In Darkness, Shadows Breathe

by Catherine Cavendish

  When she had finished clearing up, she secured the bag, tying it tightly with its own handles before placing it next to the front door. She would dispose of it tomorrow. That was the easy part. Explaining the loss to the owners – and being able to afford to replace it – was another thing entirely. Carol pushed the unwelcome thought to the back of her mind. She simply couldn’t deal with it now.

  Back in the kitchen, she examined the cupboard. It seemed firm, certainly not hanging off its hinges or tilting enough to send an entire dinner service flying, but even if it had been, that wouldn’t have explained how the plates, bowls, cups and saucers were smashed inside it before she opened the door.

  There had to be an explanation but, for the life of her, Carol had no idea what it could be.

  An unpleasant smell tickled her nostrils. A mix of some kind of bleach, with ammonia, unwashed bodies and old cabbage. Carol wrinkled her nose.

  She opened the sink cupboard and peered inside. The smell was nothing like so bad there. Similarly, the bathroom and en suite checked out fine, with nothing to indicate the origin of the increasingly nauseating stench.

  It seemed to be strongest out in the hall.

  Carol unlocked the front door and peered out. No one in the communal hallway and no smell either. Whatever it was had begun in her hall and was now rapidly infecting the entire flat.

  In her bedroom, she opened the wardrobes, drawers, looked under the bed, searching everywhere. She repeated this in the second bedroom and the living room. Nowhere gave up any clues.

  Back in the hall, she forced herself to move to where the stench was most prominent. Right in the middle. Kneeling down, she pressed her nose to the carpet but, by now, the smell had engulfed her and didn’t emanate from the floor.

  Then it vanished. As fast as it had arrived. Carol heard a rustling sound, like someone walking in a long skirt. A swishing noise, a whisper.

  “You’re next.”

  That voice again. Carol sprang to her feet and cried out. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  A laugh. A distinct, slightly hysterical woman’s laugh, coming from far away. Her neighbor perhaps? How she would love to be able to believe that, but she knew wherever it was coming from, it wasn’t from this world.

  Shadowy, indistinct figures scurried past her on both sides, almost touching her.

  Then she felt herself falling into blackness.

  * * *

  Carol came to on the floor of her hall. Her head throbbed. How long had she been here? A quick look at her watch confirmed it could only have been a minute or so. She struggled to her feet, aware that she must have bumped her knee as she fainted. Her head buzzed as if a swarm of bees had taken up residence.

  In the kitchen, she filled her tumbler with water and drank it down as the pain in her head subsided.

  She moved into the bedroom and sank onto the bed. The next thing she knew, the morning sun streamed through the window. Panic set in. Carol glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty. Sunday. She didn’t have to be at work for another hour. Time to get a shower, coffee, slice of toast and be there in plenty of time.

  In the end, she couldn’t face the toast and settled for the coffee on its own. Carol felt clean and fresh after her shower, ready to face the day and determined to put the events of the previous night behind her. At least, that was what she told herself.

  * * *

  “I really enjoyed our chat yesterday evening, Carol,” Sarah said as Carol took up her place on checkout number ten.

  “Thanks,” she replied. “So did I.” It had been pleasant, hadn’t it? For the most part, even if she didn’t feel up to repeating the experience yet, especially if others were to be included in the invitation. There was too much going on she didn’t understand.

  She served her first customer, wishing her stomach hadn’t decided to pick then to hit her with a sudden stabbing pain. The same as the ones she had had before. She winced.

  “Are you all right?” The customer leaned toward her. “You’ve gone awfully pale. Shall I call someone?”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine in a moment, thanks.”

  The pain shot through her. Much worse this time. She doubled over.

  The customer called out. “Someone’s in trouble here.”

  Sarah was there in an instant, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, would you all please join another queue?”

  The customers moved off, muttering to themselves.

  Carol hated being the center of so much unwarranted attention but the pain overwhelmed every other consideration. Wave after wave of it. Hot, burning, throbbing. Without warning, bile shot up into her throat, filled her mouth and she vomited. The sour taste made her retch even harder.

  “Ambulance please,” Sarah called to someone as she helped Carol out of her seat. She could barely focus; everything seemed unreal. Part of her felt as if she had drifted into a different universe, able to see this one but incapable of making any contribution to it other than trying to put one foot in front of another as Sarah half carried her across the shop floor and into the staff area out back.

  Someone – Sarah maybe? – brought her a bowl and a box of tissues. Another voice, one she didn’t immediately recognize, spoke quietly. “Is she going to be all right? She’s gone such an odd color.”

  Sarah replied, “I don’t know. The ambulance should be here soon. It’s not as if they have far to come.”

  “Depends if they’re tied up.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Carol sat, hunched over the bowl. It smelled of new plastic. They must have taken it off the shelf.

  The nausea had passed as quickly as it had begun, but the pain in her abdomen was still there, reduced to a gnawing throb.

  A commotion. Doors opening. A man’s voice. “Carol, can you hear me? Can you speak to me?”

  “I can hear you.” She wished they wouldn’t shout. It hurt her head.

  A woman spoke now, equally as strident. “Carol, I want you to sit back for me, open your eyes. Yes, that’s it. Open your eyes for me.”

  A bright light nearly blinded her. It flashed briefly into her left eye and then her right. When she could focus properly, two paramedics swam into view. Sarah stood in the background, her face full of concern, gnawing her lip.

  The woman spoke as the man took her pulse. “You’ve been sick and we need to take you to hospital to find out what’s going on. Are you in any pain?”

  “My stomach.”

  The paramedic touched the right side of her abdomen and Carol couldn’t stifle a cry. A burning sensation swept across her belly.

  “Have you ever had your appendix removed, Carol?”

  She shook her head and immediately wished she hadn’t as nausea swept up through her gut with renewed force. She swallowed rapidly, repeatedly, forcing the sourness back down. “No. I’ve never had any operations.”

  I was in a room. There were surgical instruments all around me. They forced me to sit in a chair and tied my wrists and ankles with leather bonds. The doctor held some sort of drill. He came toward me….

  “Carol? Are you okay?” The voice of the male paramedic brought her sharply back to the present. She nodded.

  To his colleague he spoke quietly, probably hoping Carol couldn’t hear him. “Her pulse is racing and her temperature’s 100.3.”

  Carol shivered.

  “Are you feeling cold?” the female paramedic asked.

  “A bit. Yes.”

  “Right, we’re taking you to hospital now.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Sarah asked.

  The female paramedic answered. “Judging by the symptoms she’s presenting, possible appendicitis and it may be at quite an advanced stage. She should be fine, but we do need to get her admitted now before it gets any worse.”

  The male paramedic
had left them and his colleague turned back to Carol. “Is there anyone you’d like us to call? A friend or relative perhaps?”

  “No. There’s no one.”

  The paramedic returned with a wheelchair. “Can you get into this chair for me, Carol?” he said.

  One on either side of her, they eased her into the chair. The burning sensation increased and, with it, another wave of nausea. She retched. Sarah thrust the bowl onto her lap but it was only dry heaves. Carol realized she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.

  A small audience of shoppers and staff saw her leave. Carol closed her eyes, willing the pain to go away. At least the hospital wasn’t far. Sirens. They must think she was urgent.

  Before she could be admitted, she had to go through the rigmarole of a barrage of questions: name, address, date of birth, details of which doctor she was registered with, next of kin…. “I don’t have one. I have no known relatives.”

  “A friend then. Someone we can contact.”

  “There isn’t anyone.”

  The questions finally ended. The paramedics officially handed her over and left, wishing her all the best. Carol thanked them and then she was being wheeled down for a scan.

  From there, she was taken to a ward. She changed into the obligatory hospital apparel, and a nurse joined her, armed with a pair of unflattering blue-green pressure socks.

  “You’re going to need to wear these for a few days. It’s just while you’re off your feet. You’re having surgery, aren’t you?”

  Carol’s eyes shot open. “Am I?”

  The nurse looked embarrassed and stopped in the action of removing the pressure socks from their packet. “Ah, right. I’m sorry, I thought they’d discussed this with you. You’re scheduled for an emergency appendectomy. Haven’t you signed the paperwork yet?”

  “I signed something but there was no mention of an operation. If it will make this pain go away, I’ll have it.”

  “I’m really sorry. It’s been a bit manic here today. There was a road crash. Multiple casualties…I’ll go and get things sorted out for you right away.”

  The flustered young nurse left her.

  Appendectomy. Surely that wasn’t such a bad operation? They could do it with keyhole surgery these days, after all. She’d soon be up and about again. And, at least she would be free of this awful pain. Maybe that was behind the strange things she had been experiencing? What if they were hallucinations brought on by whatever it was that caused appendicitis? The inflammation had sent the wrong signals to her brain.

  The comforting thought soothed her as she shivered and sweated. More paperwork. Her signature was required. She managed a shaky effort that didn’t look much like anyone’s signature, least of all her own.

  Kind faces smiled down at her, reassuring nods, a nurse holding her hand, then a slight prick as a cannula was inserted in the back of her left hand. The hum of gentle conversation. Carol closed her eyes.

  The soft voice of the anesthetist, muffled slightly by his mask. “You’ll start to feel sleepy any second now.”

  And she did, a feeling of calm and total relaxation enveloping her.

  “Pleasant dreams.”

  * * *

  She woke up and knew instantly something was wrong. Very wrong. This couldn’t be the same hospital. The smells didn’t belong there and when she managed to open her eyes she gasped at the sight of the dingy room, peeling whitewash and an old, waxy-looking linoleum floor. The anesthetic fog in her brain gradually cleared. The smell of ammonia grew ever more pungent. She’d smelled it before. In her apartment when it shouldn’t have been there. Now it shouldn’t be here. Not in the Royal and Waverley Hospital in the twenty-first century. She tried to sit up, but felt the drag on the stitches she must have been given when they removed her appendix. No keyhole surgery for her, it seemed.

  She looked around for a bell she could press to summon a nurse and find out what the hell was going on. She couldn’t find one and, given the state of the room and the iron bedstead, there couldn’t have been one. Not here. Carol had precious little experience of being in hospital – this was her first time as an inpatient – but she was certain that, however cash-strapped the NHS might be these days, they couldn’t possibly have this sort of bed anymore. Today’s hospital beds were state of the art, technology-driven affairs, with levers and switches and gadgets. Above her head should have been a fluorescent light of some kind and behind her, a wall of plug sockets, oxygen, and surely, as she had just come out of surgery, there should be staff around. Nurses at least, making sure she came out of it safely.

  “Nurse!” she yelled and listened hard for any sound. Plenty to hear but all of it outside the room. Around her she counted eleven empty beds, all made up with pristine white cotton sheets and a blanket identical to her own. “Nurse!” she called again.

  The door opened. A woman dressed from head to toe in white and sporting an elaborate cap marched in, a grim expression on her face. “Less of the noise, please, you’ll disturb the other patients.”

  Carol spread her hands expansively to cover the room. “What other patients?”

  The nurse ignored her comment. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem? I have just had surgery. My appendix has been removed.”

  “Appendix? Impossible. Such an operation would have killed you.”

  Carol felt her hackles rise. “Clearly it didn’t, or I wouldn’t be talking to you now. What’s going on here anyway? Why are you dressed like that and what is this place?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is the Royal Hospital.”

  “Oh really? Not the Royal and Waverley then?”

  “There’s no such place. Waverley Workhouse is next door. Now, Miss Warren—”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Warren. That’s your name.”

  “No, it isn’t. My name’s Carol Shaughnessy. You have the wrong person.”

  “I can assure you we do not. You are Lydia Warren and you have been admitted with severe stomach pains. It appears you have been lacing your corset too tightly and it has caused some internal disruption. Your operation has corrected that and you will be sent home in a few days to rest and recover, but you must learn from this, Miss Warren. Wear your corset a little looser and you should not be troubled again.”

  Carol listened in disbelief to this tigress of a nurse lecturing her on a garment she had never worn in her life, nor would ever dream of doing so.

  “I want to see a doctor,” Carol said.

  “All in good time. Dr. Franklyn will see you tomorrow. Meanwhile he has left strict instructions that you should rest and sleep. I shall bring you a jug of water but no food today. Tomorrow, a little steamed fish.”

  Weariness had overtaken her, so she was too tired to protest further. Maybe after some sleep she would wake up and find everything back to normal. Perhaps this was another hallucination.

  She lay back against the cool pillows and the nurse left her alone.

  Lydia Warren. Where had she heard that name before? Just as she fell asleep she remembered. The poem.

  * * *

  “Carol…Carol….” The female voice drifted into her sleep.

  She opened her eyes.

  “You’ve come to join us then?”

  Thank God, a smiling face, a young woman wearing blue scrubs, who called her by her real name.

  “You don’t know how glad I am to see you. I had such a disturbing dream.”

  “Anesthetic can do that. Anyway, you’re awake now. I’ll go and get the registrar.”

  She left Carol. All around, the bustle and chatter of patients and medical staff. She was in the recovery area, hooked up to a drip. A blood pressure machine stood next to her. Her bed had bars to stop her falling out and, draped over her shoulder, the welcome sight of a buzzer to summon help.

&
nbsp; That dream had been so real. She shuddered at the memory and recalled the acrid stench of ammonia. Surely you weren’t supposed to be able to smell anything in a dream?

  A woman she did not recognize approached her bed. “Hello there, I’m Dr. Sharma. I’m a registrar here. You’re looking well. How are you feeling after your operation?”

  “Better than before it, I think. A bit sore though.”

  “You will be for a few days. We had to go in and fetch your appendix out so you have a few stitches. It was certainly ready to go. Another twenty-four or forty-eight hours and it could have been quite serious, but the operation went well and we’re confident we caught all possible signs of infection.”

  She left shortly afterward and the nurse returned. “We’ll get you up to the ward as soon as we can get a porter.”

  Twenty minutes later, she was on her way. In the ward, the porter wheeled her into a space near the door and a nurse helped raise her into a sitting position, adjusting the angle of the bed and fluffing up a number of pillows which she positioned to give her back, neck and head support. Carol’s mouth felt dry as desert sand. “Could I have some water please?”

  “Yes, of course.” The nurse poured some from a jug on the bedside cabinet into a beaker and handed it to Carol. “Sip it gently now or you might find it coming back again.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  The nurse stayed with her while she had a few sips before gently removing the beaker from her hand. “I’ll leave it here for now. Let what you’ve had settle and see how you feel then.”

  Carol shifted in bed and felt the pull on her stitches. “Ouch.”

  “Don’t try and get up yet. Wait until tomorrow, okay?”

  She was not about to try that again. “Okay.”

  The nurse left to attend to another patient, leaving Carol to take in her surroundings. Brilliant early spring sunshine poured through the windows of the bright and airy ward until a nurse adjusted the blinds. Carol wished she hadn’t but maybe it was getting in some of the patients’ eyes.