EMERGENCE

by R. H. Dixon

  Getting down on his hands and knees John felt around the floor in sweeping arcs, to confirm the carpet was dry. It was. Still kneeling, he reached for the nearest tower of boxes that were piled above his old room and dragged the whole stack away from the wall in preparation for untacking the carpet. As he slid the boxes across the carpet he noticed the topmost one had a handwritten label affixed to it: PHOTOS (’70s). It looked like his mother’s handwriting so he lifted the lid, curious to see snapshots of his parents together in happier days, but then the phone started ringing downstairs. He let the lid drop back down and waited a moment to see if the noise would rouse the girls, hoping one of them might answer it. No such luck. Cursing he stood up and scuttled down to the landing, fully expecting the shrill persistence of the phone to end before he got to it. It didn’t. He picked the cordless receiver up in his mother’s sewing room. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, John. Hi, just me.’ It was his mother. ‘I thought for a moment you and Seren must have gone out.’

  ‘Hey, Mam. Just busy that’s all. Seren’s still sleeping.’ He didn’t think to mention Emily, that could wait. He shut the door, in case the sound of his voice disturbed the girls, and went to sit on the futon. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I was just checking in, making sure you’re okay.’

  ‘We’re fine. How’s the holiday?’

  ‘Lovely, pet. We’ve met another couple, Terry and Aileen.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Terry’s a retired police officer and Aileen used to work for the home office. She’s all swanky with her Versace handbag and Jimmy Choos, but she’s pleasant enough. Terry’s a right hoot, puts me in mind of Tommy Cooper and he’s got a laugh as wicked as Sid James’…’

  John rolled his eyes, stifling a sigh. ‘I’m sure he has, Mam, but how’s the actual holiday going?’

  ‘Wonderful. The food’s great and the boat’s lovely.’

  ‘Ship.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re on a ship.’

  ‘Same difference. Boat, ship, ferry, they all float on the water don’t they?’

  ‘So does a dinghy but you’re not on one.’

  ‘Oh stop being pedantic, John.’ His mother huffed, and he imagined her scowling. ‘But yeah, it’s been really nice so far. We’ve got a decent sized room with an en suite bathroom. No bath, mind, just a shower. But that suits Norman better. Sometimes he gets stuck in the bath and can’t get out on account of his arthritis. Oh and a maid comes and cleans the room every morning. She fetches clean towels and tops up the teabags and sugar sachets, which is a good job really because Norman drinks tea like nobody’s business.’

  ‘Great.’ John leaned back and rested his head against the futon. He looked up at the white, unspoiled ceiling.

  ‘Yeah, I just wish she’d come a little bit earlier while we’re along having breakfast. Usually she calls later, just after Norman’s used the bathroom. You’d think she’d have learnt her lesson by now.’

  John closed his eyes and gently squeezed his thumb and forefinger into the corners. ‘Yeah, you’d think she’d rejig her whole routine just to accommodate Norman’s toilet habits, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I certainly would.’

  John puffed his cheeks and exhaled slowly.

  ‘We’ve got a little porthole in the room,’ his mother went on, ‘but it doesn’t open so there’s not much point really. Most times there’s not much to see. Sky and sea, sea and sky. Terry and Aileen have a big balcony attached to their room. Nice for sitting out on to get a bit of sea air, you know? They’re the money people though, I bet it cost them a fortune. I think me and Norman will invite ourselves round one evening, you know, for a bit of a neb.’

  ‘I bet they’ll really look forward to that.’

  ‘Are you being sarcastic, John?’

  ‘Me? Never. So where are you off to today?’

  ‘Istanbul. I think we get eight hours to have a look about.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Yeah, I hear there’ll be lots of market stalls. Is there anything you want fetching back?’

  ‘Er, off the top of my head I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘What about apple tea?’

  ‘I’m good thanks.’

  ‘Okay, as long as you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘How’s Otis and Mindy? Are they missing me?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ he lied; in truth the dogs hadn’t pined at all. ‘They’re fine.’

  ‘Aw that’s good to hear, give them my love. And Seren. Tell her I’ll fetch something nice back.’

  ‘You don’t have to, Mam.’ He stood up and went to the window. Brushing the net curtains aside, he looked out at the slate grey sea and the sky which was only a few shades lighter. Movement below in the garden caught his attention. He was surprised to see Mindy scampering about on the lawn and Seren standing on the path in her pyjamas. He couldn’t see Otis anywhere but, almost out of range, he could see the top of Emily’s head.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ his mother admonished. ‘She’s my granddaughter. It’s my prerogative to spoil her.’

  ‘Well, whatever,’ he said, straightening the nets and heading back to the door. ‘I’m pleased to hear you’re having a good time. You should probably go and get sorted for your day trip.’

  ‘I think we’re about ready to go to be honest. Camera’s charged, Norman’s got our money rolled up in his sock, and I’ve got water and sunscreen in my bag. Oh and a roll of toilet paper. Never can be too careful in these foreign countries, can you?’

  ‘For chrissakes, Mother, I’m sure there’ll be paper in the public toilets.’

  ‘I don’t really want to take that chance though, son. My bag’s ample big enough, so I’d rather err on the side of caution.’

  ‘A whole roll though?’

  ‘Better safe than sorry.’

  Out on the landing John saw that the door to his mother’s room was closed, but the door to his old room was standing ajar. He peered inside, his eyes drawn to the ceiling. ‘Hey Mam, have you experienced any problems with the back bedroom ceiling lately?’

  ‘Problems? What do you mean?’ Her tone instantly suggested she hadn’t.

  ‘I dunno, mould maybe?’

  ‘Mould? Good grief no, how’s that happened? Shall I go and get Norman? He’s in the bathroom, would you like me to…’

  ‘No, Mam, it’s fine, I’m sure. Nothing to be concerned about at all. I’ll check everything over and get it sorted, there’s no need to worry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it…’

  ‘Whereabouts is…’

  ‘Seriously, it’s miniscule. Would hardly even notice it. In fact, maybe it was just a shadow or something,’ he said, furiously backtracking. ‘I’ll go and have a better look when I get off the phone. I’m betting it’s nothing at all actually.’

  ‘Well, it can get quite dingy in that back room sometimes. That’s why I chose the other one for my sewing…’

  ‘Look, Mam, I’ll not keep you, this is probably costing you a fortune. Go and have fun at the markets with Norman, okay? And make sure you haggle with those Turks.’

  ‘Right-o. And I’ll keep an eye out for anything you might like. Turkish slippers or some such.’

  ‘Seriously, Mam, you don’t have to. Just watch what you’re doing and don’t get into trouble.’

  ‘Will do, love. Bye.’

  ‘Er, yeah…bye.’ John hung up and closed the door to his old room then went downstairs, expecting to find Seren and Emily. They weren’t in the lounge or the kitchen, so he opened the back door and peered down the drive. He couldn’t see them out there either.

  ‘Seren? Em?’

  When there was no reply he called the dogs’ names and whistled. Neither Otis nor Mindy responded, causing a flash of concern to step his heartbeat up a notch. Where could all four of them be? The dogs’ leads were hanging where he’d left them earlier, so they couldn’t have all gone for a walk.

  �
��Seren?’ he called louder this time. ‘Emily?’

  Movement upstairs made him rush to the foot of the stairs. Floorboards creaked, then his mother’s bedroom door cracked open. Emily peered out, bleary eyed. ‘Yo, what’s up?’ she asked, scratching her head.

  ‘Is Seren up there with you? And the dogs?’

  Emily looked back into the room behind her, confused. ‘Um, no…’

  ‘No? Well, where are they?’

  John’s anxious response made the sleepy look vanish from Emily’s eyes in an instant. ‘I…I dunno. What’s going on?’

  John spun round and raced to the back door. Maybe Seren was out in the garden at the front of the house and he’d missed her. Or playing games. Hide and seek, like in his dream. Had she snuck up into the loft?

  Oh God.

  But surely not with the dogs.

  Pelting outside, John’s stockinged feet beat hard against the concrete path. He turned the corner and leapt onto the square area of lawn at the front of the house. She wasn’t there.

  ‘Seren!’

  Emily dashed out of the house behind him, her feet bare and the shorts of her pyjamas showing off most of her legs. ‘John, what’s going on?’

  ‘Why did you leave her out here?’ he demanded.

  ‘What are you talking about? I didn’t know she was out here…’

  ‘Yes you did, I saw you both about five minutes ago.’

  Emily fixed him with a look of concern and shook her head. ‘I only woke up when you shouted. I didn’t know Seren was…’

  ‘You were out here,’ he insisted, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to think straight, tried to work out what he should do. ‘I saw you.’

  ‘But you can’t have, I was in bed the whole time.’

  ‘No. I saw…I saw…’

  ‘What? What did you see?’

  ‘Your head. The top of your head.’

  ‘The top of my head?’

  ‘Yes. From the upstairs window.’

  ‘So you saw someone with dark hair out here with Seren and presumed it was me?’

  ‘Well, I…yes. Yes.’

  ‘Fuck, John. Who was it then? Because I’m telling you it wasn’t me.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And…’ Emily looked around the garden. ‘Where are the dogs? Why didn’t they bark?’

  John looked to the gate and saw that it was wide open. ‘Seren!’

  _

  20

  _

  ‘On then, Christian soldiers, on to victorrry! Hell’s foundations quiiiver…’ Sissy Dawson stopped singing. The door to her room opened and for a fleeting moment the ghosts around her bed disappeared. Kevin was standing at the doorway, outlined by the sunshiny corridor behind him.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Dawson,’ he said, stepping into the room, his boyish face cheery. ‘You sound like you’re in a chirpy mood today.’

  ‘Good grief no,’ she croaked. ‘I haven’t felt chirpy since I was a young 'un.’

  ‘Surely that can’t be right.’

  ‘God’s honest truth.’

  ‘But if someone’s singing with as much gusto as you were just now, they’ve got to be feeling upbeat.’ Kevin smiled down at her, his blue eyes radiating compassion. His unblemished face reminded Sissy of the skin on top of warm milk and she fancied that he smelt of gingersnaps.

  ‘Now, how’s them broken bones of yours doing?’ he asked. ‘You were very lucky not to have killed yourself pulling a stunt like that.’

  ‘I’d say I was very unlucky in that case.’

  ‘Aw I hate to see you down in the dumps, Mrs Dawson. Things will get better, though, you’ll mend. You’ll see.’

  ‘And supposing I don’t?’

  ‘Course you will.’

  ‘There’s more to a person than skin and bones. All that stuff’s superficial.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow, Mrs Dawson.’

  ‘Do you believe in God?’

  Kevin’s neat mouth twisted in thought. ‘Hmmm. I like to keep an open mind. I don’t know that there is a God, but I don’t know that there isn’t.’

  ‘I believe in Him.’

  ‘I know you do, Mrs Dawson. And that’s great.’

  ‘Do you want to know how I know He’s real?’

  ‘Good old fashioned faith?’

  ‘Partly. But I know of things that exist in this world that are bad. Terribly bad.’ The expression in her eyes intensified to a warning glare. ‘So that means He must exist.’

  Kevin shifted his heavy bulk from one foot to the other, completely unaware of the gruesome gathering that stood all about him. ‘Good versus evil you mean?’

  ‘Yes, exactly that.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then, Mrs Dawson. Now, is there anything I can do for you? Get you a cup of tea maybe?’

  ‘Kevin!’ She spat out his name as if it suddenly offended her tastebuds. ‘I’m not a fool.’

  Kevin looked genuinely taken aback. ‘As if I’d even suggest such a thing…’

  ‘These aren’t the mad ramblings of a dying old woman, you know. I prepared myself long ago to meet my maker, but He doesn’t want me. Not yet. So I’ve got to put things right before He’ll accept me into His heavenly realm. I only hope that I can.’

  ‘I can’t pretend to know what you’re talking about, Mrs Dawson,’ Kevin said, clasping his hands together and tapping the tips of his thumbs. ‘But whatever it is that you’re feeling bad about, I’m sure none of it matters in the end.’

  Sissy laughed, a humourless cackle that sounded to Kevin’s ears like a quarrelling crow. ‘Of course it matters,’ she said, wafting her arm in the air to address her invisible tormentors. ‘All of this matters. And it’s all because I’ve seen Her. I’ve known Her. Felt Her in me corrupting my soul. She’s conniving and filled with a wickedness you couldn’t possibly know. And I pray that you never do, Kevin.’

  ‘Oh you’re not that bad, Mrs Dawson,’ he said, laughing light-heartedly.

  ‘Don’t make jokes.’ Sissy cautioned him with unyielding eyes. ‘Not about this. Never about this.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Dawson.’

  ‘Alright. Well. Don’t you want to know who She is?’

  With an expression that was non-committal, he shrugged and said, ‘Okay. Who is she?’

  Sissy closed her eyes, perhaps so she didn’t have to see any scepticism that might show on his face. ‘A nameless, faceless evil. Old as time. A curse against humanity. Women and men are Her tools, children Her game. That is, She feeds on the depraved desires of adults and preys on the souls of the very young.’

  ‘Yikes, sounds awfully sinister and a little too deep for me, Mrs Dawson.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Sissy opened her eyes again, unsure now as to why she was burdening him with all of this information. He was a genuine, caring man and he didn’t deserve to be sullied with knowledge of Her existence. And yet still she couldn’t help but tell him, ‘She’s coming back, Kevin, I can feel Her. I’m frightened. Truly, very afraid.’

  Kevin stood for a while, bemusement silencing him. He was, evidently, uncertain what to make of all she’d said, or how to decide if, indeed, she was winding him up. When Sissy gave him no reason to think that she was, he could think of nothing better to say than, ‘Would you like me to arrange a visit from Father Murray? Perhaps you could talk to him about all of this?’

  ‘Ha!’ Sissy scoffed before she could stop herself. ‘If God won’t listen to me, what good would Father Murray be?’

  ‘He could help put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh, I’ve never met him but already I know that Father Murray would be way out of his depth. No, what I need is to deal with Her myself, because if I don’t I fear there’ll be no amount of repentance that will persuade God to accept me into His loving arms. And what kind of purgatory would await me then?’

  ‘I’m really not sure I know about these sorts things, Mrs Dawson. I’m just a carer.�
�� Kevin rubbed his smooth chin, making it go red. ‘So, if it’s all the same with you, I’ll give Father Murray a ring as soon as I’ve done my rounds.’

  _

  21

  _

  Emily rushed back into the house to put on some clothes. John ran out into the street, adrenalin and blood pumping around his body so fast his limbs felt numb, his legs not his own. Wind stung his cheeks and there was a sharpness to everything around him, an unfriendliness of colour and sound. The concrete beneath his feet was the same drab colour as the hospital entrance mat he could remember from all those years ago. And Doctor Murphy’s trousers. Both things were defining elements, no matter how mundane, that served to form integral layers to the horrors he’d lived through. Stored away in his brain to remind him, not that he needed much reminding, that the most normal of days inclusive of the most normal of events had the occasional propensity to turn quickly and irrevocably bad. Life-changing days, the type that turned out for the worst, seldom started with an inkling that catastrophe would strike. They started out like any other day, and they happened to the most unsuspecting, normal of people. The sound of a nearby hedge trimmer was a nauseating burr of normality that reminded John of the insistence of the phone he’d heard ringing further down the corridor while he’d sat in Doctor Murphy’s consultation room gripping Amy’s hand in his. And earlier still, of babies crying in some other room, so close, yet so far away, while his world fell apart.

  He looked right, to the end of the street. A car drove past. Then he looked left, over the bridge. There was no sign of his daughter.

  ‘Seren? Seren!’ So fraught with panic, in case devastation had found its way back into his life, John failed to see the old man who was regarding him from the drive next door, a spade in hand and a Clark’s shoebox next to his feet.

  ‘Everything alright, son?’ the old man called.