by Jenna Grey
She knelt on the floor with her arms wrapped around her, hugging herself and rocking backwards and forwards, too terrified to think or feel anything but that darkness. There on the floor were the chains and the bells, useless wards against whatever that creature was. How could she have been so stupid as to think that they could protect her? It had all just been a game, a cruel trick of theirs to make her believe that she could keep herself safe.
And it might come back tonight.
She suddenly had a flash of an image in her head, and then frame by frame the images seemed to speed up to form one continuous movement. She saw Connor, alone in his room, dozing peacefully, suddenly woken by some night terror. He leapt up from the bed and started raging, shouting out his fear and frustration that he couldn’t get out of his room, couldn’t come to save her. He hammered on the door, for what seemed like hours, finally collapsing in tears. And she knew that he had seen and felt everything, had witnessed every moment of Lily’s shame. He lay in a crumpled broken heap in the middle of the floor, just as she did.
She sat for the rest of the night, staring out of the window, into the darkness, watching in case they returned, but there was no sign of them. Why did they need to bother? They had already done their worst. She had been brutally violated and she could tell no-one about it; there was no rape counsellor she could go to, no kind words from a loving relative, no therapy – nothing. No-one would believe her. They would put it down to sleep paralysis, interrupted REM sleep, anxiety disorders, sleep apnea – the usual fall back for those experiencing these night visits by the Shadow People. But she had been raped, brutally and cruelly raped, and there was nothing she could do to stop them coming back again and again. Was that their aim? To make her life so unbearable that she would rather die than face it again? She was already almost at that point. She couldn’t go through that again, she couldn’t.
She began to cry again.
The house still lay in quietness, everyone apart from Lily still sound asleep. Lily stripped off the soiled bed linen and went down to the utility room, putting the sheets on the hottest wash she could, hoping that the utility room was far enough away from the rest of the house to stop anyone from hearing the machine washing away her shame. She’d been half tempted to throw the sheets away altogether, but that would have begged questions – she’d be gone soon anyway and would never have to use them again. She went back upstairs and took another shower, the third since last night, then dragged herself back down to breakfast, desperately tired and miserable. Liam ran up to her and hugged her legs ferociously as if somehow he sensed that something was wrong. She stroked his curly blond head and smiled down at him.
“Morning, sunbeam,” she said, hoisting him up and giving him a proper hug. He wrapped his arms around her neck and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Claire slapped the cereal box onto the breakfast table, and went to the fridge to get out the massive plastic bottle of milk, stomping it down on the table beside the box. Sarah had crept up to the table, a silent little wraith, and sat down, her shoulders hunched, her always pale face just a little paler than usual.
“Are you all right, sweetie?” Lily asked, suspecting that the poor little mite must have had another dream and definitely had wet the bed. She would usually creep up to Lily and whisper in her ear, hoping that Lily could sneak up and change the bed before Claire found out, and Lily always did. There was no reason Claire should find out because Lily did all of the washing anyway.
“I had a accident,” she whispered. Lily put her arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. Last night Lily had very nearly had an accident herself.
Claire heard.
“Oh, not again,” Claire said, “as if I haven’t got enough to do. You’ll have to deal with it Lily, I haven’t got time.”
Lily very nearly said, ‘What's new?’ but kept her mouth shut because she knew that Claire would only take it out on the kids.
“It’s all right sweetheart. Bad dream, ay?” Sarah nodded, and pressed her face into Lily’s waist. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it out. You get on with your breakfast.”
Sarah managed to pour the cereal, but couldn’t even lift the four litre bottle of milk, let alone pour it. Lily wrestled with the lid and poured it for her, casting a very unpleasant look in Claire’s direction. Then she went upstairs to change the sheets, wiping down the rubber mattress. It brought home to her just how hard life was going to be for the two little ones once she was gone. Perhaps if she got a job and could pay Claire board and lodging she’d let her move back here... but that couldn’t happen now, could it? She had Connor to consider.
“Have you got a job lined up yet?” Claire asked, lighting up a cigarette and dragging on it.
“No, I was waiting for my A level results. They should be here quite soon, but I am looking around. I thought I could go fruit picking for the summer. I’ve found some places that are taking on and I can start as soon as the fruit’s ready. It will tide me over for a bit while I look for something else. I’d like to work on a farm permanently if I could.”
The thought of all that fresh air and chance to be outside was like the promise of six weeks’ holiday in paradise to her.
“I wouldn’t pin my hopes on that,” Claire said, with barely concealed satisfaction. “I heard in the village that a lot of the orchards around here have lost most of their crops – some sort of blight, the fruit is all rotting on the trees. They reckon that apples and pears are going to be twice the price they usually are. I don’t think they’ll be taking on any pickers.”
“That’s really awful,” Lily said. “I feel so sorry for the farmers, not to mention the thought of all the poor creatures that rely on the fruit trees to survive.”
Lily hadn’t heard anything about it, but then she had been a bit preoccupied lately. Still it was a blow – she’d pinned her hopes on a few weeks picking to get enough cash to tide her over until she got a proper job. Worse, she daren’t think what damage it would do to the ecology of the area.
“You’re a right little tree hugger you are,” Claire said, with impressive disdain. “I sometimes think you like trees and plants more than you do people.”
Her gleeful malice made Lily’s skin prickle.
“I do. Trees don’t hurt you,” Lily replied, not trying to conceal her annoyance.
“Unless they fall on you,” put in Kieran, pushing his chair back from the table and balancing precariously on the back two legs. “Might improve your looks.”
“You better watch out that one doesn’t fall on you,” Lily replied, crossing her fingers as she said it, just in case her magic got the better of her. “I’m going to see my new place today after school. I shouldn’t be too long, though. I’ll be back in time to give the kid’s their bath and put them to bed.”
Kieran followed her into the kitchen and helped himself to half a box of cereal, slopping milk everywhere.
“Bloody good riddance,” he said. “The new girl’s a babe, I checked her out on Facebook.”
“Yes, and she’s really going to be interested in you, isn’t she? You’re so fit,” Lily sniped back. Kieran’s face reddened.
“You can bloody well talk – who the fuck would ever want to touch you? You probably haven’t even got a pussy.”
Lily fought back the pain-fuelled rage, her fists clenched, jaw clamped to hold back the curse that was trying desperately to escape. Instead she bent close to his ear and whispered:
“Maybe I should leave your new girlfriend a note telling her that you’ve selected her to be your new wank buddy. I’m sure she’ll be impressed, you skinny streak of piss, as long as three inch needle-dicks do it for her.”
Kieran lashed out in blind fury, laying a punch into her ribs. Lily doubled over and fell backwards, and without even knowing what she was doing flung a curse at him. He began to scream, tumbling from the chair, holding his hands to his head, and rolling on the floor in agony.
“What the hell’s going on?” Claire
yelled, bending over him and trying to pull his hands from his head.
“I think Kieran’s got a migraine,” Lily said, through pinched lips, pulling herself up and straightening her clothes. Kieran was clutching his head, moaning. “I’m sure it will wear off in a couple of hours.”
And with that she picked up her bag and left the house.
Chapter Six.
It was raining, that light, warm summer rain that made the world fragrant with the smells of nature: wet grass and leaves and that slightly bitter taste that hangs in the air, sharp, like copper pennies, making everything seem so fresh. The sky was the sickly yellow that only comes with rain and there were thunder clouds over the hills, their low grumbling rumble a distant sound, as if they just wanted to remind people that they were there and not to get too complacent.
She felt bad about what she’d done to Kieran – she shouldn’t have lost her temper with him – she wasn’t herself, her usual innate goodness corrupted by the fear she felt for the Shadow People; he was a winkle, but she knew that a lot of his aggression was his way of dealing with a world that hadn’t done him any favours. She’d have a prize bruise on her rib cage where his fist had landed, but there was no real harm done. What he’d said had hurt her, though, far more than the physical injury; she hadn’t realised just how little he thought of her.
She removed the curse almost as soon as she got out of the door and felt better for it. She only had to put up with him for a couple of days more – and perhaps this new girl would be a better sister to him than she’d ever been. She’d say sorry to him when she got back home.
Lily let the rain wash over her, wanting it to make her clean, and loving the feel of it on her face. Her glasses were steaming up and she had to take them off to wipe them every so often. She suddenly realised that the rain, as refreshing as it was, was going to wash away the talcum powder and pan-stick, leaving behind a scrubbed and shiny bright fairy, for all the world to see. She’d have to stop off somewhere and redo it before she got to school. Her clothes were getting soggy, but she didn’t care, she just wanted to wash away all of the misery of last night. Every time she closed her eyes she could see that creature on top of her, feel him between her legs, like the lingering touch of a slug on her skin. Her belly felt raw and uncomfortable, as if there was some residue of that darkness still left there. She wanted to flush it out, feel clean again, but she thought that perhaps she would never feel clean again. Then the dreadful thought hit her that that creature might have left more than semen behind. It couldn’t be possible that she could get pregnant by it, could it? The thought was too terrible to entertain. She kept seeing visions of a little shadow baby, nursing at her breast, suckling. She forced the images away.
All of these years she had thought that she was safe behind the greasepaint, but it had only been illusion, last night had proved that a lie; she had never really been safe.
She approached the stretch of the road where the sheep’s carcass had been with trepidation, but all traces of it had gone. All that was left was a trampled patch of mud, and large booted foot prints that were rapidly being washed away. She wondered what had gone through the poor owner’s mind as he carted the carcass away. How could anyone explain such inexplicable barbarism? It had been a cruel ploy to trick Lily into believing that she had any chance of defending herself against those creatures. Psychological warfare at its best. Offer the victim a crumb of hope, a chance of escape, let them think that they might be able to fight back, and then cruelly snatch it away from them at the last minute. She knew the djinn were malicious tricksters, but dear God, had she ever underestimated them.
She carried on walking, melancholy, letting her tears mingle with the rain and glad that no-one could see her. As soon as she got into college she rushed straight to the loo, locked herself in a cubicle and reapplied the talcum powder and pan-stick, cursing herself for her cowardice.
The day passed tortuously slowly, and Lily had spent much of it thinking dark thoughts, of Shadow people and pain. Not surprisingly the three Bs weren’t in college, but the thought of their suffering was no consolation. Their brand of cruelty was nothing compared to that of the creatures that had attacked her last night; they were just children playing games in comparison. Almost all of the students were exchanging phone numbers and addresses, hands covered in Biroed scribblings, scraps of paper flying in all directions, with people promising to keep in touch. There were still three days left of the term, technically, but a lot never bothered to come in for those few days, it was hardly worth it, because all they did was play music and mess around – nobody did any work. She stood on the side lines, watching, and thought little of it when no-one approached her to exchange information – she hadn’t really expected anyone to. She looked around for Gary, but he’d obviously decided to take the day off.
Everyone was disappearing now, the classrooms emptying, as groups of friends drifted off and she was finally left alone in the class room. The last day of this part of her life, and it was strange to think that she would never come back into this room again, never come to the college again. All of those people had gone from her life and she had to say she was glad to see most of them go. She would see them around in the village sometimes and perhaps even give them a polite nod, but they would be strangers to her. But when she thought of it, they had always been strangers, hadn’t they? There wasn’t one of them she’d miss – accept perhaps Gary. She collected the last few things from her locker and walked along the corridor to the front entrance, looking back over her shoulder just once as she walked down the steps into her new life.
Once out of college, Lily realised that she couldn’t face going home just yet, couldn’t face Claire, not right now. She needed time to collect her thoughts, to try and reconcile herself with what had happened. She wondered how Connor was today, how he was coping. She wished with all of her heart that she could see him, just to reassure him that she was all right, even if she wasn’t. She wondered if she’d actually be able to fool him.
She decided she would go to her most favourite spot in the whole world, the great twisted old tree at the end of the lane that stood all alone in the featureless field; it’s gnarled old trunk looked as if it had been there a thousand years, and probably had. It was as wide as a small cottage, its great canopy of leaves spreading out like a great umbrella. She loved that tree, and explored every knot hole to see if it was a hidden entrance to Elphame ‒ the other world. So far she had found nothing, although she had never tried it at twilight. Perhaps she would one day. Quite often when she was allowed out, she would go to her tree and sit underneath it, reading for as long as she dare or playing her music. It was the happiest of times for her.
Connor. She needed Connor. It was a sudden and urgent thought, and a ridiculous one – she hardly knew him – and yet, wasn’t that man and fey’s most basic and primitive motivation, to gravitate to those that were of the same tribe or kind as you were? It had always been that way since time immemorial, that unlike magnets, like attracted like. You only had to look at the ghettos in any major cities to see that in action. There was comfort and security in sticking within the herd, and right now Connor was her herd.
Lost in melancholy thought, she settled herself under the shade of her tree; the sun was still warm, a lovely summer evening, bright with the promise of a glorious sunset, with just the barest hint of breeze ruffling the still air. She took out her tenor recorder, her favourite; she had saved long and hard to be able to afford it, and she loved it dearly, polished dark wood, and gloriously mellow. She had three recorders, a descant, which had a bright and happy sound, high pitched and chirpy, like bird song, a treble, mid-toned and sweet, the tenor, deeper and more mellow, round warm tones that she used for more gentle and melancholy pieces. She composed her own music, creating melodies in her head. They seemed to come to her so easily, beautiful tunes that filled the air with magic. She picked up the tenor recorder and began to play, a soft sad melody, that floated across the still s
ummer air. She lost herself in it, letting the music wrap around her, transporting her away from this world into another reality, where she could see Elphame, where she could see home, trying to find some kind of solace, but there was none.
She looked up, and there was Connor.
For a moment she wasn’t sure if he was actually there or she was just seeing some illusory image of him, but she blinked and he was still there, standing just a few feet in front of her, smiling beatifically at her. His feet were bare. He almost threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her neck and almost throttling her with his exuberance, obviously overjoyed at seeing her again. He was a good foot taller than her and she found herself smothered against his chest. She extricated herself with difficulty, gently easing him away and looked up into those impossibly green eyes – eyes she saw every time she looked in the mirror.
“Connor, what are you doing here? You’re going to get into so much trouble!”
He just blinked at her, confused, hurt at her less then enthusiastic welcome. She relented, seeing how hurt he was and smiled at him, closing her hand over his. For an instant she caught a glimpse of his glamour. It was subtle, looking like him and yet not like him; all of his features and colouring were the same, but there was a dullness about him, some little variance that made him less than he was in his fey form – it was like comparing the beauty of a real rose to one made of paper, although he was still very handsome. The image vanished almost as quickly as it had come, and she could see Connor’s real self again, a true High Shee. His mouth was soft and full, his eyes large, expressive, his features sensitive – a male version of her and so familiar to her it was almost as if she had seen this face every day of her life and new every inch of its form – knew every inch of him.
