The Stone Flowers

by Nora O'Keeffe

  “Look, Lisa, Rodney, I’ll send someone out to your place this afternoon to have a look around. I haven’t had any reports of a missing girl, but I’ll make some calls. That’s about all I can do at the moment.”

  They seemed relieved. After taking their number and promising to let them know if he found anything, Harness led them back to the front of the station.

  Maggie sat in the waiting area with the little red-haired girl. It looked to Harness like they were deep in conversation. As he approached, the girl stopped speaking and smiled at him. She made him think of Molly. He wondered what his daughter would’ve looked like if she’d had the chance to grow from a toddler into a little girl. It was a fleeting thought, but even after all the years, it still came with a stab of pain.

  Annabel looked young, about eight, but he wasn’t that good with kids’ ages. Her long red hair was tied in two bunches held by red ribbons. When she smiled, her nose wrinkled.

  “I’m almost nine,” she said, as if he’d asked the question.

  Harness was a little taken aback, but smiled all the same.

  “So, you’ve got a birthday coming up,” he said.

  “Yes. I’m hoping for a puppy.” She gave her parents a pointed look.

  Her mother shook her head. “We’ll see.”

  Rodney shook Harness’s hand and thanked him for his time and then ushered his family out of the station. Annabel stared over her shoulder at Harness until the door closed behind her.

  “Cute kid,” he said, smiling after her.

  “Did they tell you about the little girl?” Maggie asked.

  She was staring at the door where the family had exited. Harness wondered what Annabel had told her. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her about their meeting.

  Before he answered, he turned and called to Leary. “Find out where Attwell is and tell him I’ve got another job for him. I’ll be back in about fifteen.”

  “Okay, Boss.” Leary nodded and turned back to the radio.

  Harness took Maggie’s arm and led her to the door. As much as he wanted to learn about the doc’s findings, he also wanted to keep his promise to Maggie. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Once they were on the street, he detailed his meeting with the Chapels, ending with, “I think they’re keeping something back. How well do you know them?”

  “Not very. They came to a few barbeques at Tess and Ollie’s. I’d usually chat to Lisa more than Rodney.” She shrugged, making the casual movement look elegant. “You know how it is at those things, the men all stand around the barbeque and the women congregate.” She thought for a moment. “I think they were at one of Agnes’s parties last year. Lisa pops into the café sometimes with Annabel. They seem like a nice, normal family. Not secretive if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What did Annabel tell you?”

  “That a monster pretending to be a little girl keeps coming into her front yard at night. She’s really frightened.”

  Before Maggie could say more, her phone rang. Harness walked on ahead a few steps, giving her some privacy. He stood by the curb and watched the petrol station across the road; Barry Tucker, the owner, was hosing down the forecourt. When he saw Harness watching him, he grinned and waved. Something in the man’s demeanour was off, but Harness couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  He’d been trying not to listen to Maggie’s conversation, but when he heard her mention Ollie, his ears pricked up.

  “That’s great news.” Even with her back turned, he could tell she was smiling.

  “What?” Maggie turned around. The smile was gone, replaced by what looked like shock.

  “But why was he? Oh. Okay, that’s fine. Thanks, Sandra, I’ll call you later.” Maggie ended the call.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She took a deep, shaky breath before answering. “Ollie’s awake and doing much better.”

  “That’s good. Did he say anything about what happened?”

  “Yes. On the night Eddie died, he was driving into town. Tess was in the back with the baby… he said a little girl stepped into the road. He swerved. That’s when the car rolled.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the afternoon sun cast long shadows on the deserted pavements, Maggie drove along Sutton Street, noticing the traffic had dwindled to a few cars and camper vans. Passing the petrol station, she could see the forecourt glistening wet from a recent hose down. The scene looked calm and mundane, as though nothing had happened. She thought of the bloody hand trail along the green 4WD and increased her speed.

  By the time she parked in front of Jackson’s house, it was ten past one. She left the car and hurried up the driveway toward the brown brick home. On the right of the house, two lines of red brick slabs led to a double carport where Jackson’s old yellow Corolla was parked. She’d only been in the ancient vehicle once, when her car was being serviced and Jackson offered to drive her home. The gears crunched every time he changed them and the engine spluttered to a stop twice during the ten-minute ride. The sight of the battered old car comforted her in a way she couldn’t really explain. God knows I need comfort.

  Steep concrete stairs rose up to a spotless front porch, freshly swept of newly cut grass from the large lawn. The front door was made up of four dimpled panes set in a green wood frame. Hanging on the right-hand side, just under the bell, was a string of blue beads painted to look like little eyes. They were threaded onto a strip of silk that dangled from a silver ring. The strange-looking trinket struck Maggie as sort of creepy.

  Sandra’s voice jumped into her mind, a little girl stepped into the road. Fear twisted like a tight knot in the pit of Maggie’s stomach. Annabel was convinced a monster pretending to be a little girl was visiting her at night. Could it be a coincidence that Rodney, Annabel and Ollie saw a little girl? She hesitated. Suddenly the last thing she wanted was to talk to Jackson’s grandmother. Maggie’s gut told her the woman would tell her things she didn’t want to know.

  She glanced back at her car. For a second, the idea of turning and driving away was almost irresistible. This is insane. I can’t believe I’m letting Annabel’s fear of monsters rattle me. Whatever Jackson’s grandmother could tell her about the virus might be helpful. The more they knew, the better their chances of protecting any other children from the sickness. Maggie pressed the doorbell, her fingers brushing over the beads, sending them clacking against the glass. The sound reminded her of chattering teeth.

  “Hi, Maggie. Come in.” Jackson opened the door wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. His hair was damp, suggesting he’d just showered. She wondered if he was going out on a date later.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She hesitated on the doorstep. “I was at the meeting and then …”

  “No problem.” Jackson held the door open, waiting for her to enter.

  The inside of the house was more modern than the outside suggested, with highly polished jarrah floorboards and latte-coloured walls. They stood in a large hallway. To the right was a half-opened door that led to what Maggie guessed was the lounge room, and to the left was a large cluttered study. A hint of jasmine hung in the air.

  “This way,” Jackson said, leading her down the hall and through the spacious kitchen.

  He spoke over his shoulder as they went, “Gran’s been waiting for you. She’ll be pleased you wore red.”

  On the other side of the kitchen was a room that seemed to run almost the entire length of the house. Unlike the rest of the structure, this part of the house was made of weatherboard and glass. It looked like a recent addition. The floor was jarrah and decorated with large colourful rugs. A white cane sofa, two matching chairs and a coffee table sat in the right corner. From midway to ceiling, the back wall was made up of windows, allowing afternoon sun to bathe the room in comforting warmth.

  Jackson’s grandmother was seated on a worn brown leather armchair that didn’t match the rest of the room. As Maggie and Jackson entered, the older woman stood and ca
me towards them. She was short. Her mostly grey hair, flecked with a few strands of black, was swept back into a tight bun. She wore a calf-length black tunic over coffee-coloured satin pants that narrowed at the ankles. Her eyebrows were surprisingly bushy against a dark face dominated by a sharp hooked nose. She reminded Maggie of the witch in The Wizard of Oz.

  “Here she is,” Jackson said as the woman, reaching just above his waist, swept past him and took Maggie’s hand.

  She greeted Maggie with a smile that transformed her face from harsh to impish. “Welcome, dear. I’m Manjula Korrapati Palmer, but you must call me Manjula.” She led Maggie to the cane sofa.

  “Sit, sit, sit.” She flapped her hand at the sofa.

  “Thank you for seeing me...ah, Manjula.” Maggie sat on the edge of the sofa. The smell of jasmine was stronger in this room, mixed with something spicy that she couldn’t quite identify. There was something exotic and appealing about the combination of odours. Manjula settled in one of the cane chairs so they were facing each other.

  “All right. Well, I’ll let you two get on with it,” Jackson said, looking at his grandmother. He nodded, giving Manjula a pointed look, which she returned with a wink. He seemed pleased, almost relieved by her response, and left the room.

  She leaned forward, her dark eyes searching Maggie’s face. Now she was in front of the woman, Maggie wasn’t sure how to begin. What could the old lady possibly tell her that might help make sense of what was happening in town? She wished she’d rehearsed something on the way over so that she didn’t sound too crazy, but Manjula didn’t wait for Maggie to speak.

  “There is something evil in this town.” Her voice was flat, almost matter-of-fact. “You’ve sensed it too.” The last part was a statement, not a question. Maggie nodded, but didn’t speak. She was relieved that Manjula had put her feelings into words so easily.

  Manjula continued, “Children are dying and you want answers. Yes?” Her accent was heavy, but her English perfect.

  Maggie nodded. “I’ve been having strange dreams… And there’s a little girl… People have seen her.” Maggie wavered. A few dreams and a child. Saying it aloud sounded more than a bit silly. She half expected Manjula to laugh, but looking into the old lady’s eyes, she could see that she was taking her words seriously. Maggie let herself relax.

  “Outside of the dreams, have you seen the little girl?” she asked.

  “No.” Maggie shook her head.

  Manjula seemed relieved. “Good. Then you are safe… for now. All this.” She twirled her wrist. “I have seen before…so long ago.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “I was born in Nagharia, a small village located in Bageshwar district in the Indian state of Uttarakhand. It was a farming village in a deep valley near the Pungar River.” Manjula smiled and looked towards the windows as if seeing her village through the glass.

  When she turned back to face Maggie, her eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

  “Forgive me, Maggie. I am eighty-five, but I remember my childhood in Nagharia better than I remember last week.”

  Maggie could feel herself warming to the woman. “Maybe last week isn’t worth remembering.”

  Manjula looked pleased and patted Maggie’s hand. “I can see why my grandson likes you so much.”

  Maggie wasn’t sure how to respond. “Jackson’s a good friend.”

  Manjula nodded and continued her story. “My parents were farmers and I, a child, would spend my days helping my mother to prepare meals or playing in the fields with my best friend Meena. I had no brothers or sisters, but it didn’t matter.” She touched a finger to her chest. “Meena was my sister.” She paused for a moment, as if caught up in the memory.

  “Even as a child I knew Meena was gifted. She was a very beautiful little girl, but that wasn’t what made her special. She always saw only the good in everyone and she was more – connected than others.” She shrugged. “It is hard for me to explain, but she was connected to the world in a way that most are not. She felt things!”

  Manjula stopped speaking, waiting for Maggie to indicate she understood. Maggie nodded, not sure what else to do.

  Manjula seemed satisfied enough to continue. “When I was nine, a terrible sickness came into our peaceful valley. Children died.” Maggie’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. “People were afraid and began to speak of an Acheri.”

  “Acheri?” The saliva in her mouth evaporated, leaving her tongue dry. “What’s that?” The question came out as little more than a croak.

  Manjula took her time as though it was a question she didn’t want to answer.

  “An Acheri is a demon. Some say it is the spirit of a girl that faced a horrible death and has come back to the physical world to torment other children. It seeks only to cause pain and misery.”

  “So you think this... Acheri is here in Thorn Tree?” Maggie asked.

  “I know it’s here and so do you.” She reached out and placed her finger on Maggie’s chest just above her heart. “You feel it. Your people know of this demon, that is why you are here, yes?”

  Maggie didn’t believe in ghosts or anything supernatural. Her grandfather told her stories of spirits and witches, but she’d always considered them to be like fables, harmless fun. Yet now, if she believed Manjula’s story, she would have to allow a shift in what she’d always held true. If she accepted the woman’s account of what was happening in Thorn Tree, nothing would ever be black and white again. Was she ready to believe something outside modern science could exist? That evil was a real, tangible thing? The knot in her stomach twisted, this time threatening to push its way up into her chest.

  “What happened in your village?” Maggie asked, not willing to answer Manjula’s question.

  “I don’t know. My parents took me away, just as I told my daughter-in-law to take Asha.” She nodded to herself before continuing. “We walked for twenty-five miles to the nearest train station and then travelled to Delhi. We never returned to Nagharia.”

  “What happened to Meena?” Maggie asked.

  “I don’t know. I wanted her to come with us, but her mother had been crippled for many years and Meena would not leave her. She told me that the Acheri had come for her in the night. It tried to disguise itself as a little girl, but she saw its true face.” Manjula shook her head. “She tried to be brave, but I knew she was frightened.” She stopped talking and reached into one of the deep pockets on her tunic and produced a photograph which she handed to Maggie.

  It was a black and white shot, faded and creased from years of handling. The background was a dusty field showing rows of overturned earth. In the foreground were two little girls. The children were holding hands, smiling into the camera. The girl on the right was clearly Manjula. Even as a child she had sharp features and a kind smile. The girl on the left was smaller, very pretty with long dark curls framing her small shoulders. In her free hand, the girl held what looked like a little tin whistle. Her head was cocked slightly to the left as though she were about to laugh.

  Maggie put her finger on the photo. “Meena?”

  Manjula nodded and took the picture from Maggie. She clearly didn’t want to be separated from it. The older woman looked tired, as though talking about Meena and the Acheri had sapped her strength. Maggie had more questions, but didn’t want to push.

  “Manjula, are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was weak and distant.

  “Do you want me to call Jackson?” Maggie didn’t like the tremor in the old lady’s hands. It was as if her strength was trickling away with each memory.

  The old lady shook her head, so Maggie continued.

  “Manjula, there’s a girl here, her name is Annabel. She told me that she’s seen a monster in her garden that is pretending to be a little girl.” Before Maggie could continue, Manjula took her hand and squeezed it with surprising strength.

  “She’s in danger, and now, so are you. Everyone in my village said the Acheri had come to cause misery, but I believe it comes w
ith a purpose. It came for Meena and now it is here looking for someone like her. Maybe this girl, Annabel?”

  Maggie thought of the way Annabel described the thing she’d seen in her backyard. In spite of the sunshine streaming through the windows, she felt a chill. “You said it comes to torment other children.” Maggie touched the old lady’s arm. “Can it… Can it kill adults too?”

  Manjula’s shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “It is a being born of hatred.” Her words were sluggish, as if she were sleepy. “It kills as it sees fit. Children are easiest to fool, but it will bring misery to as many as possible.” She patted Maggie’s hand. “Please call my grandson. I need to rest for a while.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Agnes paced the study, jabbing numbers into her phone as the heels skimmed the carpet. She’d been told to only use the number if someone mentioned the woman by name, but how could she ignore what was going on? The line crackled, the ringing hollow and distant, reminding her of the way the connection echoed on long-distance calls back in the seventies. A click then breathing, heavy and regular, gave Agnes pause. She had no idea what sort of organisation the woman belonged to or the details of their reasons for setting up in Thorn Tree. In truth, she didn’t care as long as cash flowed her way, but something wasn’t right. I’ve always known it wasn’t right.

  “Hello.” Agnes forced the worry out of her voice.

  “Yes?” One word, enough to send a sliver of ice down Agnes’s spine.

  “I want something done about Gibson. Whatever you’re doing, he’s keeping it quiet. That wasn’t part of the deal. You said there’d be panic selling… and prices would drop.” Agnes paused, her heart racing. The line hissed, but the woman on the other end remained silent. “You need to hold up your end of the bargain or the deal’s off.” Agnes’s throat constricted with an angry shiver.