The Invisibles

Once upon a time there was no one else around. Not a lot of others, that is. Obviously, there were his servants, his invisible slaves as he insisted on calling them. To himself, that is. No one else was listening. His servants were the only ones there, and The Invisibles were also deaf.
The Invisibles were, as a matter of fact, dead. They had been for a long time already. He could not recall they had been alive even at the time they were hired. Of which he had little memory though, as his father had hired them the day he had been born. Something that he did have clear memories of. As did The Others; that was one of their trade marks.
It had been a grey, cold morning. It rained, but so it would; he was born in the Country where the Rain never Ceases. His mother died while giving birth to him. That was why his father had employed the immense staff that had been part of the house ever since. When he had moved into the house as a baby boy his father moved out. It was later heard that he had drowned in the stream by the house, but whether that was more than a rumour no one knew.
He grew up surrounded by The Invisibles. He called them that already as a toddler - they never told him their names. He truly believed that he was the only human being his size; he thought The Invisibles were giants, or that he might be a midget. Human voice was rare in the house where he grew up. Sometimes he would believe he heard someone speak. He would walk around, trying to locate the sound, but he always failed. The Invisibles' voices, if indeed it was theirs, he could not rightly say, would soon fade and the only voice heard in the house since was his own.
He had a peculiar voice. He did not know it, not then, he could not have known then, but it was different from most other voices in the world. The Others had voices like him, but he did not know The Others. He taught himself to read, and would spend his days in the vast library, reading about human beings that were relating to other human beings. It was the science fiction of his world, but he did not know that either.
His reading soon began to bore him. He was nineteen and had never done anything else. He had not been outside the house since he was brought in from the hospital as an infant. The Invisibles would bring him food and drink, and when he left the dining room he knew that someone would clean it up before he came back. Just as his bed was always made even if he returned to his room only minutes after he left it. But he never heard them.
When he first entered the house, his father had left him. But not only him. He locked the doors when he left, and by some sorcery, or maybe only by his will, they would not open again. The Invisibles had sworn an oath to keep the baby safe until it was a man; then they would be free, and the doors would open once more. For them - not for the manchild. So was his father's plan.
The manchild knew nothing of this. He knew only that even though the books he read clearly were not written in his world, there had to be more to life than merely existing. His Invisibles were hardly even existing anymore, they were merely there to fulfil their oath. In a way living, but then again not. They died when the manchild lost interest in them. He had been three then.
They all hated him. They hated each other as well; and they could do nothing to hurt either. The dead are past hurt - except the unbearable pain of never resting - which they all shared. And the boy; they could not hurt him. His father's last will kept him safe, as it held the house sealed and without exits. The Invisibles were silently attempting to make him grow old before his time. Unless he did, their waiting would be too long.
His twenty-first birthday had passed. He recognised his birthdays among other days because then there would be no food. He got a glass of water in the morning, and when he went to bed at night there would be a number of coins on his bed. This year there had been twenty-one. He put them in the chest with the others. There were two hundred thirty-one there now, but he knew it not. He did not know the use of them. In all his books money or coins were mentioned - his dad who had owned the books were indeed more fond of money than people - but he did not recognise his own as such valuables.
The Others were growing restless too. The Invisibles in every house could feel the change, but knew nothing to help them understand. Indisputably, they could not have known. They did not know there were other Invisibles, or even Others, in other houses. In fact, they knew not if there were still other houses. For twenty-one years no one had seen anyone else. The Invisibles could not be seen; and if they indeed had been visible, The Others would still not have seen them. Their slaves hated them enough for that; They would hide forever, had not The Others stirred. Everyone of whom had 231 belongings. He was lucky. His 231 was coins. Not gold, not silver, more likely some metal rarely known even in those days.
Of The Others only one had coins, but they were copper. Most of The Others had less valuable objects. They would compare them when they were all gathered, and as if it were part of the human instinct, they would evaluate them just as people did before then. That was twenty-one years ago, and time was drawing near. The Invisibles knew it, but The Others did not. They had not yet died and would not know until they did.
One morning he woke up earlier than he usually did. He felt the presence of someone in the room, but typically he saw none. Urged by some impulse he had never felt before, he followed The Invisible. It was not as difficult as he had thought it might be; The Invisible was obviously in a hurry, and he could follow it by the breath of air surrounding it. He came down in the cellar. The breath of air faded. He called out.
He was speaking with an authoritarian voice; the peculiar sound from childhood was still there, stronger than ever. Even though he had not spoken a word for many a year, his voice carried through the brick walls and into the room where The Invisibles hid. He was never to find that room. He would never need to.
They came out now. One by one. He felt the gush of air as each one of them walked past him. And he felt them stare at him -so hard he thought he could almost see their eyes. For a twinkling he wondered what he was doing. And not least why. Yes, he had been genuinely bored; having read every book in the house more than once - he knew them all by heart now. He realised he would have to say something to The Invisibles. He had summoned them; they had come. His was the next move.
In a clear voice - although some of its natural authority was lost due to lack of use - he started talking. He had long ago learnt two things about his own life. Or existense, that is. One, the house was completely sealed, and noone could leave it. Two, The Invisibles had to do everything he wanted; it was part of their long sworn vow. Startled that he had never thought of this before, but in fact quoting one of his books, he told them to open the doors and let him out.


He celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday outdoor. All The Others were there. If for nothing else, they had to be. His was the 231 coins of immeasurable value; His was the commanding voice; His house was the first that had been opened; and in His garden all The Invisibles were buried. The day when they had all left their dwellings, aided by the ever more vengeful Invisibles, they had met in the market square. He was there before any of them. He seemed to have been waiting for them.
The Invisibles died before their very eyes. That is to say -they found rest, and as they did so they became visible once more. The Others buried them in His garden. He told them to do so, and they were happy to be relieved of these spectres and so did as He said.
The first night they were all together they compared their 231's. His was clearly the most valuable, there was no discussion about that. He spoke to them that night. He spoke a long time, pleased to hear the sound of a human voice, although it was His own - the only voice He had indeed ever heard. Perhaps He did not rightly believe that anyone else had a voice. And maybe they did not; maybe they had not yet regained that ability. But as He spoke, He grew more confident. He suddenly felt powerful, as if the 231 Invisibles now buried were His, and their unlived life too; His in addition to His coins, the valuable ones. Before He had finished speaking, everything was changed. Time had come.
After a while they had all been settled. He was the Leader, and The Others would not speak to him unless they had no one else to turn to. He did not interfere with their doings and He did not give them any orders. But they had not forgotten the authority in his voice the first night, and they feared him. He invited them all to celebrate his birthday.
The celebration was held outdoor. The Others were there because they felt they had to. And also because there would be food in abundance. Although everyone had read most of the time they had been `grounded', they had not yet acquired much knowledge of farming, and so had not enough food. They were the only remaining humans in the world, and knew it not. They would have to learn or die out.
The celebration was more of the food available than of his age; they were all twenty-five, or would be that year. They were all feeling content, having filled their stomachs for once, so when He rose and addressed them they let him without fear. Never more would they fear him, for this was indeed The Final Change.
He told them that he had been reading his books over again, and that he knew what had to be done. He would need help from them, he said. They all volunteered. They might have to leave this place where they had been settled four years already. Everyone assured they did not mind. He would need a woman - in fact they would all have to pair up as well as they might. Many blushed, but none disagreed.
Some were already in pairs, the rest He helped divide. For himself he could choose between several - his voice still had a peculiar ring to it - but did not. He made sure all The Others were in pairs. They were 231 and he was the dispensable one. He let the matter rest until they had finished the meal.
When the sun set they had finished and he spoke again. He told them to split up into smaller groups and settle farther from one another. There they had to found a new society, have families and grow crops. He gave them books on the subjects they felt unsure they could carry out. Then he let those so inclined to pair anew - divorce was not a prospect alternative. They cleared the birthday table and left. He watched them until they were all lost in the twilight.

Five years later The Others came back to the very spot He had watched them leave. He was still there. At first, or so it seemed to the children who arrived there first, He was sitting on the ground staring as they came back. Then as they came closer He rose. They could see now that He had not been staring. His eyes were black and hollow.
They drew their children closer, and before their very eyes; blue, brown or green - all glittering - He withered and was gone. They planted a tree where He had waited so long, but for years not even the children would go near the place. But then, as time wore on and the 231 were tenfold as many, the tree suddenly burgeoned with flowers never ere seen. From that day on the Birthday Spot was the most cherished place there was, and the origin of its name no one knew.