The Stone Flowers

by Nora O'Keeffe

  Annabel looked at her mother’s lovely but worried face and forced a smile. “Okay, Mummy. I won’t be long.” She put her plate next to the sink and headed out of the room, hesitating in the doorway as her mother pushed her plate away and reached for the phone.

  Once in her bedroom, Annabel pulled her pyjamas out from under her pillow. She stripped off her clothes, put them in her laundry basket and then shoved her feet into pink pyjama pants. She kept her eyes on what she was doing, determined not to look at the window. The monster was real, or maybe it was a ghost. It didn’t matter, she’d seen it with her own eyes. It was doing something to the phone – it brought the storm. She pulled the pyjama pants up and snatched the pink top off the bed, trying to spend as little time alone in her room as possible. It was almost fully dark, the thing would be back, she could feel it. She pulled the pyjama top down over her head and jammed her arms through the sleeves as she moved towards the bedroom door.

  A familiar creak, the sound of the swing moving in the wind. Her hand hovered over the light switch. The gale continued to rattle the windows, but now the sound changed into something even and rhythmic – drumming. Annabel found herself turning towards the window even though her instincts screamed at her to run.

  In spite of her fear, Annabel felt her body being pulled towards to the very spot she wanted to avoid. She whimpered, curling her fingers, trying to plant her feet as her body responded to the steady pounding. The drumming continued, forcing the beat of her heart to change.

  Reaching the window, Annabel saw only blackness. Her face, slick with sweat, drew closer to the pane as her eyes strained to see the backyard. Everything remained black save the tongues of swirling leaves that danced in time with the drumming. The moonlight was almost completely blocked by dark storm clouds.

  As Annabel’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, a shape emerged. The old rope swing rushed forward in a wash of misty, silver light. Something dark perched on the seat – a figure. Not sure if it was really there or a trick of the shadows, she leaned against the pane, cupping her hands around her eyes.

  Suddenly the shape lurched as if it felt her touch the glass. Moving fast, shuddering from side to side, it sprang off the swing and came forward – spiderlike and inhuman. Annabel let out a shriek and pulled back from the window.

  She covered her mouth, certain the creature could hear her. I should run. I should… She could still see its head tilt up, looking at her window, eyes piercing her soul. In a sudden jerky movement, it raised its arm and the drumming amplified, becoming louder and more urgent. Long thin fingers bent back in an unnatural motion – beckoning.

  Annabel felt the urge to push her body forward through the glass. Her fingers brushed the sill, fumbling with the latch at the casing. I should run. The room faded away until the only things that remained were Annabel, the window and the rhythmic drumming.

  The lock popped.

  The creature stirred – jerking its body forward one halting step at a time.

  Annabel dug her fingers under the stiff frame. Her heart bashed against the insides of her ribs. I should run. Her breath steamed the glass as her fingers found purchase. I should run. I should… Her breathing slowed to long, deep bursts that matched the pace with the drumming. Her lower lip drooped and her eyelids fluttered.

  She raised herself onto the tips of her toes and pulled her right knee up onto the sill. For a second her body swayed and then she drew her left knee up. Balancing on the narrow strip of wood that framed the window, Annabel placed her hands on the pane. Her palms flat against the glass, fingers splayed, she pushed forward. I should… jump. The unlocked window caught, then inched open. The monster juddered forward, spreading its stick-like arms. It would catch her and she’d feel its cold breath and be carried away. Away from fear. Away from death. No more pretending to be like the other children.

  “Annabel, it’s ready,” her mother’s voice, like an echo of another world, broke through the rhythm.

  The drumming lessened. Her breath became her own again. The monster staggered back to the swing. The terrible realisation of what she was about to do gave her a burst of strength. She drew back, pushed her knees off the sill, her feet thumping the floor. Fingers trembling, she whipped the curtains shut.

  She wanted to scream and scream until the drumming faded, but all that came was a series hiccupping shrieks. Instead of running, she crumpled to the floor and drew her knees to her chest. She pushed her fingers through her now damp hair and covered her ears. Gradually the drumming quietened and became an intermittent rattle once more.

  After a few moments curled up on the floor, Annabel’s heart rate slowed. She uncovered her ears and listened. The gale blew, rustling the trees and shaking the windows, but unlike a few minutes ago, the sound was bland, less urgent. Finding her body more responsive, she shuffled across the floor on her hands and knees. With each slide, the bare wooden floor grazed her palms. Annabel didn’t care about the pain, only getting away from the window. She neared the doorway and pushed herself forward, sliding onto the upstairs landing on her bottom. Once out of the bedroom, she bolted to her feet and scrambled down the stairs.

  In the lounge room, her mum waited, two cups of rapidly cooling hot chocolate on the coffee table. The TV was on and canned laughter filled the room. Lisa Chapel sat in her usual spot on the sofa staring at the screen, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Annabel slumped against the doorway, grateful for the return to normalcy. In this room, there were no monsters. No grey ghosts that looked like skeletal little girls.

  “Hot choc…” Her mother’s voice trailed off. She jumped to her feet. “What is it? What happened?” She swept Annabel up in her arms, hugging her tight.

  “You’re shaking, love. What’s wrong?” Her mother’s voice was husky, as if she might be crying. She smelled like apples and creamy soap. When the tears came, Annabel’s body vibrated with emotion.

  Her mother helped her to the sofa and knelt in front of her daughter, wiping streams of tears away with her fingers.

  “Is this about your dad? He’s fine. I’m sure of it. He’s been late plenty of times before.” Her voice was soothing, her hands cool on Annabel’s face.

  Her mother tucked a stray strand of hair behind Annabel’s ear. “You’re sweating.” She looked down and frowned, touching the scratches on her daughter’s palms. “How did this happen?” She looked into her daughter’s eyes, searching for answers.

  Annabel shook her head. “I...I... I just...” They both heard the car pull in at the same time.

  Her mother stood. “See? Everything’s fine. Dad’s home.” She turned to go to the back door. Annabel shot out a hand.

  “No. Don’t go out there.” She held on to her mother’s arm with all the strength she could muster.

  Lisa turned back to her daughter, eyes shiny as if holding back her own tears. “Annabel?” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “What is it?”

  Before Annabel could answer, the back door squealed on its hinges, the sound echoing through the house. Annabel tightened the grip on her mother’s arm.

  “Sorry I’m so late, girls, but the weirdest thing happened.” Her father’s voice bounced off the walls.

  Annabel relaxed her grip, but wasn’t ready to let go.

  “We’re in here, Rodney,” her mother called as she patted Annabel’s hand and sat down next to her on the couch.

  Her father entered the room, his hair standing up in wild spikes. Annabel noticed a smudge of grease on his forehead. He looked from his wife to his daughter.

  “What is it? Something happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” Lisa touched the corner of her eye. “With the storm and the phones not working.” She waved a hand towards her husband. “Then you being so late, I guess we got a little spooked.” She laughed, but to Annabel, it sounded more like a gasp.

  “That’s not like you, Lisa.” Rodney leaned over his wife and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “What about you, Bell Pepper? Were you spooked?”
he said, planting a big smacker on Annabel’s forehead.

  Annabel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her daddy was home; for some reason that made her want to cry even more. Instead, she stood and laced her arms around his waist, hugging him as tightly as she could.

  A few minutes later, the three of them sat at the kitchen table. Rodney Chapel ate his reheated dinner and explained his lateness.

  “It was the strangest thing,” he said around a mouthful of pasta. Ollie didn’t show up for work this morning, and when I called his mobile, there was no answer. I spent the day ploughed under with work, and then at four o’clock I gave the last group of pickers a lift into town. The storm blew up when I started home.” He put down his fork and took a long swig of water.

  “I tried to call you but there was only static.” Annabel watcher her father’s hands; they were steady but his voice was a bit shaky. “Then the sky clouded over and I had difficulty seeing the road. I was driving around a bend when...” He paused and shook his head. “Well... I thought I saw a child in the middle of the road. I hit the brakes and nearly skidded into the ditch. I got out and looked around, but there was no one there. I even searched a way into the bush on each side of the road. I called and called but nothing.” He looked at his wife. Annabel had seen them do this before, it was as if they were communicating something they didn’t want her to know. Neither spoke, but Lisa nodded for him to continue.

  “When I got back to the Ute, the back tyre was all torn up. I don’t know how that happened because I couldn’t see anything on the road. Well, anyway, by the time I changed the tyre and drove home, it was pretty late.” He picked up his fork and took another mouthful of pasta before pushing the plate away. “I tried to call a few more times but couldn’t break through the static.” He paused and looked at his wife. “Sorry if I scared you.”

  “Oh, Rod. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “What do you think it was on the road? A roo?”

  Before he could answer, Annabel spoke. “Did the child look like a little girl?” Her voice was small. She tried to keep the words from running together in a string of sobs.

  “Well, yeah. Kind of. How did you...” He stopped, not really needing to ask how she knew. They never talked about it, but Rodney and Lisa knew about their daughter’s gift.

  “She was here.” Annabel swallowed. Saying it out loud. Talking about the thing that kept trying to get her to come outside made it real. If it was real, none of them were safe.

  “Wait a minute.” Lisa turned in her seat, giving Annabel her full attention. “You saw a little girl?” There was a warning tone in her mother’s voice. She didn’t like secrets.

  Annabel nodded. “It’s not a little girl.” As the words came out, she was sure the wind howled louder.

  Chapter Eleven

  Agnes Wells sat at her desk, a glass of whiskey on her right. Blue light from the laptop bathed her face, giving Agnes’s bony features and bulging eyes a ghoulish appearance. She had a number of accounts, but the one that interested her wasn’t in her name. Her knobbly fingers raced over the keys, eyes scanning the numbers, headings and subheadings on the screen until she found what she was looking for. Leaning closer to the screen, she smiled and picked up her glass, then raised it to the empty room as if addressing a banquet of diners.

  Apart from the small desk lamp, the ethereal glow of the screen was the only light in the darkened study. Agnes finished her drink then clapped her hands together in childlike glee. Everything is going beautifully. It won’t be long now before all this unpleasant business is over and by then I’ll own most of the town.

  Agnes switched off the computer and stood, almost skipping to the display cabinet with a girlish step that belied her sixty-eight years. She danced the empty glass across the room. She opened the bottom door and took out a heavy crystal decanter – which she usually produced during business meetings. The lead crystal decanter made many a man raise an eyebrow. Most of them were surprised that a woman in her position would offer whiskey, let alone drink it herself.

  “Bunch of redneck hicks,” she said to no one in particular and poured a generous hit. Trailing her hand along the thick satin of the sofa, relishing its rich feel, she inhaled the sharp scent of the liquor before sitting back down at her desk and taking a swig. The whiskey slid down her throat, leaving a warm, smooth trail in its wake. The smell of the whiskey reminded her of her late husband. It had been some time since she’d allowed him to slither into her thoughts. Fat old slug. Agnes laughed out loud and then clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes still sparkling with amusement. It had been twenty years since she’d dispatched that piece of garbage and never felt a moment’s regret.

  Working as a barmaid at The Scraggy Beak in Fremantle, Agnes’s curvy twenty-four-year-old body brought her more tips than anyone else on the floor. It was a working man’s pub. A dive. Agnes hated the place with all the dirty builders patting her ass and telling her crude jokes, always leering and winking. In those days a woman couldn’t cry sexual harassment, not if she wanted to keep her job.

  Agnes had the sense to know when to giggle and squeal as the filthy mutts pawed at her with stained hands. At the end of each night she’d count the money in her tips jar. Money that she’d ferret away to one day escape from the dystopic life that The Scraggy Beak represented.

  When Stan Wells walked into the pub, Agnes smelled money and gullibility. He was with a group of grubby dock workers, but he definitely wasn’t one of them. Most of the men in The Scraggy Beak were fat, but hardened by years of manual labour. Stan had the soft look of a chubby schoolgirl with clean nails, delicate hands and neat clothes. Stan Wells was a loud and confident forty-year-old fuck, buying drinks for his friends who smiled, hanging on his every word as long as the free booze flowed.

  Agnes had never been pretty, but she was young and slim; she knew how to smile and flutter her eyelashes at a voracious old git like Stan. When she’d turned her full attention on him, it wasn’t long before he bought her a drink. A few hours later, Agnes was naked in his hotel room.

  That first night, she realised Stan Wells had some unusual sexual tastes. At first, he was hesitant and tentative about the things he wanted her to do, afraid that she’d recoil in horror, but Agnes was more than willing to accommodate his every desire, moaning enthusiastically and gasping with feigned pleasure. By morning, Stan proclaimed his undying love and they were married three weeks later.

  Now, forty-five years later, Agnes knew how to do a little dirty work. She wouldn’t have come this far if she was the sort of woman who shied away from dark deeds.

  Dark deeds. She immediately thought of her new business partner and the smirk vanished. Just thinking of the woman made her nervous, almost paranoid to the point where she felt the woman could hear her thoughts. Without thinking, Agnes glanced over her shoulder as if half expecting her to be standing in the shadows, lips stretched in that unnaturally wide smile.

  Agnes shuddered and poured herself another drink. She leaned against the desk and looked towards the window. The smack of the wind rattled the pane and jolted her into the present. Whatever happened now was none of her concern. She was a businesswoman, Thorn Tree was her town, and by the time her business was completed, she’d own most of it. Agnes sank back into her chair and sipped her drink. Sometimes dark deeds are a necessary evil.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maggie made herself take a deep breath and rub her damp palms together before opening the door. She’d almost convinced herself that a feral animal was on her doorstep. While the idea seemed crazy, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was lurking in the storm.

  “Hi.” Harness cocked his head to one side. “Can I come in?”

  The relief she’d felt only moments ago was engulfed by concern. He looked like a changed man. Dark shadows scored the skin under his blue eyes, and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d been in them for days.

  “Harness, come in. Are yo
u okay?” Maggie moved aside and held the door for him.

  He stepped into the house and stopped. For a second, Maggie thought he was going to hug her, but instead, he turned and walked into the living room. Without waiting to be asked, he sat on the couch. Maggie closed the door. Not quite sure what to do next, she followed him and sat on the armchair nearest the sofa.

  He leaned forward and stared at his hands while outside the gale whistled through the trees like claws tearing through fabric. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek, squashing the need to fill the silence with awkward babble. She watched the side of his face, noticing the way the muscles in his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. There was something on his mind. He could have waited until the phones were working and called her, but instead he’d driven out of town in what felt like the beginning of a major storm.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend and her baby.” He seemed to want to say more, so Maggie waited. “I know it seems crazy, me just showing up here, but I had to see you.” He looked up and held her gaze.

  His eyes were raw, tired-looking. “Something happened. Something is happening, and it just made me realise that I needed to see you.”

  “What is it, Harness? Is it Tess? What’s going on?” She tried to keep her emotions under control, but the need to know, even if it was bad news, stretched her already jangling nerves.

  “It’s not about Tess...or maybe it is. I’m not sure.” He stopped speaking and put his head in his hands. Maggie leaned forward and touched his forearm, the skin warm under her fingers.

  “Tell me?” She spoke softly, ready for the worst.

  He looked up. “Since last night, four more people have died.” His voice was flat – exhausted.

  Maggie let go of his arm and shook her head. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. “What do you mean? Has there been an accident?” Even as she asked, she knew it made no sense.