Messenger (Mary Hades)

by Sarah Dalton

  We arranged chairs around the fire, spread out in a large, uneven circle. Mother Ariel started a hymn as we waited for the sun to go down. I sang along, but it was as though my lips were moving on their own. I was singing, but I didn’t feel it. I was almost floating above myself, watching myself sing along with everyone else. It was like I was wearing a Willa skin, but inside everything was changing. I wasn’t Willa anymore; I was growing into something else, and it didn’t quite fit. I was all stretched out and hollow inside, like those plastic dolls the little girls in the towns carried around. Next to me, Jack was mumbling along with the song. I’d snapped at him when he told me he didn’t believe anymore. I’d told him he was being tempted by Satan. I was beginning to realise that I shouldn’t have done that, and I was filled with remorse. But the thing about being twelve and growing up in a cult is that you don’t know how to act or what to do when something goes wrong. I’ve since learned something called ‘street smarts’ or common sense, if you like. If only I’d had it back then, I could’ve done so much more. But I stayed quiet. I kept every worry, every doubt, locked up tight in my mind and didn’t voice my concern. I kept thinking that God would get me out of this mess. I’ve since learned to get myself out of any mess I’m in—it’s much more effective.

  Bram was watching me. With his right hand, he held on to one of the younger kids, Alfie’s friend Stevie. Bram had always been something of a mystery, but his behaviour seemed even stranger now. His sadness over Alfie leaving was almost completely gone. He walked around smiling and quoting Father Merciful as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He met my gaze with his, and another one of his smiles stretched across his face. It turned my stomach. I hated that smile. I hated his white teeth and the redness of his lips. I hated the way his eyes never changed, no matter what. And it wasn’t until the song was over that I realised I had stopped singing long ago. In fact, my throat was dry and I needed water.

  I was about to stand up when Father Merciful approached the circle, arm in arm with the newcomer, Katherine. He was dressed in his white suit, while she was still in the jeans and shirt she had arrived in. I glanced at the pile of folded clothes placed neatly on an empty seat. It was all part of the ritual. The congregation were in our best clothes to watch the ceremony. I was wearing a long dress that reached my ankles. It was bright teal, which Mother Ariel said brought out the blue in my eyes. It had long sleeves that went all the way to my wrists, but I still felt cold. I rubbed my hands in front of the fire and tried to pretend that Bram wasn’t watching me.

  “What a beautiful night God has given us,” Father Merciful said as he approached. He looked up to the sky and shook his head. “Amen.”

  “Praise him,” we said in unison. I mumbled it. Jack’s lips barely moved. But most of the others said it loud and strong, proud to be praising our maker.

  Katherine said it too, then she turned to Father Merciful, waiting for his instruction. They were all like this, the newcomers: drawn to him, waiting for him, eager for the next part of the journey. I can’t speak for them and say why they came to us, but there was always the same longing for leadership. They looked to him like a student looks to a teacher. And it didn’t matter how old they were, or where they were from. They always seemed lost. They always needed him. Katherine was no different, despite everything that came after.

  Enjoying his moment, he guided her carefully to a spot in the middle of the circle. Katherine stood behind the fire, so that the flames made her glow. Father Merciful stood on the other side, nodding softly to himself.

  “Tonight our family takes in a new Sister. Tonight, we show our appreciation for his woman who has left her life behind to join us on the path of righteousness. Sister Katherine, you’ve come here to take part in our family and to leave your past behind. In the Congregation of Angels, we welcome our guests on the first day they arrive. We want to immerse you in the life we have created here.”

  “Praise him.”

  “You will never need another family. We are here for you.”

  “Praise him.”

  “You will never want for anything else in your life, because the Congregation of Angels is love. Love is everything.”

  “Praise him.”

  “The path to the Lord is everything.”

  “Praise him.”

  “When I spoke to God earlier today, do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Take this offering. Take this offering from me.’ Well, Sister Katherine, you are that offering to us. You have come here to join us, and you will bring love with you.”

  “Praise him.”

  “You are a gift from God, a blessing to behold.”

  “Praise him.”

  His voice dropped. It turned serious. His chin angled down, and he spread out his arms. “But before you become one of us, you must let go of your path. Sister Katherine, do you have any belongings with you?”

  Katherine reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a phone and a small wallet. “I have these.”

  “Good. They are the belongings of Katherine Maynard. But you’re not Katherine Maynard anymore. You are our Sister. Now, throw them into the fire.”

  I had seen many different reactions to this request. I had seen disbelief. I had seen people walk away, never to come back. I had even seen people cry. But Katherine was different. She barely even looked at the things in her hand before throwing them into the fire. And then her face lit up, like she’d just heard the funniest joke. The congregation applauded her. Father Merciful hugged her. Then she was back behind the fire.

  “Sister Katherine, whose clothes do you wear? Do you wear the clothes of our Sister?” Father Merciful asked, lowering his voice even more.

  Katherine shook her head, and her hair flowed down her back. She lifted her chin, and the moonlight fell on her face. I remember thinking that she seemed more powerful than any of the initiated we’d seen before. She had an aura about her, something that made her different. And yet she still looked to Father Merciful, like they all did.

  “Remove your clothes and throw them on the fire,” Father Merciful instructed. “This is no time to cling to your past. This is the time to embrace your future.”

  As Katherine began to unbutton her clothes, Father Merciful stalked around us in the circle. His eyes never left Katherine as she peeled away her shirt. Then her fingers moved to the belt around her jeans. I felt a flush of embarrassment hit my cheeks. It went against Father’s teachings, but I couldn’t help it. I hated seeing other people naked. It made me squirm.

  Father Merciful stood behind her as Katherine threw her clothes into the fire. The flames shot up, consuming her past. Her ID rolled down the fire slightly, and the corners curled as it melted. There was no money in her wallet. All the money would have been given to Father Merciful already.

  Katherine stood shivering in the night. Her skin was pale. She was naturally a beautiful woman, but I could see her flaws—the stretch marks on her skin, and the dimples on her thighs. Father Merciful stood behind her, embracing her with his long arms. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

  “Welcome to our family,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Have you ever wanted something so bad that it made you ill? That was how I felt during the days that followed Katherine’s initiation. No matter what I was doing—laundry, cooking, cleaning, playing—all I could think about was Alfie. I was twelve years old, and I was in emotional pain. It made me so ill that I began to imagine things. I had the strongest feeling that I was being watched. I saw Brother Bram at every turn, often playing with Stevie, sometimes just leaning against a wall, doing nothing except staring into space with a smile plastered across his face.

  I think Jack noticed it too, because he hardly ever left my side. I didn’t mind Jack being around me. He made me feel better. He made me feel safe. It was Bram who made me nervous.

  Aunty Cassie remained in Father Merciful’s private quarters during this time. I never saw her, not for a number of da
ys. We saw little of Father Merciful, too. Brother Jacob, however, was a prominent presence on the farm. He didn’t seem to work much, but he walked up and down a lot, with his small eyes boring into us.

  Because Alfie was in my thoughts so much, my mind began to pull tricks on me. It was either one or two days after Katherine had come to the commune that I first saw him. I was out in the fields, helping Jack and Noah turn over a patch of soil. It caught my right eye—a bright shot of scarlet.

  “What was that?” I said, the air exhaling from my lungs in a rush.

  Jack looked up from his task with a smudge of mud across his cheek. “What?”

  “I thought I saw something,” I said, peering out into the distance.

  We were on a part of the farm that backed onto the surrounding moors. The landscape sloped down, with small hillocks poking up and out of the grass. It was as I was staring out onto the moor that I saw a flash of red run behind one of those hillocks.

  I dropped my shovel and rushed forward. “Alfie!” I screamed his name so loudly that the rest of the commune came running out of the farmhouse. Jack followed me, sprinting at my side.

  It was a cold day, and my lungs ached as I sucked in the chilly air. My skin became slick with sweat mingled with drizzle. By the time I reached the hillock I was panting for breath, and I had to put my hands on my knees to recover.

  “Alfie?” I said. I walked around the hillock, but there was nothing there. I ran forward a few steps and scanned the horizon, searching for even the slightest glimpse of his red coat. But there was nothing there.

  I turned to Jack. “I saw him. I saw his red coat. He ran behind here just a moment ago. I swear, I saw him. I did.”

  Jack squared his jaw. His gaze flitted from me to the moors and back again, as though he was assessing something. “All right, we’ll look for him.” But he sounded unsure.

  Behind that hillock, we could see the moors stretching out for miles. To my right stood the tall hill where Nooman’s Point rested at the very top. Everything else was in a valley, and it was obvious that Alfie wasn’t there at all. But we still looked. We still called his name. Jack kept glancing at me, and it slowly dawned on me that he was only doing this to stop me feeling like a fool. He didn’t believe that I’d seen Alfie at all.

  “What’s going on?” It was Brother Jacob. He leaned his weight on one foot and glared at us both.

  “I thought I saw Alfie,” I said. “But it looks like I was wrong.”

  “He’s not here,” Jacob said, barely looking at our surroundings. “Get back to work.”

  As I walked back to Noah with Jack, I couldn’t stop the shame from spreading across my face. I was bright red; I could feel it.

  Jack was quiet. He didn’t say anything; he just passed me my shovel and got back to work.

  *

  I think it was after I thought I saw Alfie on the moors that the dread seeped in. I’ve never felt anything like it since. It wasn’t a strong feeling. It didn’t knock me out. Instead, it crept up on me, little by little, until I was a bag of nerves. I never felt alone, not even for a second. I always felt like someone was watching me. I had permanent goose bumps on my arms. I was always cold.

  The worst thing about that time was the nightmares. They didn’t even feel like dreams; they felt like visions. I was always back at Nooman’s Point. The wind was still for a change, with just a quiet breeze rustling the long grass. I remember being afraid of snakes in the grass. Mother Ariel had always told me to be careful. She’d said that there weren’t many in England, but that it only took one to bite me and I’d be really poorly. So I tiptoed through the grass towards the great jutting stone of Nooman’s Point, always on edge, looking for that snake.

  It was usually dusk during my dreams. Nooman’s Point looked northwest, showing the edge of the sunset. The sky was a darkening pink, turning to the deepest, darkest blue I had ever seen. I would forget my fear of snakes and be enthralled by the sky for a moment. My feet moved as though someone else was controlling them, and I walked towards Nooman’s Point so that I could see more of that glorious sight.

  But then came the same sense of dread I’d felt when I was awake. My arm hair stood on end. My breath came out foggy and cold in the evening air. I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. I stopped and looked around, expecting to see someone else there. Bram. Alfie. The boy with the torn-up face. I expected them all to be watching me.

  It was at this point that the sky always turned black. It never happened gradually. Twilight didn’t come. One moment it was dusk, and the next it was night. I rubbed my arms for warmth, chilled to the bone in my nightgown. The sky was clear, and without the interruption of streetlights, I could see the stars, bright and twinkling. But the beautiful sight gave me no comfort, because now there could be anything lurking in the dark. Now I couldn’t tell where Nooman’s Point started and ended. I was trapped. I turned so many times, searching the dark for whatever was watching me, that I didn’t know which way was home, and which way went towards the perilous drop.

  And then I heard a sound. It was like a boot scuffing across stone. I spun towards the noise with my heart beating faster and faster. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, despite the freezing cold chill in the air. The wind moved through the grass, rustling in the darkness. There was no one there, but I could sense a presence. Always at that point I forgot that I was in a dream. It was as though I was right there, standing next to Nooman’s Point, lost in the darkness and surrounded by the whispering grass.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered. My hair blew over my face and stuck against my lip. When I lifted my hand to move the hair away, my fingers trembled. “Tell me who you are.”

  The silence was oppressive. It seemed to cling to my skin, wrapping around me until I felt suffocated.

  “Bram?” My voice shook. I sounded weak, even to my own ears.

  Something whooshed behind me. My heart lurched. I spun around, and I heard the sound of footsteps scuttling away. A long piece of grass tickled my shin and I leapt back, almost tripping over my feet. A sense of preservation kicked in and I tried to remember which way I had come. But I was only a child, and I couldn’t get my head straight. Instead, I ran blindly into the dark.

  A red blur passed me. I stopped dead and placed a hand over my mouth. The red blur stopped and stood a little off to my left. It was Alfie’s overcoat. I knew it was. I whispered his name, but my hoarse voice was lost on the wind. I took a step towards him on my numb, shaking legs. The hood of the overcoat was up, and he had his back to me. The wind dropped, and the only sound was my breathing.

  I edged closer to him, taking it one step at a time. The ground was slippery, and my bare feet caught on the long grass. All the time, my heart thudded so hard that I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. But I knew that I had to get to Alfie. I had to save him. Something told me deep inside that he was in terrible danger and I needed to get to him. I held out my hand and reached for the red overcoat. My fingers trembled in front of me. My throat was dry.

  Before my flesh could touch the fabric of Alfie’s overcoat, he began to turn around. My hand dropped to my side. It seemed to take forever for the boy to turn and face me, while all the time, a wave of dread washed over me. Instead of standing there and waiting for Alfie to finish turning, I fled. My desire to help him was pushed away by sheer terror. I ran back away from him, and then turned back to see what I was running from.

  The face was horrific. To this day, I don’t know who the face belonged to; it was so caved in that I couldn’t identify any features. I saw torn flesh, red wounds, and the dark blue of bruises. I screamed then, so loud that it pierced through the silence. The boy’s hand rose towards me, but I couldn’t stay there any longer. I ran and I ran. I ran so fast that I tripped and fell, and rolled over the uneven ground.

  My body tumbled down the steep hill. My shoulder hit a rock. But the fall never seemed to end. I kept going, feeling every knock, every scrape. I caught my fingers in the long grass, tu
gging at my fingernails. My face smashed against the ground, and then blood was in my mouth. I bit my tongue and felt the pain. It went on and on, as though I was actually there, actually falling down this steep hill.

  Until I woke.

  It was a sudden wake. I didn’t just sit up; I leapt straight out of bed. My skin was covered in sweat and my hair was plastered to my forehead. I still had on my nightgown, and I expected my body to be covered in bruises, but it seemed fine. But a weight seemed to press down on my chest, and my throat felt thick and clogged. I choked, leaning forward. There was a dank taste in my mouth, and something wet lodged in my throat. I rushed to the bathroom and bent over the sink, coughing.

  Soil came out of my mouth.

  Chapter Eight

  I desperately wanted for the dream to be over, but I knew it wasn’t. For the next few days, I had the strangest feeling that the boy in Alfie’s overcoat was following me wherever I went. It was only during the second time I lived through the dream that I realised the boy was Alfie, and I woke with the greatest sadness I’ve ever experienced. I finally understood that the sense of dread wasn’t because the boy in the overcoat was frightening—although he was terrifying—it was because the boy in the overcoat was Alfie, and that he was dead.

  The nightmares and the grief had taken their toll and before I even made it to breakfast, I started to cry, and I didn’t want to stop. Jack took one look at me, squirmed from one foot to the other and then raced out of the room. I wiped my eyes and clutched a bear that I used to sleep with when I was little. It was a comfort, even though I was too old for it.