Ensnared

by Sian B. Claven

  Once there she found it spotless. The Philosophy book she had tossed to the floor earlier rested neatly on her bedside table. Amari didn’t have time to wonder about it and instead went to her desk and rifled through everything there. She made a deliberate mess, tossing stuff everywhere in her search for that book.

  She flung the things from her bedside table next, first from the top of it where a stack of books sat, then she opened the little door in the front and searched in there. Amari stopped and straightened, wracking her brain for where she had last seen it.

  Biting on her lip, she looked around her room slowly, pausing as she noticed the mess she had created on her desk. Amari took a sharp breath and her eyes widened. Sitting neatly in the centre of the chaos was the book, leather bound, placed as though someone had just put it there. Stranger was the fact that there wasn’t a speck of dust on it.

  Amari was frozen in place. A part of her was afraid to reach for it, while the other part of her longed to know if she was right. Curiosity won over fear and she crossed back to her desk, lifting the leather book. Undoing the leather string that held it together, she sat on her bed and let it fall open on her lap.

  It was empty.

  Amari flipped through the pages of what had once been a handwritten story book, and was now an empty journal. That was it. She was definitely losing her mind. She flipped through the pages a few more times to make sure. Just before she closed it she used her finger along the edge to allow the pages to flip past quickly, stopping on the last page.

  Here she paused, because there was something written.

  Her blood ran cold as she read the text … before she fainted.

  Amari. Please help me!

  - Kiara

  When Amari woke up, her head hurt and she was in bed. A cold cloth pressed to her head and a gentle hand stroked her chin.

  “Amari,” she heard her mother’s sweet voice whisper, “Amari-Belle, wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and the first thing she saw was her mother’s face, watching her worriedly.

  “You had a terrible fall, darling, I was so worried,” Sashqua said, taking the cloth away and placing it in the bowl on the bedside table.

  Amari tried to sit up, but her head felt as heavy as a bowling ball.

  Sashqua placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Don’t try and sit up, you hit the back of your head rather hard when you went down.”

  Amari groaned, “What did I hit it on? A ton of bricks?”

  Her mother smiled. “Well, clearly you didn’t hurt the part of your brain that controls your humour and sarcasm.” She stood, picking up the bowl carefully. “I’m going to go empty this, don’t try to sit up until you feel you can. I’ll be back in a bit.” With that Sashqua carefully made her way down the stairs that led from Amari’s room.

  Amari waited until her mother was gone before she rolled onto her side, biting back a moan of pain, and used her arms to push herself into a sitting position.

  Once the room had stopped spinning, she studied it through heavy-lidded eyes. She felt like she had taken too many painkillers, or this is what she imagined smoking weed was like. She felt slow, every movement a burden. Once she had steadied enough she looked at her room properly.

  The desk which she knew she had left in a right state was straightened out, everything back in its place. It was not Sashqua who straightened her mess; her mother had long ago tired of trying to get her daughter to stay organised. The bedside table was also tidied and there was nothing lying on the floor.

  The only confusing thing in her room was a short stepladder placed in front of her open closet. That was clearly where her mother thought she had fallen from. Little did she know.

  Amari tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She needed to find the book, to look again, to know for certain. Her brain was starting to wake up and she recalled the words that had sent her into the dizzying faint.

  Amari! Help Me! - Kiara.

  Goosebumps quickly erupted on every possible surface of her skin and she gave an involuntary shiver. She looked up as her mother re-entered her room, bringing a steaming bowl of something on a tray. Using her arms, she pushed herself back onto the bed, her back braced against the wall and her legs straight out in front of her.

  Sashqua set the tray on the bedside table and the spicy aroma of her mother’s beef stew ensnared her senses. She realised that she was starving, and wondered what the time was. She glanced over at the clock on her wall - it was 8 p.m. She was out for over five hours.

  This was madness.

  Amari smiled at her mother and after assuring her several times that she would eat all the stew, and call her if she needed anything, Sashqua hesitantly left her to her own devices. Ignoring the food, Amari glanced around her room once more and after careful consideration she simply closed her eyes. After a few deep breathes, she opened them and on her bedside table, beside the tray of stew, was the leather bound book.

  She stared at it, not daring to move or breathe too loudly. The book was tied closed; it was how she always found it. With a shaking hand, she reached out and gently brought it to her. She was terrified, but she needed to know, she needed to see if she was mad. Perhaps, even if she was right, it was simply a confirmation of her madness.

  Undoing the leather tie, she let the book fall open on her lap.

  The book was empty and Amari stared at the blank pages, daring the text to appear again. She flipped through it as she did before, even using her fingers to skim through them quickly, but nothing appeared. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The last time she had done this she had wanted to check if the girl’s name had been Kiara. Perhaps it only worked if she was thinking about Kiara. She imagined the feelings she had when Maggie had said the name and opened her eyes, going through the book again.

  Still nothing.

  Amari closed her eyes once more, frustrated that she couldn’t work this out. She couldn’t be mad. Mad was too simple an explanation. She tried to clear her mind, but it didn’t work. For some reason, she kept imagining a Magic 8-ball. She had one as a child and whenever she wasn’t sure of something she would ask it a question in her mind, shake it around, and then open her eyes to the answer. It was worth a try, she guessed, as she took a deep breath.

  Kiara, you asked for my help. How are you contacting me through this book? She let the book drop open again, while her eyes were still closed, and then slowly peeked to see the text scrawled across the page.

  That is a long story, Amari. I can speak to you through this book, because I have been trapped inside it. What year is it?

  Amari’s eyes widened and she resisted the urge to throw the book across the room, or faint again. Her hands shook as she shut the book and closed her eyes.

  It’s 2017. How were you trapped in this book? Did you live here? When were you trapped? What happened? How are you manipulating the book? How old are you? Have you been rearranging my stuff?

  She had a thousand more questions, but the book slammed open in her hands and she was forced to open her eyes to see what was happening.

  Stop! Stop! Stop! You can’t see it, but I am smiling. I am sure you have thousands of questions, as I am sure you don’t believe that magic exists in your time. I didn’t believe it existed in mine either. But I will lose track of what you want to know if you ask too many at a time. Doing this is exhausting, and takes much of my energy.

  The year I was trapped in was 1988, when I was two months shy of my 13th birthday. I can manipulate this book because it is me. I was first trapped in it, but over the last twenty-nine years I have become it. I absorbed the words written in the book and although I was trapped as a child, my mind continued to age and I have the vocabulary and mind of an adult.

  I will answer all your questions, Amari, because I have been waiting for you. I have been waiting for someone who was in touch with their soul to be able to communicate with me like this.

  Amari read the test excitedly. She didn’t care if s
he was going mad; this was the most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to her. Again she shut the book and shut her eyes.

  Okay, one question at a time, got it. I can’t believe magic really exists. I was wondering if I was going mad. So how did you get trapped in this book? And has it been hidden here the entire time? Are you able to leave it at all?

  She let the book fall open again and glanced at the words written across both pages.

  So much for just one? You are a sweet girl, Amari. I was hidden away here in the hope no one would ever find me and release me. I was trapped by someone I thought loved me but turned out to be truly evil. Sometimes I can make my presence known outside of the book - but only by moving objects around.

  It was how I hoped to draw your attention to me. I apologise if I frightened you. As for how I was trapped, well, that is a long story. I suggest you make yourself comfortable, have something to eat, and ask me again.

  Amari shut the book quickly and practically inhaled her now cold stew. She set the bowl aside, rearranged her pillows. She opted to cross her legs under her, instead of keeping them straight, and closed her eyes.

  How did you get trapped in the book?

  Well, it all started when …

  CHAPTER SIX

  My mother died when I was about six years old. My father never quite recovered from her death. It was as though the light had left his life. I tried my best to do things to make him happy. I painted many pictures for him, learned to cook his favourite meals, played my mother’s favourite songs on the piano, but nothing was ever good enough.

  He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He wouldn’t even look at me. The only time he ever seemed to come alive was when he left the house. I felt neglected, hurt and hated.

  I will never forget the day he arrived with light dancing in his eyes as he declared he had found a suitable stepmother for me and that he was going to marry her within the week. This surprised me. I thought that my father would never find love again, but I was glad he had. I enjoyed having my father back. He came alive again. I was twelve years old.

  I wasn’t allowed to attend the wedding. Father said it was because there were no children allowed. I was sad that I couldn’t go. I thought I would look so beautiful in a new dress. I accepted it though, because my father knew so much about the world and I knew so little.

  My stepmother arrived in splendour at our humble farm house. My father brought her in a car he had purchased just for this occasion. It was the latest model from Suzuki. I can’t remember the name - I think it was a Vitara. It was fancier than our previous car.

  I was waiting in my room for her arrival, I wanted to look perfect. When I heard the car I ran to the porch. She stepped out of my father’s car and I fell instantly in love. My stepmother was absolutely beautiful. She had thick, long black hair that cascaded down her back. She wore a long black dress, the long sleeves were lacy. She reminded me of women I had seen in history books, the Victorian period. When she saw me she smiled at me, she opened her arms up and I ran to her, she wrapped them around me and held me tightly against her, but she felt cold to the touch, and it scared me so I withdrew.

  I really tried to get her to love me. I worked really hard and I tried everything, but I was right when I hugged her, she was cold and whenever my father wasn’t around she would be mean to me.

  Then I started to notice the things that happened around the farm. It began with little things. I found the animals first. I used to love walking through the forest. Back then it was lush and green, not like it is now, and filled with so many animals that you couldn’t walk any path without crossing four or five.

  I would visit them often, playing with them as they were my only friends. My parents didn’t allow me off of the farm so I never met other children. It broke my heart when I found one that was injured or dead. When my mother was still alive I would take them to her, injured and broken, and help her nurse them back to health. Once my stepmother arrived though, I started to find more and more injured, or dead.

  It started with the birds. The birds got less and less in the area, and I would find them with their necks broken, strewn around the forest. Then it went on to the rabbits. The forest was filled with warrens of them, but soon I found them skinned and necks broken. Their twisted and raw bodies gave me nightmares.

  My father dismissed me, saying that it was the course of nature, but I had grown up in those woods and I knew they were not killed by anything natural. My father had started to drink heavily, especially after he found some of them himself. I would often find him passed out in his study with an empty bottle of whiskey on the table.

  Fights started in our house, something I had never had. When they thought I was asleep my father and Raven would have heated fights behind the closed door of their bedroom. Sometimes I would sneak out of my room to listen. Father would be hissing at her to shut up, that she was a witch and that what she was asking was a terrible thing. I never did find out what she asked him.

  Raven would say horrid things about me. Saying that I didn’t deserve to live, that I was a burden to my father and, if he allowed her to, she would take care of me and have me sent away. My father never gave into her threats though because he did love me, I was his child. Then the begging would start. My father would do anything for her, just not get rid of me. My heart broke when I listened to their conversations.

  At first I thought my father was calling my stepmother a witch as an insult, but a trip to the basement proved that he actually meant it for real. I found numerous bottles of herbs and animal parts, all neatly labelled. Then I found her book. It was a big black book, bound in some sort of animal skin, but it wasn’t leather. It smelled funny as well. I flipped through pages, horrified at the pictures that were in it, even more scared of the few incantations I read.

  Raven caught me down there and threatened me, making me promise to never go into the basement again. I tried to speak to my father about it, but he called me a liar and in a drunken rage he struck me across the face. I sobbed and begged him to believe me, but now - after years spent in this book - I realise that Raven, my new mother, had bewitched him. She couldn’t be trusted.

  I started avoiding both my parents at all costs, locking myself in my room all the time or going into the forest. The only living things left in the forest were the trees.

  Three months before my thirteenth birthday I was reassigned the attic as a bedroom. I didn’t even argue, I simple went upstairs with all my worldly belongings to the very spot where you are sitting, and this is where my bedroom was until the day I was no longer … but we will get there.

  Raven would bring my meal up to the landing and leave it on the stairs leading to the attic. I had to eat and then leave the empty plate on the stairs for her to collect again. The only time I was allowed out of my room was to go to the bathroom at night. I wasn’t even allowed to go out to my beloved forest anymore, to bask in the sunlight while lying between the trees.

  I would sit by the window, gazing out at my father as he ploughed the land. I would pray so hard that he would be freed from the spell that had taken a hold of him. I thought about it as much as possible, how my stepmother was bewitching him and then it dawned on me. She was obviously putting something in his whiskey; that was the only way she could be bewitching him and making him see me as the problem.

  One night, once I was sure they were asleep, I sneaked downstairs to his study where I was sure to find his bottle of whiskey. I found it and inspected it. I was right - as I swirled the contents of the bottle around I saw small bits of something blue swirling at the bottom. I could only believe that it was what Raven had used to bewitch father. She came in just then. She demanded to know what I was doing, her voice raising a few octaves.

  I nearly dropped my father’s whiskey in the process and instead set it down on the table. I apologised and ran back up to my room. I heard father and Raven having a fight a few minutes later, the smash of a whiskey bottle soon followed and then silence.
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  Raven must have known that I suspected her of witchcraft, because two months before my thirteenth birthday my father was struck down dead. I heard Raven’s voice shrieking one day while I was in the shower. I came out of the shower to see what had happened and heard a car coming up the road towards the house. Clearly she was performing for the audience that had just arrived. Once the car stopped she flew out of the door, screaming for assistance.

  I stood at the top of the stairs, frozen, staring at my father’s body at the bottom of the stairs. His neck was at a funny angle and I could only think that it was because he had fallen down the stairs and landed on his head. Raven was out in the front, collapsed on the floor and sobbing for help, her voice cracked from her shrieking. I knew it was an act, I knew she had done this. She had pushed my father down the stairs to make it look like an accident.

  The police arrived and a full investigation was underway. It lasted all of two days. I overhead them telling Raven that it was ruled as an accidental death and that everything was left to her in his will, including me. Raven was distraught about his death and kept asking if they were sure if it was accidental, but they were. I knew she was just acting. She played a most extraordinary grieving widow.

  My father’s body wasn’t even cold in the ground before Raven started to change everything at the house. She forced me to stay in the attic at all times. I was allowed out once a day to relieve myself and to clean up, and she kept watch over me to make sure that was all that I did. It didn’t even matter if I screamed or cried for her to let me go to the bathroom, she wouldn’t come upstairs to let me out, she wouldn’t come to help me, and she kept a lock on the attic doors at all times.

  One month before my thirteenth birthday, just after I had finished my supper and left my plate for Raven to collect, she shut the attic door and hooked the lock on, but the lock did not catch. That click of the lock was so distinct to my ears that I just knew she hadn’t managed to do it properly. I sat by my window with bated breath, wanting nothing more than to check, to see if I could get it open and finally make my escape.