At last she reached the bottom and found herself waking up supine on the love seat. It was not yet day. Faint blue light illuminated the room. Aisha groaned. The screams from her dream still echoed faintly in her ears. The house creaked. If you get up now, Aisha thought to herself, that’s all the longer the boring old day will be. As much as she hated to, she decided she would try to get a few more hours of rest.
When she turned over on her side, she realized she could still hear cries of pain and fear. Was it real? Or was she still half-asleep. She sat up and shook her head.
There was silence.
But there it was again! A tiny little scream, like that of a child’s. Was this the same whimper she had heard the night before?
She stood up to attention and listened, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. It was coming from the upstairs. Aisha approached the stairs and looked up to the second floor, listening. Now it sounded like a little girl weeping pitifully. Has something terrible happened? Aisha climbed up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.
On the landing, she stopped to listen again. She figured the noise was coming from, of all places, her late grandmother’s bedroom.
As Aisha drew near the door, the sobbing became louder and more sorrowful. She stood out-side the bedroom and listened. How could someone have gotten in? She shuddered, remembering stories she had heard of vagrants living inside the walls of houses for years, undiscovered by the occupants. Aisha summoned her courage, grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open.
She looked quickly around the room.
‘Oh good grief!’ she exclaimed when she dis-covered she couldn’t see in the dark. She found the light switch and flipped it.
Standing at the threshold, Aisha saw nothing. The sound, too, had evanesced. Perhaps they’ve hidden, she thought, and went straightaway to the closet. Nothing. Under the bed. Nothing.
She even checked under the dresser (which was certainly too little space to accommodate even the smallest of children), but of course there was no one there.
Aisha sighed. She had had just about enough of the antics of her grandmother’s bedroom. She looked at the painting on the wall. Her grand-mother’s cheeky eyes looked back. At that moment, Aisha decided she would have nothing further whatsoever to do with sleeping in that room.
Chapter Five Cassius of Many Trades
The next day, Cassius stopped by to check on her.
It was around noon when she heard the car slowing to a halt on the gravel outside. She peaked out the window and saw him climbing out of his vehicle. He stopped at the Chestnut tree. Aisha watched while he stared at it, looking it up and down. His face had a look of sadness and nostalgia on it. He reached out and touched the tree’s trunk, and said something to himself which Aisha could not hear through the window.
Aisha retreated to the foyer where she stood sip-ping coffee, waiting for Cassius to knock. He did.
She opened the door.
‘Good morning, Miss,’ he said.
‘It’s after noon,’ she said groggily. She was worn out from the night’s events and had a head-ache. She thought about sending him away, but decided it had been too long since she had spoken to another human being.
‘So it is!’ said Cassius. ‘I just popped in to see if everything was all right.’
‘It is. Thank you.’ Her tone was dismissive and irritable. She could tell.
Why am I like this? She asked herself. He’s just being helpful.
‘Really, Miss?’ continued Cassius. ‘You’re looking a little . . .’ he trailed off, looking for a diplomatic word. ‘Peaked! Yes, you’re looking a little peaked, Miss.’
Aisha groaned. ‘I’m alright,’ she muttered. ‘I just haven’t slept well.’
‘Oh?’ Cassius sounded genuinely interested, not like he was making small talk. ‘And why not?’
‘Really, Cassius, I’m fine,’ she said quickly, trying to make him go away. But then she stopped and considered his history with the house. ‘Actually, maybe you would know something about it.’
She left the door standing open and went in-side. Cassius followed her.
‘My bedroom gets so hot at night!’
She stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her late grandmother’s bedroom.
‘Hot?’ said Cassius. ‘How do you mean?’
‘These past two nights,’ Aisha explained. ‘I wake up and I feel as though I’m being cooked in an oven. Did Grandmamma ever complain about something similar?’
Cassius looked up at the bedroom for a moment, thinking. Slowly, he started to answer, ‘No . . .’ he shook his head, ‘not that I recall.’
Suddenly he looked straight at Aisha.
‘Is there anything else?’ he asked, gently. ‘Anything at all that’s been bothering you?’
‘There’s a –’ Aisha thought of how to explain the sounds she had been hearing. ‘There’s this noise. I hear it upstairs when I’m down here.’
‘Aisha,’ said Cassius, using her name for the first time, ‘what does it sound like?’
‘Like whimpering. Like a little girl crying and screaming and sobbing. It’s very quiet, but my is it unnerving! I checked the bedroom but there was no one there.’
Cassius nodded. He seemed to be mulling some-thing over in his mind.
‘I see.’
Aisha frowned. Perhaps Cassius wasn’t as knowledgeable as she thought he was. He was acting strangely.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘do you know something about it?’
Cassius was lost in his thoughts. ‘Hmmm?’ he said distantly,
‘Cassius!’
He snapped back to attention.
‘What, Miss?’
‘Do you know something about it?’
He shook his head.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
He started walking back toward the front door.
‘I really should be going. I just wanted to make sure everything was fine and dandy.’
‘It is,’ said Aisha wryly. ‘Why don’t you have some coffee before you go?’
Cassius hesitated. ‘Well – I . . . I suppose if it’s not too much trouble. Thank you!’
Aisha left him for the kitchen. While she was pouring, she remembered she had meant to ask Cassius about the little girl in the painting.
She was returning to the foyer with a mug of coffee for Cassius when she thought she could hear Cassius talking to himself. She stopped around a corner to listen. He was speaking so softly she could barely hear, but she did make out the words ‘be good’, and then ‘it’s only a matter of time’.
It didn’t sound like he was talking to him-self. She turned the corner and made herself known. Cassius straightened up to face her. There was no one else in the room, and he hadn’t been talking on the phone.
‘Was it me or were you talking to someone, Cassius?’ She asked this question in a deliberately pointed way, hoping to throw him off guard a bit and inadvertently reveal something to her.
Cassius was too good though, and rolled with the punches.
‘Just me myself and I,’ he said. ‘One takes to talking to oneself a lot when one lives alone most of the time.’
She handed him the mug.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He put his face over the drink and breathed in the steam. ‘My! That is strong coffee! I can’t imagine what it tastes like.’
He took a sip.
‘I say,’ Aisha began, ‘do you know anything about the little girl in Grandmamma’s portrait?’
Cassius suddenly choked and nearly spit out his coffee. He swallowed, and coughed trying to clear his throat.
‘Excuse me?’ he wheezed.
‘The painting of Grandmamma, that Granddad painted right after they moved here. There’s a little girl in the reflection of the mirror. I want to know if you know who it is.’
Cassius continued hacking. ‘Ummm . . . no. No, I don’t’
‘Do you want to look?’
‘No! No need. I’ve seen i
t hundreds of times. I don’t know the little girl.’
He answered too quickly, Aisha thought.
Cassius held his mug out to Aisha. ‘I really must be going,’ he said.
‘You haven’t finished your coffee!’
‘Yes. Well – sacrifices must be made. I’ll show myself out!’
Aisha took Cassius’s mug and watched him walk briskly to the door. He hoisted it open and exited, leaving the door to fall closed behind him with a bang. Aisha ran quickly to the window to watch him leave. He didn’t stop to admire the Chestnut tree. He went straight to his car and sped down the little country highway before dis-appearing around a bend in the road.
Under her breath, Aisha muttered, ‘Country people.’
Chapter Six Optical Illusion
The weak northern sunshine turned back to over-cast as the day wore one. The wind picked up and whistled as it broke against the house. Aisha watched from the drawing room as the clouds collected and then began to darken.
‘Storm’s brewing,’ she said.
In the late afternoon, Aisha stepped outside for some fresh air. The countryside was charged with anticipation, as if the earth waited in suspense for the sky to break. Aisha heard rolls of thunder far away. The wind was icy and dry, and nipped at Aisha’s flesh as it whipped by her. She felt static electricity building up in the folds of her clothing.
‘There’s likely to be lightning,’ she thought.
Climbing back into the house, Aisha heard the Chestnut tree creaking, bent by the wind. Its branches were rubbing against the facade of the upper floor, drawing an unsightly trail of brown mess across the pristine white paint.
‘It’s always something.’
The sun set and the storm became more and more violent, though still no rain fell from the sky. Aisha had every light in the house on at full power. She was in no mood for spooky noises and manic temperatures. Instead of dealing with these, Aisha decided she simply would no longer sleep during the night. She would survive on hour-long naps spaced intermittently throughout the day.
It was a brilliant plan, she thought, but already in the early hours of the night she began to feel fatigued and worn-out, like she hadn’t slept in weeks.
When was the last time I slept through the night? Before the test? Maybe. Before the academy? More likely.
Aisha stood over the sink in the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, which meant she was in real trouble since her skin was darker to begin with. Her skin felt weird all over, tingly, like it was crawling over her muscles. I’m losing my mind, she thought. She looked at her hands. They were shaking. A heavy, creeping fatigue was dragging her down. Her head rocked back and forth on her shoulders, wanting desperately to fall forward and allow her body to sleep.
This must be what narcolepsy feels like!
She stood there, head bowed, over the sink, breathing shallowly. She tried to think of what to do. Coffee had ceased to stimulate her enough to stay awake. Finally, one word came to her: adrenaline.
‘Adrenaline!’ she said it out loud, then lifted her fist and smashed it into the mirror.
Crash! The glass splintered. She drew her hand away and tried to shake out the pain. Blood dripped from her knuckles. The trick worked, though. A wave of energy rushed through her body and she was once again alert.
She was in the process of wrapping her fingers in a towel when all the light flashed off. Aisha groaned. A power outage. Of course.
There was a generator outside, she knew, but she wasn’t looking forward to braving the violent wind. Still, it was better than sitting here alone in the dark in this house with who knows what lurking inside.
She pulled the front door open and fought the wind which threatened to fasten her to the wall. The cold air stung her wounds and she winced. The storm chilled her to the bone and her teeth chattered. If she remembered correctly, the generator was situated on the north side of the house, which meant a longer walk for Aisha.
A flash of lightning startled her. She counted the second until the thunderclap. Five. The thunder was deafeningly loud and seemed to shake the earth.
Finally she reached the generator. When she touched it, she got a shock and she recoiled with a small yell. The air was coursing with electricity. Shivering violently, Aisha managed to get the generator running, and soon light shone out of the windows of the house.
‘Thank God,’ she said.
Another flash of lightning. Thunder. The lightning was closer this time. Aisha fought her way back toward the front door. Rounding the corner of the house, a gust of wind knocked her back-wards into the gravel. She tried to stabilize her-self, but scraped her already torn hand in the process. She howled in pain and tried desperately to drag herself up.
In her struggle, Aisha looked up and saw a bolt of lightning collide with the branches of the Chestnut tree. There was a spark, and then an explosion of flames. The grey midnight turned orange, and the sound of crackling – wood releasing gas and water, warping and turning to ash.
Aisha ran out into the lane. The flames grew taller and threatened the house.
Aisha was indecisive. Should she run inside to call Cassius? Or the fire department? If the house burned down, where would she live? What would she do? And it was more than fear. It was anger. Anger that her life might once again be upset and thrown into chaos.
But something else caught her eye. Looking at the house, it seemed to be consumed by flames. Looking again, Aisha saw that it was only light from the tree reflected in the huge paned windows.
A few more minutes, Aisha thought, and it won’t just be a trick of the light.
As she watched the fire dancing in the windows, she noticed weird shapes pressed up against the panes. What were they? Aisha sucked in a breath when she thought she recognized them as human faces. The vision before her: a house engulfed in flames, the faces of trapped victims crying hopelessly to get out. What sort of terrible trick of the eyes was this? Aisha could take it no longer. She darted toward the house, hoping she would be able to call for help in time.
Just as she ducked under the Chestnut tree, the sky finally broke and a torrent of rain fell from the sky. Huge, ice cold drops of water, propelled by the wind, pelted Aisha and the facade of the house. Aisha winced as the rain stung her skin. But soon, the fire in the tree began to die and the flames were doused. Aisha breathed a sigh of relief. She sat down on the porch and caught her breath. The roar of the rain crashing onto the gravel was deafening. The whole world seemed to be in uproar. Aisha looked out at the driveway, the road, and the fields beyond, torn this way and that by the wind and the rain. A great sadness rushed over her, and she buried her face in her lap and wept.
Chapter Seven The Miracle Girl
In the morning, the storm had passed. The downpour had diminished to a light sprinkling, absent any wind.
Aisha bundled up and went outside to examine the damage done to the house. A huge black spot defiled the otherwise pristine white paint where the fire had singed the walls. The house had not actually caught fire, though, so there was no permanent or significant damage.
Aisha had not slept at all during the storm, and she sulked around the house like a zombie for most of the day. Her hand was sore and chafed against the bandage, her head ached, her joints resisted the changes in pressure brought about by the weather. Needless to say she felt dreadful, barely able to stand on her own two feet.
What have I become? she thought to herself. A ghost? A shell of a human being? She wondered what reason she had for living. What good was she to anyone out here alone in this infernal country?
Her mind kept returning to the phantasms she had seen in the windows the night before? Surely there couldn’t be people living undetected with her in the house. It would explain the odd sounds she heard at night, but why would they show themselves only during the fire? And where had they gone once it was put out by the rain? And why were they screaming?
Tired of thinking along s
uch morbid lines, she resolved to dismiss what she had seen as an optical illusion, a trick of light and shadows, like a phantasmagoria show.
She was in the kitchen brewing coffee in the early afternoon, when she thought she saw a figure dart by the window.
She cringed and sighed. ‘Oh, what is it now?’
She desperately wanted to ignore it, but her curiosity got the better of her. Slowly and quietly, Aisha exited the house through the back door and crept around the house, half expecting something to jump out from behind a corner or a bush. The hazy mist allowed for only a small amount of visibility. Outside now felt more enclosing and claustrophobic than the dark, musty house. Aisha could feel her skin and clothed dampening, and water collecting lightly on her bandage. A chill moistness seeped through the gauze and cooled her bloody knuckles. She felt her hand begin to shake.
I suppose it will get infected, she thought.
Aisha tread lightly across the wet grass. A small shuffle, barely perceptible movement ahead of her in the mist. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the worst. Instead, she saw the grey silhouette of a human being a few meters away. As she grew closer, she realized the figure was actually much closer and smaller than she had originally thought.
Eventually, the features of the thing materialized and Aisha, of all things, a little girl – a little blonde, blue-eyed girl standing barefoot in the grass, smiling pleasantly. Despite the girl’s unthreatening appearance, Aisha approached cautiously. The droplets of water collecting on the girl’s skin seemed to evaporate quickly, and an ethereal steam rose up around the little body.
‘What are you doing out here, girl?’ said Aisha harshly. Her quiet fears had been replaced with mild annoyance at having to be bothered with some wayward child.
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