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Isobel

Page 7

by Sheila Tibbs


  Sarah felt like she was going to cry, but managed to keep her tears from falling.

  'Isobel has really changed things around here, I’m sure

  Mrs. Peters meant something by what she said. What has she done to this lovely couple?' she thought and made a mental note to ask Isobel the moment she got home.

  •

  In Church, Mrs. Cuthbert sat staring at Sarah, but every time Sarah looked at her, she would turn away.

  'She looks drawn and tired this morning,' Sarah thought to herself.

  She looked around to see if she could see Carol, but she hadn’t yet arrived. Behind her, Jennifer sat with her husband, Bernard, and their daughter, Charlotte. Sarah could hear her whispering to the lady sitting behind her, Sarah didn’t know who

  it was as she felt it rude to turn round and see who was sitting there. As yet, she hadn’t spoken to Jennifer, who was doing all the talking, so Sarah was unable to make out who it was by her voice.

  “Yes, she’s so sick, apparently, been throwing up all night by all accounts, not very nice stuff either from what her mum was saying, looks like dirt or mud, or something,” Jennifer continued.

  Sarah smiled to herself. 'Good old Jennifer,' she thought, 'still making up stories.'

  Sarah didn’t know who she was talking about but knew that no one vomited dirt or mud. Then she heard the other woman speak and knew it was Bernice.

  “Poor Tina. She did look pale after school on Friday, perhaps there’s a bug going round. I’ll have to keep an eye on Ria too, she’s so delicate, and she can’t cope with a tummy bug.”

  'So delicate? You’re having a laugh; she’s built like a tank for Christ’s sake!' Sarah thought.

  Suddenly, what Bernice and Jennifer had just said hit home, and she spun round in her pew.

  “Sorry if I seem rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you just said. Do you mean Tina Fitzgerald?”

  “Yes,” said Jennifer; excited that she had someone else to relay her story to. “She became ill on Friday night. Apparently she had a run in with your Isobel at school, and she said Isobel pushed her over in the mud and she got a mouth full and since then, well, you heard the rest.”

  “Oh, poor thing,” Sarah said weakly. Her mind was buzzing so fast with the conversation she had heard between David and Isobel, what Mrs. Peters had said to her - and now this as well. She felt physically sick.

  Had Isobel really been responsible for making everyone ill, or unhappy? 'No, she couldn’t be. She’s only a little girl. I know I’m not happy, but everyone else? No, it’s just a coincidence,' she thought. She was so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realised the sermon had started. Sarah tried to concentrate on what Father Mather was saying, but was failing miserably, so she quietly stood and left the church.

  •

  The dark skies had at last given way to rain, and a steady down pour dampened the grass around the Church yard, making it spring to life for the first time in what seemed like ages. Sarah lifted her face towards the sky, and let the rain drops mingle with the tears she could no longer suppress.

  Taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes, Sarah walked round the

  cemetery to her parents’ graveside. There she sat, gazing at the

  headstone. She outlined the words chiselled by the stonemason

  and read aloud;

  “HERE LIES STEPHANIE AND MARTIN DAWSON. LOVING PARENTS OF SARAH AND SON - IN - LAW, DAVID. TOGETHER THEY LIVED, TOGETHER THEY DIED.

  FOREVER IN GOD’S ETERNAL GARDEN.

  MAY THEY REST IN PEACE.”

  'I miss you, mum and dad,' Sarah thought. 'I don’t know what to do, please help me and guide me.'

  “Pray my child, and your prayers will be answered,” said a voice behind her. Sarah spun round, startled.

  “Oh, Father Mather, I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry about walking out like that. Is the service over?”

  “Yes, and don’t worry about leaving, Sarah, you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. If you need to talk, then you know where I am,” he smiled.

  “Yes, thank you father, but I just miss my parents,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

  “Come, child, walk with me.” He held out his hand to Sarah and she took it willingly.

  They walked slowly for what seemed ages, neither talking, neither needing to. For the first time in weeks, Sarah felt herself relax. The comfort of the Churchyard and Father Mather seemed to envelop around her, bringing her an inner peace. She didn’t ever want to leave there.

  Eventually, Father Mather said, “I haven’t seen David at Church for quite awhile now. Has he been busy?”

  “No, father. I don’t know if you are aware but we have been fostering a young girl and David stays home with her now.” Sarah felt the tears again stinging her eyes, but didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now.

  “Yes, I have heard you’ve got a young lady living with you. Children are welcome in my Church, as you know. God loves all his children. Why don’t you bring her along with you and David?” he asked.

  “Isobel, that’s her name, is a non-believer, Father. I did once try and bring her but she was unwell, so David had to take her home again. David said I should respect her wishes and beliefs ... and she wishes not to come to Church.”

  “I see,” Father Mather answered. “I will be visiting the school this week, maybe I can speak with Isobel then, if you permit. Maybe she’s just lost her path and needs guidance to find her way again.”

  He smiled and Sarah felt herself smiling back. 'Yes maybe that’s it, she’s just lost her way,' she thought.

  After bidding farewell to Father Mather, Sarah walked home.

  •

  Isobel was sitting at the kitchen table, colouring a picture she had drawn, when Sarah came in. Sarah smiled, Isobel glared

  back.

  “Have fun at Church today, did you?” she spat.

  “Yes thank you, Isobel, I had a lovely talk with Father Mather and I visited my parents' grave, and sat with them awhile.”

  “Why?”

  “Sorry, why what?” Sarah asked with a puzzled voice.

  “Why do you bother with your parents' graves, they’re dead aren’t they? They’re not there, they can’t hear you,” Isobel said, not looking up from her colouring.

  “That’s an awful thing for you to say. I find great comfort in spending time at my parents' graves. I believe they can hear me, they may have died but their spirits live on in the kingdom of God. There they hear me, feel me.”

  Isobel let out a deep, meaningless chuckle.

  “Whatever you say, Sarah,” she said, as she stood up and left the room, leaving her drawing on the table.

  Going over to the table, Sarah picked up the picture and looked at the scene set before her. An elderly lady was central to the picture, she looked like she was standing inside a house and there seemed to be hundreds, no millions of flies, all dancing around the house and the lady. Sarah noticed then that the lady seemed to be crying. Outside of the house was a beautiful garden, clear blue sky and lush green grass, and not a single fly, not outside. They all seemed to be indoors, with the lady.

  Sarah thought it was a strange picture, frowning, she put it on top of the fridge out of the way and thought again to herself. 'No, not a nice picture at all, I don’t like it one bit.'

  Miss Cuthbert opened the door to her bungalow and, after stepping into the entrance hall, closed the door behind her. The scream froze in her throat. There seemed to be flies everywhere, coming at her from all directions. They were getting under her clothes, in her eyes, her ears, up her nose and in her mouth. The more she thrust her arms around, the more flies seemed to appear. She could hear the loud batting of their wings, the awful buzzing sound they seemed to make. She realised then that they were blue bottles, not normal houseflies, and she started to panic even more.

  'Rotten dirty creatures,' she thought, and swung her arms around even more.

  Then, she heard it, in the distan
ce at first, but there all the same. The deep evil cackle she had heard the night before, it was getting louder and closer, until it drowned out the sound of the blue bottles completely. It was all around her, penetrating her, the evil presence in the house could even be smelt.

  She found herself reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over again, but the laughter just got deeper and louder. A voice, so dark and deep, so full of hatred and evil,

  screamed, “You know who I am and why I am here, your time has

  come, old lady!”

  The pain in her chest rose to an unbearable pitch, pins and needles ran down her left arm and she struggled to breathe. She could hear the sound of a children’s nursery rhyme playing in the background and recognised it instantly. With the last of her strength, she reached for the front door and opened it, stumbling onto the path. Darkness came upon her as she fell to the ground.

  Isobel sat at her mirror, laughing.

  Her music box played on.

  Chapter Ten.

  Sarah met Carol and Jennifer at the school gate.

  “Oh, Sarah, have you heard?” Jennifer panted excitedly.

  “Heard what?” Sarah asked.

  “About poor Miss Cuthbert.”

  “No, what about her?” Sarah could feel her stomach knot,

  'Not another accident or illness, surely?' she thought.

  “She had a heart attack yesterday, shortly after Church, so I heard. Apparently she still had her coat and hat on.”

  “Oh, my God, is she..?”

  “No, not yet anyway. I was told this morning she’s in the hospital, hanging on by a thread by all accounts. Corinne, you know Corinne, don’t you? Well, she said she has asked for Father Mather, he’s with her as we speak.”

  “Poor woman, she has no family to visit her. Perhaps we should go in a day or two, take her some flowers, what do you think?” Sarah suggested.

  Isobel listened but said nothing, she just smiled.

  •

  In the classroom, Mrs. Crowther was taking class. A tall, thin, middle-aged woman, with ash coloured hair that sat neatly on her shoulders. Her smile was pleasant and her eyes warm looking but she had a bad temper by all accounts. Other classes

  didn’t like her teaching them. Her manner didn’t match her appearance. She was known as 'the school dragon.'

  “Hush now, children!” she bellowed. “Take your seats quietly. We have a lot to get through today. There’s no time to dilly-dally about. Francesca, what seems to be the problem?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Crowther,” Francesca answered meekly.

  “Then take a seat, girl, you’re keeping the rest of us waiting.”

  “Now then, as Halloween is fast approaching, I thought today’s history lesson will be based on this subject. So, who can tell me what Halloween stands for, and where the legends originated?” she asked.

  Silence followed.

  “Anyone?”

  “Oh, well, I can see I have my work cut out for me today. Right, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” she sighed.

  “Halloween is the eve of the feast of All Hallows or All Souls day. This is traditionally the night of the year most closely associated with witchcraft and the forces of darkness or evil. Who can tell me when Halloween is?”

  Thomas’ hand shot up in the air, like an arrow.

  “Thomas?” she said.

  “Yes, Miss, Halloween is on October 31st, each and every year,” he beamed. Adam looked at him and poked his tongue out, before mouthing; 'teacher’s pet.'

  “Yes. Well done, Thomas. Does anyone know why it’s celebrated then?” Silence followed.

  “It’s because October 31st marks the end of the Celtic year and it is the point in the sun’s cycle when it reaches the lowest part of its course. This, it is said, is when the sun enters the underworld, or Hell, for a short time, thus releasing ghosts and

  demons from Hell to visit Earth for a time, and walk amongst man.”

  And so the lesson went on and on. The children eventually started to switch off from her droning and draw pictures on the paper set before them. She re-captured their attention when she asked; “Who can tell me the legend about the Canewdon

  witches?” “We have witches here, in Canewdon?” Francesca asked, her voice shaky with fear.

  “Yes, or so legend has it,” Mrs.Crowther said. “Our little village has had a long reputation as one of the oldest strongholds of witchcraft in English folklore. According to legend, as long as the Church tower stands, there will be seven witches in Canewdon, three in silk and three in cotton. One the parson’s wife, one the butcher’s wife and one the baker’s wife,” she said, now very pleased with herself for gaining back their attention, even if it was through what appeared to be fear.

  “That’s stupid and you know it,” said Isobel.

  “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Mrs. Crowther said, finding it difficult to hold her temper. 'How dare this child contradict me,' she thought.

  “I said, that’s stupid. For a start, the Parson isn’t married,” Isobel said, pleased with herself.

  “Isobel. It’s a legend. No-one said it was true today,”

  Mrs.Crowther answered, looking just a bit flustered when the rest of the class openly discussed Isobel’s answer.

  “Now, before I get you to draw a Halloween scene to take home later, to your parents, which of course can be of a witch, pumpkin lantern, or anything else associated with Halloween, I want to read you a poem.”

  The class sat still and quiet in anticipation of the next part of the lesson.

  “Halloween,” she said. “Are you all sitting comfortably?

  Then I shall continue.” Clearing her throat, she read aloud;

  Halloween

  Come on you lot, our mother said, up the stairs it’s time for bed

  But it’s Halloween, my sister cried, with a scary face, all beady

  eyed

  Now don’t be daft, you silly thing, no ghosts or ghouls tonight will

  bring

  We lay in our beds, fixed still with fright, for fear of the creatures

  of the night

  With shadows dancing round the room, of witches riding on a

  broom

  Is that the wind howling through the trees, or a werewolf crying

  on his knees?

  A tree outside my window taps, I wonder if it’s a vampire bat.

  The stairs are creaking, my door opens wide, who is that on the

  other side?

  A boogie man, all big and bad, oh no it’s not, it’s just my dad.

  Mrs. Crowther closed the book and looked around the class. Most of the children had a look of relief on their faces when they realised it was the child’s father, but Francesca had her hands over her ears and her eyes closed so tight that they looked like two thin lines drawn on her face. Laughing, Mrs. Crowther quietly walked over to Francesca and touched her arm. Francesca let out an almighty scream and leapt from her seat, much to the amusement of the other students.

  Isobel, however, was not amused and leant over to Francesca and said, “You’ll be scared of your own shadow next,” then smiled a sinister smile.

  “Go away and leave me alone, you weirdo!” Francesca whined at Isobel.

  “Remember, Francesca, your shadow!” she spat back.

  The rest of the morning was spent drawing Halloween pictures, and the chatter was low and light-hearted.

  •

  Francesca was a small little girl with mousy, blond hair that reached the small of her back. Her doll like features appeared even smaller against the mop of hair she wore. Her mother had been raised in Canewdon, as had her family, but she had left to live in London with Francesca’s father, only to return when Francesca had been born, saying London was no place to raise a family. She was very much a young seven year old, kept so by her mother. Who, after giving birth to Francesca, developed a bleed that the doctors couldn’t stop, so an emergency hysterectomy was the only answer, making Francesca
a one and only child. Apart from school, which Francesca had to attend legally, she never mixed with other children. Her mother didn’t like her

  mixing in case she caught a cold or other illness, and was trying to get permission to teach Francesca at home. All this made Francesca shy and timid when with other children, and she had no real friends of her own, often spending playtime and lunch time sitting alone.

  At the end of school, Francesca left alone, as always, and found her mother, Mary, waiting in the usual place; by the large tree at the entrance of the playground.

  They walked home together, each taking turns to discuss their day’s events. Francesca told her mother they had been learning about Halloween and that there were seven witches living in Canewdon, and she asked her mother who they were.

  “Francesca, honey, that’s just an old wives tale. There are no such things as witches or demons or ghosts. It’s all just a story, like when I read you Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella at bedtime. You know they’re not real, and neither is what you heard at school today.”

  Francesca smiled at her mother and felt her heart lighten slowly, but, deep down, she was still afraid that witches were there, in the small village where she lived.

  Mary however, knew that this lesson would result in many sleepless nights. She would be checking the closets, under her bed, making sure her window was closed and soothing her daughter when she woke screaming and crying from her bad

  dreams. She would have to speak to the head teacher about such lessons. They were inappropriate for children of Francesca’s age.

  'It was alright for the teachers,' she thought, 'oh yes, alright for them. They’re not the ones picking up the pieces when the children had nightmares, how could they be so irresponsible? I will have to inform the Education Department, maybe this will

  help my case and allow me to keep Francesca at home, with me, where she belongs.'

  Sarah collected Isobel from school, and Isobel relayed her day back to Sarah.

  “I drew a Halloween picture for you and David. It’s in my bag so can I show you when we get home?” she said.

  “Yes, love. So, you’ve had a good day?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh yes, the best ever. Francesca got scared and wouldn’t listen to the lesson, just sat there crying like the baby she is.” Isobel laughed.

 

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