Seven Strange Stories

by Rebecca Lloyd

  ‘Our mother will come to meet with us later,’ Domescia announced. ‘She doesn’t eat any longer, so she does not attend when we gather, but she was concerned you might think badly of her if she was absent from our feast.’

  I found myself shrugging in a surly kind of way. ‘But this is the first I’ve ever heard of her,’ I said, ‘. . . and she doesn’t have a clue who I am.’

  ‘But we have talked to her about you at length,’ Carboh said, ‘and she has a great desire to meet you.’

  ‘Me?’ I asked, ‘to meet me?’

  ‘In particular, you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t know our ways. She would like to help you with them.’

  ‘And Eddie does know your ways?’ I asked, pointing at him.

  ‘He senses them rather than knows them; in that regard he is generous.’

  I could feel a surge of fury rising in me at her words. Eddie senses them? Eddie is generous? I clenched my jaw and studied my own hands so that I could get a moment’s relief from looking at the faces of those women.

  Before I could think of what next to say to them, the door opened and the other five entered, and with them came a perfume—a scent—so exquisite and lingering, that I could scarcely help myself, I threw my head back and inhaled deeply and the long drawn out sigh that I heard came from my own lips.

  I try to remember the moment often. The women came in, walking one behind the other, and arranged themselves cross-legged on the floor in a circle around the cushion nest. At what point Domescia and Carboh shifted to join the outer circle, I cannot be sure, but it ended up with Eddie and me facing each other within the circle of women. The drowsiness that overcame me was utterly delicious, and the only other time I can remember smelling a scent as compelling, was when I was taking photographs in the concrete suburbs of Tangiers, and the scent of the Night Queen wafted across the neighbourhood. Someone told me that on the night the single flower blossoms, dogs and quarrelling lovers become silent in the hypnotic miasma. I tried to read my brother’s face through my curious other worldliness, because surely it was happening to him as well. He seemed very composed, but nothing about his expression told me he was wallowing in the same way I found myself to be.

  We ate things; how and when it happened, I do not know, but we ate things. We ate sticky messy unidentifiable stuff, and I found myself so ravenous that I didn’t care to question what it was I was putting into my mouth. Eddie and I were talking, I know we were, and from time to time, one of the women made a remark, or someone laughed behind us. But I don’t remember the details. At a certain point, a change occurred; the mother entered the room, and however mesmerised I’d become, her presence demanded utter attention. I sat up properly on the cushions and looked above the heads of the daughters to a tall, gaunt woman in dark clothing. She had no hair. I glanced at Eddie who was smiling up at her in an obsequious way that made a flare of anger arise in my belly.

  ‘You should be happy for your brother, Ross,’ the mother whispered as if she could see instantly what I was feeling. ‘He has discarded his earth bonds so he can forever float.’

  After that, I know a conversation took place, and I believe it went this way with me replying: ‘You’ve just said something that means diddly-squat to me, Mam.’

  ‘That is no more than I expected,’ the mother murmured, ‘I was told about you.’

  I looked quickly at Domescia and Carboh, the only two of the seven weird sisters I had met. They smiled benignly at me between their curtains of hair. ‘You will forgive me, Mam, but I cannot see how it could be any concern of yours what and who I am.’

  ‘But my daughter Carboh is winding with your brother, so of course you are interesting to us!’ She laughed then, and it really, really frightened me. In my panic, I wanted to claw my way out of the cage of scent, because that’s how it seemed to me then.

  I grabbed hold of Eddie’s arm, but he shrugged me off. ‘Don’t do that, Ross,’ he whispered.

  ‘Stand up Sissiol,’ the mother said, ‘where you can be seen.’ One of the seven arose and walked around the outside of the sitting women until she was facing me. Like the others, she was sheathed in hair, and hers was the colour of river mud. Her face was angelic, her lips embarrassingly sensual. I glanced at the other women, at their glinting eyes, their white brows, their delicate hands. Each was smiling at me, in the way a woman does at a baby, full of warm love, openness and delight. Sissiol slowly extended her hands through her hair and held them open to me in a manner that suggested that I should rise and go to her.

  I stood up suddenly, and kicked my brother on his ankle as hard as I could. ‘For Christ’s Sake, what’ve you got me into here, Eddie?’

  The women swayed and sighed and seemed to me to squeak, almost. Sissiol lowered her arms and turned her mouth down in a parody of disappointment and went to lay her head on the breast of the bald-headed horror.

  Eddie stood up too, and gestured to Carboh to stay where she was, and then something between him and the mother took place, some unspoken understanding, because the circle of women parted, Eddie pushed me forward, and we were outside the . . . enchantment. It was as if the extraordinary perfume had surrounded us in a bubble that we’d broken out of. Sissiol and the mother shifted away from us into the far corner of the room, and I, with my brother, headed for the door. Outside the nest of cushions and the circle of women, the change in temperature was startling—inside had been beautifully warm, outside it was cool, and I was thankful for it because my brain began to awaken from whatever mesmerism had taken place in that company. We did not speak on the way home through the wood, and it didn’t even occur to me to use Dad’s torch to guide us back.

  ***

  I stayed in bed in my old room the next day. Fuck the decorating, I thought. I stared upwards at the familiar crack in the ceiling that, as a child, I used to imagine was a road that would take me on wonderful adventures. I would visit as many countries in the world as there were to visit. I’d yearned to be a traveller, but I’d ended up struggling for money no more than forty kilometres from this house in Holesville Nine, a pit of a town. As I reached my arms out from beneath the blankets, I noticed a yellow-coloured indentation on my arm. Rubbing did not change it, and I realised it was where Domescia had gripped me the night before.

  Eddie came into my room with coffee and doughnuts. I could scarcely look at him.

  ‘I thought you’d like Sissiol,’ he said, putting the tray on my bedside table. ‘She’s really intelligent you know. You like intelligent women, don’t you?’

  ‘Eddie, they’re not women,’ I answered, ‘what is the matter with you?’

  ‘What is the matter with you, more like? Do you know how rude you were last night?’

  I sat up and stared at him. ‘How the hell did you get involved with them, and so quickly?’

  Eddie smiled at me and then frowned as if he was dealing with a wayward but much loved child. ‘When we were with the sisters, Ross, were you aware of time passing?’

  I shrugged. ‘No, I can’t say I was.’

  ‘So, what did you feel like, until Mother came in?’ I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted to remind him that our mother was dead and that bald-headed freak woman was not ‘Mother’. ‘Did you feel good, Ross?’

  I swung my feet out of bed and began to dress. ‘Yes, damn and blast you to hell. I felt ecstatic. I felt as if I could be there forever in that . . . perfume. Where did it come from, Eddie?’

  ‘Where did what come from?’

  ‘That perfume. Is it something those women put in their hair?’

  ‘They don’t put it in their hair, Ross.’

  ‘What then—was it some kind of incense?’

  ‘No. It is their hair.’

  I repeated him, stupidly. ‘Their hair does that?’ I sat heavily back on the bed.

  ‘Wonderful isn’t it?’ my brother whispered.

  ‘How about we change plans, Eddie? How about we sell the house as it is and split t
he money. Get back to normal life, eh? Don’t you miss Cherie just a bit?’

  ‘I don’t care what we do with the house in all honesty, Ross. And as for money. . . .’ He sighed and stretched as if delirious with pleasure.

  ‘What about all your debts you were so intent on paying off with your share?’

  ‘Ah! That was before.’

  ‘Before you met those women, you mean.’

  ‘Please don’t call them that, Ross. Anyhow, didn’t you say they’re not women?’

  ‘I’ve never met women like them in my life before! And what was going on with that one called Sissy?’

  ‘Mother wanted you to meet her, to see her beauty.’

  ‘Fuck off, Eddie! Just fuck off!’

  I left the house, got in my jeep, and headed for town. I found a café with hardly anyone in it and ate a good breakfast. I didn’t know what to do, and I found myself crying without caring if I was seen or not. The night before I’d experienced the most pleasurable dream-like sensations I could ever have imagined. I could’ve stayed and stayed and stayed. I could’ve given myself; I could’ve gone with that ghoul of a woman with hair the colour of mud. Yet in me, deep and powerful, was some instinct that must’ve been entirely missing in my brother. I feared for him. Yet, I argued to myself that he was a grown man and he could do what he liked.

  I stayed away from the house for most of the day, and when I got back, Eddie was there, in the kitchen, cooking something. ‘Well, little brother, you’re full of surprises!’

  ‘I went to the new shop on the tarmac road, they sell pies and stuff, thought we could do with a good meal.’

  I set about lighting the old stove as the air was getting cold in the falling light. I glanced at him; he seemed relaxed and cheerful, the slightly troubled look he habitually had was gone, and it came to me in a rush of feeling that I loved him . . . after all and after everything, I loved him. ‘Thanks for doing that, Eddie,’ I said.

  He shrugged and laughed, and turned his head to smile at me. ‘So, are we okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Let’s get back to work, eh? Let’s finish the house, and leave. I’ll come back for the woodworm guys, you don’t have to worry.’

  ‘Whatever, Ross. I’m happy.’

  I straightened up and stood looking at him. ‘You look it.’

  ‘It puts everything in perspective, you know.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Being happy; feeling content with all about you, feeling . . . blithe.’

  I laughed. ‘Blithe? I couldn’t have guessed you even knew a word like that.’

  ‘Well, one of the things living and working together has shown us, is how little we do know about each other, Ross.’

  I turned away to check the stove. ‘How about when we get home, we make an effort to do things together from now on . . . like we could meet for a meal once a week. You could bring Cherie. You’re wrong to think I don’t like her, Eddie. Actually, I find her heart-breaking the way she adores you.’

  ‘I’m not going back to Holesville Nine, Ross. I couldn’t take Carboh there, could I?’

  I curbed the impulse to fling insults at him; I laughed as if we were engaged in pleasant chit-chat instead. ‘Hey!’ I said, maybe you could buy my half of Mum and Dad’s house and move in there with your . . .’

  ‘No. The sisters must be together. They must not be separated. I’m moving down into their house. There’s plenty of room and they struggle a bit with chores and so forth, and now that Mother is ill, it’s very hard on everyone.’ He laid one bowl on the table, broke up some bread pieces and invited me to sit.

  ‘You not eating, Eddie?’

  ‘No. I look at it and don’t quite see it as food. I cooked it for you.’

  ‘Thank-you, then. It looks good. So, tell me, are you really planning to marry Carboh?’

  ‘I’m winding with her, that’s what they call it.’

  ‘Ah! You mean that’s what they call it where they come from?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘So, where do they come from?’

  A moment of discomfort moved across his face, and a flicker of the old Eddie was visible. ‘They’ve been in that house a very long time, so they’re more connected to this area than anyone else around here. They know Mr Ratchetson well.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie, it’s just that their ways of doing things are so different. So when you wind with Carboh, am I invited to the ceremony?’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, it’s intensely private.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You could wind with one of them yourself, Ross. You could wind with Sissiol; she’s ready.’

  I felt my stomach lurch, and I put down my fork and drank some water. I glanced at my brother over the rim of the glass. It was as if all his anxiety had vanished; he seemed almost noble. ‘When are you going there again, Eddie? I need to know because we did have a plan once about how we were going to deal with this house.’

  ‘You needn’t worry, Ross. I’ve discussed the matter with the household, and they’ve agreed I should carry on with the work, and visit them at night time.’

  ‘They’ve agreed, did you say?’

  ‘Yes, Ross. They’re generous like that.’

  I stared at him. When did I lose him? What happened that I didn’t see?

  ***

  I stood in the hall for a long time with Mr Ratchetson as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to lead me into one of the rooms. In the end, we went to the kitchen, where he, with painful slowness, prepared some foul-smelling coffee. I was happy to see him reach for a bottle of whiskey and with badly shaking hands, pour a tot into each chipped mug.

  ‘I could see from the outset that your brother was in danger,’ he told me. ‘He’s the anxious type, isn’t he?’

  ‘You were telling me how long those women have been down there in the wood, Mr Ratchetson, and I didn’t quite catch what you said. I think you might have been joking, but seriously, has the family been there a long time?’

  ‘Family, you say?’

  ‘Yes, mother, father, children,’ I said loudly.

  Mr Ratchetson shook his head. ‘That’s not the way it is with them.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘It’s just women always.’

  ‘A cult of women, then.’

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, turning to face me.

  ‘Just women in the cult,’ I repeated. ‘You say my brother is in danger. Can you tell me why?’

  ‘My guess would be that they’ve already got to him. I don’t know how close you two are; you were always together when you were boys, so he might let you in on a few things.’

  ‘Eddie said the women knew you, is that right?’ Mr Ratchetson drew in a deeply-wheezing breath and laughed, and at the end of it his mouth was still open. ‘It was their house you told us to avoid when we first met you, wasn’t it?’

  He nodded and his reptilian eyes blinked and stared, blinked and stared. ‘Your brother will be for a winding,’ he whispered.

  ‘He is, Mr Ratchetson. He’s going to be wound . . . winded . . . to one there called Carboh.’

  ‘So, it’s her turn now, is it?’

  I stood up, and taking my mug to his kitchen window, looked out at the dark line of trees and the track that led down to them. I felt as if I was getting nowhere with the old guy. ‘You knew my parents, Mr Ratchetson, right?’

  ‘Nice pair.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She was in some danger though.’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘Lovely woman.’

  ‘How in danger, Mr Ratchetson.’

  ‘Billy.’

  ‘Pardon.’

  ‘You’re old enough now to call me Billy.’

  ‘Okay, Billy. My mother . . .’

  ‘All that hair, you see.’

  ‘She cut the whole lot of it off, one day.’

  ‘I know. It was my advice. Lovely woman.’

  ‘Yo
u advised her to cut her hair off?’

  ‘Competition with those in the wood, you see. They were taking too much interest in her. Following her to the brink. I used to see them hankering to get at her. She started going in there to pick berries and fungus. I told her. I said they feasted their eyes on her.’

  ‘The brink?’

  ‘The wood’s edge. They don’t come out farther.’

  ‘But she was okay, my mother?’

  ‘One time they chased her hard. She came hurtling out of there and fell down by my garden gate. I thought she was going to explode with terror. I looked over yonder and the one called Domescia was standing as boldly as you please just under that first tree with the split trunk. They think they’re camouflaged you see. They think if they stand against the trunks, they can’t be seen. But I got used to picking them out, living here so close by.’

  I went to the old man’s cupboard and brought out the whiskey. He was shivering badly and I was feeling nauseous. I poured a good glug-full into our mugs and sat down opposite him at the table. ‘It would seem,’ I said, ‘that Domescia has a daughter or granddaughter also called Domescia. I’ve met her, her and Carboh, the one my brother is interested in.’

  ‘No. There’s just one Domescia. You say he likes the one called Carboh?’

  ‘Yes, and when I was in their house . . .’

  I saw Mr Ratchetson blanch. He swallowed hard several times with an alarming amount of effort, and lowered his head. ‘I told you to walk on by if you came across that house, you stupid young idiot.’

  ‘We found it by accident down a plaited path, and Domescia and Carboh where there watching us from the shadow of a tree. My brother was drawn to them more or less on the instant.’

  ‘Thought he would be,’ the old man murmured, ‘he’s just the type.’

  ‘What type, Mr Ratchetson?’

  Oh, you know; a wastrel with big ideas and a lot of self-regard. They’re the ones who fall the fastest. But I’m warning you, they can get just about any man if they’re minded to.’

  ‘How would you know what my brother’s like, Mr Ratchetson?’ I whispered.

  ‘Well, it’s plain on his face and in his expressions, is it not?’