Boundary

by Mary Victoria Johnson

  That my dream somehow rang with truth was an absolute certainty. Never before had I felt so strongly connected one. It was not normal to see with the clarity I had three times, and therefore I knew I had seen an event in my sleep that had actually happened, or would happen.

  Then another unsettling thought occurred; what if, just maybe, the child was…me? It would explain why I dreamt alone. That would make Elisabeth and Bernard my parents! I hadn’t been able to see much of anyone’s appearances, so unfortunately proving my theory through looks alone would not work, and now the only person who might have known was dead.

  “Answers,” I whispered softly into the night, closing my eyes and trying to relax my tense body. “That’s all I want.”

  Somehow, sleep managed to claim me once again and I slipped out of awareness until…

  My head snapped bolt upright in alarm as a shadowy figure closed the bedroom door as quietly as possible, then tiptoed across the floor towards where Tressa’s bed was. In the moonlight, I saw her pale hair flying loose (unusual) and bruise-like shadows under her eyes (odd), as if she hadn’t slept in ages. She glanced in my direction, but I had already hidden myself under the covers. What on earth was she up to? Maybe it was in my best interests to find out, but in the morning. I needed sleep.

  I slept dreamlessly for the rest of the night, awakening to a dull light shining through my eyelids and causing me to stir once again.

  I felt shaky and headachy again as I drearily pulled on my black day dress and splashed water onto my sleepy face.

  It was almost as if the dream had been my reality and this life was nothing but a dull figment of my lively imagination. At the moment I wouldn’t have minded the swap, my everyday existence had become so grey and cheerless in the two weeks since Beatrix was stolen from us that the hours blended into each other with agonizing speed, seeming to both take forever and fly by at the same time.

  It wasn’t just the weather that had decided to turn bitter. Cracks between us had begun to be more noticeable, and although we refused to admit it, it was only a matter of time before we crumbled entirely. The food was awful, the atmosphere was bleak, tempers were running high, health was running low, and the trials were taking their steady time to make any kind of drastic attempt on our lives. And so, we had settled into a monotone dance of waiting for something, anything, to happen. For better or for worse, I frankly didn’t care.

  That morning at breakfast, the kippers-on-toast tasted once again like they had been fried in ashes. As for the orange juice, it had the flavor of something vomited in and shaken. Funny how one’s appetite declines.

  “I had that dream again,” I offered in a good attempt at perkiness.

  “Oh?” Tressa feigned a tight smile of interest as she prodded her kippers disgustedly with a fork.

  Should I ask? Risk provoking an argument that might shatter us altogether?

  “I think…oh, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think I’m the baby! That was what those people were killed over, and if it were me it would explain why I’m the only one dreaming about it! Don’t you think?” I eagerly waited for their responses. This was more important right now, besides, there was nothing sinister about taking a walk to calm your thoughts at nighttime, which was surely what Tressa had been doing.

  Instead of seeming excited about my dream, they sighed patiently and continued dissecting their fish.

  “It would,” Lucas said flatly. “Except for one teensy problem; it was just a dream. Beatrix told you that already, and besides, what sense would it make if you were actually some critically important child kidnapped by sinister forces who murdered your parents? How on earth would you have ended up here?”

  “Thanks, Lucas,” I muttered. “Your support is encouraging.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied in the same dry tone.

  “Does anyone believe me? Anyone?” I inquired, surveying the miserable scene with a dull annoyance.

  “It’s not that we don’t believe you, Penny, it’s just that it seems a bit far-fetched that you would all of a sudden be dreaming about your distant past,” Fred explained, sharing a reasonable glance with Evelyn.

  Sourly, I slashed open the gut of my shriveled kipper and prodded the fleshy chunks into my soggy bread. Just for something to do which didn’t involve making conversation, I cut a mouthful off and deliberately placed it onto my tongue.

  It was revolting! I tried to remain collected, fighting an instinctive gag reflex. Reaching for my juice, I tried to wash down the foul food and only succeeded in adding yet another rotten taste into the toxic mixture.

  “Just spit it out.” Tressa sighed, watching me struggle with the barest trace of amusement.

  Sheepishly, I turned to deposit the mouthful into a napkin with as much dignity as I could muster. The taste remained strong, though, and I dearly wished for a nice glass of refreshing water to gulp down and remove the nasty aftertaste.

  “Pardon,” I excused myself. “I don’t understand what’s being going on with the food these days, it’s all so awful!”

  “Tell me about it.” Avery wrinkled his nose and pushed his plate away. “I don’t know what idiot they think would possibly risk eating this. Kipper, Fred?”

  Fred pulled a face at the offered dish and shook his head, oblivious to the insult, remarkably having eaten nothing himself either.

  “Ugh, no thanks,” he refused as politely as possible. “I prefer to live without food poisoning if I can help it.”

  In mutual agreement, we left the table and horrid breakfast behind us, opting instead to go and do what we had been doing every day – absolutely nothing in the common room.

  Boring, dull, but the only option it seemed we had. Sometimes, I didn’t blame Tressa and Avery for wanting a change.

  As predicted, within minutes we had once again resumed positions in the common, Fred chatting bashfully with Evelyn, Lucas keeping himself up to date with a self-made numeracy worksheet, Avery and Tressa unconsciously perched close together on two poufs and talking seriously, leaving me twiddling my thumbs in a velvet armchair by the smoking, dying fire.

  “Anyone want to talk more about my dream?” I asked again, already knowing what the answer was but I was out of other ideas.

  “Your dream? We’re all living one now. Welcome to the nightmare, Penny.”

  I jerked my head upwards to see all five of my friends staring at me with identical solid black eyes, skeletally protruding bones, and sharp leering yellow teeth grinning diabolically.

  I squeezed my eyes shut frantically; trying to shut out the noise of their rhythmically thudding footsteps coming closer and closer, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t real.

  “Don’t be afraid, embrace the darkness. You’re one of us now, Penny, you who dreams and wonders…inside, we are all monsters.” The voice didn’t belong to them. It was several people talking at once, but not them.

  “No!” I shouted, hands over my ears and eyes shut. “I’m nothing like you! I’m real and you’re not! Leave me alone!”

  Against the firm will of my bodice, I curled my legs protectively against my chest and waited for the footsteps to stop. After a few minutes, I heard nothing.

  My breathing was coming very fast and my limbs were shaking in terror, but the comforting silence coaxed me into cautiously opening an eyelid to peer out.

  I almost broke down as a flash of bloody teeth and soulless eyes hovered inches from my face. I wound myself into a tinier ball, singing loudly. I don’t know why I bothered; letting my mind slip into insanity would probably be easier than trying to cope with it, I thought.

  “Not real, not real, not real!” I chanted hysterically to myself, rocking in my chair. “Not real not real…”

  “Penny!”

  “Go away!” I shrieked into the pillow, clenching my fists and kicking desperately with my feet at the horrid monsters. “You’re not real, I don’t believe in you…”

  “What are you blabbering about? Snap out of it, yo
u’re scaring us!” I refused to listen to their coy attempts to get me, stopping my chant but nonetheless tensed to react at the slightest approach. When I felt a cold hand seize my shoulder, I flinched and twisted away so violently that the armchair I was sitting in rocked once before tumbling over backwards, sending me crashing into a muddled heap on the floor.

  I heaved myself up wildly, jumping back from the vision.

  “You stay away from me!” I snarled viciously. I must have looked a fright: hair ruffled into a tangled bush, eyes flashing with fear and determination, and skirts torn from my fall.

  Then I noticed how my friends appeared. Their eyes had color – irises, their skin flushed, not waxen, and their mouths normal if not extremely disconcerted. Breathing heavily, I collapsed once again onto the carpet and laid my head back to gape at the ceiling. Everything was fine – I was merely going mad.

  “A-are you all right?” Tressa asked tentatively. Nervously. She was afraid of me.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I really don’t know. I suppose no one else…erm…”

  “Just you,” she replied.

  They were all staring at me as if I were an alien or something of the sort, as if waiting for me to break down and start yelling at them again. It was exactly like what had happened to Fred and me in the woods when Evelyn found us, although this time I alone had been affected, and thank goodness no one had come close enough for me to strike them.

  “Want to talk about it?” Fred asked, the first to approach me. He came slowly, lightly, taking care not to startle me. I was going mad. Somehow, I was oddly at peace with the idea, but the thing that worried me was the effect it might have on the people who I cared about.

  “I have to go,” I said suddenly, causing Fred to stop in his tracks.

  Five mouths opened to each object in their own ways, but by that time I was gone out of the common room and down the hallway, caring about nothing but putting as many steps between my insane self and my friends.

  Beatrix had told me I was perfectly sane, that there was nothing to worry about; but Beatrix was dead. She could not convince me anymore. Down the corridor I strode, unsure of what to do next. Why me? The dreams, the monsters… If it really was the Master behind it all, I didn’t see why He had gone to such pains to make only me miserable. And to what end? What were these things hoping to accomplish?

  I felt like laughing, crying and screaming all at the same time, my mind a conflicted mess unsure of what I should be doing to make it better. The dreams weren’t real, then. Darn.

  My fingers curled into fists. I stopped in front of the staircase and gazed through the windows at the stormy gardens barely visible through the rain-splattered panes. If I craned my neck just so, then the stretched shadow of Beatrix’s gravestone was distortedly apparent.

  I stared at it with hollow eyes for a second, before shaking my head and hissing at myself to pull together.

  Just because I was going round the bend, it didn’t render me incapable of action. I knew what I had to do.

  I hiked up my skirts determinedly and rushed down the dark north wing without so much as a flicker of trepidation. One of the positives of being crazy was that rational thoughts took much more effort to take hold, and my driving force was adrenaline and angst instead of reason.

  I quickly lifted up the thick steel latch, and ducked swiftly through the tiny arched doorframe and up the long staircase. I hadn’t brought a candle this time as I remembered how previously it had been extinguished, relying only on touch and memory to navigate my way.

  I was going to push the lever back to the original position and reverse the trials. It was so simple, yet before it had never occurred to me! I stumbled a few times on the varying width of steps, checking consciously to see if the lumpy iron key was still floating around in the expansive realms of my pockets.

  When I reached the pitch-black platform at the top, I confidently reached forwards to unlock the hidden door. I stepped into the cavernous room and glanced around for the bizarre machine. My stomach sank.

  The room was empty. It was nothing but an unused attic, a vast area of dilapidated wooden bones and fogged dormer windows providing only minimal light from way up in the ceiling.

  My knees decided to fall asleep right then, and I wobbled ungracefully to the floor.

  “How…?” I croaked in shock. This was impossible. I swayed as I stood up; unsteadily rushing forward to check every corner of the barn-like attic just to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me yet again. Nothing appeared.

  Frustration piled up inside of me, threatening to explode.

  Why did my genius plans all have to end so badly? What had I ever done to fate to deserve suck rotten luck?

  I stomped my foot like a toddler in a tantrum, cursing loudly.

  I stepped on a loose floorboard and it shot up at one end. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something light and pale drift serenely to the ground having been propelled into the air.

  Curiously I approached it and picked it up.

  It was a letter, written in faded yet beautiful cursive letters on a stained and soggy piece of paper. I didn’t recognize the hand; it was too neat and fancy for any of my friends and besides, how would it have gotten up here? There was no name or any indication of the writer except for an initial at the end.

  I plonked myself down and began to try to read the blotched words with a mounting excitement that I had actually made a useful discovery.

  If you are reading this letter, you’ve already activated a strange machine you found and as a result are living a lifeless and twisted routine. You are undoubtedly scared, unsure, and have come to try to reverse the effects only to find the lever has vanished. First of all, may I just say you’re and idiot for messing around in the attic to begin with, but I understand exactly what propelled you into doing it. I have been in your position, and I know what you’re going through, so don’t for one second believe you’re alone in this. Who am I? – you must be asking. To say that I’m a ghost isn’t fitting, somehow, so I’d say more of a presence. And years ago, I was standing exactly where you are now, feeling utterly lost. Unfortunately, it did not end well for me, but I will do everything I can to ensure it does not go badly for you too. Write to me, I will respond. It is all I can do now…

  Sincerely, D.

  I read the letter over and over trying to make some sense of it.

  Who was this D person? What did this mean, that someone else had been trapped here before us, faced the trials, and failed? How did the letter get here, and how could a long deceased person ever return my reply? Nothing fitted together, and it left me with more questions than answers.

  Still, as I clutched the crumpled paper to my chest, I felt a bought of hope that this letter and the information it could hold would mean the difference between success and defeat for me. Just when I had thought my escalating struggle was futile, this sliver of promise had unexpectedly appeared. I left the attic feeling hesitantly happy, buoyed by this mysterious new ally.

  Looking back, I wouldn’t be able to help but see the irony. D had warned me about being too trusting and reckless when I’d pulled the lever, but never did I once question if the letter was telling the truth. For as odd as the content was, sometimes reality truly was stranger than fiction.

  15

  I think I left the key in the door, but that didn’t worry me at all. The Master knew that I’d come up here, and I found I was becoming less and less afraid of what He would do to me.

  Instead, I stowed the letter inside my pockets with the same care that I’d used with the key. Of course, it was wholly possibly that the letter might have been nothing more than another element of madness, but again, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Hope was good, even if it was false.

  Out of the north wing and back in the corridor, I delighted in the reactions my friends would have! Then my face darkened and I remembered their nervous flitters after my bout of hysteria and decided to give them just a lit
tle bit more time to forget the incident, though I had been gone perhaps over an hour already.

  I could nip down to the library and get some stationary to write back to D! The sooner she answered my multitude of questions, the happier and more armed I would be to face the next ordeal. Then, once I had secured a response and confirmed D was real, I could tell my friends.

  I descended the grand staircase with a new skip in my step, humming softly to myself an old lullaby Beatrix used to coo to us as toddlers. The gentle tune reminded me of happier times, and matched my newly optimistic mood perfectly.

  In my expectant, merry daydream, I failed to hear the subdued hissing of whispers until I was about to round the corner to the library.

  “…understand exactly what we’re dealing with. All the lies, all the false security… Please don’t pretend you’re oblivious to what kind of ‘test’ this is turning out to be. I know they’ve spoken to you too, and convincing yourself that it won’t blow out of proportion, like really soon, is just insanity.”

  I froze. It was Tressa.

  Peeking my head warily around the corner, bubble of joy evaporating on the spot, I took in the queer scene with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. This could not mean anything pleasant.

  She was standing in a rather defensive stance, eyes flicking nervously as if to check for eavesdroppers, yet still holding firm to a position that meant that whoever she had cornered in the space between a small decorative wardrobe and the library door could not escape. The fact her skirts were so voluminous also did not help her victim’s case.

  “I don’t want anything to have to do with these ridiculous politics!” came another voice, sounding irritated but also slightly afraid. It was Lucas, funnily enough the only person taller than Tressa. I couldn’t make out more than a cowering silhouette in the shadows of the corner, but the lanky shape definitely matched the voice.