Currents of Change

by Darian Smith

  Sara pulled herself back to the solid wooden boards of the porch and the feeling passed.

  Electricity. What did she remember about dealing with electricity? It was dangerous and the longer she left Edward laying there, the worse it would be for him but if she got too close and there was no one else to help... She grabbed her phone and dialled 111, requesting an ambulance in short, tense sentences.

  The operator tried to keep her calm. “Stay clear of the wires, ma’am. You’ll only hurt yourself if you get close. Do you know where to switch the power off the mains?”

  “No.” There wasn’t a main circuit board installed yet! Edward had have tapped into the supply from the street. Surely he would have had the company turn it off first?

  “The ambulance is on its way. They’ll be there soon.”

  Sara could see the edges of Edward’s overalls beginning to singe and melt. “Not soon enough.”

  She put the phone down and took a deep breath. This had to be fast.

  She ran down the stairs and leapt toward the dying man, pushing with all her might at the ladder and its deadly tangle of live wire. The force of electricity hit her like an angry slap and the world went grey.

  Chapter Six

  “I told you so.” Moana shook her head and tutted. “I warned you that house was a place of spirits and ira atua.”

  Sara dropped her basket of supplies on the counter with a thud. Her entire body ached with the aftermath of the shock she’d received saving the man from the power company and the paramedics had said she was lucky to be alive. Poor Edward had not been nearly so fortunate. Burns had covered much of his body and they’d still been working on him when they helicoptered him away. It seemed unlikely he or anyone else would be hooking her house up to the grid in a hurry.

  “It wasn’t spirits, Moana,” she told the woman. “It was a silly mistake.” Someone hadn’t disconnected the main line before he’d tapped into it. Or had switched it back on before he was done. Or something. It hurt to even think about it.

  “It’s a dangerous house,” Moana said.

  Sara sighed. “Well, you should be happy I’m renovating it then. It won’t be dangerous and it won’t be an eyesore. So you can relax.”

  Moana handed her the bag of groceries. “We’ll have to see about that. The council building assessor is coming next month. And nobody in this town will work on that house. Nobody.”

  When she arrived home, Sara stared at the scorch marks on the grass. Moana’s words echoed in her mind. Somehow they morphed in her memory, turning and deepening. “Nobody will work on your house. Nobody will want your work. Nobody will want you if I leave. You’re nothing.” Greg’s voice.

  She sat on the steps and something inside her trembled. The wood was warm and smooth to the touch and the smell of burnt dirt was still strong even now. It filled her lungs. It was a scent of death.

  She felt the tightness in her chest rise and spill into her throat. “Stupid. So stupid.” Why must she always be so close to death? Why did it have to happen again so soon?

  She pressed her hands over her mouth and choked back the emotions. No, she told herself. She would not let this overwhelm her again. She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue or a distraction and found her phone. The battery was low yet again. Her e-book reader had shorted out the day before as well. Nothing electrical seemed to work in this damn house!

  There were a few new messages on the screen. Her eyes slid over Greg’s repeated number and paused on another. The one she could rely on. Her finger punched the screen.

  “Nana?”

  She could picture the old woman’s kind face and smiling brown eyes, faded now to almost hazel, in their cradle of laugh-lines. “Sara, my favourite granddaughter.”

  “Your only granddaughter.” The familiar exchange soothed the tightness in her chest. She swallowed. “How’s things?”

  “Can’t complain. They look after us pretty well. You know how it is.”

  Sara tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t keep the shape. “Yeah, Nana. I know. That’s good. Anything exciting happening?”

  The old woman snorted. “Did that no good ratbag come to see me, you mean? Yes he did. But the nurses sent him on his way quick smart. They don’t make us put up with the likes of him in this place, you know.”

  A chuckle found its way from Sara’s lips despite herself. She could just imagine the stocky, no-nonsense nurse manager of the rest home evicting Greg if she considered him improper. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Don’t you worry about him. There’s no way he can find you up there. You’re safe and sound. Now, how are you feeling? Are you still cramping at all?”

  Sara opened her mouth to tell her what had been happening, but then closed it again. As understanding as her Nana was, she didn’t need to burden the old woman with yet more worry. She considered the ache in her body – at least it wasn’t the familiar one from the last couple of weeks. “No. It’s gone.”

  “You’ll be okay, my girl. I know it’s hard. All the women in our family have had miscarriages. The pain will fade in time.”

  “In the second trimester, though, Nana? Not like this.” She closed her eyes and could see the tiny form of her daughter, far too small to survive, as clearly as if there were a lightbulb inside that miniscule body. Translucent skin, doll-like hands and feet, and a thin, trembling cord that could no longer sustain her life.

  “No. Not like that.” The old woman’s voice was soft. “There was nothing you could do.”

  Sara sniffed back the tears that teetered at the edge of her eyelids. “I guess.” But she knew it wasn’t true. Her child had known better than to come into the world Sara had created for her. This tiny unborn girl had more spine and determination than her mother had been able to muster in ten years of abuse. She had left. And in doing so, shown Sara the way. Her daughter would rather die than stay with a man who would hit her. It had been the realisation Sara needed to make her own escape. A sacrifice she was determined would not be in vain.

  “Let’s talk about something more cheerful,” her Nana said. “How are things going up there? Are you enjoying the weather?”

  Sara shook her head at the clumsy shift of topic, but latched onto it gratefully. Anything to dull the ache of guilt. “The weather’s great. Really warm.” She took a breath. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is there any strange history to the house?”

  There was a long silence. Long enough that she thought the phone battery must have cut out. “Why do you ask?” her Nana said.

  Sara frowned. “A couple of people have made comments in town.” She hesitated, not wanting to worry the old woman, but decided to carry on. “One of the locals wants to have the place demolished. You don’t mind if I do some renovations, do you?”

  “Does it need them?”

  “Well, it’s a bit run down.” Sara picked at a flake of paint on the porch rail. “And it doesn’t have electricity.”

  “Ah yes.” Sara could hear the familiar click as her Nana sucked on her dentures and repositioned them as she thought. “It was never supposed to have electricity, you see.”

  “What?”

  “It was part of the conditions of the original Will.”

  “Are you serious? Why?”

  “I don’t know. It was Great Great Great Aunt Bridget, who said it. She was a weird one. Never married. Apparently there was an engagement that fell through and she was never quite the same. There were all kinds of rumours. Some people said she was a witch but I think she was just a crazy old lady with cats.”

  Sara leaned back and stared at the porch overhang. “And she had a thing against electricity?”

  “Apparently so. The house was to stay in the family, never be sold, and never go electric. The neighbourhood kids used to say she haunted the place to make sure of it. I never saw her though in all the years I lived there.”

  “So...are we supposed to stick to this now?” Sara rubbed a hand over her forehead. How could she explain to a bu
ilding inspector that an ancestor’s ghost didn’t want her to put in household basics?

  Nana chuckled. “No, I shouldn’t think so. The house is in a trust and I’ve made you the main trustee. You do what you see fit, my girl. I’m glad you’re keeping yourself busy.”

  Sara sighed in relief. “So am I, Nana. So am I.”

  The phone crackled in her ear, hissing static like scrunching paper.

  “Hello? Nana?”

  A strange voice answered. “Where are you? Come back.”

  Sara sat up, a jolt of cold stabbing through her like lightning. Her mind jumped to the voice she’d heard in the hallway, before Edward’s scream. She’d forgotten it in amongst the drama. “Hello? Who’s there? Nana?” She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. The screen flickered and went black.

  “Come here. Come here.” The voice wasn’t from the phone. It came from around the side of the house.

  Sara put down the dead cell-phone and got to her feet. She kicked off her shoes and slowly made her way along the porch, her hand trailing lightly over the rail, as if to prove to herself that the world was solid. The smell of grass, warm wood, and wildflowers seemed somehow unreal as she suddenly realised how alone she truly was in this ancient, empty house.

  Without meaning to, she found herself chanting under her breath. “It’s not Greg. It’s not Greg. It’s not Greg.” The voice was too high and there was no way he could know where she was. But somehow the words had sparked her fear response anyway.

  Ira atua, Moana had said. Supernatural beings. Even her Nana had mentioned a ghost.

  Sara caught her bottom lip in her teeth to stop the chant. She knew it was ridiculous – of course it was. The most likely explanation was that she’d imagined it or the phone had somehow picked up another conversation as the battery went flat. But...what if she wasn’t entirely alone after all?

  She reached the end of the porch and, taking a deep breath, leaned out over the rail to look around the side of the house.

  There was a yowl and something sprang out of the long grass and barrelled into her chest.

  Sara screamed.

  The voice shouted, “No, come back!”

  Sara grabbed at the thing on her chest and her fingers touched fur. The tension drained away as she held out a familiar black and white kitten.

  “You! God, you gave me a fright.”

  A little girl of about six or seven came running around the corner. She had black hair, coffee coloured skin and wide, dark eyes. “Oscar! Come back, you bad kitten.” She skidded to a halt when she saw Sara, her mouth open in a perfect O.

  Sara couldn’t help but laugh, grateful that here was an actual flesh and blood person after all her foolish fears about ghosts. “You must be Abigail. I’m Sara. I’ve met your dad and Oscar before.”

  The kitten, held out at arm’s length with his back feet dangling, began to purr loudly.

  Abigail blinked. “You have?”

  “The day your dad got you Oscar, here.”

  The girl shrugged. “He ran away. Do you live here now?”

  Sara nodded. “I do.”

  “That’s good. The other lady was lonely.”

  Sara felt her stomach tighten but she kept a smile on her face. “What other lady?”

  Abigail shrugged again. “I dunno. Can I have my kitten back?”

  “Of course.” Sara crouched down and thrust the kitten through the porch railings to where Abigail could take it.

  The little girl hugged the kitten to her and Sara half expected it to scramble away again, but instead the little cat seemed to have settled. “Okay, I’m going home now.”

  “Okay. Walk carefully.”

  “I will.” Abigail strode off towards the gravel road, wading through the long grass like water. When she reached the gate, she paused, and turned back. “My daddy can help you with your house. He makes electricity.”

  Sara thought about the way she’d felt when they’d been talking the other day, before she’d made a complete fool of herself. “That he does,” she murmured. “That he does.”

  Chapter Seven

  The mantle over the fireplace was carved into a design of vines. It was intricate work, each twist of vine and curl of leaf was original, clearly done by hand rather than cast from a mould and repeated. Sara had found the same motif throughout the house, growing like an organic glue, binding the various parts of the house together. Skirting boards here, door frames there, along the edge of cupboards or window frames. In what seemed to be the oldest part of the house and again in the newer, add-on sections. The vines held the house together aesthetically, binding it to nature inside and out.

  Sara dipped her brush into the paint and ran it along the side of a leaf, creating shadow in the pattern, a dark line that sharpened the edge. In the back of her awareness, there was a faint crackling noise, like the build up of static charge from freshly dried laundry.

  Greg leaned over her shoulder. “You’ve fucked that up again,” he said. “It’s just as well you left art school. You’d never have been any good at it.”

  Sara frowned. “It’s just the base coat. When I put the other colours over the top and do some blending it will look really good. Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Greg sneered. “That’s a laugh. After all the money you’ve cost me over the years with your fuck ups.” He handed her a cloth. “Wipe it off and start again.”

  “Greg, please just be patient. I know what I’m doing.” She tried to make her tone gentle.

  He shook the cloth at her. “Wipe it.”

  “Just wait.” She quickly dipped the brush into another colour to demonstrate the blend. “Let me show you...”

  His hand closed around her throat and pushed her back. “What did I just tell you?”

  The pain in her throat was unbearable. Worse was the fear as sparks danced in front of her eyes and she realised she couldn’t breathe. “Greg, please!” She struggled to gasp out the words. The wall was hard against her back. There was nowhere to go. The light dimmed as her brain struggled to stay conscious. The sparks in her vision took on the quality of exploding fireworks, each one burning her skin as they touched. “Please!”

  Something huge pushed past her cheek, raking at the hand at her throat.

  Greg yelped and let go, staggering back as he cradled his hand to his chest.

  A massive tabby cat jumped down from the mantle. “Us girls stick together,” it said.

  Sara felt her knees give way beneath her and she let herself slide down the wall onto the hard, kauri floor.

  The sparks were still there – not flecks in her vision as she’d thought, but actual sparks, coming from Greg’s skin. They pooled and shimmered along his arm, melting into him. They spilled from his eyes and across his face. His glare burned yellow fire. His clothes singed to ash and drifted away, his body nothing but electricity. He opened his mouth and his tongue flicked flame. “I will have her,” he said.

  The tabby cat sat up straight and wrapped its tail around itself. A moment later it was not a cat at all, but the woman from the photograph in the hall, Bridget. She stood between the creature of lightning and Sara. “No,” she said. “You will not.” She thrust out her hand and the world exploded.

  Sara sat bolt upright in the four post bed, shocked awake and gasping for breath. She’d had dreams about Greg before but this...this was something new.

  She fumbled on the side table for the lighter. She’d given up on torches – the batteries died too quickly. She flicked it until the tiny flame appeared, the glow a warm light in the darkness. She held it tight until her breathing slowed and then let it die, slumping back against the pillow.

  A dream. It was just a dream. She was alone in the house. Greg would never find her. She was a long way from being ready to paint the interior yet – even the beautiful vine carvings that she’d vowed to preserve in her renovations. The dream was just her fears coming back to play with her subconscious mind. Ghosts and electrocutions, Greg an
d her lost baby – was it any wonder she would be having nightmares?

  She lay for a long time in the darkness, aware that her nightgown was wet with sweat. There was no way she could sleep again now. She might as well get up.

  She scuffed her feet across the floor slowly, moving toward the window. When she tugged at the fabric, pale gold light spilled through the glass. It was almost dawn.

  She picked up a robe and wrapped it around herself before heading outside. The cool, crisp air was a balm for her troubled thoughts. She watched the top of the sun peek over the horizon, then stepped into the long, dew-covered grass. Being so focussed on the house, she hadn’t explored the grounds much since she’d gotten here. Now was as good a time as any.

  The back of the house was in worse shape than the front. Several of the wooden boards had come loose and there were signs of animals using the gaps to nest in. Weeds grew even higher here and wild native bush blended with ancient, moss-covered fruit trees in a mess of vegetation. The leaves were damp and, even in the dawn light, shadow painted each step with interesting depth and mystery.

  Sara remembered the paint bush in her dream – her attempt to capture natural shading in the carved motif in the house. Nature’s light did so much more than she ever could. Even a confident, capable, dream-self. The part of her that always appreciated beauty, always looked for ways to create it, was entranced.

  As she watched, light pooled in pockets amongst the shadows. It lit up patches of mist that drifted between the trees like will-o'-the-wisps in a fairy-tale. They circled each other, dancing like elves in moonlight, then slowly glided deeper into the bush.

  Entranced, Sara followed.

  The world had a hazy, dream-like quality this early in the morning. The breeze was soft and each touch of grass or leaf or branch was like a caress on her skin. She wandered for several minutes, following the trails of light and shadow, while birds made music around her.

  Punga, tea tree and kowhai finally gave way to a clearing of moss and wildflowers. The misty lights swirled around the clearing and then sank downward, disappearing from sight.