Broken Mirrors, Fractured Minds

by Carmilla Voiez

  Pippa heard the others laughing and wondered what they were saying about her. Every glance betrayed a snide comment, every smile a shared joke about the accident. What had been in the porridge? Cut up mushrooms? Ground up bugs? Snake venom? No one had made her breakfast before. Why did they now, right after her revelation? It hadn’t been cold. There wasn’t time for them to have eaten theirs and tidied up so quickly.

  ‘I’m keeping an eye on you bitches,’ she muttered.

  ‘You say something?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘No.’

  Jennifer eyed her warily before turning back to Doris and Laura. Laura glanced back and Jennifer glared at her.

  ‘I know you’re planning something,’ Pippa whispered under her breath.

  When they reached the woods, Pippa watched Laura as closely as possible, waiting for her to make her move. Laura passed under a large tree. As Pippa passed under it, she heard a loud snap from above. She looked up to see a huge branch falling and threw herself to the ground. The branch narrowly missed her as it crashed into the soil.

  Before the other women could reach her, Pippa stood up and turned to face them.

  ‘All right, what did you do?’ she shouted.

  ‘We didn’t do anything, Pippa,’ Jennifer said in a soothing voice.

  ‘Like hell you didn’t! You’ve been trying to hurt me all morning,’ Pippa yelled.

  ‘What? When? Who?’

  ‘All of you! What was in the porridge?’

  ‘Nothing. I toasted it, we told you that.’

  ‘It was warm, but you’d already cleaned up yours.’

  ‘I kept it warm on the fire until I heard you moving around.’

  ‘The stool?’

  ‘I didn’t check the ground,’ Doris said.

  ‘The damned snake? They’re rare,’ Pippa shrieked. She grabbed a branch from the ground and brandished it at the other women. Jennifer stood in front and motioned for the others to stay behind her. She tried to approach, but Pippa waved the branch frantically, making her jump back.

  ‘Then where would I have gotten it? You think I carried it around since yesterday morning?’ Jennifer tried to stay calm, but her voice shook.

  ‘You’ve all got it in for me!’

  ‘They were accidents, Pippa,’ Jennifer insisted.

  ‘That happened right after I told you what I did?’

  ‘No one here blames you. You served your time.’

  ‘Sure you do. Everyone hated me in prison, you know. They beat me up, even the guards. I barely ate. They poisoned the food. No one visited me. They all blamed me, just like you do!’ Her voice rose to a screeching wail. ‘I thought you were different, that you cared. But you don’t. You want me dead, just like them! I should have kept my mouth shut about what I did. No one cares, once they know I killed a guy.’

  ‘Who wants you dead, Pippa?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘Everyone!’ Pippa exclaimed, hysterically.

  Jennifer paced closer to her and snatched the branch away from her, throwing it to the ground. She clutched Pippa’s fingers, reaching to hug her. Pippa twisted in her grasp.

  ‘No!’ She pushed Jennifer away.

  Jennifer fell with a sickening crunch. Laura stared at Pippa as Doris ran to Jennifer’s aid. Below Jennifer’s head, the women saw a large rock, turned bright red with blood. Doris felt for a pulse and, when her face turned white, they knew Jennifer was dead.

  ‘You killed her!’ Doris cried. ‘She tried to help you and you killed her. I was right, you are a psycho!’

  Doris heaved and vomited next to Jennifer’s body. Laura backed away and stared, as Pippa picked up a rock. She raised it above Doris’ head and brought it down as hard as she could. Doris fell across Jennifer’s body. The back of her head turned crimson.

  Pippa dropped the rock as Laura screamed. They watched each other for seconds that seemed to drag for hours, until Laura turned and ran. Without thinking, Pippa gave chase, pulling off her belt. She was faster than Laura and caught up quickly, throwing the leather around her neck and tackling her to the ground. She straddled Laura’s knees and pulled until the struggling stopped.

  ‘What have I done?’ She looked at her blood-speckled hands. ‘They were right. I can’t escape from it.’

  She looked back, but could no longer see the other bodies. She took several deep breaths and felt her heart slow in response. She calmly removed her backpack, took a stout rope from it and made a loop at one end. She studied the trees and climbed onto the thickest bough she could find that was high enough. There, she tied the rope to the branch, slipped the noose around her neck, and jumped.

  Cold Blood

  by P.C. Ward

  ‘When shall we three meet again?’

  ‘When the battle is lost and won.’

  ‘The time is ripe and the blood has been spilt,’ said Mazaza.

  A crack of thunder split the air. The melancholy sound echoed across the sky towards the dim horizon, where city lights bled into the rain.

  Mazaza turned to face them. Her eyes were wide with an almost frenzied passion. Her jet black hair streamed back in the wind. ‘Our time is now.’

  Samantha placed her hands on Mazaza’s shoulders. She felt energy surges, like electric shocks.

  Elmacha slid her fingers onto Mazaza’s shoulders, whispering. ‘I am yours, my love.’

  Wind and rain swirled about them. Strands of Elmacha’s blonde hair danced like Medusa’s serpents. Around them lay blasted wasteland.

  A church stood here once. Great and strong, it had guarded the city of Birmingham. Now there were only scattered bricks and broken crosses. Where the altar had stood, a cess pit had formed. Slime coated the ground. The foul water was thick with unseen things. Half a mile away, across the debris and twisted barbed wire, the throb of nightclubs filled the air.

  ‘It is my time.’ Mazaza raised her hands and started to chant in a foul, forbidden language. Her words severed the thin veil separating this world from the world of her master.

  Samantha watched the world shudder as if some hand was disturbing the surface of a pool. A ripple formed before them. Samantha’s heart leapt as the air bent and twisted.

  Mazaza let out a shriek.

  The thin world was torn open. Blackness swam through the gash in the surface, like a seeping wound. Fire lived behind that gap, great balls of flames that never went out. A thousand voices screamed. Six great beasts of carrion flew above the furnace. At its base, six ancient serpents tore the air.

  ‘No!’ Samantha’s hands recoiled from Mazaza’s shoulders.

  The gateway closed, but not before something tore itself free and fell through. The darkness fell back against the great tide of reality.

  Mazaza turned. ‘You failed sister.’

  ‘You are no daughter of the night,’ said Elmacha.

  ‘Did you not see the beauty of our Lord’s realm? Did you not want to open the door to darkness?’ asked Mazaza.

  ‘Yes I am a true believer,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Yet, you failed.’ Elmacha curled her lip and shook her head. She stepped outside the pentagon.

  Elmacha screamed. A great snake coiled about her. Its form shimmered in the light. Blood and dead skin were smeared in tatters around its head. It opened its mouth, and for a moment they saw fangs as long as a man’s hand.

  ‘You’re mine.’ Its voice was as old as the ages.

  ‘No. You are mine to command,’ shouted Mazaza.

  The snake paused, its head swayed. Cold reptile eyes stared at Mazaza. Its tongue flicked out to touch Elmacha’s face.

  ‘I summoned you,’ said Mazaza.

  ‘I think not.’ The snake’s head darted forward. Its jaws closed around Elmacha’s face.

  Mazaza screamed.

  Samantha ran.

  * * *

  ‘Jelly, Mummy?’ Tom peered up at Samantha from the back door. His t-shirt was smeared and the dirt around his chin created the illusion of six-o’clock shadow.

  ‘Tom,
I told you not to get dirty,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Dirty?’

  ‘What have you been doing? Rolling around in the mud?

  ‘Daddy said it was ok.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘We have jelly?’

  ‘Yes, when Auntie Susan and Uncle Paul get here.’

  ‘Jelly now,’ said Tom.

  Richard walked into the kitchen carrying an empty beer bottle. He put the bottle on the counter and opened the fridge.

  ‘BBQ thirsty, is it?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘I told you to buy two twelve packs.’

  ‘Do you know how much it costs?’

  ‘But you can afford to have your nails done?’

  ‘Well it is my money.’

  ‘Jelly, Mummy?’

  ‘Here. That’s all you’re getting,’ said Samantha, pouring a portion into a plastic bowl.

  ‘Jelly.’ Tom grinned, scooted under Richard’s arm and back to the garden.

  Richard took a beer out of the fridge and turned to go.

  ‘That’s your third,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Maybe you want to wait until they get here, at least?’

  Richard stared at Samantha. He put the beer back in the fridge and walked outside, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

  ‘And keep an eye on Tom. Stop him eating dirt.’ Samantha shivered. She looked up at the clock. It was ten-to-twelve. Soon, Paul and Susan would arrive and she would have to listen to stories of their perfect cruise and Susan’s latest cake recipe for her perfect café.

  A shadow twitched at the edge of her vision, coupled with a whisper. Samantha turned. Nothing was there. In a distant part of her mind, she heard Elmacha scream.

  Samantha opened the fridge and took out the salad. Outside, she heard Tom shriek with laughter.

  ‘Leave it alone, Tom,’ shouted Richard.

  Samantha shook her head. Once she had longed for the weekends. They would relax in their quiet little garden, just the three of them, or visit a park and eat ice creams, watching swans float past on the river. That was a long time ago, a lifetime ago.

  Everything changed when Richard lost his job. He worked for ten-years, selling business insurance. The company had been bought out and, rather than relocate to Peterborough, Richard had taken the redundancy package. He told Samantha it would be easy to get a new job.

  That had been three-years ago. His current job was selling cleaning solutions to restaurants. One of six jobs he’d taken since being made redundant. He worked four days out of five on the south coast, and came home each Thursday night.

  Samantha had returned to work two-years ago, to a job she hated, working for the credit team of a large bank in Birmingham city-centre. It was there she met Elmacha.

  ‘Tom, I told you to leave it alone,’ said Richard.

  Samantha opened the back door. ‘What is it?’

  A grass snake slithered away from Tom.

  * * *

  The mist had closed in. Outside, streetlamps made wet cars glisten. In the distance, the roar of the A38 could be heard.

  The theme tune to The Bill sounded from the living room. Upstairs, all was quiet. Tom had been bundled onto his bed at half-past-eight, and was now fast asleep.

  Samantha poured herself a glass of red wine and sipped it. She strolled to the back door and checked it was locked. Only a glimmer of light, reflected in the bird bath, broke the gelatinous darkness of the garden.

  Samantha flicked on the motion controlled garden light and checked the back door again. The light flickered on once for a second. Luminous green grass glowered at her then darkness settled once more.

  She shuffled to the front door and checked the chain and lock. If Richard had been here, he would have laughed at her, but he was down south, trying to close a deal with a Chinese buffet restaurant.

  When Richard had left Sunday night, she saw the same fear in his eyes that she had seen many times these last three years. She knew he was expecting to be fired from this job soon, as well. She wanted to tell him it was ok, that it didn’t really matter. She wanted to leave with him and Tom, to escape to some remote place, away from this nightmare. However, she knew it wouldn’t be alright if he lost his job, and so did he.

  Samantha studied her reflection in the full-length, hall mirror. She hardly recognised herself. How had she got so old? So gaunt? Rivets of tiredness were drilled into her cheeks. Red marks of stress hung around her nose, and she carried a haunted look in her eyes.

  As she drifted back into the kitchen, the lights went out. Darkness and silence swallowed the house. Not even the clock on the oven was flashing. Samantha felt for the work surface and put her glass down. She must have misjudged, and it fell, shattering on the floor.

  ‘Shit,’ said Samantha. ‘Tom?’

  A noise from outside, or was it closer, in the hall? A moan? Every light flickered on, dazzling Samantha. Through the window pane, she saw Mazaza crawling across the grass. Blood streamed from her throat. She flopped forwards, like a broken doll, crawling towards the door.

  The lights failed again. Samantha lurched forward. Cowering in the silent house, she heard a wet, moaning noise outside. Air coiled round her, clutching at her, squeezing her rib cage.

  The lights came on again. The opening credits of Crimewatch roared out from the living room. The garden was empty. Only a smear of blood remained where Mazaza had lurched across the lawn.

  ‘You’re mine,’ hissed a voice from behind. Samantha tiptoed to the hall mirror. Behind her reflected image, coiled up on the stairs, was the snake.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, make the bad dream go away.’ Tom stood at the top of the stairs with his teddy in his hand. ‘Mummy?’

  * * *

  ‘Sam,’ said Richard. His voice was heavy and muffled over the phone.

  ‘Rich, what’s wrong?’ said Samantha. She pressed the phone closer to her ear. She could hear the motorway traffic in the background. A lorry sounded its horn. ‘Have you. . .’

  ‘The bastard fired me, by text, this afternoon.’

  ‘Rich, I am so sorry.’

  ‘Is Tom there?’

  ‘No, he’s at a sleepover with Michael.’

  ‘Ok.’ Richard coughed.

  Samantha shifted the phone in her hand.

  ‘Samantha, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  Samantha dropped sleeping tablets into her glass of water. She watched them sink and dissolve. Outside, a car alarm sounded. Beyond that, she could hear the drone of traffic on the A38. She downed the water, gagging on the chalky sediment. Lying back, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

  She was walking, barefoot, along an unfamiliar street. In the distance, a wolf howled and a crow screamed. The throb of city traffic and music grew louder. She reached a nightclub. A black man kissed a blonde-haired woman outside the entrance. Samantha watched him slide his hand under the girl’s short skirt.

  She wandered down a dark street. A gutter overflowed, dumping water onto the pavement. A pawn broker’s shop stood empty and dark; the till glimmered behind a cage. She reached a wall. The brickwork was crumbling. Barbed wire crouched, rusting, high above. She tried to turn, to stop. Her feet carried her onwards, through the wall. She tried to scream, but only managed a feeble croak.

  Samantha stepped onto wasteland. To her left, gallows had been erected. Mazaza and Elmacha swung from its ropes, their faces black and bloated. A final, empty noose swung wild and free, in the wind.

  Something tugged her arm. Looking down, she saw the snake curled around her. Screaming, she tore at the serpent. It thrashed and twisted against her. It struggled desperately, but she fought on, squeezing it harder and harder until it stopped.

  Her fingers gripped Tom’s throat. His lifeless body lolled in her hands.

  * * *

  Samantha sat shivering at her desk. A ream of paperwork lay before her, untouched. She wrapped her fingers around a lukewarm cup of coffee and stared in
to space. Her mobile rested on her desk. A dozen times, she had started to call Michael’s mother. Each time, she put the phone down before it could be answered.

  Samantha closed her eyes and swallowed. It would be ok. She would leave work as normal and go to the after-school club. Tom would be there, grinning and babbling about what he had done, happy and alive.

  She gazed out of the window and watched as a police car pulled into the car park. Samantha stood up. Her teeth rattled. Her body shook. One of the police officers held her hand. A suited man, sat opposite her, made meaningless noises.

  ‘Where?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘At a wasteland, on the edge of Birmingham.’

  ‘Why?’ shrieked Samantha.

  The suited man shook his head. ‘We haven’t been able to get in touch with your husband yet. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He... He...’ Samantha fainted.

  * * *

  Samantha stood in the garden. Tears trickled down her cheek. The bonfire burned brightly in the last light of the day. Photos and papers curled in the flames.

  The side gate banged open. Richard walked through. His pale face stood out in the light. His thin, curly, black hair was slicked back. Behind him, a policeman stood at the end of the drive; his high-visibility jacket glowed in the evening light.

  ‘Rich,’ said Samantha.

  He shuffled up to her and stood by the fire. He took her hand. ‘Why?’

  ‘They don’t know.’

  ‘Why us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Together they stood by the fire, watching it burn.

  * * *

  ‘Mummy… Mummy.’

  Samantha woke with a jerk. Richard snored softly beside her. She lay in the darkness, her head pounding. The tangled sheets were damp with sweat. Outside a dog barked. The sound echoed through the street.

  Samantha closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would return to the police station and answer the same questions. No, she hadn’t seen Tom since he went to the sleep-over, or phoned to check he was alright. ‘I strangled him and left him on the wasteland,’ was what she wanted to say. But it had been a dream, a nightmare. That was all.