Neverlight

by Weatherer, Dan

  “I’m sure. We have to get out of here. For some reason, they are trying to subdue the truth, our truth. I knew I wasn’t sick; I knew that you weren’t sick either! If we stay here, we will never see the world again. They will keep us here until either we die or go crazy for real.”

  Kayla returned to the window and opened the blind. Light flooded into the room and sent explosions of pain through Dahlia’s head. “What do we do? I mean what can we do?”

  “Have you seen that girl called Alisha?” asked Dahlia.

  “Only in passing her room. Nobody has ever seen her. They keep her locked up all the time.”

  “What did you see?”

  Kayla shuddered at the memory. “Nothing that resembled a girl…”

  “Okay, I thought so, no need to say anymore. She’s our ticket outta here though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Leave it to me,” said Dahlia with a wink.

  ***

  “Nurse, nurse, come quick, please!” Dahlia hammered on the steel door until her fists began to scream in pain. “Please, it’s Kayla, You have to help her!” Moments later she heard the lock release and the heavy door swung open. Nurse Morris stood in the doorway wearing an unimpressed look.

  “What is it, child?”

  “It’s Kayla, her eyes, oh God help her!” replied Dahlia pointing towards the bed. Nurse Morris sauntered over and pried open one of Kayla’s eyes. She saw only white.

  “Evan. EVAN, GET HERE NOW!”

  Evan came skidding into the room. “Wh-what is it?”

  “The girl, she’s having some kind of fit. Get her up to the ward immediately!”

  Evan picked Kayla up and carried her out of the room. Nurse Morris lingered a moment before Dahlia and regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  “I hope she’s okay,” mumbled Dahlia.

  “Yes—so do I,” said Nurse Morris. “Back in your bed now. Go on! It’ll be lunch soon, but after what you’ve being through I suggest you take all the rest that you can!”

  Dahlia climbed into her bed with the set of keys that she had snatched from Evans’ belt held tightly in her hand.

  ***

  The bell rang to signal the beginning of lunchtime and Dahlia heard the sounds of doors unlocking one by one. The door to her room swung open, and an unfamiliar orderly poked his head inside. “Lunchtime. Move it.” Dahlia pulled the sheets closer to her chin.

  “I’m not dressed yet. Give me a few minutes yeah?” The orderly huffed and pulled the door closed. She waited until the sounds of footsteps had ceased. She opened her door and peeked out into the corridor. There was nobody to be seen. All the doors on this side of the complex were open. All apart from 6A.

  Dahlia crept towards the remaining locked door and selected the key that would release the one remaining captive resident of Meadow View.

  Alisha Moore stood with her face pressed against the thick glass viewing window in exactly the same spot that Dahlia had seen her last. Her yellowed eyes widened at the sight of the surprise visitor. Dahlia dangled the key for her to see and opened the hatch that allowed her to speak to Alisha. “Look, I know that things have been rough for you here,” began Dahlia, “but I can see the suffering that you have endured. Not many can I know, but the doctors here, they know what you are and they know what is wrong with you.” Alisha’s eyes began to water. “They are keeping you here with no intention of treating you, or us! Help me now and I promise that I will help you get the care that you need. Deal?”

  Alisha nodded. “Deal.” The reply was hoarse, guttural and tinged with desperation.

  Dahlia released the lock and opened the door. “Go do your thing; I’ll make sure we all never have to come to this place again.” Alisha smiled and revealed a set of heavily stained and misshapen teeth. She watched as the small girl disappeared slowly into the distance. Where she saw the demon that inhabited poor Alisha’s body, most saw only a lonely and troubled kid. Dahlia knew the horrors that Alisha was capable of, and she was damn sure that the medical staff knew too, In fact, her whole plan had counted upon that.

  ***

  The sounds of chaos from the packed canteen reverberated along the deserted corridor. Screams rang out, plates smashed on cold tiled floors and doors slammed shut. It sounded to Dahlia like Alisha had taken to her plan like a duck to water. She made her way to the end of the corridor and located the stairwell that would take her to the ward. As hoped, all staff had been called to help subdue the trouble in the canteen, and Kayla was sat alone on her bed.

  “You took your time!” she joked.

  “I had a little talk with Miss Moore, but it seems to have done the trick, she’s downstairs now raising merry hell! Now come on, I need you to do your thing. Great acting by the way!”

  Kayla shrugged. “Strictly speaking, it’s not acting. I let Mr. Chuckles take over my body and that’s what it does to me. Freaks people out but I’m able to contain him, more or less anyway.”

  “Really? Is that even safe?” quizzed Dahlia

  “It worked didn’t it?”

  Dahlia shrugged. “I suppose. Come on, I’ll take you to the boiler room. You sure you can do this and make it look like an accident?”

  Layla nodded and smiled. “I’m a veteran at this sort of thing, remember!”

  Dahlia watched as Layla worked with practised precision. She never actually believed that her plan with the boiler would actually work, but as steam began to erupt from numerous surrounding pipes and the various dials that littered the boiler control panel creep from green to red, the butterflies in her stomach became ever more restless.

  ***

  The patients of Meadow View stood huddled together in the gardens, bathing in the heat of the blazing inferno that had ripped through the institution. A feeling of victory hung in the air though only a small few amongst them understood its meaning. Dahlia, Kayla and Mr. Chuckles stood towards the back of the group relieved that they had managed to get all of their fellow patients to safety relatively easily. Nurse Morris stood weeping at the edge of the flames while Evan and the rest of the orderlies sat watching the fire take a hold of the old building with the rest of the patients. There was no sign of any of the doctors. Dahlia smiled at her new best friend. Kayla watched the fire with an obvious sense of awe and appreciation. Sure, she had her demons reasoned Dahlia, but who in this world doesn’t?

  ***

  The destruction by fire of Meadow View was ruled accidental. All of the patients were relocated to neighbouring psychiatric units for assessment. 95% went on to be released back to their homes within a matter of hours. It was deemed that they were not in need of any institutional care and would be better treated living amongst their loved ones. Alisha Moore was transferred to a hospital under the control of the Vatican and her family were flown out to stay with her. She made a complete recovery and documented her experiences in a best-selling book.

  Doctor Thorne, Doctor Robbins and Doctor Foster were never heard of again. No bodies were found in the wreckage of the hospital.

  Dahlia and Layla kept in touch for many years after the events of Meadow View and although their gifts continued to show them the darkness that resides amongst us, they decided to concentrate solely upon those spirits that were born of the light. Mr. Chuckles still resides with Layla.

  The Dolly who is my Friend

  There is this doll that I like. She sits high on a shelf in my big sister’s room. I can’t reach her. One eye is stuck shut. It happened when she winked at me one day.

  I’ve stacked my toys as high as I can build so that I may reach her, but I just can’t. Her name is Lucinda. She told me once.

  When I sleep, we laugh and play. She has taken me to many places but mostly the woods. When I wake, she is back up on the shelf, out of reach with one eye stuck shut. (Sometimes it’s the other eye but sometimes it’s not).

  Mommy says she is made of plastic and synthetic and stuff, but I know there is a littl
e girl inside her. She showed me.

  Lucinda is my best friend.

  The Wanting Summer

  I remember happiness much as I remember Summer and her warm embrace, when days seemed endless and full of possibility, the world was at once a beautiful place and life held infinite meaning.

  As nature governs, winter must follow, for there can be no happiness without misery. When shall summer dawn anew and what promises shall she bring? I long to share in her glory and shall savour her passing delights.

  The Withered Touch

  There once lived a man who knew only death in his heart though he was no evil fellow, not at least as far as I can recall. In fact, he was by far and away the gentlest of souls one could ever hope to meet. Contrary to what you may have heard, Jenson Brady was blighted by a most peculiar science, in that wherever he so wandered, death and decay followed briskly at his heels.

  As a boy, insects would drop out of the air within his proximity and the garden in which he spent long afternoons would offer no life to flower or weed. As he reached manhood, his taint seemed only to increase in toxicity. Any animal that crossed his path would drop dead moments afterwards. Crops would wilt and wither as he passed them by, children would snigger and dare one another to approach ol’ man Brady, and he quickly became a figure of mockery and dread. With a community living in fear of his presence, it was hastily decreed that Jenson should stick to solitary paths that skirted the town from afar, lest he ruin no crops or inadvertently take an innocent life.

  Thus, Jenson was forced to seek out a lonely existence, destined never to know the touch of another. He would often watch the village from afar, longing to walk amongst the bustle, to listen to the idle chatter and to partake in a drink with the farm hands at the tavern. Alas, this could never be, for wherever he walked the birds fled. Wherever he sat the worms beneath him squirmed away, and his very breath drained the colour from the world. What hope for a man such as he?

  In time a use was found for his particular skill and in periods of grave illness, the sick would call for Jenson. So much so that in times of mild ill health, many would comment on the need to “send for Mr Brady” in jest. Jenson provided a much-needed mercy upon those that were in genuine need. No more did they suffer the pains of their afflictions, for he would stay by their side and assist them towards the gentle embrace of death.

  The church, after an initial bout of protest and damnation, gave Jenson a wide berth. The minister, practised in the ways of old that he was, came to see Jenson as a deliverer of mercy, and with his support the people began to see Jenson anew.

  A man with the shadow of death upon his shoulder is destined to walk a lonely path. After all, who could ever love a man whose scent wilted the petals of the rose, whose touch would turn the freshwater lake stagnant? Many would vouch for none, but there was one such woman who would bring love and hope to a heart laden with pain.

  Oft she watched him amble home, a hooded figure silhouetted against the blue skies that tormented Jenson with its beauty and clarity. He mistook her curiosity for disdain, and on the few occasions that she had gathered the courage to haste her approach, he would retreat into the shadows, pleading that she keep her distance.

  What woman would continue in her endeavours to enchant such a soul so lost as this?

  Her name was Grace, and she knew that she would love no other. The man with the cursed touch—he longed to feel love, she knew it in her heart. She had experienced his kindness first hand. It was her father that sent for Mr Brady, her mother the one he released. Grace knelt against the door and listened as Jenson spoke, and though their voices faded to naught but a muffle, she could hear that the fear in her mother’s voice had subsided. Jenson had delivered her to the next life in the kindest manner, and though her initial message to him was to be one of thanks, she had grown to love him.

  ***

  What transpired that day changed the life of Jenson Brady forever. Standing before him, Grace was a vision of beauty, quite the prettiest creature he had ever seen. She took a step towards him, and Jenson, transfixed by wanting, remained rooted in place. Turmoil raged within him, the likes of which he could scarcely comprehend. He knew that if she came closer she would surely perish, her transcendent beauty lost to the world forever. His desire to feel her skin pressed upon his overpowered any urge to flee from her grasp. Never had he considered that he belonged so strongly with another, and throwing all caution aside, Jenson stepped into the open arms of Grace.

  As their lips pressed upon the other, a feeling of warmth embraced them. The winter’s chill was lost. There was no last breath, no wilting of muscle nor stillness of the breeze. Yes, there was an escaping sigh from Grace but this was one of elation, not of grateful respite.

  It is said that the taint that blighted Jenson Brady was forever lifted the day that he welcomed Grace into his arms and that wildflowers grow, the likes of which defy description, wherever they both shall tread.

  The Raven and the Wolf

  The snowfields stretch as far as the eye can see, a blanket of white that covers mountain and forest alike. A solitary shape cuts a steady passage through the neve. The wolf pushes north, deeper into the biting cold, farther from those that once called him a brother.

  It was many moons since he’d left his kin and the experience had taught him much. Life away from the safety of the pack was difficult. The wind blows hard, and her ice-laden breath fingers her way through his coat and chills him to his core. Food is scarce. Hunting alone is all but impossible, for prey travels in number and is all too aware of his presence. Though nature has bestowed upon him the tools with which to hunt and kill, the environment is harsh and his energy wanes. No matter how meagre, every meal is to be savoured. The wolf does not know when the next opportunity to eat will present.

  Daylight has passed and the wolf, seeking shelter from the gathering storm, happened upon a suitable resting place. Fatigued and hungry, the wolf curled himself into a tight ball and drifted into a cautious slumber.

  ***

  The sounds of a thousand wings stirred the wolf. His predatory instincts fired into life and within milliseconds he is awake and has assessed the scene unfolding before him. The birds are angry at one amongst their number, and this is not a fair fight. The wolf drew back onto his hind legs and launched himself amidst the maelstrom of pointed beaks and blackened wings. The birds take to the air in panic, cursing the wolf for his interference. One remained behind; he is bloodied and still.

  The wolf sniffed at the bird.

  The bird remained still.

  He has not eaten for many days and though this would be a small meal he knew that he would find some morsel of nourishment from devouring the remains of the bird. His mouth hung open. Saliva, thick and hot, poured from his gums and dripped upon its black feathers.

  Suddenly, the bird began to flap its wings. “Don’t - eat! Don’t - eat!” squawked the bird. “Not - Dead! Not - Dead!”

  The wolf took a cautious step backwards and lowered his ears. The bird slowly got to its feet and began to hop around the wolf. A small patch of blood remained where the bird had laid, the scent of which drew more saliva from the wolf. He licked the reddened snow and the bird squawked in fear.

  The wolf finished his snack and turned to regard the bird. It is now that he sees the cause of the bird’s blood loss. “Why did they take your eye?” asked the wolf.

  The bird stopped hopping and cocked its head to one side. “You - talk? Talk - talk?”

  “Of course. Should I so choose,” replied the wolf. “Your eye, why did they take it?”

  “I - answer, not - eat?”

  The wolf sized up the bird who stood a great deal taller than his prone frame suggested, and though the taste of blood had stirred the aches within his stomach, he vowed that he would not eat the bird.

  “I fight - I argue,” began the bird. “Fly- wrong. Food -South, not - North.”

  The wolf bowed his head. “I se
e. So they left you for dead because you did not agree with your elder?”

  “Yes -dead. Not - dead. One – eye, one eye!”

  “What do they call you?” asked the Wolf.

  “Raven - you?”

  The wolf smiled and bared his teeth. “They call me Wolf.”

  Raven resumed his hopping. “Wolf - Wolf! Hello - Wolf!”

  “You said there is little in the way of food in the North, am I right?”

  Raven picked at a clump of rocks. “Food - South, North - cold, North - Danger.”

  Wolf sat on his hind legs and watched the raven busy himself picking clumps of frozen grass from between the rocks. “I’m heading north.”

  Raven continued to feed. “Why-North? Nothing- North, cold –danger!”

  “It is the way it has to be,” replied Wolf.

  This answer caused Raven to pause. “Alone - now, I -help? Go - North?”

  “Why would you travel north? To catch up with your flock? You were against the idea before, why would meeting me change that?”

  “Perhaps - perhaps,” squawked Raven. “Saved – Raven, I help – I help?”

  This amused Wolf. “How can you possibly help me? You are so small and feeble. I travelled this far on my own; I don’t need the help of a Raven.”

  “I -fly. I-see. Far-away. Help – hunt!” replied Raven, who hopped excitedly around the resting wolf. Wolf pondered this for a moment.

  “Bird, you have only one eye. What use are you?”

  “One - eye, in – sky,” replied Raven. “See - far, help - hunt.”

  Wolf considered his options. He was to travel north regardless and to have a companion who could scout ahead could prove to be beneficial. As his stomach growled he toyed with the idea of eating his new friend if his situation did become desperate, before quickly dismissing it. “Travel with me,” smiled Wolf. “We shall head into the North together. You shall help me hunt, and I shall provide you with scraps. Do we have a deal?” Raven hopped up onto the back of the wolf and nestled his feet into his thick fur, careful not to scratch the skin.