The Miller’s Daughter
by
Stefan Ellery
Tam was not one to indulge in any self-pity. He did not care what others said about him. He just ignored them, what he did instead was put that pity in a form of expression, he was an artist, better than any in his school. Of course, others may think differently of his art, while canvas and paper were the chosen medium for many in the town he lived in. His was brick, stone, wood and pavement. He did not use a brush, and his paint never came out of a tube. He used spray cans to create his art. He could do wonderful things with a can of spray paint. He could create details that were difficult for the average person, when he wanted more complexity, he would use the straight edge of a piece of Bristol board or the curve of an ice cream lid. Everything to him was a tool for his art.
Using the surface of a building was not something most people cared for. Even at fifteen he had run-ins with the law. At worst they would give him a tour of the jail cells in the police station and at best he would just receive a stern lecture. It was very rare that his mother would tell him off. She was a single parent trying to hold down three jobs, just so she could pay the bills and put food on the table.
His mother left before he went to school and returned a couple of hours after he went to bed. Frozen dinners and wearing a key to the house around his neck was normal for him. No one had a leash on him, and he was free to do what he wanted. He was smart enough not to get into drugs and alcohol as others he knew had done.
He just finished creating a silhouette of a group of homeless people sitting on a busy sidewalk. A tin cup was placed in front of them. In color, he painted pedestrians who hurried by them. Not wanting to concern themselves with anyone in need of help. This was painted on the side of a law firm. The kind that did not help people, when this firm won a case, it would often mean people would lose their homes and be sent out on the street. Tam may ignore the rules and authority. However, he still had a rule of ethics he followed.
Tam walked along the river's edge, looking at all the textures on the ground and the buildings he passed. So many surfaces he could work on, his canvas was as big as the world. He halted when he saw the old mill sitting above the water’s edge, he looked through the empty doorway and could see the river running underneath it. Stone and timber kept it from washing into the fast-moving water. He touched the stone work and felt the roughness of its surface underneath the palm of his hand. His eye was attracted to the sandy colored stone. There was a tree that rose through the middle of the building, and its green leaves stuck through the glassless windows. A face popped into the window and then disappeared as fast as the breeze that caressed the leaves. Tam shook his head. The foliage of the tree must have been playing tricks on him. Still, he did not feel like confirming if it were an illusion or not, and he hurried home.
His mind fresh with a dream of a haunting girls face made him eager to brush away the image from his head and the best way he could do that was to paint on the old mill's walls. He walked into the local hardware store and grabbed some spray cans. His other source was the recycling bin behind the store. There he found some large plastic lids, a trellis and cardboard. He was quick to leave. He didn't want to be caught raiding the bin by one of the store's employees.
Tam waited for the darkness to envelope the town before he made his way to the mill and waited even longer for the crowd of fishermen that was determined to catch a walleye in the coolness of the dark to. It was past one am by the time the last angler had to retreat from the dampness of the night. Tam never complained about the weather. He was versatile and could paint during a blizzard if he were inclined to. Observing the building from the distance, he turned it over and over in his mind until he managed to fit a picture onto the surface of the mill’s walls.
Knapsack in hand he dumped all his tools onto the ground in front of the mill. When he finished shaking a can of purple, he sprayed half of the wall with its amethyst hue. The other half he flattened with the darkness of black. He sat down on the grass waiting for the paint to dry so he could continue with more of the abstract features he intended. Looking up he could see the light of the stars piercing the night. A scream made him push himself up from the ground. He heard it again and again. A streak of reddish fur ran out of a nearby bush and headed for the safety of the shadows. He should have known better. It was a fox that had startled him. The hair on his on arms stood up. He could not shake the eerie feeling the sound of the fox gave him.
Tam started on the next process of his painting, hoping work would keep him occupied and rid himself of any troublesome thoughts. Tam laid down domes and created an array of pyramids with the help of the trellis, in the dark sky, he painted moons tinged with the colors of reds and blues. He finished off the painting by creating stars and adding shadows and highlights to his creations until they could pop off the walls. Satisfied he stood back and admired his work. The act of painting made the bad things go away for him, made his life feel better, even if it were for only the two or three hours he spent working on his art. The end result was less satisfying because it meant an end of his escape, and reality would set back in. Tam jumped back. The girl's face popped into the window. Dull grey eyes stared at him. He thought someone was playing a prank on him, so he moved out of her eyesight and moved to the opposite side of the building. He looked through the window and found he could see the girl through it. He looked at the girl's feet. They did not touch any surface. The girl was floating. She turned her whole body around as if she were standing on a music box. Her feet did not move. She stared at him with the eyes of death.
Tam’s heart skipped a beat, and panic rose in his stomach. He ran home as fast as he could. He was afraid of what he saw and afraid of being trapped by the impossible. When he got home, he hid under the covers, like he had done when he was nine. Then, it was nightmares that plagued him, what was happening to him now had nothing to do with sleep. It was all too real. He then realized he left all his paints and the backpack with all his tools behind. He would suffer the loss. He had no intention of ever going back to the mill.
Somehow, he managed to get a good sleep despite what had occurred, the memory was beginning to fade away. He wondered if it was just a dream that he experienced, maybe he did not go out and paint the mill's wall. He wanted to believe that. It was a new day, and he had school to get to. He launched himself out of his bed, but in the process, his foot hit a spray can, and he tumbled onto his back. His head was turned to the side, and he could see spray cans all over the floor. His backpack and tools were also there. He remembered that he had left his pack and paints at the mill. He was happy to see them here. It confirmed that he did have a dream. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked up. His eyes bulged out of his head. He felt nauseous from what he saw. What he found to his horror was a picture of the mill painted on the ceiling of his room. He ran out of the house for the safety of his school.
Tam busied himself with an attempt to go through all his homework he was given earlier in the day. He was not one to do work during his spare, nor did he ever go into the school’s library, unless he was told to do so. However, if he didn't do anything, his mind would start dwelling on the painting in his room. Tam pulled out a Math book from his backpack. Before he could crack the text open a delicate hand covered the spine. He looked up and saw Lisa, a girl from his homeroom. He pulled his math book away from her. “What do you want?”
Lisa brushed back her brown hair and set a determined expression “It was you wasn’t it?”
Tam looked away from Lisa, she always had a penetrating stare, and he hated how her hazel eyes seemed to see through a person. Himself included. “What was me?” She sat next to him on the bench and swiveled her body towards him. “The painting on the old mill.”
Of course Lisa would know it was him, she took photos of his work. He’d seen them, but he always feigned ignorance. And today would be no different. “Why does that have to be me?”
Lisa let out a short laugh.
“Oh come on, when a painting shows up on a building, a fence, anything with a large surface. It's always you. There is no one else in Lindsay that will even attempt what you do. Besides you never sign your work.” Tam shifted on his perch, Lisa was making him uncomfortable. “So what if it was, you going to report me?”
“No, but what you did it was kind of ballsy, you paint on a heritage building and one that is haunted.” Tam stood up, surprise etched on his face. “Haunted? What do you mean haunted?”
Lisa smiled at Tam’s reaction. “Haven’t you heard of the miller’s daughter?” He clenched his fists, he wanted to run away from anything to do with the mill. “No.”
“Wow, you've lived here all your life and you don’t even know about that.” Lisa was always the one in class to know everything about the towns past and present. She kept tabs on people that she found interesting. Tam was not happy that he was on her list of interesting people. “I had other things on my mind other than the town's history. So tell me what about the millers daughter.”
She looked at him eagerly and he knew she wanted something. “I’ll tell you but, I need a favor from you.” Tam never liked doing favors for anyone or owing anybody anything. That's why he kept mostly to himself. “What kind of favor.”
Lisa stood up and grabbed his hand, and held on to him. Tam got the impression she was afraid he would run away. “I need you to help raise funds for impoverished kids.” He was right, this charity work was not part of his makeup. He had no interest in bugging people for money. “Forget it, I’m not going to knock on doors for money and I have no desire to talk to people.”
Lisa shook her head. “Oh no nothing like that, I just need to make use of your talents.”
He gave up, if it was something to do with painting then it couldn't be so bad. At least he wouldn't be going door to door. “Fine, now tell me about the miller’s daughter.” “There really is not much to tell. There was a fire that had took the mill, unfortunately a girl was in the mill at the time it burnt down. No one knows who the girl was, but she was given the nickname The Miller’s Daughter. They say she haunts the place and once in a while you can catch her face in one of the windows.”
Tam had a lump in his throat, the story was becoming all too real for him. He wanted to pass it off as a figment of his imagination or a prank someone had played on him. “I’m out of here, thanks for the story.” Tam slipped his hand out of Lisa's grasp and turned his back on her and walked away. He found a secluded spot between the bleachers in the gym, he wanted to be left alone.
Arriving home in the afternoon Tam was surprised to see his mother’s car parked in the drive. Inside, she was sitting at the kitchen table having some coffee. She looked up when he entered the kitchen and patted the empty seat next to her. Tam sat down. “You’re home early.”
His mother sipped from her mug. “It’s only for a moment, I’ll be heading back out, now tell me why have you painted the ceiling of your room.” Tam wasn’t going to tell his mom that a ghost did it, she wouldn’t believe him and sometimes it’s just easier to let people think what they want about you. “I don’t know, I was in a mood.”
“Well your moods should not include our house. At least it’s not unpleasant to look at. Nice touch adding a girls face in the window.” “I didn’t paint a face in the window.”
“Could have fooled me.” Tam felt chills go through his body, he knew there was no face in the window, at least when he last looked. He ran into his room and the window was empty. His mother came up behind him.
“See I told you so.” He wondered if his mother was losing it. “Ma, there is no face in the window.”
His mom looked up at the ceiling in his room. “Are you sure? Cause that window has something in it that looks like a face.” Tam turned around and looked at the ceiling. His mother was right, there was a girls face looking out of one of the windows. Tam chewed on the inside of the cheek. Things were getting crazy, and he didn’t know what do to do. That night instead of sleeping in his room, he slept on the pull out couch in the living room. He had no interest in seeing that girls face while he tried to sleep. Even in the living room it became a difficult task. All he could think of was how to stop the insanity. If this kept up, he would go crazy.
His eyelids became heavy, and he managed to get some sleep. Until he felt the duvet tighten around him. He thought his mother sat on the edge of the bed pulling the sheets taught with her pressure. He turned his head to the side, and he saw instead the Millers daughter lying next to him. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He tried getting out of the bed, but he found his body would not move. He couldn’t even move his head away from the view of the girl. It took all his effort and the scream he wanted to release came out as a gasp.
The girl covered her lips with a slender finger motioning at him to be quiet. He did not know how long he laid in bed staring at the girl next to him. He wanted to close his eyes, but it was like they had tape attached keeping them open. The girl stared back at him, her cold grey eyes piercing his soul. He needed to rid himself of this girl. He could not live like this. He could run away but he knew that where he went, she would make an appearance. When the light came through the bay window and landed on the bed the girl disappeared. Tam needed to get rid of the girl’s presence and he could only think of one thing that would do it.
At 3:00 am he stood in front of the old mill with a can of graffiti remover and bucket of soapy water in his hands. He looked at his work; it drew him into another world. A world that he must erase and forget. If he was going to have any peace he would have to restore the wall he painted back to its old worn self. He looked at the window and did not see the girls face staring at him. She probably made her home in his bedroom. He wanted his space back. He didn’t want to wake up to the cold stare of a dead girl. He sprayed the wall with the cleaner and watched his creation melt from the solvent. The colors dripped down the surface of the wall. He had many of his works painted over or erased by others, but doing it himself was not a pleasant experience. When he was done spraying he took a sponge and cleaned the dripping paint off with the soapy water. In a matter of hours, the old mill was back to its former look. He went home and into his room. The girl stood inside. A smile was pasted on her lips. She faded away leaving only the painting on the ceiling as a reminder of her.
He never erased the painting.
The Transformation
by
Ruth Barrett
Gasping aloud, Paula jerked awake.
“Oh God… not again,” she groaned. Another nightmare about her ex-lover Michael had left her bathed in a cold sweat.
With blood pounding in her aching temples, Paula squinted at her bedside clock radio. It was only 6:30 a.m. Damn it. Just to really add to her pain, it was Saturday-- but she knew that getting back to sleep would be out of the question. Kicking off the covers, she dragged herself downstairs to the kitchen. Paula banged the kettle onto the stove and slammed open cupboard doors in search of tea bags and a clean mug. No need for her to be quiet, despite the early hour. Her flat-mate Jacquie was away in Bath for a romantic weekend with Marcus, her latest boyfriend, leaving all the more room for Paula to brood in peace. Not that she begrudged Jacquie her bliss, but it was nauseating to witness someone else happily swept up in the throes of a new love affair while she was still mourning the death her own last relationship.
Paula slumped into a chair, staring blankly into space, and waited for the water to boil. A familiar ennui settled over her like a shroud. Outside the window, a foggy drizzle obscured the hilltop view from the deserted North London Street. When the weather was clear, she could spot the dome of St. Paul’s cathedral from the back of their rented house in Muswell Hill. No chance of that today. Paula felt like it had been raining ever since Michael had dumped her six weeks ago.
The details of her nightmare were already faded. It hardly mattered. Michael had been just another in a long string of personal disappointments. Nothing good or exciting ever seemed to
happen to Paula. Her clerical job at the hospital was dull, she was getting too long in the tooth to go out clubbing, and her social circle was steadily dwindling down to nothing. Most of her friends had married and drifted away to lead idyllic lives in the countryside, or else moved to the continent in pursuit of sexy careers and even sexier European men. No doubt Jacquie would be the next to go, and then she’d be left all alone with the cat. Paula doubted that her life would ever change course: hers was a predictably colorless destiny.
There was a sudden rustle and snap at the front door. The Saturday morning post was early. Paula shuffled out to the front hall in her sock feet, hoping for something other than another letter from her mother imploring her to visit. She didn’t need a guilt-trip to add to her overall misery. Her heart sank another notch as she rounded the corner-- it looked to be nothing more than a heap of fliers and junk mail. She stooped to gather it up, fancying that there might at least be a halfway interesting mail-order catalogue to browse over with her cup of tea.
Underneath the pile was an embossed linen envelope. Another love-note for Jacquie from Marcus, she figured… but Paula’s grey eyes widened at the unexpected sight of her own name inscribed in an unusual spidery calligraphy. She tossed the fliers unheeded into the recycling bin and hurried to the sitting room.
Eagerly examining the unsolicited mystery, she could find nothing to determine its origin. No postmark. No stamp. No return address. She flipped it over and found it sealed with crimson wax with an indecipherable scroll-mark imprinted in the centre. Someone must have hand-delivered this piece of old-world elegance before the postman’s arrival.
Paula’s breath quickened at the adventure promised in the offering. Carefully lifting away the seal with a letter opener, she pulled out an embossed invitation card with a message written in the same spidery hand:
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