Daughter of Kali- Awakening

by Shiulie Ghosh

  Daughter of Kali: Awakening

  Shiulie Ghosh

  Aero Productions Ltd

  Copyright © 2018 Shiulie Ghosh

  The right of Shiulie Ghosh to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  For Simon and Maya

  Chapter 1

  I was fifteen when I saw my first monster. But then, I've always been a little bit broken. When I was younger, I often saw things that weren't there. Until I made myself stop.

  Unfortunately the vision in front of me right now was all too real. Mum's ridiculous pink tie-die trousers clashed horribly with the orange kitchen blinds, and the tattoo on her upper arm flexed as she clenched her fists.

  "How dare you speak to me like that. Apologise right now!"

  Another day, another row. I didn't look at her, kept my eyes on her weird-shaped tattoo. In one of her less guarded moments she'd told me she'd had it done at about my age, when she was still in India. It was a Hindu symbol, something to do with spirituality. She probably thought it made her look cool.

  Of course, she'd absolutely forbidden me to have a tattoo.

  "Kalpurna!" she snapped. "Will you listen to me?"

  I gritted my teeth. She knew full well I never responded to that name. Her slight accent was embarrassingly more pronounced because of her irritation. 'Will' became 'vill'. It made her sound like a character from one of those Bengali films she liked so much. I shouldered past her and out the door. The Ganesh statue she kept on the shelf toppled as my school bag caught it. I didn't wait to see if it smashed.

  The early morning rain had left the dirty pavements looking greasy, and the gutters full of blackish water. It was late spring, but didn't feel like it. The sky glowered, and my face matched it. I spotted Em ahead of me.

  "Hey!" I yelled. "Hey, Em!" She looked up from her phone, her blue eyes smiling at me from behind her glasses. As usual, her blonde hair was scraped into a tight plait, and she was wearing her favourite baggy sweat shirt. I felt myself relax. Being with Em always made me feel better.

  "Hi, Kaz," she greeted me. "How was your weekend?"

  "The usual." I didn't need to elaborate, and Em looked at me sympathetically. She knew Mum and I didn't get on.

  "If it's any consolation, I'm developing a new app where you hunt down enemies and blow them up. You can test it out when it's finished." I grinned and shook my head.

  "You are so going to be a millionaire before you're twenty."

  "Better than working for a living. Come on. I want to go to the shop before school starts."

  We walked towards the newsagent, joining others heading in the same direction. I surreptitiously sniffed the sleeve of my denim jacket, to see if it smelled of the joss sticks Mum insisted on burning. She said it reminded her of home. I don't know what she was talking about, she'd lived in Britain for years.

  "Did you get that essay finished?" Em asked. I shook my head.

  "Couldn't be bothered. I'll say I was ill."

  "Kaz!" Em looked at me reproachfully. I shrugged. She was the brainy one, not me.

  The newsagent was packed, even though the sign on the door explicitly said ''Only Two Children At A Time!!!" They'd overdone the exclamation marks.

  I saw Rebecca Anderson buying a pack of cigarettes, assuring the disinterested shopkeeper she was eighteen. She caught me looking and whispered something to her mates, their blonde heads bobbing as they smirked at me. Someone shoved past me, pushing me into the magazine rack. Darren 'Gobbo' Gibbons shot me a glance over his shoulder.

  "Move, paki." I straightened up, and opened my mouth to tell him where to go. Em touched my shoulder.

  "Leave it. He's not worth it." I clamped my mouth shut and rubbed my head, which was starting to throb. Only Monday, and it was already shaping up to be one of those weeks. I waited while Em bought a coke and some sweets.

  "You getting anything?" she asked. I shook my head.

  "I'm broke." I was always broke.

  "Here." She pushed a chocolate bar into my hand. I started to protest, but she shook it off. "You're a pain when your blood sugar's low," she told me. "I'm just protecting myself."

  "Aw, thanks," I said sarcastically. But I took the chocolate.

  We walked into Mallow Bottom comp, a nineteen sixties monstrosity painted a uniform beige in every corridor. It was as if the architect had deliberately decided to make it as drab and boring as possible. My headache got worse.

  "Hey, that must be your new maths teacher," Em said, pointing in front of us. "Her picture's in the school newsletter." Only Em would get excited at the prospect of a new teacher. Or read the newsletter, for that matter. I looked at the woman sashaying down the corridor in front of us.

  She was wearing a patterned floral dress and had thick red hair coiled loosely at the nape of her neck. She was slim, with good legs that made her look as if she was gliding. She paused at the door of the maths room, and turned towards us.

  "She's pretty, isn't she?" Em asked. I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed at a point just above the teacher's head, and my heart started to beat a little bit faster.

  I hadn't seen the shadows for a long time. Not since I got better. I shut my eyes and took a breath. They’re not real. They aren’t there. I opened my eyes. They weren't there.

  "You okay?" Em's voice was full of concern, and I took a second to gather myself.

  "I've just got a bit of a headache," I said truthfully. "I'll see you at break."

  "See ya."

  Em and I didn't have many lessons together because she was top-streamed for everything. In fact she was taking her maths final early, so she was in a class full of older kids. Needless to say, I was in the bottom group for everything. We were like yin and yang.

  The new teacher smiled at me as I walked past her into the maths room, the last one in. Everyone quietened as she introduced herself.

  "Good morning, class. I'm Miss Smith, and I'm pleased to be teaching you maths this term."

  "She can teach me anything," I heard Gobbo mutter to his mates, none too quietly.

  There was a stifled guffaw, and Miss Smith's smile turned brittle. She pinned her gaze on Gobbo, who continued to grin defiantly, but only for a moment. She held his stare, and he dropped his head, flushing. Miss Smith was young, but she was no pushover.

  "Let's pick up with algebra, shall we?" she enquired briskly.

  She turned to the board and started to write out a series of numbers and letters. I decided my time would be better spent examining the pimple that had erupted on my chin. I got my little compact mirror out of my pencil case and had a quick look. Depressingly, it had decided to turn bright red. Short of an arrow pointing at it, it couldn't be more obvious. I prodded at my chin dismally. A shadow fell over me.

  "Kalpurna, isn't it? I do hope you're paying attention."

  I looked up into Miss Smith's smiling, pretty face. But there was a hint of steel in those eyes, and I could see she was annoyed.

  "No, Miss," I mumbled, covering my little mirror with my hands. “It’s Kaz, Miss.”

  "Well, Kaz, perhaps you would be kind enough to inform the rest of the class why you were looking in a mirror?" she asked brightly.

  "Um, I was just... I had something in my eye," I said. She gazed steadily at me. />
  "So you weren't checking up on your complexion then?" She stared pointedly at my chin. There was a stifled giggle from behind me, and I flushed.

  "Sorry, Miss."

  "Perhaps I'd better take that mirror till the end of class. Wouldn't want you to miss anything important, would we?" She held out her hand and with a sigh I dropped the compact into it.

  "No, Miss."

  I heard Rebecca Anderson snigger, and my cheeks burned. At least my red face was camouflaging my spot, I thought miserably. I spent the rest of the lesson pretending to listen intently.

  When the bell went a hundred years later, I walked up to Miss Smith's desk at the front where she was marking papers.

  "Could I have my mirror back, Miss Smith?"

  She raised her head and gazed at me intently.

  "You need to pay more attention in class, Kaz. You need to pay more attention to me. Do I make myself clear?"

  My head started to pound again. I knew she was looking at me, but I couldn't see her clearly. It was as if a dark cloud was writhing in front of her face. I swallowed and closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them, the shadow was gone. Not real. It's not real. She was still waiting for an answer.

  "Yes, Miss Smith."

  "Very well."

  She held out the mirror and I reached for it, my fingers brushing the back of her hand as I took it.

  That's when I saw the monster.

  In the instant I touched her, Miss Smith's face changed. For a split second, her eyes turned completely white. Not clear white, but glassy, opaque dead-fish white. No iris, no pupil. And her skin turned sickly grey, dry and cracked, with black ichor dribbling out of the wounds. Through a gaping split in her cheek I could see rotting teeth. I smelled something like decaying meat, a rank stench that made my stomach roil.

  The hairs rose up on the back of my neck. There was no other way to describe it - I could physically feel the follicles standing straight up in shock. The monster stared back at me with cloying malevolence. Its mouth opened and a mottled tongue flopped obscenely over its chin. In that moment I was absolutely sure it was going to rip my throat out. For one, long, endless second, I couldn’t breathe.

  Then Miss Smith drew her hand back, and the monster was gone. She gave no indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She was still holding my compact.

  "On second thought, I think I'll hang onto this until the end of the term. We wouldn't want you becoming vain, would we, Kaz?" She suddenly frowned and leaned forward.

  "Are you alright?"

  I forced myself to breathe, to act normally. Thoughts ricocheted through my head. Don't freak out. It's not real. It's just like when you were little. Miss Smith was still looking at me, and I wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

  "I'm fine Miss. All fine. All good."

  She held my gaze, as if she was trying to see inside my head. I swallowed, fighting the urge to scream.

  "Okay, you may go now, Kaz," she said, returning to her marking.

  I bolted for the door and fled down the corridor, grabbing Em as she came out of her classroom.

  "Hey, guess what?" she started, then stopped abruptly. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

  "I... I'm okay." The corridor was full of kids rushing to take advantage of the fifteen minute break before next period. I kept my voice low. "I think I've just had one of my panic attacks."

  Em looked closely at me.

  "You haven't had one of those for years." She took my arm and led me towards the door. "Come on, let's get you some air." We sat on the steps outside, the cool breeze like balm on my hot forehead. "What happened?"

  I looked at my hands and started rubbing my fingers where they'd touched Miss Smith's skin.

  "Nothing really. It's silly. It was only for a second." I gave a hollow laugh. "I think I was stressed out by the maths."

  When I was young, I had gone through a phase when I imagined some people weren't who they said they were. I'd see shadows behind their eyes, looking out at me. I'd been convinced my mother was one of them. The doctors said it was stress, brought on by being the only child of a single parent. I wanted to be normal, so I started pretending nothing was wrong and eventually, the visions had gone away. I had made them go away.

  Now Em was looking at me, her eyes filled with concern.

  "Do you need to tell someone? Do you want to go see the nurse?"

  "God, no." If I never saw another stethoscope again it would be too soon. I took a breath, feeling my heartbeat slowing down. "Honestly, I'm fine. It was a one off."

  "Did you have any breakfast? Here." She dug the coke can out of her bag. "Drink this."

  I took a swig gratefully, and closed my eyes as I felt the glucose doing its job.

  "God, I love sugar," I muttered. I opened my eyes and looked at Em. "Don't say anything. Mum'll drag me to the doctor. She'll think I'm mad again." Em shook her head, making a zipping motion.

  "Lips sealed. Although…" she hesitated.

  "What?"

  "Well, you have been watching a lot of horror movies lately. That one you made me watch about the zombies...." she shuddered. I loved horrors, but Em was more a rom-com kind of girl. "They're really gruesome. Maybe they're messing with your brain?"

  I gave her a look.

  "You sound like Mum."

  "Hey, I'm not the one going schizo."

  "Okay, okay," I admitted grudgingly. "You may have a point."

  "Do you feel better now?"

  Strangely, I did. My headache had disappeared, the pulse behind my right eyeball almost gone.

  "Yeah. Thanks. Although just so you know, 'schizo' is a very non-PC term."

  "Bonkers, then."

  "Better." I remembered something. "Hey, what was it you wanted to tell me? Outside your class?"

  Em beamed.

  "Oh yeah! Guess what? We've got a new boy in our maths class. His family just moved back here from abroad. He grew up in Saudi Arabia! He's really cute and he's like, I don't know, a maths genius."

  "What, someone as good at maths as you? Impossible!"

  "No, it's true. He's really cool too, we were analysing data sets together using empirical distributions."

  "Yes, that is obviously the definition of cool," I said drily.

  "He's really nice, Kaz. And he's new so he hasn't any friends. And we got on really well. Maybe he'll ask me to the prom!"

  The prom was the end of the term party for the final year students, before they moved up to sixth form. Already there were cheesy posters in the hallways all over the school, designed to make anyone not invited feel totally worthless.

  "Whoa, slow down," I laughed. "How would you get that past your Dad?" Em's Dad was the local police chief. To say he was protective of his only daughter was an understatement. Em shrugged.

  "Cross that bridge when I come to it."

  "What's he look like?" I asked, curious, despite myself.

  "He's kind of tall, with spiky hair. And gorgeous greeny-blue eyes. Like the sea!"

  "Oh, like the sea!" I mimicked her. "Better hope your kids get his eyes then, not yours, Mrs Magoo."

  "Shut up."

  I took another swig of coke, just as the door across from us opened. Miss Smith stepped out. She started chivvying everyone back inside for class. I watched her carefully for a moment, but everything was back to normal. No shadows.

  ◆◆◆

  When I got home, Mr Patel was in our hallway. He was a big, unshaven, sweaty man, and unfortunately he owned our house.

  "Mrs Deva, you owe me rent for this month. I am being very considerate and patient, I am giving you time to pay, and I am still not seeing the money. When you can pay?"

  To be fair, Mr Patel had a point. Mum forgets to pay the rent as often as she forgets to buy milk. Every three months or so Mr Patel would come round and demand cash, looming over Mum who is just five foot four in her socks. I knew he wasn't a bad man, that he just wanted what he was owed, but I hated that he tr
ied to intimidate her. And I was mad at Mum for not standing up to him. Even now she was trying to calm him down.

  "Mr Patel, I’m so sorry, you’ll have your money this week, I promise. How is Mrs Patel? And the children?"

  Mr Patel didn’t want to be mollified, but Mum had on her sweet expression and men seemed to like that. He toned his voice down, mumbling that the family were fine, but he really needed the rent this week.

  Mum showed him out, shooting me a warning glance.

  The last time Mr Patel had come round to our house, I’d called him a fat pig and told him to get out. How was I to know that calling a Muslim a pig was a really big insult? This time I kept my mouth shut, glowering at him sullenly as he pushed his big belly out through the front door. Mum closed it behind him.

  "Why are you always so nice to him?" I started, stomping into the kitchen. It smelled of spices. Mum had been cooking.

  "Why are you always so bad-tempered?" she asked. She followed me through, pulling distractedly at her messy pony-tail. She and I had exactly the same long jet-black hair. Except that I managed to wash mine occasionally.

  We sat at the kitchen table together. I couldn't help noticing the statue of the elephant god Ganesh was still in one piece. It sat on the shelf looking smugly down its trunk. Eventually I broke the silence.

  "Are you working tonight?"

  "No. Henry doesn't need me." Henry was the disabled Professor Mum was paid to look after in the evenings. She gave me a small smile. "I'm sorry about this morning."

  I shrugged. It had been another stupid argument, I couldn't even remember what it was about.

  "What's for dinner?"

  "I made some chana dhal...." she saw my face. "But actually, I have a spare tenner left. Let's get some pizza in, okay?"

  She shot me a hopeful look, willing me to declare a truce, at least for tonight. I bit back a retort about how a tenner was pretty pathetic and she should find a proper job. I was exhausted by the constant arguing, so I just nodded.

  She jumped up to phone the pizza place, the gold stud in her nose glinting. Like the tattoo, this wasn't her trying to be cool. It was just another leftover of Mum's childhood.