Dark Terrors 5 - The Gollancz Book of Horror - [Anthology]

by Edited By Stephen Jones

  The hobby room was a wonder: exquisite needlework scenes of ladies in flowing gowns and veils, lampshades made of jewelled buttons and beads, macramé dresses on porcelain dolls with gauze wings. Most of the bonsai lived on the upstairs screened porch, but mother had left several in the hobby room for further pruning and potting.

  Allie picked out two, a pyracantha just coming into bloom, and a juniper with miniature bamboo grass and a stone lantern the size of Allie’s thumb. The juniper was supposed to be very valuable. It was over fifty years old. Both smelled sweet and earthy, like the grave in which Dad had buried a dead robin. With one in each hand, she tiptoed out into the kitchen, down the back steps, into the garden.

  The garden was flooded with moonlight, and nightfrogs warbled. The neighbour’s dog Bandy yapped once, then was silent.

  ‘Fairies,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’

  Ahhhhh, said the queen fairy. Very lovely. Your mother is clever, clever.

  ‘What about me?’ Fairies swarmed out of the lily-of-the-valley leaves and from under the periwinkle. They climbed into the containers that held the bonsai, scrambled up branches, swung from limbs, rolled in the moss, and plucked blossoms.

  If you were clever, human child, would you be here?

  ‘You promised,’ said Allie.

  Sooooooothe, sang all the fairies.

  * * * *

  When Allie woke, sunlight was beating down on her left cheek, and her right was ground into the grass. Her parents were standing over her.

  ‘Now are you willing to listen?’ asked her father.

  ‘She’s going to be my little beauty queen,’ said Mom, that whiny tone in her voice. ‘Bobby wasn’t right, but my little girl is perfectly all right.’

  ‘Sleepwalking!’

  ‘Other children have done it.’

  ‘It’s the children at her school.’

  Allie could no longer pretend to be asleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘What have you done to my bonsai?’ said Mom.

  The containers held only churned earth and stumps.

  * * * *

  Allie was ashamed to visit Bobby that day, and afraid to go into the house. Mom had not yet decreed a punishment for the destruction of the bonsai. Dad went to work and Mom stayed in the house, never even calling Allie for lunch. So Allie hid in the garage, gloomily inhaling the smell of gasoline from the lawnmower and wishing the fairies would come back. But the fairies never came in buildings. That was a strict rule. Wasn’t it? There had to be some explanation.

  She got hungry, but not hungry enough to go into the house. She was thinking of running away. But how could she leave without Bobby? He really would go crazy if he didn’t have her to talk to.

  When dusk fell - very late, because it was summer, Allie knew - she crept out into the yard and crouched beside the geraniums. Dad’s Studebaker was in the drive, but neither parent had come to find her, nobody had called her for dinner. She was very hungry now, even a little sick. The geranium leaves smelled like carrots, so she nibbled one, but it was bitter and she spat it out.

  ‘Fairies,’ she called tentatively. Abandoned by humanfolk, maybe she was now one of their kind, and they would answer.

  Human girl, said the high voice, just as she was ready to give up.

  ‘How did you chop down the little trees?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were not allowed things of steel.’

  There was a long silence, then awhir as a fairy flew by her face. Instinctively, Allie batted it away. But when she touched her face, her fingers came away smeared with blood.

  * * * *

  The light was on in the kitchen, and through the window she could see Mom and Dad eating dinner. Carefully, so the screen door would not squeak, she stole onto the back stairs and listened.

  ‘—come back when she feels like it, the scheming brat. I told her—’

  Allie squeezed her eyes shut. She must run away now, she was sure. Whatever punishment they had devised would be too horrible to imagine. And the fairies were no help - on the contrary, they were bad; they had killed a fifty-year-old bonsai tree that Mom had paid a lot of money for.

  The door between the stairwell and the kitchen was ajar. If she crawled, she could make it to her bedroom to pack and from there to the attic to say goodbye to Bobby.

  She had an idea. She would go first to the basement and get a brick. She would shatter Bobby’s bottle, and he could run away with her.

  Where would she go? To an orphanage, maybe, or perhaps she could get some kindly couple with a baby to take her in as a nanny. She would be very sure they were a nice couple, and not planning to bottle or box their children. Bobby could get a job mowing lawns, or perhaps teaching vocabulary lessons.

  Allie pushed her bedroom door open and immediately knew something was wrong. There was a damp smell, like the peat moss Dad put down in the garden, or like the humus Mom mixed with the soil of her bonsai.

  In the centre of the room, blocking her access to the closet, was a big box, like a coffin, with the lid open. It was lined with damp, green carpety stuff that had little stems sticking up from it. Some of the stems had flowers or berries on them. She placed her hand on the pillow-like hummock at one end. It was cool. Live moss.

  On the outside, opposite the hinges, was a hasp with an open padlock dangling from it.

  If they put her in that box, she would never, never have friends, and she would never be able to rescue Bobby.

  She decided she didn’t need to take clothes with her. She carefully opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and took out the tin Easter egg in which she hid her life savings. Without counting the money - she remembered that it was over twenty dollars - she slipped it in the pocket of her pinafore.

  The brick was heavy and awkward, but she dragged it to the attic.

  ‘Bobby!’ she hissed. ‘Bobby, wake up!’ She brought the brick down on the shoulder of Bobby’s bottle with all her might.

  Bobby shrieked, but the bottle was tougher than she thought. It didn’t break.

  ‘Be quiet! We’re going to run away!’ she whispered. She brought the brick down again, but nothing happened except that the bottle clanged like a gong.

  She brought the brick down a third time, and Bobby screamed, ‘Stop! The glass will cut me, and I’ll bleed to death!’

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Mom’s strong hands ripped the brick out of her hand. Dad hoisted her over his shoulder. She dangled there, screaming, dizzy with the height of the stair, as he strode down, down, to her bedroom.

  She kicked and fought, tears streaming like blood from her face, but the two of them packed her into the mossy coffin, threw the hasp, and slammed the padlock shut.

  There was, she discovered, plenty of air. It was cool in the coffin (this must be an orgone box, she realised), and the dirt-smelling moss tendrils tickled her face. She flexed her arms against the sides, and tried to draw her knees up to kick, but there wasn’t room. There was, maybe, just room for her to grow a few inches. She gave over to crying, softly and hopelessly, and the moss drank up her tears.

  She cried for a long time, then dozed, dreaming that she was a bonsai tree, or a funeral arrangement, something expensive and cool Mom had brought home from the florist.

  Someone was cutting her roots, and it didn’t even hurt.

  She had no way of knowing how long she had been in the box, breathing dew-moist mossy air. It might have been an hour. It might have been weeks. But she heard someone turning the tumblers of the lock. By this time, she was too overcome with the scent of the moss and the coolness that had sunk into her bones to think of escape. Even if Mom threw the box open and invited her to step out, would she have the energy?

  The lock fell away, and nothing happened. The lid did not open. Mom and Dad’s big faces did not peer in with their toxic concern for her. She was glad, for she was certain that they would have scissors and wires and potting soil, to change her into Mom’s beauty, the beauty that Mom planned to make her.

>   She just wanted them to lock it again, leave her alone. Tomorrow she might fight. Tomorrow, or a week or a month from now. Fall. That was plenty of time Perhaps she would start fighting when fall came.

  Open it, human.

  ‘What? Mom?’

  We certainly don’t have the strength to open it for you. Open the lid. Or stay there and rot.

  Allie pushed feebly with her arms. The lid creaked back. She turned and heaved with her whole body.

  ‘I thought fairies were not allowed in human buildings,’ she said.

  The orgone box drew us. Still, it is a power we find unsuited to a young girl, so we free you from it. Run, now girling. The grey large ones are in the top of the house stealing the one who lives in glass.

  ‘Bobby? Somebody is stealing Bobby?’

  The large ones. Run from them. They are too dead for us to kill, and they are not part of our world. We have no power over them.

  Allie sat up, and nearly blacked out. The orgone box seemed to have drained all her strength. She managed to roll over and balance on her hands and knees. From there, she carefully put a foot on the ground and heaved herself out.

  She sat on the floor for a long time, hands over her eyes.

  ‘Fairies?’

  No answer. She willed herself to climb to her feet and stand, supporting herself against the dresser. She was afraid if she touched the orgone box she would fall back into it and never get out again.

  She took a few shaky steps to the door and opened it a crack.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs from the attic. She jerked the door closed again just as she saw a shadow - Dad’s shadow, she was sure - on the hall landing.

  Why were they going so slow?

  They must have Bobby! She had to do something, anything. Even the fairies knew something had to happen, and fast.

  There was a telephone in Mom’s room, by her bed. If she waited until Mom and Dad had dragged Bobby in his bottle to the stairs from the second to the ground floor, she could get to the bedroom phone, she was sure.

  She lay on the floor and peeked under the door. She couldn’t see Mom and Dad from this angle, except just when they rounded the landing and started down the lower staircase.

  Then she waited and listened to make sure they were down far enough so she wouldn’t be seen.

  Holding her breath, she slid through the door, tiptoed down the hall, and wrenched the knob to her mother’s room.

  Someone was in the room. A ghost in white.

  No.

  It was her reflection in her mother’s full-length mirror.

  She darted over to the bed and picked up the phone.

  She stared at the big black dial. Who could she call?

  O!

  ‘Can you please please help me?’ she begged, when the operator came on the line.

  ‘You have to dial information,’ said the operator, politely enough.

  ‘No! I’m alone in the house and something awful is happening. I need—’

  ‘You need the police?’

  Police? They might help! ‘Yes, please!’

  Four long rings, and a woman’s voice answered, ‘Is this an emergency?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes, it is!’

  ‘What is your address?’

  ‘I don’t know! I can’t remember! Please, they have my brother in a bottle and they’re taking him to the basement. He’ll die in the basement!’

  ‘Little girl—’

  Allie squeezed shut her eyes, and bright spots pinged in her vision. Why wouldn’t anybody take her seriously?

  ‘Little girl! Listen, I need your address. I can’t send help if I don’t know where you are.’

  Allie tried to think. ‘Asphodel Street.’

  ‘The house number. Do you know your house number?’

  ‘No.’ Allie wept. She couldn’t remember the house number or her phone number.

  ‘Little girl, what’s your name?’

  Allie told her.

  Rustling of pages. ‘Ah! That’s 222 Asphodel. Does that sound right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘My brother. They put him in a bottle, and now they’re going to put him in the basement. They locked me in a box with moss in it, but the fairies let me out—’ The minute Allie said it, she realised she shouldn’t have brought the fairies into the story.

  ‘Allie. Your name is Allie? Allie, you know you shouldn’t tell stories to the police.’ A deep breath. ‘But somehow I think you’re not just acting. You sound horribly upset about something. The question is, what? Can I speak with one of your parents?’

  ‘No!’ Allie screamed. ‘They’ll kill me. They’ll put me back in that box and I’ll never get out again.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  Allie let the receiver sink into her lap and wiped her nose on the tail of her pyjama top.

  A shadow fell across the floor in front of her.

  Mom said, ‘Now how did you get out?’ She grabbed Allie’s arm and wrenched her to her feet. Allie went limp - a trick she had seen older children use in the schoolyard - then twisted away. She slithered under the bed.

  ‘Doug!’ screamed Mom. ‘Doug, leave the bottle down there for a minute and come here. We have a problem.’ Mom’s face, dark with fury, peered at her from the edge of the bed. Allie scuttled as far away as she could.

  Faintly, from the telephone receiver, Allie could hear a voice: ‘We’re sending a patrol car right now. Tell me where you are in the house.’ Then, softly, ‘Better safe than sorry. Crazy kids.’

  Mom’s voice: ‘That really isn’t necessary. We have everything under control now. Sorry my daughter bothered you. No, no, of course we’ll go easy on her. She’s just a child, after all.’

  Dad’s voice: ‘How the hell did she get out?’

  The bristles of a broom poked under the bed, nearly stabbing Allie in the eye.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sakes!’ said Mom’s voice. Sounds of bedding being yanked aside. ‘Help me, Doug!’

  In a moment, the mattress and springs shifted and were tipped sideways beside the bed. Allie, completely exposed now, screamed. Dad lunged over the bedframe and grabbed her, his huge hand clamped over her mouth. ‘Atta girl. Just calm down, Allie. Nobody’s going to hurt you.’

  ‘I’m going to hurt her,’ said Mom. ‘What in the world do you mean, making prank calls to the police? Don’t you know that’s a serious crime in this state? In any state! Back in the box until we figure out an appropriate punishment. For this, and for what you did to my two best bonsai.’

  Dad’s big hand was stopping Allie’s breath. She struggled to scream, to breathe! Tears and snot ran onto Dad’s hand, and she bit him.

  He was so surprised that he let go. Allie hadn’t meant to bite her father, but when she saw she was free, she ran towards the door. Mom caught her pigtail and yanked. ‘For God’s sake, Doug, how can you let a little imp like this defeat you?’ She caught Allie’s ear in a grip like a pair of pliers. ‘Back to the box, you little demon!’

  The doorbell rang.

  Mom and Dad froze.

  Mom tightened her grip on Allie’s ear. ‘Doug, just go answer it. You don’t have to let them in. They can’t have a search warrant this fast. By the time they can come back, we’ll have everything tidied up.’

  Dad clumped down the stairs and went to the front door. Allie could hear muffled voices. She drew in a breath to scream, but her mother stuffed a corner of the bedspread into her mouth.

  Allie heard male voices, but couldn’t understand enough to know what was going on. The voices all sounded friendly, almost apologetic.

  ‘No, she’s gone to bed. Fell right asleep, poor little tyke. We shouldn’t have let her stay up this late. She gets over-excited and pulls these pranks. You can come by in the morning if you like, although I hope you won’t file a complaint against her. She’s a good girl, basically, just full of the devil.’

  More inaudible words, then the front door swung shu
t. A sound like the closing of a coffin lid, thought Allie, like the closing of the orgone box lid.

  The loss of hope was almost more than Allie could bear. It had been so close! The police had been right there, at the door, and they had believed Dad instead of her. She would spend her life in a moss-lined box, Bobby would go insane in the basement with nobody to talk to, neither of them would ever have a friend, not even one, not even each other.