by Lex Sinclair
In the near distance Sofie could see the log cabin and strode towards it feeling the first signs of a stitch. Nevertheless, that would soon ebb away and so would the memory of that significant day... but not completely.
Her mother emerged from the log cabin on their week holiday at Vastmanland and gestured her daughter to come hither. And how she had half-walked, half-ran towards her doting mother, wincing at the pain in her side, prudently deciding not to tell her about the incident underground, although she never knew the reason why.
Now with her mouth filled with the thick red liquid that had to be blood coming from the goat’s head; its gold shining in the flickering candlelight brought her back to the present. She knew she had swallowed a good portion of the strange blood because she could hear it sloshing around in her tummy, taste in at the back of her throat, smell it in her sinuses. Someone - or something (perish the thought) - else’s blood was inside her. For all she knew their blood could be poisonous. Her intuition concurred with this theory.
Aching from head to toe, Sofie understood without understanding every aspect that what had transpired in the pine woods (or rather in the ground beneath) in Vastmanland had some significance to her present situation.
‘Vastmanland,’ she breathed, wondering how she had lost her voice.
The demon witch with distorted features halted abruptly, lifting the golden staff up and away from the chosen one and glimpsed Margaret who hadn’t moved from Sofie’s side the whole time. The proprietor of this house of evil nodded in acknowledgement then leaned forward on her knees until her face was nearly touching the young woman.
‘Now do you understand?’ she asked in a soothing, dulcet tone. She had become the woman who had spoken to Sofie on the phone on 31 October.
Sofie closed her eyes and exhaled.
‘You were the one who discovered its remains buried a thousand years and more before our time. You - out of all the worshippers - was chosen by fate to fall through the ground that day and remove the symbol of God from its burial ground and releasing yourself and the spirit that now lives inside of you. You are its mother. On that day more than ten years ago, you released it from its perpetual suffering and now you will give it life for all eternity.’
Margaret rested her wrinkled, gnarled hand on the young woman’s sweaty brow and continued her monologue. ‘You have no reason to be afraid of us, dear. We shall protect you from all the harm. You are the bearer of our leader. Because of you he shall rise from within and will take your reward.’
Her mouth had glued itself together due to the congealing blood. The lower half of her face was a red sea, drying like a rust-coloured stain, sticking to her flesh and in her once glossy blonde hair. When she opened her mouth, she had to pry the lips apart with what diminishing strength her body could offer her.
‘And what is my reward?’ she croaked.
Margaret smiled, creasing her haggard visage with deeper furrows than previously.
‘Why, eternal life, of course, dear.’ She almost sang the words as opposed to speaking them.
Sofie scanned the room and the robed figures one by one, despising them far too much for any rational mind to cope with. Yet, her destiny had already been mapped out for her from what Margaret had told her. And, in spite of her despising the woman who had tricked her, Sofie believed every word she had told her. How could she not? Margaret had effortlessly explained the events that had transpired in Vastmanland when she was a young girl that had led her to this ungodly moment. She had, unknowingly, unearthed the devil’s spirit into the world itself and set both herself and the evil spirit free.
The most harrowing aspect crashed into her consciousness like an express train.
It was her fault!
No one had forced her to knock the cross over and yank it from the ground it protruded. No one forced her to push the heavy boulder to one side and remove the goat’s head and then place it atop the plinth. She - Sofie Lackberg - had done those things with a clear mind not stopping to question why they were there in the first place or to go back to the hole in the ground and cry out until her parents came looking for her.
It was her fault. Hers and hers alone...
5.
By the time she was freed from her restraints and carried to the spare bedroom, Sofie could barely raise her head let alone consider trying to flee this countryside residence where devil worshippers resided and had put her through hell. Instead she lay in the double bed with the quilt pulled up to her neck on her side, eyes closed and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
When she came to the only thing preventing the radiant sunshine from waking her hours before she had awoken was the long, velvet curtains pulled closed. For a moment she wondered where she was. Then she thought that last night’s events had been a terrible, vivid nightmare and nothing more, induced by her uneasiness and inability to get along well with Charles and Yvonne. Yet when she sat up and winced at the pain in her lower back and wrists, the actual events of the night before unravelled in her mind’s eye, along with seeing the colourful contusions on her wrists and ankles. In a panic, she lifted her hooded sweater up and gasped at the dried blood of the Pagan symbol covering her abdomen.
A whole hour passed in a blink of an eye as she replayed last night’s incidents in her mind’s eye as clearly as rewinding a cassette tape, finally admitting to herself that yes everything that she had thought had been a terrible nightmare was in fact as tangible a blood-stained symbol on her abdomen this morning. Now she had to face her worst fears and try to escape this hellhole. Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite fathom how she could bearer of their leader because all that had happened was she swallowed some blood and inhaled a mysterious green vapour that had billowed from the goat’s head atop the golden staff pole. The only aspect that seemed uncanny to her even now, after having slept peacefully and fully conscious of her whereabouts, condition and surroundings was Margaret had been able to tell her all about that day in the pine woods. But even so none of this could possibly be true; not in the real sense, at least. The devil represented evil and God represented good - hence the closeness and non-coincidental spelling of each name and what it represented. Therefore, there were both good and evil people in the world. But that’s all that it was, Sofie believed. God - or Jesus - didn’t appear in a woman’s womb without having fornicated, just like the devil couldn’t possibly be now a growing foetus in her womb.
A gentle rap on the bedroom startled her out of her reverie. She looked up and saw Margaret enter the room signalling to her husband to pass her the tray which she carried into the room and rested on the bedside table.
‘Here’s a late breakfast,’ Margaret said, indicating the pancakes soaked in syrup. ‘I left you sleep in; thought you could do with the rest. Last night was a big night for all of us. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you and to apologise for scaring you the way we did. But extreme cases require extreme measures, you understand? Still, you’re looking the better for it. You slept like a baby.’
‘Talking of babies, what did you mean I would be the bearer of your leader?’ Sofie asked, wincing as she propped the pillows up against the headboard and picked up the glass of orange juice.
‘I think it best if you not worry yourself now, dear. I am a trained nurse and midwife. You have no need to be afraid no more; just like when you were a young girl; a free spirit that did something... magnanimous. Something so extraordinary you didn’t fathom it even if I or one of my family had been there to explain it to you; that’s why it had to be you, don’t you see?’
Sofie shook her head. ‘Frankly, I don’t see at all.’
‘You will in time,’ Margaret assured her. ‘Perhaps it is best that you don’t know everything. Knowledge is a wonderful weapon to possess. But with any power comes great responsibility. Your innocence and courage is what made you do what you did that day. Because that’s who you
are.’
The words had profound meaning but still didn’t explain or make her understand any better than previously.
‘I don’t see how I could be p-’
‘You don’t have to,’ Margaret said. Then she rose from where she’d perched on the edge of the mattress and headed for the door, leaving Sofie alone.
Having devoured her food and drained her juice, Sofie swung her legs out from beneath the duvet and resisted the urge to groan in pain as she put weight on her ankles, not entirely trusting them to be able to keep her vertical for very long. She hobbled to the bedroom door, tried the brass knob and gently pulled the door open, poking her head out to see that the coast was clear. Then she shuffled awkwardly to the top of the staircase, her ankles burning from exertion where the rope had rubbed them raw.
Not wanting to but having to, she regained her normal breathing rate then gingerly descended the stairs, clapping a hand over her mouth halfway down when a cry escaped her, cutting it off immediately. Scanning the ground floor and over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard her and seeing that no one had, Sofie resumed performing what should have been an undemanding task without taking too long and at the same time falling over or crying out again.
She realised she only had one chance at this. Getting down the staircase and out the front door under normal circumstances would have taken her less than ten seconds at full speed. However, in her current state, she might as well have been climbing Mount Everest. All anyone had to do was emerge from one of the numerous rooms and they would undoubtedly see her holding onto the banister for dear life attempting the slowest of escapes anyone had ever witnessed if they cared to look. In fact, no one would have panicked if they did see her, she thought. They’d probably find it highly amusing to see her make it to the bottom get to the front door and only then kick her useless legs from beneath her.
Regardless, the young woman descended as quietly and as hastily as possible finally reaching the bottom, bent over and covered her mouth as she regained a normal breathing rate. Then she crossed the vestibule in a similar gait to that of Frankenstein, glimpsing the living room and boudoir (which were both empty) unlocked the door without a sound, opened it and was instantly blinded by the brilliant sunlight. She stumbled backwards. Her left ankle folded inwards under the unexpected pressure it couldn’t cope with and the unfortunate girl fell backwards (just like last night in the kitchen), landing with lip-biting thud, reopening the wound from the previous night.
Believing that her one and only chance of escape had been thwarted by her own body, Sofie snapped her head back towards the staircase, then the kitchen down the hallway and was genuinely surprised when she heard nothing, save her own harsh breathing. Not wanting to waste any more time, she dragged herself to an erect position and hobbled down the hallway, adrenaline and her juice and pancakes her only source of energy towards the kitchen.
The kitchen was also empty. Seeing the back door leading out to the generous back yard which spread out across the environing pasture and copse of fir trees, gave her faint hope of getting out here after all. Using the key to unlock the door, she stepped outside and limped down the porch steps and into the tall grass, dew drenching her jeans and trainers. And it was only at that precise moment that she realised that one of the devil worshippers had dressed her in clothes that weren’t hers (except for the jeans). They were too loose-fitting but identical. That slowed her, breaking her slow but steady rhythm. She stood staring with bulging eyes at how she remembered them shredding her hooded sweater and the flimsy shirt beneath and bra that were the same brand and design as what she had been wearing when she’d arrived yesterday. Then it came to her all at once. Margaret had gone out after writing down the detailed description of her attire in the kitchen while they chatted over a cup of tea so she could go out and purchase the exact same clothes so no one would be any wiser.
It didn’t matter one iota if she fled or stayed. She had been marked. Plain and simple. There would be no going back to her normal life, not now. How could she?
First things first, she told herself. Let’s see if you are actually pregnant before jumping to conclusions.
‘Sofie! Sofie!’ a woman’s voice boomed from the back door.
Ignoring her intuition to not turn around, Sofie whirled around and faced Margaret who was waving a handful of notes in her hand overhead so she could see. Then she began striding out into the overgrown pasture, smiling and shaking her head in mock disapproval.
‘Where are you going, you silly girl?’ she asked, rhetorically.
Margaret had caught up to her in no time at all. Now she stood before her and dutifully handed over the wad of notes. ‘There’s two-hundred and fifty there, dear.’
Sofie stared, incredulous at the wad of cash in her trembling hands, forgetting all about the home carer job she had agreed to do for the extra cash to help with her accommodation and her studies. Everything that had happened prior to last night’s events seemed not only inconsequential but also a lifetime ago. The sole reason to coming to the United Kingdom had been to learn to speak fluid English get a law degree and work for an established firm. She had loved the law ever since she had been a teenager and loved how if one abided by the rules and regulations of the law, one was guaranteed a lifetime of protection. All of that now seemed like an elaborate joke. According to Margaret her destiny had been not to study law and become a lawyer but to give birth to what they believed would be the antichrist.
She was glad she hadn’t known that when she’d supposedly raised the evil spirit from its burial ground all those years ago otherwise she wouldn’t have had a clue what to write down at the end of school when they asked what career decision you would be taking in her Guidance class.
‘I can’t, and won’t, stop you leaving this place. But if you go to the authorities and tell them what went on they will think you crazy. You may even be sent back home. You have no evidence to prove your account and therefore we shall never be convicted. Don’t make enemies of us. Make us your new family. Your real family.’
The wind buffeted and Margaret’s hair covered her face momentarily.
‘Do you remember your mother telling you when you were a child on more than one occasion that she wasn’t your mother?’
Sofie fumbled around in her memory storage and brought to mind one day when she had been playing catch with her father and her throw went astray and inadvertently struck her mother on the back of the legs while she pegged the washing out almost knocking her into the sopping mattress cover. Her mother had pivoted and barked at her, ‘Watch what you’re doing, you silly girl!’
‘Sorry, Mother,’ she had replied, fighting back the tears welling up.
‘I told you before - I’m not your mother!’
Daddy had rebuked her for saying that and ordered Sofie to return indoors and play in her room. Until now, standing in the pasture, shivering in the cold, muscles and bones aching from last night and all the climbing, falling and hobbling to where she was now, Sofie had truly believed her mother only snapped that remark at her when she had lost her temper, meaning ‘I wish I wasn’t your mother at this particular moment in time.’ But never actually meaning it.
Margaret rested a cold, bony hand upon her shoulder. ‘Yes, that day in the back yard wasn’t very nice, however true the statement. You also remember how easy it had been when you had told your parents how you decided to come to Britain to study to become a lawyer. They were thrilled and neither one of them shed a single tear for you at the airport, did they?’
The young Swedish woman stumbled again when an artic lorry of realisation slammed into her mind, not because of her unstable ankles struggled with her weight. Margaret steadied her. Then she stroked her arm, seeing the empty hollow expression behind the young woman’s eyes as she saw something not in the present but something in the past; a time when she boarded an a plane in Stockholm airp
ort and embarked on her career to become a successful lawyer working for a prestigious law firm.
Her parents - or guardians to be precise - had not cried. She didn’t think much of it at the time. However, if she had she probably believed that they had cried when they were alone, so not to play on her heartstrings. Their eyes as well as their mouths had been smiling broadly as she boarded the plane out of sight.
‘Truth is, dear,’ Margaret said, breaking her reverie for the second time today, ‘you can’t go back. That holiday in Vastmanland when you ran in the pine woods and fell through the ground wasn’t all a coincidence. You have been chosen to bear his child from the moment you were born. Your parents were also believers just like me and my family, and one daughter who was to be born on the next full moon would be the chosen one to unearth the leader’s spirit and to give birth to him.
‘Your parents wanted out. They didn’t believe any more. But it was too late. They had made a decision. Once one has committed themselves to our beliefs one can never turn back. It is forbidden. So they were given the choice of being sacrificed themselves or give you up when the time came. Fortunately for them, you made it a lot easier and less stressful by opting to come to the United Kingdom and study law. That way they wouldn’t have to watch you been taken unwillingly from your home.’ The middle-aged woman who had known about her before she had even been born appeared genuinely sympathetic. ‘I know this is a hell of a lot of information to take in at once. I am only telling you all of this now because you are ready to leave. In your condition it is best that you stay with us where we can nurse you through your pregnancy with the proper care and attention. Carry on studying, if that’s what you want to do, and then take break when you are heavily pregnant. You can always go back and get your degree later.’
