Mr Sticks — a short story for English reading and speaking

Sam lived with his daughter, Emily, in a remote house deep in the woods.

It was where he wanted to be. Away from society and away from prying eyes.

Ever since his wife had died, Sam had been unable to face other people. He shunned old friends and family. Everyone.

His daughter rarely spoke to other people and instead seemed to create imaginary friends to fill the void.

Sam encouraged this, as he believed this would develop her sense of imagination.

One friend she had was Mr Sticks.

Sam asked Emily about Mr Sticks. Who was he? Where did he live?

“Oh, he lives in the woods,” said Emily, in a matter-of-fact tone. “He comes into the garden and then he tells me things.”

“What does he tell you?” asked Sam.

Emily gave him a sardonic look. “He tells me secrets.”

Later that evening, when Emily was sleeping upstairs, Sam thought about what she said and her imaginary friend, Mr Sticks.

It was all very well that she had a strong imagination, but she was also getting to an age where she should realise the difference between truth and fiction.

Sam had not really told her about her mother. Anytime the subject came up, he just said that she had to ‘go away’.

But now, he thought it was time that she knew the truth about such things. And he would start by telling Emily that her imaginary friend, Mr Sticks, was just that.

An imagination.

Not real.

When she described Mr Sticks, she was able to give great detail on what he looked like.

A tall, grotesque figure made of branches and twigs from trees. His body infested with small and dark creatures from the night in the dark forest, out of view from anyone else.

She described his voice and the way he spoke to her when he told her secrets.

His voice a series of clicks and rasps.

No words.

Sam decided this all had to stop. The following evening he would have a talk with her about this Mr Sticks.

The next day, Emily got ready to go to bed and Sam read her a story while she lay tucked up between the sheets.

He got to the end of the story and closed the book.

“Emily, I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

He put the book to one side.

“You know, when we are younger, we like to have imaginary friends. I had one when I was much younger, too. But we have to understand that these friends are not real. Just like Mr Sticks is not real.”

As soon as he said the name, Emily’s eyes widened, and she bolted into an upright position on her bed.

“No, Dad, you’re wrong,” she said emphatically. “He is real. Just like you and me.”

Sam shook his head. His mind went to his wife, Emily’s mother. She would have been so much better at this. She would have dealt with it the right way.

“No, Emily. No, he’s not real. Mr Sticks is all in your mind.”

Emily’s face twisted into an expression of fear and anger.

“You don’t know anything about him, Dad,” she said. “He is real. He tells me things. He told me something about you. I know, Dad. I know everything.”

Sam stared back at her, his mouth open in shock. He had never heard her speak to him like this before.

“Enough, Emily. Enough of this. I don’t want you to talk about Mr Sticks ever again.”

Sam left the room and closed the door. Outside, he could hear Emily crying and protesting that she was telling the truth.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, he forced himself to believe he was doing the right thing.

Emily had to come to terms with real life. She was getting too old to live in a fantasy world.

And he was under the impression that this Mr Sticks was a comfort figure. Something she had created in her mind to fill the void of the loss of her mother.

Sam poured himself a glass of wine and went to the living room.

He sat in silence, his thoughts colliding with each other inside his head.

He poured another glass. And then brought the rest of the bottle into the living room and finished it.

He must have passed out on the sofa.

But when he came to and opened his eyes, he could make out a clicking noise coming from the kitchen.

Sam was certain he hadn’t left the back door open.

It couldn’t be that.

But they were in the countryside, so it could be a mouse or a bird trapped somewhere and trying to get out.

He pulled himself to his feet and wandered into the kitchen, his hand passing over his face to wipe away the exhaustion that never seemed to leave him.

Opening the door, he was faced with something he could not believe.

A tree.

A great mass of branches, twigs, vines, and leaves right there in the middle of the kitchen.

Except it was moving. Like it was a living organism with a heart and lungs.

A loud clicking sound filled the space.

“Samuel,” a voice came from deep within the twigs and thick foliage before him.

Sam stepped back and collided against the wall.

Mr Sticks.

Who else could it possibly be?

“What do you want?” The words fell from Sam’s mouth quietly and weakly.

“I have come for you, Samuel,” said the mass of vines and branches.

A small, rodent-like creature scurried along a twig and disappeared into the inner mass of the strange tree.

Sam could barely breathe.

Then, just as he caught his breath, a vine slithered out towards him and wrapped itself around his neck.

It pulled Sam with inhuman strength into the thick undergrowth of Mr Sticks’s body.

Sam tried to call out, to scream, but one of his last thoughts was that no one would be able to hear him.

Apart from Emily.