantically, the soapy water that dripped from her gloves, forgotten.

The house was silent except for the crinkling of paper when the police arrived. Madame Malheureuse was silent in her armchair, watching Papier who with joy, had begun to rebuild his fallen castle. It was peculiar to see such a young child unaffected by the death of a man: to see him play as if nothing had happened. The man’s back was cut with billions of red marks, seemingly paper cuts. And once the doctor came forth and examined the corpse, he saw unnervingly that the man’s vocal cords had been unstrung, sliced through. His eyes were wide open, his face stuck in a forever petrified expression. And when they questioned Papier, he simply shook his head.

“He destroyed their castle,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean by, they,” the head officer asked.

“Did this man,” he nudged the corpse with his foot, “have accomplices?”

Papier shook his head. “My paper people,” he giggled.

The officers took a glance at each other and after a moment’s talk with the madame, they left, to return the next day when the sun was bright and the room was lit.

“Papier, it’s time for bed. Go along now,” Madame Malheureuse held Papier’s small, cold hands in hers and led him to his room.

Once she closed the door, she sank down the wall, resting her head on her arms. There she sat, guarding her son. She jolted awake when she heard sounds coming from behind Papier’s door. The grandfather clock donged in the corridor, indicating that it was half-past midnight. She blinked groggily as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, surprised to see small peels of light running along the bottom of Papier’s door. With a nervous twitch of her hands, she cautiously stepped forward on the balls of her feet. And once she leaned against the door, she pressed her ears tentatively against the lifeless wood. A small melody rang behind it and rustling paper could be heard. She sighed, it must be Papier. She put her hand on the doorknob and slowly opened it ajar. The light from the room cast her shadow backward onto the far wall. And if one was observing from inside the room, they could have seen small figures dancing up her arms and torso. She blinked in the light and saw paper.

Paper cats, paper dogs, paper houses, paper sheep, paper cows, paper telephones, paper chickens, paper lions, paper snails, paper swords. They cavorted around the room in a wide circle, and her paper son swayed in the middle, orchestrating. When she gasped involuntarily, the paper creatures sank to the floor, freezing, and her paper son Papier turned to gaze at her, rather angrily in fact.

If you were looking at the wall where the mother’s shadow fell, you could have seen the figures creeping up her body and plunging into her before she vocalized a single scream. You could have seen that her fate was already at an end.

The police came back the next day to find Papier silently adding to his paper castle and the corpse of his mother scattered with billions of red paper cuts. The head officer moved towards Papier with a sorrowful expression. He felt pity for the child who’d seen enough death for a lifetime. He kneeled down in front of the boy and peered at him for a long while.

“Son, was there anyone in the house last night other than you and your mother?” He said gently.

Papier shook his head, folding a piece of paper.

Concluding that the boy was well enough to take a brief inquiry, the officer probed, “Do you recall anything at all out of place?”

Papier stopped folding and stared at the man, his eyes unblinking.

Finally, Papier got up, moving forward at a steady pace, and set the piece he was working on at the top of the castle. The sun shone into the room, reflecting the paper so it seemed made up of extremely fine glass.

When he replied to the officer, you could see the impish grin pasted on his ghostly face and the alarm of the man who watched.

“They got her too,” he sang, “They got her like they got him too. The paper dance, the moonless sky, the echo of the turning time. My paper creatures pranced about and down went missus, oops, well bye!”