Her mum proclaimed she'd abandoned the craft in front of Dahlia and the rest of the world, but every now and then Holly caught her with a candle wrapped in ribbon or found bundles of herbs hidden behind the curtains. The family traditions ran deep.
Inside Holly’s backpack, Dahlia's paper bag weighed her down like a sack of stones. She didn’t want it and yet she couldn't throw it away. Holly had promised herself a long time ago she'd never stoop to magic. If she did, all the teasing since kindergarten would be true.
The bus pulled up and Holly exhaled as she stepped aboard. A balding man with glasses sat at the wheel this morning. Holly wondered whether she should have mentioned the bus driver's predictions to Dahlia. She couldn’t forget the woman’s omens, that one of them would take darkness into their breast and another would depart forever. But Dahlia would've taken the ramblings far too seriously. Holly waved her bus pass and headed down the aisle.
Lila was halfway down, scribbling in her notebook. She jumped as Holly slid in the seat next to her. The seats, upholstered in an ugly lime geometric pattern, were an attempt to hide the everyday stains.
‘Morning,’ Holly said. ‘You alright? Sorry, I forgot to call last night.’
Lila slammed her notebook shut and slipped it into her bag. Her eyes were bloodshot. Insomnia must be the in-thing, Holly thought.
‘No more nosebleeds?’
‘Must’ve been a one-off.’ Lila shrugged. ‘What did you get up to last night? Anything interesting?’
It was Holly's turn to shrug. ‘Went to see Dahlia. Then just went home for spag bol and learned my lines.’
Lila nodded.
‘Nothing exciting,’ Holly added.
‘Me too,’ said Lila.
The two lapsed into an awkward silence but Holly wanted desperately to say more. She could trust Lila, couldn't she? She wanted to tell her about her fears for Violet, her chat with Dahlia, the shadows darting in the corners of her eyes.
‘Have you noticed those?’ Lila pointed out the window at a yellow symbol painted on the bus shelter. Holly squinted at it. ‘Weird, huh?’
‘Maybe a gang? Marking their territory?’
The bus pulled into Violet's stop and Holly straightened in her seat. Holly vowed she'd be more understanding today.
Violet was smiling as she walked up the aisle. Until she saw Holly.
‘Hi,’ she said curtly and slid into the seat in front. Holly noticed Violet was wearing yesterday's crumpled checked shirt again under her duffle coat and she reeked of stale cigarette smoke.
‘Are you alright?’ Holly said, carefully.
‘Why shouldn't I be?’ Violet snapped. She slipped her headphones over her ears.
Holly whispered. ‘I thought she might've cooled down.’
Lila smiled painfully.
‘I can hear you,’ Violet said. ‘Don't talk about me behind my back.’ She picked up her bag and clumped down the aisle to the front of the bus.
‘We weren’t.’ Lila scrambled after her. ‘We just wanted to make sure you're okay.’
Holly rested back into the seat, alone again. The bus stopped once more and Angelika strode up the aisle like a fashion runway, her long legs clad in black tights.
Violet swivelled and glared, but Angelika didn't seem to notice.
‘Hi there,’ Angelika said as she took the seat beside Holly.
‘Good, thanks,’ Holly blurted and then winced.
Angelika rested back into the seat and Holly fidgeted with her hair, her stomach fluttering. This was her chance to warn Angelika. But what could she say without sounding like a complete fruitcake herself?
‘Enjoying the play?’ Holly asked.
Angelika gasped.
Had Holly said the wrong thing? Again? Holly screwed up her face and looked down. After waiting a few moments, she glanced up through her fringe and saw Angelika hadn't been responding to her at all. She was looking the other way, staring at a man in a raincoat by the side of the road.
Angelika tore her attention away from the man and blinked at Holly. ‘Sorry. Did you say something?’
Holly straightened her posture and cleared her throat. ‘I only asked if you were enjoying the play?’
‘The lines are hard. Some parts make sense and others fly right over my head. And then there's remembering where to stand and what gestures to do.’ Angelika sighed. ‘I was up half the night practising. But I should be okay.’
Holly looked closer and saw the shadows under Angelika's eyes, but she’d still swap faces with her in a heartbeat if she had the chance.
‘I know what you mean.’ Holly forced a giggle.
The bus groaned as it struggled up the final ascent to the school.
‘Stop talking about me!’ Violet yelled from the front of the bus. Angelika raised an eyebrow.
Holly clenched her jaw.
‘I know all about you,’ Violet said, jabbing her finger at Angelika. ‘I'm watching you. You won't get the better of me.’
Violet spun back around towards the front and Lila looked back at them with a painful smile.
‘She’s a little on edge,’ Holly said with a wince.
‘Classic paranoia if you ask me,’ Angelika muttered.
Holly rubbed her forehead. Violet was getting worse. Someone had to make her stop.
***
Dear Journal
The darkness is here.
Weighing me down, enveloping me like a heavy winter coat.
Something happened last night but I can't remember what.
I was there and then I wasn't, and then suddenly I was somewhere else.
When I try to think back all I remember is the darkness.
I'm cold.
I'm clutching at a clifftop by my fingernails.
I'm so scared and but no one will understand if I tell them...
They didn’t listen when I tried before.
I have to solve this myself.
I am happy, I am positive, I am in control of my destiny.
I am happy, I am positive, I am in control of my destiny.
I must say it again. And again. And again.
If I try hard enough, my words will drown them out. They have to.
Otherwise, there's no hope for me.
***
RAVENSWOOD
Ravenswood chewed the end of his biro as he sat at his office desk. Still wearing his coat, his breath was visible. How could he motivate those boys to take their soldier roles more seriously? This was the Bard, not some Bruce Lee movie.
The public address speaker in the corner of the room crackled with static and Ravenswood's eyes jerked up. No one had been in the main office yesterday and he still hadn't confirmed whether those fools had scheduled maintenance for Friday. He picked up the phone and dialled reception. He’d demand they switch the heating on, too.
The silent workmen had been adding another coat of beige to the corridors when he arrived. His skin crawled whenever he was in their presence. Their movements were too slow, too deliberate. His skin crawled whenever he was in their presence.
Fiona was right, he needed to relax. When the production was over, he'd take up yoga.
The phone in reception rang and rang. He rolled his eyes, placed his coffee cup down on a pile of papers next to three other mugs, which were half empty with cold muddy dregs. Mrs Barclay, his fellow drama teacher and officemate, would have a fit if she saw his desk. She kept all her un-chewed pens in a holder, used a spotlessly white fine china teacup with saucer and filed all her notes with coloured tabs.
With an exasperated groan, he put down the phone. He shivered. The speaker crackled again in the corner. This time his heart thumped in his chest. The static sounded like words. A particular word. But it couldn't be.
‘Face your fear. You're not eight years old,’ he mumbled and stared up at the beige speaker box in the corner of the ceiling. He swallowed and hoped he'd misheard, hoped another announcement would come through, something normal, logical.
The
speaker buzzed again. This time, he heard the word clearly through the white noise. A whisper.
‘Worthless.’
His stomach dropped as he remembered.
The slap across his face echoed in his ears.
‘You stupid little boy. Get inside.’
‘No.’
She had shoved him inside the chicken coop and latched the door shut. He had tumbled onto the dirt, his bare knees and palms coated in chicken crap and feathers. The chickens scurried into the corner.
‘Why do you make me punish you?’ she had said through the wire fence. You continue to disobey me and disobey God. He is the one disappointed in you. I am only his servant on this earth. I take no pleasure in punishing you.’
‘Why is God angry with me?’ he said, scrambling up into a crouch. ‘I haven't done anything.’
‘I saw you trying to prove you were better than God. Whatever gifts you may have, he gave them to you...
‘What do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it? Corinthians 4:7’
‘I never—’
‘I saw you bossing the others around and big-noting yourself, acting all superior, as though you are better than them.’
‘I was only putting on a play. I was only...’
‘I saw with my eyes. And God saw,’ she had said. ‘Only you are blind to your sins. You must reflect on your deeds and repent. Repeat after me: 'I am useless. ' 'I am worthless'.’
‘I didn't mean to,’ he gulped. ‘It's getting dark. Please, Josie.’
‘Night is nothing. Your soul needs to be repaired. Otherwise, you are inviting Satan himself.’
Ravenswood had sniffled. Some of the bolder chickens approached him and pecked around his feet. He flailed his arms and shoo-ed them away but the birds kept returning.
‘Fiona? Dad?’ he called out but only Hiram the rooster with the blood red comb appeared.
‘No,’ Ravenswood whimpered.
Hiram, the rooster with the blood red comb strutted out of the coop and eyed him suspiciously.
‘I would never invite him,’ he said. He clasped his hands together and kneeled.
‘Satan is clever. Wicked and clever,’ Josie said. ‘He knows how to trick worthless boys like you. You will let him in before you know it. Satan knows you. Knows you are a dirty little boy, an empty vessel waiting for him to fill. I am doing this for your own good, for your soul's survival. Reflect on your sins and repeat your prayers otherwise, Satan will come for you. I will not be able to help you then. You are useless. You are worthless.’
Ravenswood glanced across at Hiram, the rooster's black eyes were as hard as marbles. Didn't the pastor say Satan could take on other forms?
His stomach rumbled loudly, loud enough to scare off one inquisitive chicken. ‘Please Josie. I’m sorry. I won't do it again. I’m cold and hungry.’
‘You must learn humility and penance. You will eat with the chickens.’
She unlatched the door and flung a handful of corn into the coop straight at him. The kernels thwacked against his face and bare arms. They caught in his hair and t-shirt and bounced to the ground around his bare feet. The chickens launched at him, a crowd of fluttering wings and pecking beaks. Ravenswood wailed as they pecked grain from his fingers and his toes.
Hiram stepped forward and the other chickens scattered to the edges of the coop.
Ravenswood swallowed hard and looked from side to side, searching for something, anything to fend off the rooster.
Hiram screeched and lunged for him, his claws extended.
Ravenswood covered his face.
Hiram's claws tore a chunk of flesh from his forearm and Ravenswood howled. The rooster forced him backwards until he was pressed hard against the wire fence. Hiram flew at him again and again, legs high, his sharp spurs extended aiming for his eyes.
Ravenswood crumpled into the corner, sobbing as the rooster slashed at his skin.
The attack was short. Once Hiram was confident of victory, he strutted away.
Alone, Ravenswood huddled in the corner, blood running through his hair and dribbling down his face, his forearms ripped to red ribbons. The sun had disappeared and a winter wind whistled through the wire. Deep in his heart, Ravenswood knew it was true. He never did learn. He was useless and worthless. He belonged with the animals.
Curled into a ball, he ignored his rumbling tummy and cried until he drifted off to sleep. He woke in the coop when the sun rose and one of the other wives, Marjorie, came to collect the morning eggs.
Marjorie had opened the cage door and he had crawled out and headed straight for the dining hall covered in muck. His lips blue and his skin criss-crossed with dried blood, Ravenswood kept his head low. He knew he deserved every mean stare from the others at breakfast.
He had promised to be good from then on. He would never make Josie, or God or the rest of the Kindred angry again. He knew his place.
He was useless.
He was worthless.
***
VIOLET
Traitors.
How dare they bitch about her behind her back! Was Holly best friends with Angelika now? It was plain to see they were all in on it, even Holly.
‘Make thick my blood,’ Violet muttered to herself as her boots crunched along the gravel and she flopped down on her favourite concrete bench in the Quad. She’d puffed and paced and rehearsed all night and woke up with Lady Macbeth living inside her.
Violet rifled inside her bag, but her fingers couldn't find her packet of smokes. She patted down her duffle coat pockets, but there were only coins and a crumpled chewing gum wrapper inside.
‘Shit,’ she grumbled. The nearest shop was a ten-minute walk through the bush and the fog. Violet shuddered.
The boys were kicking a hacky sack on the other side of the Quad under the awning, Jason had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Violet screwed up her face, she didn't want to speak to any of them. She scratched at her wrist and bit down hard on her bottom lip.
Jez sailed into the Quad on his board and her stomach fluttered. Here was someone who rolled their own smokes.
‘Jez.’ She beckoned him over.
He half-waved back but headed straight for the boys.
She slumped and glanced over at the bin nearby. There were no butts littering the ground first thing in the morning. She couldn't, could she? Especially in full view of Jez, Jason and the others. She looked at the bin again and shook her head.
A hooded figure loped across the concrete.
‘Toby!’ She waved.
He slipped off his headphones and swaggered over with his lop-sided grin and his white Nike Airs. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey. How's it going?’ She smiled up at him, careful to wrap her lips over her bad teeth. ‘I haven’t seen you round much.’
‘Mr Ravenswood got me locked away in the theatrette. Getting ready to make you guys look good.’
‘I hope we start rehearsals in there soon. The real theatre is much better than the dumb drama room.’
‘True,’ Toby said, the smile never leaving his face.
Violet widened her eyes and chewed her lip. ‘Can I be a pain? I need a big favour?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Could I bum a smoke from you? Sorry to ask. I must've left mine at home.’
‘That's why you're glad to see me, eh?’
‘Of course not.’
He pulled a red and white packet out of his jacket pocket.
‘Thanks heaps,’ Violet said. ‘I'm too lazy to head back down the shop now. I owe you one.’
He pulled out his lighter and they both lit up. Violet sucked down the smoke and closed her eyes. She let out a stream of smoke and the white curtain flowed past her face.
‘I saw you in that other play. The one with the nuns and the kids,’ Toby said. ‘You've got a good voice.’
‘Thanks.’ Violet smoothed down her hair. ‘Unfortunately, there’s no singing this time.’
‘That's cool.’
‘You like dance music?’
‘A little bit. I like New Order and that song Connected. But also PJ Harvey and guitar stuff, too.’
‘That's the main reason I signed up for this thing was to get a chance to use the school equipment. They've got some alright gear in the theatrette. Much better than I can afford, anyway. It was a bit creepy in there yesterday by myself, but most places are weird when there's no one around.’
Violet nodded. ‘What do you think of Ravenswood?’
‘He's driving me mental,’ Toby said and let out a long plume of smoke with a shake of his head. ‘He changed his mind four times, yesterday.’
‘What a total fraud,’ Violet said with a smirk.
Toby shrugged. ‘It’s only a couple more days. Hopefully I can sneak in some of my own recording when no one's looking.’ Toby took a long final drag and squashed out his cigarette. ‘We’d better get in there. He's probably come up with some new idea and I'll have to change everything again.’ Toby sighed. ‘See you round?’
‘Thanks again for the smoke,’ Violet said, and he gave her a little salute. She finished her cigarette and watched him saunter into the school building. The rest of the cast drifted inside after him. She was the last one left in the cold concrete Quad.
Violet took a deep breath, checked her lipstick and went inside.
The room hushed as she came in, but she rolled back her shoulders and ignored their jealous stares.
Ravenswood had been raiding his grandfather's wardrobe again. Today's outfit was tweed with leather patches. ‘I'll start with yesterday's notes,’ Ravenswood said. ‘Firstly, Wayne and Jason, we'll do some sword fighting practice today.’
‘Yeah, man.’ Wayne and Jason high-fived.
‘Now, Rowan...,’ Ravenswood looked up from his clipboard and around the circle. ‘Rowan? Where is she?’
Violet noticed a spare seat. Yesterday every seat was filled.
‘I didn't see her on the bus, Mr Ravenswood,’ Holly said.
The Flower and the Serpent Page 10
