Darkling Green

by Kim Thompson

  “Come on in, dearie,” said Belle, lazily paddling through the green scum.

  “I already told you I can’t.”

  “Just hang on to the side.”

  Willa flushed. “No! How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not coming in! Ever!”

  Belle looked up at her quizzically. Willa took a deep breath. “I’m … scared of the water.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Belle.

  “I really am! It’s a phobia. Weird, I know, but I’m fine with it. It doesn’t bother me at all.” Willa knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t even want to go in the water. It’s too dangerous.”

  Belle’s expression hardened and her eyes narrowed. “Dangerous! Who told you that? Your mother, I bet.”

  “Sure, I guess. She’s got the same phobia.”

  Belle’s face had gone crimson with rage. “Lies! Your mother is filling your head with lies!”

  Willa stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  Belle’s hands slid out of the water and gripped the side of the pool. Her eyes burned into Willa’s, but her voice was soft and cold.

  “At your house, in the guest room closet, on the top shelf, tucked behind some blankets, is a shoebox. You go home and take a look in that box and then come back and tell me that your mother isn’t a liar!” Belle pushed off from the side, turning her back on Willa as she swam away.

  Willa’s blood ran cold. “Belle!” she called. “What are you talking about? Belle!”

  Belle had only one more thing to say before disappearing under the surface again. “Go home, human!” she hissed.

  Chapter Twelve

  A Pandora’s box

  Willa walked to the front gate. She heard Tengu calling from the porch, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to see the tears streaming down her face.

  Human! She could still hear the anger in Belle’s voice.

  Hunching forward to keep the rain off her face, she hurried home, her thoughts jumbled. She thought they’d become so close, she thought they were friends. How could things go so wrong so suddenly? Belle had turned on her — why? Because of her stupid water phobia? Her mom never went near the water either; Willa’d never seen her so much as dip her toe into the ocean.

  Willa stared at her feet as she strode along, growing more and more angry. Belle is crazy. How could she say those things about Mom? She doesn’t know her. She doesn’t know either of us!

  At home, Willa went into the guest room and stared at the closet door. This was the room that Belle stayed in after Eldritch Manor first burned down. It would be just like her to snoop around, so she might actually be right about the shoebox.

  “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes!” called Mom from downstairs.

  “Okay!” replied Willa with a guilty start. She opened the closet door and pulled up a chair to stand on. The upper shelf was filled with blankets and pillows. She took a deep breath and slipped her hand beneath them, reaching all the way to the back. Nothing. She smiled. Belle was just messing with me. There’s nothing here. Still, she slid her hand along the shelf. She came across the box in the farthest back corner.

  It was a cardboard shoebox, and it looked pretty old. It was heavy. Willa stepped down and put the box on the bed. What on earth could be in there that would be such a big deal? She really didn’t want to open it, but at the same time she was dying to know what was inside. She sat on the bed and lifted the lid.

  Newspaper clippings. The top one was about her parents’ high school graduation. In the grainy group photo she found Mom and Dad’s younger faces. “Back row, left to right, Maris Godwin, Marvin Fuller...” Standing next to each other, of course. High-school sweethearts.

  Willa flipped through a few more clippings. They all seemed to be from that same era, all about high-school stuff. There were also photos of her parents’ friends and family: Grandpa, and Dad with his sister and parents. She found photos of birthday parties, school dances, picnics, old-timey stuff. She lifted the mass of clippings and photos to see what was at the bottom, what was making the box so heavy. Under all the paper was a pile of tarnished medals on faded ribbons. Willa picked one up and turned it over to read the inscription.

  “Maris Godwin, Senior Girls’ Front Crawl Champion, District Meet 1980.”

  Willa sat back, stunned. Front crawl? Her mom swam? Not only swam, but swam well? She went through the other medals. They all belonged to her mom. They were all for swimming, and all from the same year, when she was in grade ten. None from grade eleven or twelve. Had she quit?

  Willa went back through the stack and found a colour newspaper photo of the swim team. Her mom was front and centre, smiling, full of cheerful confidence, a streak of white hair cutting through the dark locks. Just like my hair! I’ve never seen that streak. She’s always dying her hair.

  Willa kept rummaging. There were articles about local swim meets, which raved on and on about Maris Godwin. Willa had to shake her head. The idea of her mom being at all athletic was just too weird.

  The longest article caught her eye, and she began to read.

  “M. Godwin once again dominated the Senior Girls Swim Events with her almost supernatural abilities…”

  The word “supernatural” made Willa’s blood run cold. She read on.

  “Watching her closely as she performed the front crawl, it was this reporter’s impression that this young lady doesn’t even need to take a breath! She seems to be part fish!”

  “Suppertime!” called Mom from downstairs. Willa started guiltily, thrusting everything back into the box.

  “Coming! I’m just … washing my hands!” Willa went into the bathroom and shut the door. She turned on the tap and stared at the running water. Belle’s words sat cold in her stomach. She was right. Willa looked at herself in the mirror, at the white streak in her own hair. Mom lied to me. Why?

  At the dinner table, Willa eyed her mom nervously. She couldn’t decide how to bring it up. Maybe I shouldn’t. But it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t.

  She watched her parents eating and chatting. Dad, with his quiet voice, his hair thinner than in the high school photos, but with the same shy smile. Mom, who now seemed cagey and mysterious, with her hair carefully dyed chestnut brown, and her eyes wary.

  They were talking about the weather. The torrential rain had flooded basements all over town, though theirs was still dry — knock on wood. There was a pause in the conversation and Willa dove right in.

  “The pool at Eldritch filled up with rainwater,” she said.

  “That’s a crazy amount of rain,” marvelled her dad.

  “Belle even swam in it.”

  He chuckled. “Must have been chilly.”

  Her mom frowned and said nothing.

  “She tried to get me to go in, too,” continued Willa.

  “You told her you don’t swim?” her mom asked sharply.

  “Yes,” Willa said. “I don’t swim. And neither do you.”

  Her mom raised an eyebrow. Dad kept his head down.

  “You’ve never been able to swim, have you?” persisted Willa. “No, wait, I almost forgot … you did swim. In fact, you won a whole bunch of medals for swimming in high school!”

  Mom stared, anger flashing in her eyes. “Have you been snooping through my things?”

  “I found a box in the guest room.” Willa folded her arms. “Did you swim in high school?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Did you swim in high school?”

  The silence was long and tense. Dad took his plate to the sink and slipped out of the room. Coward, thought Willa.

  Mom finally answered, her voice hard. “Yes, Willa, I did.”

  “You told me we both had the same phobia of water. You said you always had it! You lied to me!”

  “It’s too co
mplicated to get into right now.”

  “Tell me!”

  Her mother frowned, but she seemed to be considering it, so Willa pushed on. “How did you learn to swim? Did Grandpa teach you?”

  “No. He said swimming was dangerous. Riptides, undercurrents, that sort of thing.” Her mom went to the sink and ran water for the dishes.

  “So when did you learn?”

  She answered without turning around. “Phys. ed. class in high school. Grandpa wanted to get me excused, but I fought him. He was right, though. I should never have learned to swim.”

  Willa shook her head. “Why? You were good at it!”

  “Yes I was,” she answered simply.

  Willa lowered her voice, unsure of whether or not she should ask. “Were you good because of Belle? Are you … part mermaid?”

  At the sink, her mom stiffened. She whirled to face Willa, her eyes flashing. “Certainly not!”

  “But you knew about Belle …”

  “I didn’t know anything. I thought she was just a regular human. A regular, selfish, heartless, child-abandoning human.” Her mom was flushed, breathing heavily.

  “When did you find out she was a mermaid?”

  Her mom clattered dishes into the sink. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “But I need to know!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic!” her mom huffed. “I don’t have to tell you anything!”

  Willa pushed on. “Why did you stop swimming?”

  “Because water is dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? That’s crazy! There are no riptides in a pool!”

  “I think we’re done with this conversation.” Her mom started for the door. Willa felt panicky — it was now or never. She grabbed her mother’s arm.

  “We are not done! Why did you stop swimming?”

  Her mom shook off her hand and drew to her full indignant height. “Willa!”

  “WHY DID YOU STOP SWIMMING?” Willa shouted, her heart pounding. Her mom regarded her for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed.

  “You really want to know? You really want to know? Well, I’ll tell you.” She reached out both hands and put them on either side of Willa’s head, feeling behind her ears. Willa pulled away.

  “What are you doing? Belle did that to me today, the very same thing….”

  “Behind your ears. Can you feel two long bumps, like ridges?”

  Willa felt with her fingers for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “That’s why I was such a good swimmer, and that’s why I quit.”

  Willa waited. Cold fear was collecting in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t understand. What are they?”

  Her mother looked her in the eye for a moment before answering. “Gills.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Secrets, lies, and superstition

  “WHAT?” Willa backed away, staring at her.

  Her mom smoothed her blouse. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.” She turned to leave.

  “You can’t just tell me that and walk away!” Willa was trembling.

  Her mom ran her fingers through her hair, pressing behind her ears in a gesture Willa had seen her do a million times.

  “Are they really—?” Willa asked.

  “If you don’t use them, they close up. I stopped swimming, and they closed up. End of story. Back to normal.”

  Willa felt the ridges behind her ears again. Normal. She felt ill.

  “That’s why I kept you out of the water,” said her mom.

  “I stayed out of the water because I was afraid of the water!”

  “Right. And that’s a good thing.”

  Willa sank into a chair. Her mom continued.

  “I think it would be best if you didn’t go to Eldritch Manor any more.”

  “Why?”

  “Belle is not a good influence on you. She’s selfish and manipulative, and I don’t want you spending any more time with her. From now on I want you to come straight home after school. I’d rather you stayed away from all of them.”

  “Them? You mean my friends.”

  “They aren’t your only friends. What about the kids at school?”

  “I don’t have anything in common with them,” Willa muttered.

  “Well, what on earth do you have in common with those old folks? They do nothing but stir up trouble and put you in danger! They shouldn’t even be here! I wish …”

  Willa stared at her mom, her eyes filling with tears.

  Her mom looked at her sadly. “I wish she’d never come back.”

  Willa had heard enough. She strode out into the hall and grabbed her coat.

  “Willa! Where are you going? It’s raining cats and dogs.”

  “I need to go for a walk….” She stumbled out the door, into the night, and started to run.

  Willa ran, blinking away tears, until she found herself in front of Eldritch Manor. She’d taken that route without even thinking. Every window in the house was lit up, but she didn’t want to go in. Instead she walked to the backyard.

  In the gloom of dusk the pool was a dark, gaping mouth. She stepped up, and her reflection shimmied in the water, staring back. It was her and yet not her. The face couldn’t really be seen; the features were lost in darkness, though the moonlight caught the streak of silver in her hair. Every once in a while, a shimmer of bubbles would rise up from the depths, shattering her image across the water’s surface.

  The silence gave way to a rustling of leaves, growing louder. Willa looked up to see the foliage around her moving — leaves, bushes, grass, the vines on the fence, the branches overhead. She was enveloped in a soft, insistent whisper.

  She couldn’t stop herself from touching the ridges behind her ears. She was grossed out, though she also felt a stirring of excitement.

  Who am I? What am I? Could I really be a mermaid?

  Was it possible that the water she had always dreaded was really her home? If it was, why was she so afraid?

  She knelt in the wet grass and leaned forward, bringing her face close to the water’s surface. She couldn’t see more than a few inches into the depths. She closed her eyes and lowered her face into the water. It was cold but soothing. For a moment she felt her mind and body grow calm. Then something brushed her cheek, and she jerked out of the water, falling back into the grass, gasping and trembling.

  The water is dangerous. It has to be.

  Above her, stars twinkled between the clouds. Willa rose to her feet, took a last look at the pool, and walked away.

  Back home, her dad was waiting up for her.

  “You okay?” he asked, and Willa nodded. He glanced up the stairs, lowering his voice. “Back in high school, when your mom realized she had …” He pointed to the side of his head. “… you know … well, it was pretty traumatic for her.” He smiled. “She does tend to overreact. You know how she is.”

  “Yeah. Is she still upset?”

  “A bit. She just needs to calm down, think things over.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe you both do.”

  Willa nodded again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Her dad’s face brightened. “Would you like the usual for your birthday cake? Angel food with the little coloured bits? And the super fluffy icing? With sprinkles?”

  “Sure.” Willa gave him a smile. That had been her favourite ever since she was little. This year her birthday had snuck up on her. It just didn’t feel as much of a big deal as it used to. “Don’t go to any extra trouble, though. Any cake is fine.”

  “No trouble at all! We’ll whip you up a masterpiece. It’s not every day our little girl turns into a teenager.” He gave her a squeeze. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  She fell into bed but slept fitfully, dreaming of deep, black water. She dreamed sh
e was back at the pool. Dead leaves floated on the surface, slowly gathering, rafting together to form a face. There was a breath of a breeze, the eyelids opened to reveal eyes the colour of ash, and Willa pitched forward into the water.

  The next morning Willa stayed in her bedroom until her parents had left for work, despite the knocks and calls.

  “You’ll be late! Get a move on!” called Mom.

  “We’ve got to go. Are you all right in there?” called Dad.

  Willa hollered back that she was getting dressed, and listened to them leave. Then she lay in bed for another few blessed minutes, even though she knew it would make her incredibly late for school.

  Does she really mean it? she wondered glumly. Do I have to come straight home after school? Am I really grounded?

  At school she shunned everyone even more than usual. She felt their eyes on her and kept putting her hand to her head, patting her hair down over the … ridges.

  Can anyone see them?

  In the library, she looked so glum that the guidance counsellor, Miss Grimes, sat across from her.

  “Is anything wrong, Willa?” she asked gently.

  Willa shook her head.

  “Everything all right at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing you want to talk about?”

  Willa looked into her kindly blue eyes, summoned up a smile, and shook her head. If you only knew!

  Outside the school, she paused for a moment, then turned toward Eldritch Manor. Of course. Her parents wouldn’t be home for another forty-five minutes at least, so she could fit in a quick visit. The thought of being cooped up at home against her will made her furious. As she trudged along, she noticed it was brighter. The clouds were thinning, and the rain had lessened to a light drizzle.

  She wanted to curl up on the sofa in the parlour and think, but when she opened the front door she was surrounded by a crowd of eager faces. Everyone but Belle, she noticed.

  “Is your birthday really tomorrow?” asked Tengu. “Argus told us.” Behind him, Argus blushed and looked at the floor.