The Gravest Girl of All

by Amy Cross

  “I'm coming!” she shouts desperately. “Henry, it's okay! Mummy's coming!”

  ***

  “Henry!” she yells a few hours later, stopping in the center of a vast, featureless plain. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she turns and looks around as the crying sound continues. “Where are you? Henry!”

  She waits, but the cry seems to be echoing everywhere.

  “This can't be real,” she whispers, as tears run down her cheeks. Trembling with fear, she turns around again, but she can't pinpoint the source of the noise. For a moment, it's as if Henry's now in the opposite direction, back the way she just came. She tries to tell herself that she's imagining the whole thing, but for hours now her mind has been constantly swinging back and forth:

  It's him.

  It's not him.

  He's here.

  He can't be here.

  This is Hell.

  No, that's impossible.

  It's him.

  It's Henry.

  No, it can't be Henry.

  She takes a step forward, but then the sound switches and seems to be coming from the other way.

  She turns again, then again, and each time Henry's cry somehow twists around.

  “I can't find you!” she shouts, with sweat pouring down he face. “I don't know where you are! I can't help you! I don't know what I'm supposed to do!”

  Stopping suddenly, she realizes that she was never able to help him. Apart from giving birth to him, she never did a single thing to look after her own son.

  “Is that what this is?” she asks out loud, as she sniffs back more tears. Looking toward the horizon, she listens for a moment to the crying sound. “Is it some kind of giant metaphor? It's not very subtle. It doesn't make sense, either. I couldn't ever help him. Even if I found him, there's nothing I could do. I gave birth to him, but I'm not his mother. I was never his mother.”

  She pauses, before taking a step back.

  “I'm sorry, Henry,” she continues, before turning to walk away. “I can't do anything.”

  It's not him.

  It was never him.

  Finally she feels sure of that.

  Suddenly she stops and lets out a startled gasp. A moment earlier she was all alone on the plain, but now there's a small house just a few feet away, and somehow Henry's cry is now coming from inside that house, sounding much louder and much closer than before. One of the windows is open, and some curtains are fluttering in a breeze. The house is almost like the cottage in the cemetery back in Rippon, but even more run down and decrepit, with cracks running through the thick stone walls.

  And still Henry is crying inside.

  “No,” Sam whispers, taking a step forward as she tries to work out what could have happened. “This isn't real. I'm not going to be fooled. This is some kind of trick.”

  She hesitates, fighting the urge to run to Henry, and then she turns to walk away.

  Suddenly a loud screeching sound fills the air. Spinning back around, Sam's startled to see a large vulture on the house's roof, and a moment later the bird flies down and lands on the dusty ground with a heavy thump. After looking at Sam for a moment, the vulture turns and starts making its way toward the cottage's open door.

  “No!” Sam yells, running forward and grabbing the bird from behind, pulling it away. “Get away from there!”

  The vulture squeals and pecks at her arms, but Sam throws the creature aside and then watches breathlessly as it flies back up to the roof.

  “Stay up there!” she shouts. “Do you hear me? Leave him alone!”

  She waits, but the vulture merely watches her with its beady eyes, as Henry continues to cry inside the cottage.

  “I can't help him,” Sam whispers. “I just can't.”

  And then, despite her misgivings, she makes her way toward the open doorway and looks into the main room. For a moment, all she sees is darkness, but then the light changes and she sees that the only furniture is a crib. The crying sound is coming from inside the crib, and when she takes another step forward Sam sees a baby wriggling and screaming on top of the sheets.

  “Henry,” she stammers, her voice trembling with shock. “Please, this can't be real. Don't let this be real. Why would Henry be here?”

  She wants to leave, but a moment later she hears the vulture squealing again on the roof. Knowing that she can't run away, Sam steps further into the room, finally stopping at the crib. Before she even has time to stop herself, she reaches down and puts her hands on Henry's sides, and then slowly – with a rising sense of fear and shock and love – she lifts him up and looks at his crying face.

  “Henry.”

  It's really him.

  She recognizes him instantly, and after a moment he looks straight at her with the same expression that she remembers from the night she abandoned him. His cry stops, replaced by a faint gurgle as he stares at her, and she can only stare back as she tries to work out exactly what's happening.

  “You... can't be Henry,” she says, even though her heart is telling her the opposite. “You just can't be, you -”

  And then, in an instant, her resolve breaks. All her denial and doubt falls away, and she remembers how she felt the first time she ever saw him, in that brief period between his birth and the moment she left him alone.

  Logic is telling her that the child she's holding can't possibly be her son, but at the same time she knows deep down that it really is him. And as she slowly moves him closer, she feels the years of pain and regret starting to fall away, and she's unable to prevent a smile spreading across her lips as tears roll down her cheeks.

  “It's me,” she sobs finally. “Henry, it's me! It's Mummy! I don't know how, I don't know why, but I'm here.”

  She hesitates, before pulling him closer and holding him against her chest. Leaning down, she places the side of her face against the top of his head and breathes deep, taking in his smell. Closing her eyes as she starts weeping, she holds Henry tight and takes another breath, then another. She starts gently rocking her son in her arms, as the vulture continues to screech on the cottage's roof, but all Sam can do right now is hold her son and feel the sensation of her heart swelling with all the love she fought so hard – and so long – to hold back.

  “I never meant to leave you,” she whimpers. “I mean, I did mean to do it, but I shouldn't. I should have stayed with you, I should have found a way to make it work. I took the easy way out, and I'm sorry, but I'm here now and I'm never going to let you go again. Do you hear me? Mummy's here now and she's never going away. I'll get us out of this place and then everything will be okay. I know you probably don't believe me, but you'll see. I'll prove it.”

  She waits, and then she opens her eyes as she hears a brief, faint gurgling sound coming from her son's lips. Slowly she tilts him and looks down at his face, and she sees that he's staring back up at her.

  A moment later, a tear drips from her cheek and lands on him.

  “Sorry,” she says, grinning with pure joy as she wipes the tear away. “That happened once before, didn't it? I was only...”

  Her voice trails off as she sees a strange, calm expression in Henry's features. She waits, trying to tell herself that it's nothing, but now she realizes that Henry is staring up at her with a strange kind of intensity.

  “What is it?” she asks, forcing herself to keep smiling. “Mummy's not so used to this. Is something wrong? Can you give me a clue? Just tell me and I'll -”

  Suddenly Henry snarls, his face contorting with hatred.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asks, feeling a punch of fear in her chest. “Henry, what are you doing?”

  He snarls again, this time spraying her face with hot saliva. At the same time, he reaches up toward her mouth with his right hand, and his fingers twitch as if he's trying to claw at her skin.

  “It's okay,” she says, trying not to panic as her smile begins to falter. “Mummy's here and she's not going anywhere. I know you're scared, but that mean old bird on the roof w
on't get to you. I'll keep you safe, I swear. He's -”

  Suddenly there's a loud cracking sound above. Pulling Henry tighter, Sam looks up just as a section of the cottage's wooden roof falls away, and a moment later she sees the vulture poke its head through the gap.

  “Get away!” she shouts, as Henry continues to snarl in her arms.

  Backing against the wall, Sam looks around for something she can use as a weapon. At first there's nothing, but then – as another chunk of wood falls to the ground – she spots a metal fire poker propped near the door. She's certain the poker wasn't there a moment ago, but she hurries over and grabs it with her right hand, before turning just as the vulture comes crashing down and lands on the edge of the crib.

  “I'll kill you!” Sam yells, brandishing the poker in the hope that she can scare the bird away. “If you come even one step closer, I'll use this! I'll wrap it round your bloody neck!”

  The vulture stares at her for a moment, before suddenly letting out a deafening, screeching sound that seems to shake the entire cottage.

  “Don't be scared,” Sam whispers to Henry, as she looks toward the door and tries to figure out whether she can rush out before the bird has a chance to attack. “Mummy's right here.”

  Still snarling and hissing in her arms, Henry reaches up and tries to dig his fingers into the side of her neck. Before she has a chance to react, however, Sam hears a clattering sound and turns to see that the vulture has tipped the crib onto its side. Taking flight, the bird rushes forward, its wings flapping furiously as it swipes at Sam with its razor-sharp beak.

  “No!” she yells, swinging the metal poker but missing the vulture as it lands on the floor just a few feet away.

  Taking a step back, Sam realizes that she and Henry are further than ever from the door. Her mind is racing as she tries to work out what to do next, but suddenly the vulture flies at her again and this time the bird's beak slashes down against Henry, digging into his shoulder with such force that Sam's powerless to turn away. As the pair of huge wings beat frantically against her face, Sam swings the poker up wildly and tries to push the vulture back, battering the attacker's neck but needing several tries before she's finally able to force it to the ground.

  Stumbling away, Sam turns and looks down at Henry, and she immediately sees that blood is gushing from the wound in his shoulder.

  “No!” she stammers. “You're going to be alright! You're -”

  The vulture rushes at her and lands on her back, causing her to scream as talons dig deep into her flesh and grind against the back of her rib-cage. Falling forward with Henry still in her arms, she drops to her knees and then leans on her elbows, using her body to shield her son as the vulture starts pecking over and over again at the back of her shoulders. She can feel the beak's sharp tip tearing through the fabric of her shirt and starting to strip away strips of bare flesh. As pain bursts through her body, Sam tightens her grip on the metal poker and then – using her free hand – tries to swing the tip around and strike the vulture.

  When that fails, she tries again and again, while still clutching Henry tight to her chest. She can feel more chunks of flesh being torn from her back, as if the vulture is trying to peck through her to get to her son, but she keeps telling herself that there's no way she'll let the creature win, that she'd rather die than let any harm come to the child in her arms.

  And then, suddenly, the metal poker slips from her hand and falls to the ground, where it proceeds to roll away with a loud clanging sound.

  “No!” Sam yells, reaching out in a desperate attempt to grab the poker, but she's too late.

  With the weight of the vulture almost pressing her into the ground, she tries again to recover the poker. Henry is snarling and crying in her arms as the vulture's beak digs deeper and deeper into Sam's back, and blood is pouring down onto the dusty floor.

  “I won't let this happen,” she whimpers, taking a moment to figure out what to do next.

  The bird's huge wings flap loudly all around her.

  “It's okay,” Sam continues, barely able to spit the words out. “Mummy's got this.”

  With that, she slows lowers Henry onto the ground with trembling hands, hoping against hope that at least he'll be safe for a moment. And then, after pausing to gather what remains of her strength, she somehow manages to twist around and reach up to grab the vulture's neck.

  “Go to Hell!” she screams.

  The bird squawks and screeches as Sam throws herself against its body, slamming it into the wall and then pulling it down so that she lands on top of its flailing chest. Still holding its neck tight, she starts squeezing and squeezing, choking the vulture with all her strength and – in the process – letting out a shrill cry of anger. Refusing to stop, she twists the neck and forces the bird's head back, and then she squeezes her eyes tight shut and tries to ignore Henry's increasingly fearful cries.

  Beneath her, the bird twitches violently for a moment and then falls still.

  She waits.

  Another twitch.

  Then stillness again.

  She counts under her breath, waiting for some sign that the bird is still alive.

  Not daring to believe that she's succeeded, Sam continues to wring its neck for a moment, until finally she hears a tearing sound and opens her eyes to see that she's actually ripped the head clean away. Blood is surging from the neck stump, and the vulture's eyes twitch a couple more times before finally the dead bird stops moving.

  Slowly, still worried that maybe this is somehow a trick, Sam finally lets go.

  “I had to,” she stammers, shocked by her own strength. “I didn't have a choice, I...”

  She hesitates, before clambering over the dead bird and crawling to Henry, who's still crying and snarling on the floor.

  “Are you hurt?” she asks, picking him up and searching for the wound that's caused blood to soak through his clothes. “Henry, I'll make it all alright again, I promise. I just need to -”

  Suddenly Henry screams and lunges at her, biting hard on the side of her neck.

  Crying out, Sam slumps back against the wall as she feels blood spraying from the wound. She reaches up to pull Henry away, but he's already biting furiously through to the bottom of her jaw. His little fingers are trying to dig into her flesh, but she can feel his teeth ripping away chunk after chunk as blood splatters across the floor.

  After a moment, unable to fight back any longer, Sam slithers down to the ground, finally falling next to the vulture as Henry continues to eat his way through her neck.

  “I'm sorry!” she gasps, staring up at the dark ceiling, no longer able to fight back. “Henry, I did what I could. Please don't hate me.”

  She tries to say more, but now blood is gushing into the back of her mouth and a moment later her head involuntarily tips back as Henry starts chewing his way deeper into her throat. As soon as he's pulled one chunk away, he spits it to the floor and then bites again, as if he's determined to consume her entirely.

  “I love you!” Sam gasps. “Henry! It's me! I love you so much!”

  All Sam can manage is to let out a few faint, groaning cries until finally she closes her eyes and -

  He's gone.

  She opens her eyes, staring at the stone wall, and then she sits up and finds that Henry has vanished. Looking around, she feels a flutter of panic as she sees that while the dead vulture is still on the ground, Henry seems to have disappeared in the blink of an eye. She looks toward the door, and then when she turns again she sees that the vulture has also gone. There's no corpse, no blood.

  “What the...”

  Stumbling to her feet, she touches the side of her neck and finds that her wounds have instantly healed.

  “Henry?” she whispers, staggering to the doorway and looking out across the vast, desolate plain. She holds onto the side of the door for a moment, before stepping out. “Henry, where are you?”

  She waits, and then she turns to go back into the cottage.

  T
he cottage, too, has vanished in the blink of an eye.

  Standing all alone on the plain, Sam looks around, trying to understand what just happened. And then, turning, she realizes she can once again hear Henry crying far away, toward the horizon.

  “I'm coming,” she mumbles, immediately setting off after him, even though her weakened knees feel as if they'll give way at any moment. “Henry, it's okay! Mummy's coming!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “It's going to be alright,” Sam whimpers, barely able to keep her eyes open as she half runs, half stumbles across the rocky ground. “Henry, Mummy's here, Mummy -”

  Before she can finish, she trips over her own feet and falls, landing hard on her knees. She immediately tries to get back up, but all her strength has faded now and she lets out a gasp as she finds that her legs will no longer obey her will.

  “I'm coming,” she groans, her throat feeling dry as sandpaper now. “Henry, I'm coming.”

  She pauses, and then she tries to force her aching body up from the ground. No matter how hard she pushes, however, her joints simply refuse to move. It's as if her body is frozen in place, so she takes a few more seconds and tries to summon up a little extra strength from...

  From where?

  From wherever people get extra strength.

  “Just give me a few seconds,” she whispers, as her eyes start to slip shut despite all her best efforts. She feels as if she's about to crash down and never get up again. “I'm coming, I promise.”

  She swallows hard, but her throat is dry and she feels a scratching sensation at the back of her tongue.

  And then, a moment later, someone nearby starts laughing.

  “Look at you,” a familiar female voice says, as footsteps approach from behind. “You do realize you'll never find him, don't you? Come on, surely you're smart enough to figure out what's going on. I mean, you are in Hell.”