by Cari Thomas
She must have left her bag in the kitchen when she was with Peter, but there was no way her phone would have rung. It had been off. She took it out of her bag and searched the call list. There it was – not a call from Aunt, but a call to Aunt. Darcey.
A car door slammed. Aunt approached, her face devoid of emotion – a mirror of Anna’s feelings. ‘Get in the car. Now.’
Anna felt herself propelled towards it. Faces watched from the windows of the house. A nest of wasps. The sting had released its poison. Anna almost made it to the car door but then stopped and threw up on the lawn.
EYES
Like a row of knots in a cord, the Dark Times are fated to return over and over. We must remain vigilant. We must be prepared. The Ones Who Know Our Secrets are only waiting, ready to light the fires that will see their shadows rise.
The Return, The Book of the Binders
The car was filled with a silence of such intensity Anna had never known anything like it. It was like watching the readings before the earthquake hits – a silence that threatened to break at any moment, but didn’t, the waves of it growing more severe. Anna knew how to interpret Aunt’s silences, but she didn’t want to know the meaning of this one.
‘Aunt, I—’ Anna’s mouth snapped shut against her will, cleaving her weak explanation in two. It beat against her mouth.
Anna did not attempt to speak again until they arrived home. ‘Aunt, please, let me—’
Aunt made a knotting movement in the air and Anna’s mouth snapped shut again, this time painfully.
‘Please, it’s not as—’
Aunt twisted her fingers and Anna’s tongue twisted in response. Anna tried to call out in pain but the sound forced its way back down her throat like a block of cold air.
She tried to find other words that might break through, but the more she wanted to speak the harder it became to breathe – the words lodged in her throat. Aunt watched her struggle. Please, Anna thought and then tried to think no more. She held her Knotted Cord and let go of the desperation inside her.
Aunt followed her up the stairs. Anna walked into her room braced for the worst telling-off of her life but Aunt shut the door behind her. Anna heard Aunt’s footsteps disappearing down the corridor. She turned the handle gently – it was locked. There was no lock on her door but it was locked nonetheless.
Anna didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to wonder what Aunt would do to her, she didn’t want to remember the faces looking at her from the windows, nor bring to mind Darcey’s satiated smile or – worse – the blue of Peter’s eyes. She took off the green dress and left it in a pile on the floor.
She tried to fall into the nothingness of sleep, but sleep was different now. Dreams came to her.
They laughed at her. Laughed at her like a thousand faces laughing from windows that went on and on forever. They pushed her off a cliff, let her fall and then jolted her awake, heart pounding. She was holding her silver handheld mirror – Attis and Effie stood behind her, their hands over her eyes, then around her body, embracing, suffocating. Attis’s fingers forming symbols on her skin. Seven circles. Effie turned the mirror around and the whole school was before her, waiting for her to speak – only the faces were changing, becoming the Binders, chanting, chanting, chanting; rose petals flying.
The dreams woke her again and again, her pillow damp with sweat, her sheets a twisted prison. Dreams are torture. Let me be. Then noises in the night. Footsteps on the floor above her – the third floor. Is it Aunt? What time is it? Am I dreaming? Then she was locked in the third-floor room, the curtains drawn and the walls drawing in around her, turning to water, to blood, drowning her in a green velvet dress.
When Anna woke in the morning she was exhausted. The dreambinder was tightly knotted. She took it down and began to undo the knots, hoping the action of releasing them might release her mind.
She waited for Aunt to knock, but she did not come. Anna went to her balcony doors. Dark clouds lay across the sky in lines like a ribcage, a frail, breathy breeze passing through the gaps and stirring the trees, knocking off the last few leaves. She tried to open the door but the key rattled against it ineffectually. Everything was locked.
She waited, aware of her growing hunger and fear. She waited all day.
Evening came and Anna’s heart jumped as she heard the door open – finally! Aunt did not look at her. She placed a small plate of food and a glass of milk on the dressing table and closed the door again. Anna felt like throwing the glass against it. She can’t do this! She can’t keep me locked up in here like this! Anna snatched up the glass and stormed to her bathroom, emptying the milk down the sink – she’d had enough of Aunt’s poison. She ate the food greedily; the last thing she’d eaten had been the pizza with Peter.
The night soon came, full of dreams again, disturbing and lucid.
When Monday morning arrived, Anna expected to be released – Aunt never let her miss a day of school even when she was ill. She woke thinking about how blissful it would be to take a shower. When six came there was no knock on the door. By seven, she was going out of her mind. By nine, she’d resigned herself to the fact she was not going to school, that she may never be let out of the room again.
She began to feel that she might go insane. She tried to study, she tried to read, she gave up and stared out of the window, watching the December evening come on inch by inch, the light disappearing to nothingness without a trace of it ever having been there at all. She longed to speak to Rowan, Manda, Effie, Attis, to hear them laugh about her psychotic aunt and make her life somehow feel as if it was copeable with, escapable. Are they missing me too?
Aunt dropped off her dinner but when Anna attempted to protest her tongue was twisted and her mouth was locked shut once more. Aunt left and Anna banged against the door ferociously and desperately, knowing she was only making it worse. Eventually, she had nothing left. She took herself to bed and ran her Knotted Cord through her hands, loathing every single knot.
When she fell asleep the dreams were waiting. Aunt was brushing her hair, but then the face in the mirror was her mother’s, the two interchanging, blending into one face, featureless as the Six Women. The mirror in her hand began to melt, running out of the frame like a river in moonlight. The river flowed across her floor, turning the carpet to shadowy grass, small, pale flowers growing among the blades and blossoming – bright as fallen stars. It ran beneath her bookcase, which began to transform into a tree, the wood of the shelves wrapping around themselves, wrinkling with deep lines of bark, spreading branches from which silver fruit began to grow …
Anna walked towards it, feeling the river run over her feet. She reached out to pluck a fruit from the tree but it fell before she could reach it and made a thud as it hit the floor. She woke.
Her toes under the sheets felt distinctly wet. The moonlight was pouring through her window – she’d left the curtains open. It streamed onto her mirror and cast a reflection which fell over her bookcase. A book had fallen onto the floor.
She stepped out of bed and walked over to it. It was the medical encyclopaedia Aunt had given her last Christmas. Anna picked it up and then remembered what she’d done: she quickly peeled the dust cover off the book and there underneath was the collection of fairy tales from Selene. After her birthday, Anna had put the encyclopedia cover over it to hide it from Aunt and then had promptly forgotten about it. The engraving of a tree and its upside-down reflection caught the moonlight and shone like a pearl in the creamy oyster fabric. It was beautiful. Perhaps its old words would be a comfort, or at the very least lull her back to sleep. She crept into bed and opened the book to the first story.
The Eyeless Maiden
Once upon a time there was a young maiden who lived on the edge of the forest with her mother. She longed to explore the forest but her mother would have none of it. An old spindle-seller who had once visited the house had said there was a lake deep within that, when the moon rose in the sky, revealed all truths.
She stepped into the cool shadows of the forest. She walked deeper and deeper still, the darkness thickening, stealing the bird away until she could not see it any more. She became afraid. The trees grew closer; the shadows loomed. She swore they were moving around her, prowling, snarling – beastly, wolfish outlines behind the trees, watching.
A clatter of hooves made her scream, but it was three men on horseback passing her by: one dressed in red, one in black and one in white. She ran after them but they disappeared quickly. Still, their movement and action had chased away the shadows and the trees began to clear. The girl came across a strange house.
It was squatting on four scrawny chicken legs and whirring around and around in a mad dance. It stopped and sat down. The maiden saw with horror that the bolts of its doors and windows were made of human fingers, toes and teeth. She turned to run but heard a voice from within. ‘What is it you seek, little girl?’
She didn’t like to be rude so she replied: ‘Good day to you. I seek the forest lake.’
The old woman cackled and it sounded like the ground was breaking in two. ‘Why should I help you?’
‘Because I asked.’
‘That is the right answer. Come in.’
The girl stepped into the strange cottage. It was a sorry state inside, such a mess and a tangle you could barely move.
‘If you wish to know where the lake is you must clean the house all over by the end of the day!’ said the woman and left with a slam of the door.
Knowing the task was impossible, the maiden sat down and began to cry. But then the little bird hopped through the window and began to tidy. They worked together and soon it was done.
The old woman returned and seeing the maiden had completed her task shrieked with rage. She gave the girl food to eat and a key of silver, then fell asleep on her bed in the corner and snored loudly. The maiden tried the key in the locked door but it did not work. She lay down and slept.
The next day the old woman pointed at a pile of clothes as high as a mountain and said: ‘If you wish to know where the lake is you must wash them all by the end of the day!’
Once she had gone the maiden sat down and began to cry. But the little bird appeared once more and began to take the clothes to the well. They worked together and soon it was done.
The old woman returned and seeing the maiden had completed her task jumped up and down with rage. She gave the girl food to eat and a key made of water, then fell asleep on her bed in the corner. The maiden tried the new key in the locked door but it did not work. She lay down and slept.
The next day the old woman pointed at the clean pile of clothes and said: ‘If you wish to know where the lake is you must sew and mend them all by the end of the day!’
The clothes were as holed as blocks of cheese and the maiden sat down and began to cry. The little bird appeared once more with needle and thread in its mouth and began to sew. They worked together and soon it was done.
The old woman returned and seeing the maiden had completed her task laughed with rage. She asked to see the maiden’s finger. The maiden held out her hand and the old woman chopped her finger clean off. She returned with a key made of blood.
The maiden asked about the three men on horseback.
‘They belong to me,’ said the old woman. ‘They transform day to night and night back to day. Do you wish to know more?’
The maiden said she did not.
‘Good, for to know too much can make one old too soon.’ The old woman led the maiden to the back door. ‘Go that way with your three keys and you shall know the truth.’
The little bird hopped ahead and the maiden followed, travelling deeper into the forest until she reached a clearing in the trees. Before her was a vast ditch. She took the keys from her pocket and threw them into it. The ditch filled quickly with silver water and when the moonlight shone above the lake it became a mirror.
The maiden leant over and looked into the lake. She saw a beautiful apple grove, the grass speckled with daisies, the trees full and green, the apples red as blushes. Her eyes widened in wonder and the little bird flew down and pecked them right out. Her eyes fell into the lake and the girl could see no more.
Aunt had told her a version of the tale when she’d been young. You see, little girls should do as they are told or else … She could almost hear Aunt’s warnings now, waiting like shadows in the wake of the story. She wondered if her mother would have read it to her. Selene had said the tales had been her mother’s favourites. Anna closed the pages and held the book tightly – it was something then, something that connected them.
She reached into the back of her drawer and took out the photograph of her parents. It was full of sunlight compared to the darkness of the night. Who are you? Anna thought. She’d always avoided the question, but now, staring at her mother’s smile, she wondered at all the other things that had brought that smile to her face – what she’d liked, what had made her laugh, whom she’d loved. Anna found herself smiling back. She looked beyond to the green lawn behind, the tree spreading its branches.
Her heart lurched. The branches …
She knew that branch, the way it curved almost back on itself. She knew that tree.
Anna sat holding the photograph until morning arrived. It took a long time – the winter light did not come quickly. She went to her balcony.
The branches of the tree in the centre of their back garden were plain to see, the thickest and lowest curving back on itself. She held up the photo and compared them but she was already sure. It was the same sycamore tree. She knew its leaves when they came in summer and the photo was full of them.
She let the idea of it sink in slowly, sinking to the floor.
My parents were here, at this house. Did they once live here?
Aunt had said that they had lived in London but she’d never said where. Surely she’d mention if it had been here. Another lie, perhaps, or a truth conveniently forgotten? Anna had never considered before how Aunt had even afforded their house on a nurse’s salary – it had just always been their house. Had it?
She looked out to the garden again and imagined her mother sitting beneath the tree. It was another connection. A connection that was too much to bear.
The tears came from nowhere. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried but now they poured out of her, hot on her cheeks, a surrendering deep inside her body. Everything threatened to overwhelm her – being locked in the room, missing her friends, fearing her aunt and the Binders, love, magic, longing for a mother she’d never known.
She cried until she had nothing left to give, shuddering to a stop, lying down on the floor and falling back into a deep and blissful sleep upon a grassy, starlit bank near a silver river.
The rest of the week passed in slow torture. At first, Anna’s discovery kept her occupied. She spent hours looking at the photo, wondering about Aunt’s lies, her parents, the room on the third floor above her – Does that hold secrets too? – obsessing over what it could all mean – if it meant anything at all. But as the days rolled by, her desperation, without anything but hopelessness to sustain it, began to wither. She wasn’t drinking the milk but she wasn’t taking her tisane either and she could feel the tendrils of the bindweed still inside her taking hold. The dreams began to slow and then stopped altogether. Her thoughts slowed too; her sense of purpose dispersed like the clouds beyond her window. Will I ever escape?
Late on Thursday a banging on the front door disturbed her gloom. Voices. Selene. Selene was shouting. Anna ran to her door and pressed her ear against it.
‘She’s sixteen! She
went to a party, for Goddess’s sake, she didn’t kill someone! How dare you keep her locked up there! You’re insane, Vivienne, you’re—’
Then Aunt’s harsh tones. Anna couldn’t quite make out the words – their voices turned to a bickering murmur and then disappeared. Anna listened for what seemed like forever until she heard the front door slam shut. Selene was gone. Don’t go!
The next day came and went. Hearing Selene’s voice had made it all harder again, had run like a river through her defences. When Aunt brought dinner Anna was close to falling on the floor and begging, but then she noticed that Aunt didn’t have a plate in her hand at all. Instead, she opened the door wider. ‘You can come downstairs.’ Her voice was as strained as a spring pulled out of shape.
It’s a trick. A trap. Anna didn’t care.
‘Shower first or you’ll ruin dinner.’ They were the best words Aunt had ever said.
Anna felt almost human again, entering the kitchen. The food was dry and flavourless but she ate eagerly. Aunt watched the speed at which she consumed with transparent contempt but said nothing. As soon as Anna had finished the queasiness set in; she realized that she might be out of her room now but that she was probably safer locked inside.
Aunt beckoned her into the living room. The glow from the lamp couldn’t quite permeate the room. The fire remained bare, the tapestries glared down at them remorselessly, garrulous, muttering verses of fear and protection. Aunt patted the seat beside her. Anna sat down, ready for the worst.
‘Do you know that the skin around your mother’s neck was black and blue?’ said Aunt matter-of-factly. ‘The strangulation had been so intense she’d bled from her mouth.’
Anna thought of her mother’s face in the photograph, full of life, her smile inescapable. She held the Knotted Cord in her pocket, worried the tears would come again.