Glimmer and other Stories

by Nicola McDonagh

  ‘It needs something else. Something less tangible,’ she said, and stood over her creation.

  Head tilted upwards, eyes and mouth closed, Dys hummed a strange melodic tune. She stepped onto the clothing and stomped her feet. The whole cabin shook. The tight-lipped singing became faster and louder as she trampled upon the material. Ferdinand moved his hands slowly to his ears to block out the disturbing sound. Fortunately, she stopped before his brain popped, and he relaxed his arms.

  Kneeling down, Dys said, ‘Voila! I think I shall call it, “Arrested Suicide” in your honour. Should fetch about six grand. Since you helped, I shall share my fee and give you five hundred. Is that okay?’

  Ferdinand’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Excellent. Tell me, do you have anywhere to go? I presume your little outburst today was a one-off?’

  ‘Yes. I…I’ve not been out for a while and…I’ve lost everything.’

  ‘On the contrary, you have found me. Or maybe I found you. Either way, we make a great team. Want to sign up?’

  ‘For what exactly?’

  ‘For art, my dear, art. I create and sell sea sculpture from the rubbish that people throw into it. I make beauty from filth and rejection. Maybe you are my next project?’

  Ferdinand stood and Dys walked towards him. She took his hand and held it against her stomach.

  ‘It comes from here. Do you feel it?’

  He did not flinch or try to run away. Instead, he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged.

  ‘That would be a yes then?’

  Ferdinand stayed where he was and listened to the waves call out his real name.

  ‘Let the sea take it,’ Dys said.

  The End

  Scarecrow

  The child didn’t notice the gash on her shin, or the cut on her left cheek. All she wanted to do was to find somewhere to hide. She wiped some spattered mud from her face, and continued to push her way through a thorny hedge that tugged at her clothes, leaving her body covered in scratches. When she emerged from the spiky bushes her brown hair was full of leaves, seedpods and dirt. Shreds of pink nylon hung down from her torn dress, and her white satin shoes were ragged. But the child didn’t seem to care. She caught her breath and ran through the sodden, rutted fields.

  Stumbling and falling, she headed towards a low privet hedge at the end of an overgrown meadow. When she reached it, she stopped and peered over the picket fence. The girl saw a house half hidden behind two large fir trees. The garden was overgrown, and the lawn strewn with rusty barrels, ripped tarpaulins, and dented oil drums. She climbed over the fence and looked around. There was a dilapidated outbuilding a few feet away with a large stack of wood propped up against it. The girl ran towards the building and ducked down behind a water butt attached to a cracked drainpipe.

  When her breathing slowed and the pounding in her chest eased, she tilted her head to one side and listened. A strange shuffling noise like someone brushing up dead leaves made the girl hold her breath. It was not leaves, though, but footsteps heading her way. They stopped and she sucked her stomach in. Almost blue from lack of oxygen, the girl opened her mouth and let the held-in air out. A loud growling sound made her stiffen, and she saw a dog’s snout push its way between the butt and the wall. Its breath was hot and smelled of day-old meat. The girl grimaced, squeezed herself further in between the brick wall and piles of seasoned timber, pressed her back against cold stone, and slid noiselessly to the ground.

  ‘No. No Gladiator. I said, no!’

  Through a small slit between the logs, the girl could just make out the trembling front leg of the dog. It snorted each time it took a breath. She wondered how long it would be before it succumbed to its wild side and dug her out. A cold sweat ran down her back, and she felt sure that the dog could smell her fear. So she crouched further into the mossy ground to mask her stink. A piece of wood moved. She pulled in her legs, wrapped her arms around them, and buried her head into her knees.

  ‘No. Stop, stop that right now!’

  Men's voices, especially raised ones, scared her more than any starving dog. She peeked through the gap in the wood and saw a grey-haired old man. He bent down, grabbed the collar of a brown and white Jack Russell terrier, coughed, stood up, and took a deep breath. His lungs crackled and his face lost its colour. She almost laughed. How could she have been so afraid of such a little dog? How could she fear such a weak old man?

  ‘Bad girl, bad! What have I told you about snuffling around here? Eh? There’s snakes in there, I saw one yesterday. What if you got bit? What would I do then? I can’t afford vets’ bills,’ the man said.

  The idea of being bitten by a snake alarmed the girl. She tensed and turned her head, searching for signs of serpent.

  ‘Bad girl, bad! Now go on, go home.’ She saw him cuff the dog across its nose, then watched the hound lower its head and walk away. The old man scratched his chin and followed.

  Her body was cold and her limbs stiff from sitting hunched up on the damp earth. She straightened her legs, winced as the blood flow returned, and rubbed her calf muscles until the pins and needles went away. A hollow cramp pulled at her stomach, and she clutched her belly. All that running had made the girl hungry. Try as she might she could not ignore it. Or the thought of the sausage rolls and chocolate cake she had left behind. Unable to bear the pangs any longer, she leant forward, checked there was no one there, and crept out.

  The girl stood in the large unkempt garden and looked around for things she could eat, such as windfalls, or the odd strewn hazelnut. It was lined with ancient gnarled fruit trees of pear, apple and plum, but their bare twisted branches bore no fruit. In the distance, she noticed smoke curling up from the chimney of the cottage. It reminded her of the house she had escaped from, and her hands involuntarily shaped themselves into fists.

  A raw wind nipped at her exposed arms and legs. Clouds gathered grey and full. The little girl stared at them transfixed by their ever-changing shapes, and wished that she were one too. She blinked as drops of icy rain fell onto her grubby flesh leaving pink patches of clean on her skin. It made her shiver, so she looked around for a place to shelter until the downpour stopped. Obscured behind a wall of brambles was a wooden shed. The girl ran towards it, poked her hand in between the thorns and grabbed onto the door handle. Which was nothing more than a loop of leather made out of a man’s trouser belt. When she pulled, it opened with a sigh.

  It was dark inside and smelled of damp. An old cobweb fell onto her forehead and she jumped back startled. Catching her breath, she put her fingers to her brow and wiped the sticky thread away. She pushed the door again, and it opened wider. The girl bent down, picked up a large twig and threw it inside. When nothing yelped or ran out, she went in. She stood for a moment and listened for sounds of danger, but all she could hear was the noise of rain pelting onto the roof and the swish of wind in the trees. Shafts of fading light shone through holes in the roof, spotlighting areas of the room. The girl could just make out parts of rusty garden tools, plant pots, and a pile of Hessian sacks. She walked over to them, picked them up, and looked inside just to make sure there were no snakes in the bottom. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of must and she sneezed, then wrapped the makeshift blankets around her shivering body.

  The girl wandered around the hut looking for things that could be of use. On the cracked wooden floor, she found a pile of rope and a tin of Swedish spiced cookies. Inside were several star-shaped biscuits. Without thinking, the girl shoved all of them into her mouth. They tasted stale, so she spat them out, wiped her lips, and swallowed dryly. She was thirsty, but there was no water to be had in this dingy place. So she sat down and thought.

  Once, when she was visiting her Aunt Karen, they had watched a programme about how to survive in hostile environments. A man used a piece of plastic tied between two trees to gather rainwater. At the time she thought it was stupid, but now it all made sense. She looked around saw an old carrier bag squashed up ag
ainst the back wall, picked it up and gave it a good shake. Satisfied that there were no bugs or soil inside, she gathered up the rope, opened the door, and looked outside. There was no one around, so she ripped the bag along its seam, tied rope to each end, attached one piece to the door handle, and the other to a thick bramble. It was a heavy downpour and the bag soon began to fill. The girl huddled inside the doorway, cupped her hands, held them out and caught some raindrops. Then she drank them down, and did it again until her thirst was quenched.

  For the first time that day, the child felt almost safe. She paused for a moment and listened to the rhythmic pounding of rain on wood. Tired from running and hiding, she yawned, went back inside, and sat on the floor. Even with the door closed, the place felt cold. The wind blew in through knotholes in the wall, swirling and whispering the threat of snow. Shivering, the girl snuggled further into the hessian sacks. Unable to keep her eyes open, she fell asleep.

  A loud thud awoke her and she snapped opened her eyes. It was dark and she couldn’t see properly. Another thud. She scuttled into the farthest corner of the shed, pulled in her arms and legs, and waited. The door flung open and a beam of light flashed around the room. She jumped up and prepared herself for flight.

  ‘Who’s in there? Come out. Come on, come out.’

  The man’s voice sounded angry and the girl instinctively felt around for something that could be used as a weapon, but there was nothing much except muck and the dried out husks of dead insects. She clung onto the hessian sacking. As the man shone the torch around, she searched the room for a gap that would allow her to escape. Between the flashes, she saw a loose timber at the back and inched towards it.

  ‘Stop right where you are.’

  The girl stood still, and her eyes moistened.

  ‘What are you doing in my shed?’

  Bathed in the glow from the torch, the girl turned around, looked at the floor, at the tiny clean circles her tears made in the dust and said, ‘It was raining and I was cold.’

  ‘It’s very late, you should be at home.’ The man shone the torch directly into her face.

  The girl raised her hand to shield her eyes from the beam.

  ‘Why aren’t you at home?’

  ‘It’s my birthday. They wanted me to play hide and seek.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly found a good place to hide.’

  ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘That you are.’

  The girl felt a warm tongue lick her hand and she jumped. The man pointed his torch at the dog sitting on the floor, and said, ‘I’m John. That’s Gladiator. Don’t worry she won’t bite. She’s as daft as a brush.’ Gladiator wagged her tail and stood on her hind legs. The girl’s mouth curved upwards and the dog rolled onto its back.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Katy,’ she said. ‘Can I stroke her?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Katy walked over to Gladiator, reached down and stroked her ear.

  ‘Where do you live Katy?’

  Katy wiped her runny nose, gulped, and stared at John. ‘Don’t want to say.’

  ‘I expect someone will be looking for you?’

  ‘No. No one.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m good at hiding. I’ve done it before. Once I hid for a whole day and night and no one came to find me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, if you say so. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve got soup if you want some?’

  Katy didn’t reply. John shook his head, rubbed his whiskered cheeks, and blew out air through his yellow teeth. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and called to Gladiator. The dog did not move.

  ‘Come here.’

  Gladiator ran behind Katy’s legs and John folded his arms.

  ‘Right, fine. Do what you want. Bring Gladiator to the house when you both want some food. Don’t play for too long, it’s getting cold,’ he said, and left.

  Katy knelt down and put her arms around the dog. Gladiator nipped at her hair and she pulled away. The dog put its paw on her arm and yapped. ‘Want to play girl?’ she said, took off the hessian sack and held it in the air. Gladiator gripped onto it and tugged. Katy yanked back and the pair played tug-of-war until she heard the dog’s stomach rumble.

  ‘Hungry aren’t you girl?’ She put her hand on her own stomach. ‘Me too. Shall we go and get some soup?’ Gladiator barked and licked her face. She laughed. ‘Okay, okay, let’s go.’ Katy grabbed the dog’s collar and went outside into the cool night air.

  The rain had stopped and the sky was clear. The moon shone bright and made drops of water that clung onto the cobwebs shimmer like diamonds. To Katy, they looked like necklaces left out to dry by ghosts. Owls hooted loudly, she put her hands over her ears and hurried after Gladiator. The dog stopped at the front of the cottage. When Katy caught up a security light came on revealing the colour of the house. It was painted a dark red, the colour of blood. The smell of hot toast and butter filled her nostrils and she sniffed the air like a hungry cat. Gladiator jumped up and pawed at the door. It creaked open and Katy saw John standing in front of her.

  ‘Changed your mind have you?’ he said.

  Katy lost her footing for a moment as Gladiator ran through her legs and into the kitchen.

  ‘You can come in if you like.’

  She stood still and looked inside. Her gaze was drawn to a string of orange fairy lights draped around a large metal mirror. They gave off a cheery glow that made her feel as if she were about to enter Father Christmas’s grotto.

  ‘Ten seconds, then I’m closing the door. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…’ Katy stepped inside.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve got soup?’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Tomato.’

  Katy pulled a face. ‘Don’t like tomato.’

  ‘Really, well that’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Is it out of a tin or packet?’

  ‘Tin. Want some or not?’

  She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. It was small and smelt of bleach. Her nostrils twitched and she scratched her nose. Looking down, she saw a streak of dirt on her fingers. Then her gaze fell onto her muddy dress. ‘Mister? Can I wash my hands?’

  ‘Looks like you need more than your hands washing. Call me John. The bathroom is through there. First on the left. Watch out for Gladdy, she’s eating in the corridor.’

  Katy walked up three concrete steps to a tiny hallway. She paused to watch Gladiator wolf down her dog food before lifting the latch on the brown varnished door. Pushing it open, she stepped inside the bathroom, closed the door and slid the bolt across. John knocked and Katy put her ear against the wood.

  ‘Why don’t you have a shower? I’ve got a granddaughter about your age. I’m sure I can dig out some clean clothes for you.’

  Katy touched her tattered dress and said, ‘Okay, thanks.’ She turned on the shower, peeled off her dirty clothes, stepped into the bath and raised her head to the jets of hot water. Katy washed away the muck and blood that clung to her body and hair. She stood under the spray until her skin went red. Waiting to feel clean.

  ‘How are you getting on in there?’

  Turning off the water, she stepped out of the bath and said, ‘Finished.’

  ‘Open up and I’ll hand you the clothes.’

  Katy wrapped herself in a towel, opened the door and stuck her hand out. Something soft touched her skin, and she grabbed onto a piece of fabric, pulled her hand back through the door and locked it. In her hands were a pair of white knickers, a white vest, and a white satin dress with a pink bow around the waist. She pressed her nose against the garments and sniffed. They smelt of spring flowers and she put them on. With a glance in the mirror, Katy nodded at her dirt free reflection, and went into the kitchen.

  ‘Well, don’t you look nice. Sit down Katy and I’ll bring you so
mething to eat. Put that napkin around your neck. Don’t want that dress getting stained.’

  Katy did as she was told and John placed a steaming bowl of soup on the wooden table. She blew across the surface, took a spoonful and sipped.

  ‘This is really good,’ she said, and shovelled the liquid into her mouth.

  ‘Slow down, you’ll give yourself indigestion eating that fast.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that, I’m really hungry.’

  ‘Want some more?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘What shall we do with you Katy?’ John said, as he ladled more soup into her bowl.

  ‘I don’t know. Are you going to call the police?’

  ‘Should I? Are you in trouble?’

  ‘No. I just…’ she pushed her bowl away and hung her head.

  ‘It’s late, why don’t you stay here tonight and we’ll worry about what to do with you in the morning.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You can sleep in the study. Come on.’

  John stood and offered her his arm. Katy allowed him to lead her into a low-ceilinged room with a large open fireplace. Some logs burned faintly in the grate and gave off a sweet smell. John switched on the light and she saw a room filled with books, old chests, cushions, and black and white photographs. On the walls were dead butterflies and beetles encased in ornate silver frames. Katy stared at the bric-a-brac strewn around the room and smiled.

  ‘You’ve got loads of really old stuff. It’s like a museum.’

  ‘Do you like museums?’

  ‘Yeah. I went to the big one in London last year,’ she said, and yawned.

  ‘Tired eh? Tell you what, just take the books off the couch and you can lie down there.’

  ‘What if I wrinkle the dress?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. It’ll iron out fine. I’ll go and find a blanket for you,’ John said, and went out of the room.