Isobel

by Sheila Tibbs

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say, Isobel. Not all children are as fearless as you appear to be,” she scolded. Then, trying to make the conversation lighter, Sarah added, “Was Tina at school today?”

  “No,” Isobel said, bluntly.

  At home, Isobel sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of milk and eating one of the still warm cookies Sarah had baked earlier.

  Sarah picked up Isobel’s school bag and started to unpack her lunch box, when she found her Halloween picture. Holding it up before her, Sarah felt her flesh crawl. Isobel indeed had a talent for drawing, for someone so young anyway. The picture was of a witch being burnt on a stake, surrounded by people, who all seemed to be cheering. Somehow, the witch looked remarkably familiar to Sarah, then she realised it was the woman from her dream. The one who had been dragged down to the crossroads and burnt. She remembered how people were cheering and sneering at

  the poor girl, who looked so young. She shuddered. It was like Isobel could see her dreams.

  Isobel just sat, watching Sarah over the rim of her glass, hiding her smile. She made her excuses to Sarah and went to her room. Sitting in front of her mirror, she laughed a deep hideous laugh, her reflection laughed back.

  •

  That evening, Mary read 'Little Red Riding Hood' to Francesca, before kissing her good night. She then turned off the overhead light above the bed and turned on the night light, before closing the door behind her.

  Francesca laid there, her eyes feeling heavy with the need of sleep. She remembered Isobel being so cruel to her and wondered why she had been so mean. This thought stayed with her when sleep finally won, and her eyes closed.

  She woke suddenly. There was someone in her room. She sat up in bed, the street-light outside assisted the night light in brightening up the room. There, on the wall at the foot of the bed, was the shadow of a hideous looking creature! She could hear it

  laughing, a sound that made her skin come alive with Goosebumps.

  She screamed with all her might and covered her eyes.

  Mary woke at the sound of her daughter’s scream and went running to her.

  “Make it go away, mummy, please!” she sobbed.

  “Make what go away, honey?” she pleaded.

  “That monster, there on my wall!” she pointed to the shadow at the foot of her bed. Mary looked up.

  “But, honey, it’s your shadow, look.” She prized her daughter's hand away from her eyes and made Francesca look at the wall. There, she saw the shadow of herself sitting up in bed. She turned to her mother and sobbed in her lap, both tears of fear

  and relief.

  “Shhh now, honey, mummy’s here, there, you sleep, my baby. I promise I won’t leave you,” Mary said, soothing her daughter.

  Isobel lay in her bed, her yellow eyes piercing the darkness. She laughed.

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

  Her music box played.

  Chapter eleven.

  Francesca woke the following morning looking pale. Her eyes were heavy and surrounded by big red circles. Her head hurt like she had never known her head to hurt before. Mary took one look at her beloved daughter and hugged her.

  “How about you stay home here with me, honey?” she said. “You look exhausted. You can’t be going to school like that. Anyway, there are only a few more days before you break up for half term. Yes, stay home with mummy. I’ll phone the school and let them know you’re unwell.”

  Francesca sniffed loudly, and sat at the table. Her head was so heavy she placed it in her hands to help support it. She was tired too and she felt like she had never slept a wink in her entire life, not just last night. The memory of the shadows came back to her and she shuddered.

  •

  Matthew knocked on the kitchen door, startling Sarah.

  “Sorry, miss, but dads unwell today so has asked me to cover for him, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Yes, Matthew, that’s perfectly okay with us. Wish your dad well from me though, okay,” she said.

  'He’s not unwell,' she thought, 'it’s just an excuse not to come here again.'

  Sarah noticed Matthew was looking behind her and followed his gaze. It was locked with Isobel’s.

  Her normal bright blue eyes seemed to have darkened and be holding Matthew's gaze. His face seemed to pale. Isobel smiled.

  “Isobel!” Sarah called sternly. Isobel broke her gaze with Matthew.

  “What?” she snapped.

  Sarah turned to Matthew and said, “Off you go then, you know what to do. Come back here when I return from taking Isobel to school and I will give you something to drink and eat,” she said kindly.

  Matthew nodded, put his head down and silently walked out the door; his eyes were watering badly, his mind now fuzzy.

  'What did I have to do?' he asked himself. 'Oh, I wish I could remember.'

  Sarah watched him walk down the long path to the tool shed. When he'd entered, she turned to Isobel and said, “And what was all that about?”

  “All what?”

  “That. Between you and Matthew? Are you anything to do with the Peters' leaving here? Well, are you?” Sarah could feel her temper rising and fought to keep it under control.

  “Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Isobel snapped.

  She rose from the table and went to her room. Sarah watched after her as she had Matthew. Gazing out of the window she could see Matthew sitting on the large lawn mower, staring out across the river.

  When Sarah returned from dropping Isobel at school, she prepared a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches for Matthew and called him in for a break. The heat outside was still sticky and unbearable, despite the lateness in October.

  Matthew entered the kitchen through the back door, taking off his boots as he came in. He walked over to the sink, aware that Sarah was watching him closely. He knew she was going to question him about his father’s decision, and his mother had told

  him what to say. Was he going to be able to look her in the eye and lie? He doubted it. He had always liked Sarah, had admired her from afar when he was growing up and her grandparents still lived at the Manor. How brave he had thought she was, coping with the death of her parents the way she did.

  He had secretly fancied her too, but knew she was of a different class to him. His father had bought him up to know the difference between the charmed and the working class. Although he was aware that both Sarah and David worked for a living, his father had said they were still charmed, as they worked for them.

  He lowered his tall frame onto the pine chair at the head of the table, being careful not to knock the table with his knees and spill the mug of tea that Sarah had just poured for him. They sat there in silence, drinking and eating.

  When Matthew had finished his sandwiches, Sarah turned to him

  and said, “How are you, Matthew?”

  “Fine thank you, Miss,” he replied, unable to meet her eye.

  Laughing, Sarah said, “Matthew, you have always called me Sarah, even when we were children, why are you calling me Miss?”

  “Because it’s proper. I’m working for you now, well at the moment anyhow. Dad said it’s respectful.”

  “Please, call me Sarah. I won’t tell your dad if you won’t,” she teased.

  He looked up at her and smiled, “Okay then ... Sarah, I must admit I didn’t feel comfortable calling you Miss.” He laughed, and Sarah laughed with him. She realised it was the first time she had laughed for weeks.

  Reaching over for his mug, she poured them both a fresh drink. There they sat for over an hour, talking about this and that, how things had changed since they were children, the weather, anything they could think of, except why the Peters' were leaving.

  Sarah thought she would save that conversation for another day.

  Eventually, Matthew stood up and declared the flowerbeds wouldn’t weed themselves and time was getting on. He thanked Sarah for the tea and sandwiches, put on his boot
s and went back outside. The curtains of heat replaced the coolness of the kitchen, making him catch his breath as he stepped outside.

  Sarah went upstairs to make the beds. In Isobel’s room, she opened the curtains to the big French doors and opened them to let some air in. The room felt muggy and she stepped out onto the balcony. She could see Matthew bent over the flowerbed and stood watching him for a while.

  She retreated back inside and noticed Isobel’s photo album on the dressing table. Unable to contain herself, she opened it, her hands shaking, knowing what she was going to see, the memory of Isobel’s first day still vivid in her mind.

  That dream, the man staring back at her from the photo. Why was she willing to relive the horror she had felt? She turned the pages of photos over. Isobel’s mother stared back at her. 'What a pretty woman,' Sarah thought, 'but she looks so

  unhappy, her eyes are so sad.' Sarah traced her face with her fingers, she felt like crying for this stranger. 'Yes, a stranger,' she thought. 'Yet somehow I feel

  I know her, know what she’s feeling.'

  She turned the page again - and there he was, grinning back at her, that horrible hateful grin. Those evil eyes.

  Sarah shuddered and slammed the book shut. She left the room, Isobel’s bed still unmade. She felt that he was there, in the room with her. She had to get out.

  •

  In the safety of her own room, she relaxed. The ceiling fan David had fitted was still spinning, cooling the room. Sarah lay on the bed, thinking about the past and how happy she had been as a child.

  The death of her parents crossed her mind, her meeting David and how happy they had been. She drifted of to sleep. She dreamt of her wedding day. How David had made love to her, caressing her body. The happiness she had felt when their bodies had become one, in rhythm together, he had planted his seed within her, making her his forever. They had lay there, for hours in each other’s arms, not speaking, just gently caressing each other, knowing each other until he had made love to her again and again. She dreamt of him lowering himself onto her, she raised her hips

  to welcome him, she could feel his breath on her bosom. She felt his mouth search hungrily for her. She opened her eyes and screamed. The creature on top of her laughed. She was naked. She could feel this - this beast’s seed inside her.

  She woke, sweating and crying. 'Just a dream,' she thought, 'it’s only a dream.'

  She felt chilled and, getting off the bed, realised she was naked. Had she undressed before she had lain down?

  Then the dampness between her legs seemed to increase and she realised that she hadn’t been dreaming, she had again been raped,

  but by who or what, she didn’t know.

  She ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She let the water run over her naked body, washing away the violation she had again experienced. 'Oh God, help me,' she thought. 'What’s the matter with me? Have I truly been raped again ... in my

  sleep? Am I losing my mind?'

  Her tears mixed with the flow of water from the shower. She needed to wash away this dirt, this sin that had overcome her. She stayed there until her skin pruned, only then turning off the shower and wrapping herself in a towel. She still felt dirty, but

  knew that no amount of showering was going to wash away the feeling she carried in her heart. Again, she knew she couldn’t tell David what had happened to her, he would insist she was just attention seeking. He wouldn’t notice the bruising that had again appeared on her thighs, he no longer wanted her, to be one with

  her, he hadn’t touched her in weeks. She sat at her dressing table and looked at her reflection in the mirror. There, she cried.

  •

  At school, Father Mather had arrived to give his scripture lesson. His lessons were such fun and the children loved it when he came to teach, that is, all but Isobel. She sat at the back of the class, unable to look at him. She paled as the lesson advanced.

  Sweat appeared on her brow, she refused to answer his questions.

  Eventually, she put her hand in the air and asked to be excused, saying that she felt unwell. She was taken to the school office, where Mrs. Make-Piece, the school secretary, took her temperature and told her to sit quietly for a while to see if she felt any better. She then phoned Sarah to come and collect her.

  When Sarah returned from collecting Isobel from school, she went straight up to her bedroom.

  “Sarah!” she shouted down the stairs. “Have you been in my room? I said I didn’t want the curtains and doors opened.” She thundered down the stairs and entered the kitchen where Sarah was preparing afternoon tea for Matthew.

  “Go and close them, now!” she spat.

  Sarah turned to face her, her temper barely concealing itself.

  “How dare you talk to me like that! I opened your curtains and doors to let fresh air in that stuffy room and they will remain open until I decide otherwise. Do you hear me?” she raged. “This is my house, Isobel, and while you live in my house, you abide by

  my rules and treat us with respect. Do you understand me young lady?”

  Isobel clenched her fists to fight the rage bubbling inside her.

  “Don’t you talk to me like that, Sarah. I’ll tell David, he’ll stick up for me. He loves me now, not you.” She bit down on her lip, fearing she had already said too much.

  Sarah walked towards her, bent down until their faces were almost touching and, through gritted teeth, said, “Like I said before, this is MY house. Not yours and not David’s, mine ... and if you two don’t like it then…” She let the sentence trail off.

  They both stood there, staring at each other, each refusing to back down. Matthew opened the back door, and Isobel moved her gaze from Sarah to Matthew.

  Sarah knew she had won that round. Sighing, she stood and smiled at Matthew, who still stood in the doorway, his eyes transfixed on Isobel. Looking from one to the other Sarah thought it was like they could read each others' minds, the way they were looking at each other.

  A silent language seemed to pass through the air, like a magnetic field. Sarah could almost hear the cogs of their minds turning. Matthew seemed to nod. Turning to Sarah he said, “Can I take my tea outside with me, please, I’ve still got a lot to do and dusk will be upon us in a couple of hours.”

  “Yes, Matthew, of course you can.” Sarah smiled.

  She poured his tea and gave him a plate of biscuits.

  Turning, he went back outside and down the path to the tool shed and disappeared inside. Sarah turned and looked at Isobel, still trying to make sense of what she had witnessed. Isobel smiled and walked away.

  •

  Isobel sat in the lounge waiting for David to return home from work. She hated Sarah for what she had said to her, but she knew David would be on her side. Sarah would pay dearly for her behaviour she thought to herself, and a sickly smile appeared on her lips. 'Oh yes, she will pay dearly.'

  When David heard Isobel’s side, he was fuming. He rushed into the kitchen demanding Sarah explain herself instantly.

  Sarah however, had other ideas. She knew David wouldn’t believe anything she had to say about Isobel and her behaviour, so she swallowed loudly and staring David in the face, said very defiantly, “Isobel has no doubt told you all that you would be interested in, David. But, like I said to her, I will now say to you, this is my house and my rules.” With that ,she turned her back on him, signalling the end of the conversation, and went back to looking out of the window towards the tool shed.

  Darkness was falling but the tool shed light was still on, so Sarah knew Matthew hadn’t slipped off home without saying goodbye. She could hear David and Isobel talking about her as they went upstairs, obviously to close her doors and curtains. 'So that sweet little Isobel can sit in front of that blessed mirror, talking to herself again, as she did all day everyday. Well, when she was at home.' Sarah thought. 'Well, let them get on with it. I don’t need either of them, they’re welcome to each other.'

  Half an hour
later, Matthew still hadn’t left the tool shed, so Sarah decided to go and see if he was okay. She knew Mrs. Peters would be worried that he hadn’t gone home for his dinner.

  'Maybe he’s fallen asleep,' she thought, 'it has been so muggy today. It got the better of me earlier.'

  She shuddered at the memory of that morning, and then pushed the thoughts from her mind.

  Sarah pushed open the door of the tool shed - it was empty. Looking around she noticed the lawn mower still by the lake. 'Maybe it’s broken down,' she thought, and started towards it, calling Matthew as she went.

  Matthew was there, in the lake. He was face down in the water, gently floating, aimlessly in the evening breeze.

  Sarah screamed, then darkness.

  Back in the house, Isobel looked in her mirror, and laughed.

  Her music box played.

  Chapter twelve.

  Sarah woke to find herself on the sofa in the lounge. David was kneeling beside her, holding her hand. He smiled at her.

  “Thank God you’re okay, love,” he said. “I thought for a moment then that I had lost you.”

  “What happened?” she asked, her head spinning.

  “I don’t know. I heard you scream and came running. I found you on the ground, down by the lake. I thought you’d been hurt.”

  It all came back to her. Like a wave breaking the shore.

  ‘Matthew!’ she cried

  “Matthew, he’s, he’s…” she trailed off.

  “I know, love, I saw him, in the lake. I pulled him out. The police and ambulance are on their way. What happened down there? No, don’t tell me. The doctor will be here soon. The police will probably want to talk to you, tell me then, rest now,” he said and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’ll just go and check on Isobel, it must be frightening for her.”

  He left the room, and Sarah could hear him climb the stairs. It hurt to think about what had happened. Did she even know what had happened? Oh, she wished she could remember.

  •

  The police arrived, and Sarah had to give a short statement. They had said it looked like suicide but refused to elaborate on their findings at that point in the investigation.