Child of Darkness

by V. C. Andrews

  I felt her hand on my back, literally pushing me out the door, her palm rolling along my wing bone for what I knew would be the last time.

  Because it had begun to rain, Mr. Prescott held the umbrella over my head and guided me to the car. I looked back once and thought I saw Tillie Mae staring out a window, rubbing the shoulder that Madame Annjill had dislocated. It was something she always did when she was frightened or sad. In the window she looked as if her face was made of candle wax, with her sad, hot tears melting it away. A few moments later we turned into the driveway and were off, me supposedly to a brand-new hopeful life.

  It began to rain harder and quickly became one of those early spring downpours that had decided a moment before it fell not to turn to snow and sleet. The raindrops were heavy, pounding the roof of the Prescotts' car so hard it sounded more like steel balls rolling back and forth above us. There was a clap of thunder, and a stitch of lightning made Mrs. Prescott squeal and jump in her seat.

  I sat in the rear, my hands folded over my lap, and stared ahead. Because I was so silent, Mrs. Prescott was fidgety and nervous and couldn't stop talking. She asked me one question after another, and when I didn't answer one, she just went on to the next as if she had never asked the first.

  "Give the child a chance," her husband kept telling her. I had yet to say a full sentence. All of my answers were monosyllabic. I was still thinking about how fast I had gone from what had been my home for so long to this new home.

  All the time I had lived at that first orphanage under Madame Annjill's iron rule, I was never truly afraid. Her meanness made me stronger, her threats, more defiant. I was in a pond with the rest of the helpless fish, only I had my faith, my secrets, my brother, Noble, at my side when I really needed him. It all kept me well above the swirling waters of unhappiness and well out of danger.

  Madame Annjill wasn't all wrong about the things she had told the Prescotts about me, however. She did not exaggerate everything. I was truly more independent than most of the other girls at the orphanage, and I was not a problem at school. I did do well, and I was very neat and organized.

  But as I was being ripped out of this orphanage world almost as quickly and dramatically as I had been torn from my family years ago, I felt myself sinking back into the cocoon that had been woven around me at birth. Once again, silence became a warm, protective blanket to wrap around myself. That was why I didn't want to talk very much.

  What frightened me the most was the idea that I was not going home. I was being detoured, perhaps forever, and I would lose the only family I had ever known. Success here and in this world would push my past back further and further, until it would be as buried as my ancestors in the little old graveyard where Noble's body had rested.

  Can families replace families? I wondered. Can Nana Prescott and Papa Prescott really become my grandparents? Would I inherit all of their ancestors, their stories, their likes and dislikes? Was it like a blood transfusion after all? Is it finally true that someday for me blood would once again be thicker than water?

  And how would my spiritual family feel about all this? Wouldn't they feel betrayed? Wasn't I betraying them simply by being here and pretending I wanted to become part of the Prescott family?

  "Please, dear," Mrs. Prescott said again and again, "call me Nana and call Mr. Prescott Papa."

  It was almost like asking me to speak profanity. What about my real Nana and Papa? Would they sulk in the shadows, be forced to disappear? And then how would all my other real relatives feel? Surely they would think me ungrateful, deserting them, and they would take away my visions and my strength. I would never be able to go home again, inheritance or no inheritance. What was Ito do?

  "We're home!" Nana Prescott cried the moment we turned into the driveway, as if she had feared we'd never arrive.

  Their home was much as she had described. It was a modest but very pretty house with Wedgwood blue shutters and a walkway bordered by waist-high bushes, a flower bed in front, and a small fountain with a pair of birds at the center. The water ran down their beaks as though they had just dipped them into the pond for a drink.

  The two-car garage door went up, revealing a very organized and well-kept garage with cabinets and shelves. Even the garage floor looked like it was scrubbed clean daily. Their second car was an SUV, and I could see the golf clubs in the rear, the heads of which were looking out the window, impatiently waiting for Papa Prescott to make use of them. He carried my things into the house, and then Nana Prescott showed me about.

  Everything looked untouched. It was like a model home, with magazines neatly in the racks, furniture polished and looking unused, not a thing out of place. They had a big-screen television set in their family room, as they called it. Somehow, I expected to see a piano. In my mind's eye, there was always a piano in a home. It couldn't be a home without one. I could often hear Mama playing it, the melodies trailing through my memory, weaving in and out of visions like so much musical thread.

  Something's not right here, I thought. It wasn't just the neatness, either. What was it? I wondered, and then I realized, that this house was too quiet. There were no voices whispering, no footsteps to be heard, no doors opening and closing. Even the dust didn't move when it was caught in a ray of light. Stillness lay like cellophane over the doors, the walls, the windows and floors. Because of that, the Prescotts spoke very softly, and when they walked, they seemed to be tiptoeing over the carpets and flooring, as if there was someone sleeping upstairs who must not be woken.

  "We'll get you settled in," Nana Prescott said. "Papa will be off to play golf with his buddies, but you and I can get to know each other better. You can help me in the kitchen. Do you like roast pork? I thought we'd have that as a special occasion dinner."

  "I don't know," I said. I really didn't. I couldn't remember ever having it.

  "Well, if you don't, I'll just make you something else right away," Nana Prescott promised.

  They took me up to see my room, hoping it would be to my liking. My liking? How could I, an orphan for so many years, not be happy to have my own room?

  Nana Prescott had gone out and bought brandnew bedding for the queen-size bed and had Papa Prescott hang new white and pink curtains. They had a maid twice a week, and it was obvious she had spent a lot of time getting everything looking brand-new. Spotless windows gleamed. The mauve carpet was vacuumed so that it looked recently laid, and all the furniture had been polished until I could see my face reflected in the wood. It was a pretty room, much prettier than anywhere I had slept since I had left the farm, of course.

  "We want you to be as comfortable as a baby blue-bird in her nest," Nana Prescott told me.

  I mouthed my thank-you's, but I was still too nervous and afraid to really smile. The two of them watched me look over the room, both standing in the doorway, smiling like proud new grandparents should smile. The happier and more excited about me they were, the more nervous I grew, and the tighter and tighter I drew that cocoon around me. I'm sure that, among other things, was what eventually discouraged them.

  As soon as I had put away my things, I went with Nana Prescott to the kitchen.

  Once again she was the nervous one, babbling about her childhood, her school days, her parents and grandparents, moving from one topic to another like a bored television viewer flipping channels. It was as though she was told she had to get everything about her past out and in my head before I went to sleep. I was polite and spoke a little more about myself, mainly because I was curious about her and Papa Prescott and their children and grandchildren. I looked at all the pictures and heard her descriptions of everyone.

  "They're all going to love you," she predicted. "You'll see."

  Was that possible? Could anyone just look at me and love me, or was that just another one of the lies that trailed adults like so many ribbons caught in the wind?

  I helped her set the table, and then I went up to my room and looked at the books on the shelf, children's book and young adult
books their daughter Michelle had read and kept. Some of them I had read, too, but others attracted my interest. Strangely, I felt guilty every time I saw something I liked or took pleasure in anything that would be mine.

  At dinner, Nana Prescott bragged to Papa Prescott how much I had helped her. I had done very little, but I could see she thought exaggerating would make me feel good. I did enjoy the dinner she made. It was tastier than the food at the orphanage, and there was her homemade blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert. Papa Prescott talked about his golf game, even though it was pretty clear Nana Prescott had no interest and thought he should be talking about something that would interest me. It was as if he didn't see her, or me, for that matter. At times it was more like he was talking to himself aloud.

  Is this what happens to people when they grow old together? I wondered. Do they begin to separate in lit- tle ways until they wake up one morning and discover they are all alone again? They didn't have what I had, I thought. They didn't have the something wonderful that held us all together, all of us tied together by whispers and shadows. Yes, that was what I missed the most now. Just thinking about it made me sad.

  "Are you all right, dear?" Nana Prescott asked me. She saw the expression on my face, I guess.

  I nodded.

  "She's just tired," Papa Prescott said, smiling at me. "It's been a big day for her."

  Why didn't he say you? It's been a big day for you? I wondered. He made me feel like we were all talking about someone else, or like I was in a glass case and they were observing me.

  Finally, I went up to bed.

  The first night I went to sleep in my new room, I continued to have a battle with myself. One part of me wished I was back in the orphanage, even under the control and terror of Madame Annjill. Once again, I was reminded about betraying my real family. Another part of me didn't want to feel that way. It wasn't a rich and ornate bedroom, but after spending the last six years in a room with three other girls, each of us confined to a small space for our possessions and schoolbooks, I was excited.

  This was the first night I had slept anywhere but the orphanage for nearly four years. I couldn't keep my eyes closed, even though I was so tired. Every sound in the house made my lids snap open. I would wait and listen for the next tinkle, the next creak. Was that the sound of the front door opening? A window? Were those footsteps on the stairway? Was that my bedroom door being opened?

  At one point it was opened. Nana Prescott had come to my room to look in on me and see if I was all right. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. She stood there for a few more moments and then quietly closed the door.

  Immediately afterward, I heard Noble say, "Hey."

  I turned and saw him standing there. He didn't look happy, even though I was overjoyed to see him.

  "I was afraid you wouldn't know where I had gone," I said. "I haven't seen you for so long."

  "That's not my fault. You stopped looking for me. You even stopped thinking about me."

  "No, I didn't."

  "It doesn't matter. I'll always know where you are," he told me. "And I'll always see you."

  I watched him walk around the room, looking at everything.

  "It's a nice room, isn't it?" I asked him.

  "No," he said. "You have a nicer room waiting for you at home. This room smells like a laundry. Whoever cleans it uses too much soap and polish. It reminds me of a hospital room. And what are you looking out at here?" he continued after he went to the window. "Another house and a busy street. I've already checked their backyard. They don't have a garden; they've never had a garden, and that swing set is pathetic."

  "Papa Prescott's going to fix it and make it look brand-new again," I said.

  "Papa Prescott?" he said, grimacing with distaste. "That's what they want me to call him."

  "Please," Noble said.

  He turned around and put his hands on his hips. "They want me to be happy," I told him.

  He shook his head.

  "You won't be happy here, Celeste," he declared. "Don't ever think or imagine you will."

  Then he turned and walked into the darkness of a comer and was gone.

  "Noble," I called. "Noble!"

  I must have been shouting because Nana Prescott came to my door quickly. She was in her nightgown, her blue-gray hair down to her shoulders. Silhouetted in the hall light, she looked like some deformed creature. Then I did scream.

  Papa Prescott came quickly behind her, tying his robe as he approached.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know. What's wrong, Celeste, dear?"

  She flipped on the light. I was sitting up, staring at the comer in which Noble had disappeared. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

  "Was it a nightmare, dear?" Nana Prescott asked.

  She approached me tentatively, hoping for some sign from me that I welcomed her comfort, but all I could do was stare at the corner and hope Noble would come back.

  "What was it?" Nana asked now, stopping a foot from the bed. "Celeste?"

  I didn't respond.

  She turned to Papa Prescott and shrugged. "What should I do?"

  "Celeste," he said more firmly. "What seems to be bothering you? Did something frighten you?"

  Finally I turned to them and wiped my cheeks, flipping the tears to the side.

  "Noble was here, and I'm afraid he won't come back," I said.

  "Who?" Nana Prescott asked. "Did you say someone was here? Celeste?"

  I didn't answer. I dropped myself back, my head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.

  "She must be having a dream. I think she's still in it," Papa Prescott said.

  "Yes, that's it. Poor child. The hard times she's gone through as an orphan are unimaginable," Nana Prescott said, and finally came to my bed and fixed my blanket around me. "There, there, dear. Papa and I are right nearby if you need us. Would you like me to leave the door open?" she asked.

  I looked at her.

  "Yes," I said. "Leave it open. Maybe he'll return." "Maybe who will return?"

  "Noble," I said. I loved saying his name, and it had been so long, so very long, since I had told it to any-one.

  They looked at each other.

  "She'll feel better in the morning," Nana Prescott forced herself to conclude.

  "Yeah, we all will," Papa Prescott predicted, and they walked out, she pausing once to look back at me.

  "Come back, Noble," I whispered. "I won't be happy here. I promise."

  But he didn't appear again that first night. Nevertheless, I knew he was sulking somewhere in the shadows. I could feel him there. Afterward, I knew he was following me everywhere, too. He even followed me to the new school I was to attend, and after I had been assigned my desk and had been introduced to the class by my teacher, I spun around and caught him standing in the back of the classroom. He smirked, fell backward into the wall, and was gone.

  Over the next few weeks, I never stopped looking for him. My teacher complained to me and then to the Prescotts that I wasn't paying attention, that I was very distracted. She told them she couldn't understand how I had been doing so well in school. My first grades on her tests were always failing, and whenever she called on me in class to answer a question, I would simply stare at her.

  Nana Prescott continually asked me why I was doing so badly. She volunteered to read with me, but I knew that would make Noble even angrier, since it was what he always did with me. I told her I didn't need her to do that.

  "Noble will help me," I said.

  "Who is Noble?" she asked.

  "My brother."

  "Your brother, but where ... when do you see him?"

  "Whenever he wants me to," I said.

  She shook her head and busied herself with some household chore. Later, she and Papa Prescott talked about me. I could hear them speaking softly in the liv-ing room after I had gone up to bed. Noble told me to tiptoe out to the top of the stairway to listen.

  "I don't know," Papa said. "I don't
like it. We might have bitten off more than we can chew, Julia."

  "Oh, I'm sure she'll get better after a while. It takes time to get used to a new home, Arnold. Children often invent imaginary friends."

  "This isn't an imaginary friend. It's her brother who died. Can't say it doesn't give me the creeps to hear her talk about him," he said. "And the way she stares at nothing, as if she sees someone. Frankly, it gives me the chills. Funny how Annjill didn't mention anything about this."

  They were quiet.

  I started back to my room. Noble was standing in the doorway.

  "See what I mean? You don't belong here," he said, turned and went inside.

  But he wasn't there when I entered. I went to bed and waited and listened for him. He didn't return, and I fell asleep.

  The following day Mr. Fizer, the school counselor, asked to meet with me. He had curly blond hair and very friendly and warm blue eyes. I saw the picture of his wife and two children on his desk. He had a girl who looked to be about fifteen in the picture and a son, whom I had seen in the hallway, who was eight years old and two grades below me. I couldn't help wondering why there was such an age difference between his two children. In the family portrait, I thought his wife looked older than him.

  "It's always hard to start a new school," he said almost as soon as I sat in the chair in front of his desk. "We all understand that, Celeste, but Miss Ritowski thinks you're having more serious problems. Is there anything bothering you that I can help you with, perhaps? I really would like to help you and to see you succeed."

  I didn't answer. I stared at him, actually right through him.

  "You're with very, very nice people. I've known the Prescotts for a long time. I went to school with their son, in fact," he said, smiling.

  The windows of his office were behind his desk, which I thought was a bad idea. Anyone who was called to his office and sat in front of him could ignore him and gaze out the windows to see birds and even students who were having physical education classes on the ball field.

  "Don't you like Miss Ritowski? All her students are very fond of her," he added before I could say other-wise.