Path to the Night Sea

by Gilmore, Alicia;

  ‘C’mon, tell me what I know.’

  Jack shrugged. He didn’t want to do this. He wished he were out there, being buffeted by the waves. He didn’t want to be trapped on this cliff with Arthur. He didn’t want anything to do with him, ever again.

  ‘You killed my dad’s birds. I know it was you. And you left that bird in my bed.’

  Arthur smirked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You do.’

  The smile dropped from his face. ‘And you know what you’re going to do about it, faggot? Nothing.’

  ‘I’m going to tell. Once I tell my dad what you did to his birds, what you did to your sister, everyone will know. They’ll believe me.’ Jack hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt.

  ‘You changed your tune pretty damn quick, didn’t you? And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. You think your dad’s going to care what his limp-wristed son says? He’ll kill you.’

  Jack let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’ His voice shook, as if his mouth doubted the veracity of the words it was stuttering out. He couldn’t go home if his dad knew. He wouldn’t have a home.

  ‘You wanna see what happens?’ Arthur looked cocky. ‘Didn’t you tell me your dad threatened to knock some guy’s front teeth out for saying owning birds was gay? That you’d be better off dead?’ Bile rose to Jack’s mouth. He couldn’t stomach being around Arthur anymore. With his entire being he regretted ever speaking to him, ever befriending the younger boy, liking his dark brooding looks, his initial puppy-dog devotion. That had vanished. Things had spiralled out of control.

  ‘Fuck you.’ He just wanted to escape. Escape his parents, escape this small town, escape the mines and the wharves, escape his mad, dangerous friend.

  ‘Fuck me, huh?’ Arthur raised the rifle to his shoulder and squinted. In the distance, a seagull hovered, buoyed by the coastal winds.

  ‘See that?’ With one shot the bird fell from the sky. Arthur didn’t walk over to see if he’d killed it outright, just grinned at Jack. ‘I’m a good shot. Hey.’ Arthur pointed the gun at Jack and jerked his head towards the bush. ‘That way.’

  Jack felt his stomach sink as he started to walk. He had to escape.

  

  The dark was treacherous and it beckoned Ellie. The mocking days of autumn were showing the hollowness of their promise of an extended summer. Nights came earlier now. Today Ellie had sewn and dug, and now she made her way under the leaden sky towards the shoreline. On the horizon, she spied small beams of light from a far-off freighter. The distance between that ship and the land was unfathomable to her. The cold, incoming breeze tousled her unwashed hair in salt-laden gusts. To the south, she could make out a glow of light; Daddy had told her to the south were Wollongong and the steel works. Ellie dropped her father’s shoes and her socks on the ground.

  Her bare feet, tingling from the combination of the cold and fragments of shells underfoot, sank into the damp sand at the water’s edge. The tide was singing to her. She pictured the undertow sweeping her out to sea and shuddered. She’d come so close to drowning last night, but the ocean was still chillingly seductive.

  An image from the Illustrated Bible came to her. Moses had parted the Red Sea with a staff and boldly stepped past towering walls of water that ached to be released. She raised her arms and imagined herself with a driftwood bough pointed seaward and a voice of command. Would the waves part for her? She had no rod. She saw herself on that walk into the recessed ocean, following a straight line, her feet anchored amongst the deep-sea bed and weeds, the water pressure building and pressing against every pore.

  ‘No.’ God wouldn’t save her. He hadn’t saved her. She had to save herself. Ellie reached for the zip on the jacket. The water might still hold some of the day’s warmth and, if she didn’t go in as deep as last night, surely she’d be fine. Voices invaded the night air. Her hand stilled on the zipper. She started to move back across the beach. Ellie stumbled, her legs numb from standing so still on the wet, rutted sand. The voices became louder. She stooped, grabbed her shoes, and ducked behind one of the boulders that had long ago broken free of the cliff. Young men, teenagers, scuffled their way down the path. They were close. Too close. She prayed they hadn’t seen her. She heard their laughter, a clink of bottles, and fancied she could smell beer. Her stomach coiled.

  The boys trudged slowly, drunkenly, across the loose sand, their tread uneven as they cheered one of their group—Jeremy? Jerome?—for either humping or thumping Sarah; Ellie wasn’t sure. The words were lost to the hum and slap of the waves. The boys stopped as one flung an empty bottle into an oncoming breaker. Another laughed and pointed further along the shoreline, past the swimming pool and the natural rock pools. The incoming tide had covered most of the rock platform, its surface illusive and perilous. As a pack they turned and sauntered into a small cave under one of the rocky eaves.

  Ellie had to remind herself to breathe, to slow her racing heart, but hadn’t the courage to move on. It wasn’t safe. The outside world was never safe.

  She heard ripping, cardboard tearing, and saw a flash of light. Some letters were illuminated as the remains of the beer carton were ignited. The boys huddled around their impromptu campfire, calling out to one another to collect driftwood. The flames flared a bluish-green and Ellie guessed they’d found enough salty wood to fuel their fire.

  She started to back away from the path and winced as she trod on something sharp that pierced the skin on her heel. She clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that threatened to escape. Ellie raised her left foot. In the dim light she could see something protruding from it. She bit down on her lip. Trying to keep her balance on her right leg, she heard the boy’s voices carry on the wind towards her.

  ‘That girl.’

  Fear kept her still. With her stinging foot cupped in her hand, Ellie felt warm blood trickle into her palm.

  ‘Those two girls…’

  She took a ragged breath. They couldn’t be talking about her. She placed the shard that had torn her heel in her pocket. She might need it. Something dangerous to pin Daddy down.

  ‘Man, the way they looked when we walked into the room.’

  ‘They wanted you, man.’

  ‘I could’ve…’

  She couldn’t make out the rest of the words, but she could hear their laughter. It drenched her in panic and horror. She had to escape. She had to get home. Where it was safe. She limped towards the path. Her foot stung with each step, but she tried to speed up. She would be safe behind the locked doors. She stopped walking. Had she locked the doors?

  ‘Stupid, stupid girl.’ She took a step forward and flinched as her heel touched the ground. All of her treasures were at home. Mummy was at home. Maisie was home.

  The boys had stirred a sense of fear in her. The world is not safe. Daddy had told her that, again and again. Stay inside, he’d said. Stay in. You won’t survive out there.

  ‘Home,’ she whispered. ‘Home, where it is safe.’ The world was dangerous and raw. Her muscles were ridged with tension and her jaw was clenched. Perhaps Daddy had spoken the truth: the world outside was not for her. She trudged up the hill towards her street, avoiding the confronting glow of the street lights. She belonged in the shadows, in the darkness, hidden and apart from the world. Back to the refuge of the solemn little house where there were no dogs, no boys. She would bandage the cut on her heel and explore the chest, the papers, and objects she had brought in from the shed. She could sing to her babies. It was her house now. It was safe. It was her world within those encapsulating walls, just as it had always been.

  Her heel throbbed with every step up the hill and into the house. Ellie slipped off her shoes by the back door and, unaware of the trail of bloody footsteps she’d left behind her, entered the lounge room. She switched on the light and groaned as sh
e sank down into her father’s chair. She gazed down at the largest of the skeletons on the floor and smiled.

  ‘Hullo, Mummy, hullo, babies. I’m home.’

  Shuffling footsteps sounded behind her and Ellie whipped her head around.

  ‘Perce?’ There was no answering mew, no furry head butting gently against her legs. Ellie hesitated.

  ‘Daddy?’

  The house wasn’t hers after all. It still felt like him, as if his being somehow infused the very air. I’m just imagining, she told herself. It’s okay. I’m okay. Groaning as she stood, Ellie methodically checked the entire house, switching on every light. Everything seemed to be in its rightful place, until she got to her room. Her sketchbook was lying open to her father’s portrait. Reproaching her. Had she left it like this before she’d left? With a quick brush of her hand, Ellie shut the sketchbook and picked it up gingerly between her fingers, not wanting to extend contact. She flung it into the wardrobe and shut the door.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ she muttered, heading to his room and turning on the light. ‘I’m sorry, okay?’ He lay motionless on the bed and didn’t respond. ‘Dammit, Daddy. Why are you doing this to me? Why won’t you leave me alone?’ Ellie stared at him, her hands fluttering in front of her. She stepped backwards, keeping her eyes on him until she had closed the bedroom door. Stay put, she willed him. Just stay for one more night. Tomorrow, I’ll make it better. Moving to the kitchen, she opened the wooden door and stared through the screen door into the dark back yard.

  ‘Perce? Percival?’ Her whisper seemed lost in the night. Her hands and breath still shook. It’s okay, I’m okay.

  ‘Perce? Puss?’ She called again, cajoled. ‘Please?’ There was no rustle of plants, no eyes glinting in the night. ‘You’ll have to stay out,’ she said softly. She locked the back door and double-checked that all of the windows and doors were shut tight. It’s okay, I’m okay. Just one more night.

  Ellie retreated to the bathroom. Tentatively, she placed her foot in the bathtub and let warm water run over it, forcing herself to keep the stinging wound under the flow to wash it clean of sand and dirt. She tried to dry her foot with a towel, but the blood kept coming. Maybe it needed stitches like she’d had in the hospital. Ellie shuddered and gave up trying to stem the flow, wrapping the towel around her foot in a makeshift bandage. It would have to do. She had other things—others—to attend to. She hobbled to the lounge room.

  ‘It’s all right my darlings. We’re safe.’ She sat down cross-legged on the floor across from a smiling girl in a red cardigan with ladybird buttons. ‘Want to play, Maisie? I’ve missed you so much.’

  Maisie looked sad.

  ‘No?’ Ellie tried again. ‘Are you tired?’ Maisie faded, and in her place was a jumbled skeleton. A skull. ‘No!’ Ellie closed her eyes. Maisie was here, Mummy was here, her babies were here. It was late, it was…

  ‘Past your bedtime.’ She opened her eyes. Here were her babies. Here was Maisie. ‘Yes, it’s time for bed. You must be so tired. You were lying there all that time and I woke you up and my darlings, my babies, it’s too late for you.’ Her voice had taken on a sing-song, fragile quality, as if it everything could snap with the wrong words. She had never had guests before. She hobbled to the linen closet. A towel. Sheets. Guests would need to be taken care of.

  Back in the lounge room, she folded the towel and lined the bottom of the suitcase.

  ‘Maybe that will do?’ Ellie looked down at her guests. No, they weren’t guests, they were family. ‘It’s bedtime.’ She picked up one of her babies, bone by bone, and placed it inside the case, followed by the other. It would be cramped in their makeshift crib, but there was still room for Maisie.

  ‘There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over…’ She sang softly. She looked over to her mother lying on the blanket. ‘Mummy, do you want to look after them?’ Ellie nodded. Mummy would keep them safe.

  Her foot was pulsating when she went to her own bed. Ellie wished Mummy would get up and look after her. Mummy would know what to do. Ellie closed her eyes and tried to will away the pain. If her foot didn’t get better, she wouldn’t be able to walk to the beach, she wouldn’t be able to swim. She would have to stay inside, and then how would she bury Daddy? Ellie shuddered. The house was silent. The clock had finally wound down and stopped ticking. It would all be okay. It had to be.

  Day Seven

  The dogs were howling. They were hungry. They were looking for their bones.

  ‘Yes, I’m coming,’ she whispered to the dark. It was time. Today she would replace what she had taken away. She would return him to his precious dogs. The dogs could feast on Daddy.

  The sun would rise soon and she wanted the cover of the predawn to begin. Daddy would like the dark. Ellie gasped and flinched when she tried to put weight on her injured left foot. Even though she had rinsed the wound where the shell had sliced her heel, it had throbbed and pulsed with pain all night, disturbing the little sleep she’d had. She dressed, swaddling her sore foot in two pairs of thick socks, and made her halting way down the corridor. She had work to do. Today she would bury him. It was the only way to be free.

  Ellie switched on the light and looked down at her handiwork, letting her fingers drift over the names. Her stitching was uneven, not as perfect as she’d wanted it to be for those she was honouring, but it would have to do. The different-coloured threads, red for Maisie, light blue for the baby boy, pink for the baby girl and the foetus, green for Mummy, and black for her own name—Eleanor Clements. She had stitched it in full. Proof that she had survived, that she existed. Her fingers drifted towards his face. She hadn’t been able to complete her final stitches yesterday, hadn’t been able to seal up his shroud. Her hand fluttered over his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Her lips parted, but no words sprang forth. For untold years his had been the only face she had seen. She had both loved and hated that venomous face, prayed to be free, yet had found herself unable to lose sight of it forever.

  ‘Oh, Daddy.’

  His skin had taken on a discoloured, flaky appearance. She could picture a forked tongue coming out of his mouth. Her father’s scales were visible now. He was shedding his human disguise. When embroidering the names, she had fought the conflicting urges to kiss that mottled peeling skin or to let loose and lash out, to belt him as hard as she could, without fear of reprisal. But she had been unable to do either.

  Ellie reached into the sewing tin at the side of the bed and tried to thread two strands of white cotton through the eye of a needle. Her hands were unsteady. It took her a couple of shaky attempts. She leant forward and touched her lips to his forehead.

  ‘Goodbye, Daddy.’

  She made short work of closing the top of the shroud and decisively knotted the final stitch, stepping back from the bed, proud of the misshapen white lump.

  ‘I’m ready now. It’s time.’ She nodded at his covered face. ‘You get to go where they were. You get to lie in the dark like they did.’

  She bent down and tried to pick him up. The sheet was already stuck to him in places and she didn’t know where to hold him, or even how to hold him. She lifted the side of the sheet and could feel the weight of his body resisting.

  ‘Oh.’ This was going to be harder than she’d thought. I can do this. I have to. ‘One, two, three.’ She hugged his body around his bloated chest and tried to pull him forward. She let go and he flopped back down on the bed. If she’d succeeded in moving him at all, she could barely tell. She leant across the body, grabbed the sides of the shroud facing away from her and pulled it towards her. She gained momentum and managed to half pull, half roll his body off the bed. He hit the floor with a moist, satisfying thud. He was face down. That would never do. She rolled him onto his back.

  It took both hands to grab his shoulders and try to pull him forward. She groaned. She couldn’t get a proper grip; it would have to be his le
gs. With her hands on his ankles, she dragged his body around and started backing towards the door. He felt… odd. Almost squishy. She let go. She didn’t want to touch him more than necessary. Ellie tugged at the corners of the shroud and felt his body shift further down the sheet. Her hunched shoulders ached as she tried to manoeuvre him across the bedroom floor and into the hallway. The fabric kept slipping from her hands.

  ‘Damn.’ She’d have to keep hold of him: the sheet wasn’t enough. She bunched the fabric around his ankles once more and pulled. The carpet made her progress slow and his body snagged on the doorframe.

  ‘Come on now, Daddy.’ She tugged again. She had pictured herself sliding his body effortlessly out of the house and into the enclosure. She hadn’t considered carpet or doorframes. She pulled again to no effect.

  ‘Damn! Blast!’ She voiced her father’s words and they made her giggle. Her smile faded as she contemplated his position.

  ‘You can’t do this.’ The words were not hers. She looked down at the shroud. She could see his face through the cotton. He was glaring at her with reddened eyes, his mouth moving incongruously in those bloated cheeks. ‘You can’t do this to me, girl.’

  ‘The dogs want you.’

  ‘My dogs…’

  ‘The dogs need you.’

  ‘You need me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t live without me, Ellie. I won’t let you.’

  She growled. ‘You have to.’ She blinked and was left with embroidered names and white sheeting. The sooner she got him in the ground, the better. Wincing, Ellie stepped around the ill-defined lump and crouched down, putting her hands where she guessed his shoulders to be. She tried to lift his weight as best she could to shift him sideways.