The Twist in the Branch

by Melanie Smith

  The snow falls heavy upon us – the least of my worries – but it’s playing on Gabe’s mind.

  ‘We need to get home,’ he affirms once more.

  ‘Am I dead Gabe? Am I going to die?’

  ‘What? No seph – you’re fine. You’re fine.’

  It sounds more like he is trying to reassure himself. ‘You’re fine,’ he says, over and over.

  ‘Let me show you Gabe – please – let me show you. It’s not far down the road.’

  ‘No. No. I don’t want to see. I don’t need to see Sephone!’ Anger runs off him. His eyes scorch into me as he screams at me to get into his van, then he gets into the car and without even closing the door crunches it into reverse, tucking it away so tight into the hedgerow it practically disappears.

  He climbs back into the van, and I can feel him seething beside me as we drive off into the snow. I expect a tirade, but instead there is just one question.

  ‘Do you have a death-wish Sephone?’

  59

  I am asleep, but awake.

  Watching.

  Him. Me. He’s there and I want to go with him.

  Watching myself from outside of myself.

  His darkness makes me sick, but at the same time I am drawn to him. I’m tired and the fighting has just become too much to bear, day after day. Night after night.

  He puts his knife into a holder on his belt, and with a small, victorious smile holds both of his hands outstretched, beckoning me towards him.

  His eyes never leave mine, black as coal, they are lifeless but powerful.

  ‘Come,’ that smile seems to say. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  In that moment something changes, because I’ve nearly burnt out my own eyes looking for him – trying to see him in the shadows, but now my focus changes, and I am looking at me.

  I watch as I walk towards him to take his hands. I feel that glorious magnetic pull, and stare right at that part of myself that is so willing, so drawn to this creature.

  Into his clutch I place myself and he cradles me with powerful arms, ensnaring me in his embrace. A predator wrapping itself around its prey.

  It is so much easier to be here.

  No need to fight anymore.

  He loosens his grip, takes my hand and still smiling leads me to a bed. It keeps changing. Always a bed – but changing. White iron, cold and sterile. A hospital bed. A decaying wooden frame. Finally, rusted metal, with wheels and straps. I lay there waiting for the straps. He pulls them tight across me and I do not struggle against them.

  The focus changes and I zoom out to see the walls – one after another. The walls of the room. The mansion. A stone circle. The forest. The hills. Wall after wall of concentric circles, and there I lay in the centre – like the nucleus of a cell – as he takes out his blade, and runs it longingly, ever so gently, right over my soul.

  60

  ‘HOW WAS LAST NIGHT?’ I ask, placing a cup of tea and two slices of well-done toast on my mother’s bedside table.

  She looks up at me, shocked.

  ‘You’re up early – and what’s this?’

  ‘I’m spoiling you. Stay in bed for a bit.’

  ‘You were asleep when I got back.’

  ‘That’s why I’m up early – stuff to do.’

  A low rumble comes from outside, getting louder as it approaches the house.

  ‘Is that the car?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s Gabe – he was doing some work on it yesterday so he’s just been taking it out for a run he said.’

  ‘Wow, everyone’s up early today.’

  I’m trying not to feel guilty about the lie.

  ‘So – how was it?’

  ‘Oh, we had a lovely time catching up. I really needed that, it’s probably good that I get out every now and again.’

  Somewhere deep inside, past all of the rawness and the aching sadness, I know that she’s right. That moving forward when the time is right is the only thing we can do if we are to survive any of this. From her bedroom window I can see the hills and think of my feet hovering over the edge, as the grey ghosts pull me over. From further out I hear the rustle of trees, the cutting call of the black crows, screaming that pierces the air like a knife, and my name, low and deep below it all.

  ‘Seph – on – eeee. Seph – on – eeee.’

  ‘You got back ok, with the snow though,’ I say.

  ‘What snow? There was no snow love?’

  ‘Yeah – it started hammering down …’ I look out at the dull green fields, no trace of white.

  ‘Never mind … I’ll cook tonight,’ I say.

  ‘That’ll be nice love.’

  ‘Just the three of us.’

  ***

  ‘Here she is – the great disappearing act,’ says Beth jokingly but with a slight undertone, as I walk into John’s to meet her and Lowri.

  ‘You can talk,’ I say, ‘I only went to the toilet and you were gone.’

  For the first time ever I see a look of remorse on Beth’s face. Maybe I was a bit harsh.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Me too – it was a bit of a mad one.’

  ‘Yeah, just a bit. Think I’m done with drinking. And what about you and Alex?’ I say, turning to Lowri.

  ‘Yeah, probably should’ve told you – that happens every now and again.’

  ‘What?’

  They both laugh at how surprised I am. Lowri rests her head in her hands on the table.

  ‘I said I wasn’t gonna do that again.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ says Beth.

  ‘Shall we tell Seph what you got up to then?’

  Beth flushes; another first.

  ‘Erm – yes you will please,’ I say, desperate to know. ‘Wait don’t tell me – not Daniel Green’s sister?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say we’ll start there,’ says Lowri, ruffling Beth’s baby-pink hair.

  ‘Piss off girls,’ she says as Lowri and I start laughing, and it’s not long before she joins in.

  We spend an hour wrapped-up in each other’s company – dissecting the night of the party and everyone’s love-lives, before it’s time for me to get back.

  ‘Right, are you coming too?’ I ask. ‘I’ve gotta get back – said I’ll cook tonight.’

  ‘Check you out,’ says Beth sounding impressed, ‘yeah, I’m coming. Listen, stay over mine on the weekend – everyone’s out so we can have a girl’s night before school starts back.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ says Lowri.

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ I say.

  ***

  ‘That was lovely Seph – wasn’t it Gabe?’

  ‘Yeah, great,’ he says, less enthusiastically, some things don’t change, but it doesn’t feel like it did before. Now, knowing what I know, it’s almost endearing.

  ‘No probs,’ I say.

  Gabe starts to gather up the plates.

  ‘I was thinking – you know you said about getting insured on the car. Well, I was wondering if you could sort it, and maybe Gabe could take me out tomorrow?’

  ‘I knew you were after something,’ Mum says, jokingly.

  ‘How dare you?’ I joke back.

  ‘Course love, I’ll sort it later.’

  ‘Thanks Mum.’

  ‘You’re welcome love. It’s nice to see you like this. That’ll be ok won’t it Gabe? The car’s alright now isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ he says coming back in from the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Gabe starts to clear the rest of the things from the table.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, ‘I’ll finish up here and wash up.’

  He hesitates.

  ‘Don’t knock it Gabe,’ says my mother like I never lift a finger around the house.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say light-heartedly, clearing everything away. ‘I’ve got things sorted.’

  It takes me a while to get through the piles of washing-up that I’ve created, but I get there in the end and wipe over the kitchen surfaces to finish u
p.

  Once everything has been cleared there’s just Gabe’s keys sitting there on the counter. I run my fingers over them, stopping when I get to the small bronze key that almost buzzes when it touches my skin.

  Take the key. Use the key. Those words again, her voice.

  I slip it off the key-ring and open the back door.

  I go back to the place where it happened; where I first saw them. The old cold stones glisten and twinkle with January’s frost, under the full moon – as if they don’t hold the memory of that thing – as if everything is ok.

  Ivy twines its way hungrily over the ruined walls of the old barn, penetrating the glassless windows and reappearing possessively over the crumbling stone where a roof should be.

  Next to it stands its less ruined neighbour, still and silent and cold. It’s as if you can smell the rot from here. Knowing what is in there, or not knowing, which is the most terrifying?

  But he’s dead, I lie to myself. A lie, and not a lie, all at the same time.

  ‘Seph – is that you out there?’ My mother’s voice travels through the ice-cold air.

  ‘Yes, it’s me Mum.’

  ‘Well what are you doing out there? It’s freezing.’

  ‘I’ll be in soon Mum.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Please Mum, I said I’ll be in soon!’

  Just leave me alone!

  I hear the door slam, as my aggravation transfers to her. It is a stark contrast to the stillness out here. I think back to that night. Finding the bones. Fearing my uncle. Prising myself into the barn.

  My fingers find the key in my pocket, and I trace over it, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

  The window that I used last time has been boarded shut, once again. I shine the torch from my phone over it, illuminating the frosted particles that cling to its wood, then make my way over to the door.

  Do not go in.

  The voice is dark and strong in my head, a growl almost.

  Do not use the key.

  It gets louder, pushing against my skull, throbbing, twisting its way through my head. But the key is in the padlock, and the torch is shining upon it, and I am going in.

  The smell hits me smack in the face as the door opens. Is it because it is stronger than before, or simply that I recognise it now? I’m not sure.

  Inside it looks different, as I shine the torch, bouncing the light around. Gabe has been in here a lot, rearranging, clearing the place of unused, unwanted junk. The desk is still there and as I get closer to it I can see that it doesn’t hold the collection of random belongings that it did before. On top sits a saw and some other tools, as if it is waiting to be dismantled.

  The box rests underneath. Just the one this time.

  Him.

  Everything inside screams – howls – shrieks, as I pull it out, over the cold floor, towards me.

  Pump. Pump.

  My chest almost explodes over it.

  Do not use the key… His voice now.

  The battle inside rages on. My hands are once again on the box, and then it is open and it breathes a cold, stale breath onto my face and something whispers down my neck – ‘Seph-on-eee.’

  Once again, I hear metal and stone meeting and I get up to run but the torch catches the walls – moving – as they drip, then run, with blood, and I look at my hands and I am covered … covered … red.

  You should not have used the key Sephone …

  I stand up, close my eyes and hold my breath. I breathe so slow and so deep that I make myself light-headed. Then I turn, walk out into the black night, take the key and lock the door.

  I hold onto that piece of metal tightly, before placing it back into my pocket, as if it is made of gold.

  61

  SHE HAS BROWN HAIR and red hair and golden hair; streaked with red.

  She has blue eyes and brown eyes and grey-green eyes; tearing into me.

  She has pale skin and deep-brown skin and olive skin, kissed by the sun.

  But she is always red.

  62

  THERE’S A MIXTURE OF worry and surprise on her face as I tell her that Gabe is taking me out in the car for a drive.

  ‘I was gonna stay over Beth’s tonight if that’s ok, and Gabe’s letting me drive over for practice?’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She’ll be fine Cat,’ Gabe says confidently.

  ‘We just wanted some girl-time. Her dad’s taken Rhys on some rugby weekend and her mum’s going out with her friend, so me and Lowri are staying over.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s nearly dark love.’

  The words stick in my throat as soon as they’re born, lying to her like this again – lying to the both of them. But it’s just the way that it has to be.

  ‘We’ve got a while yet. I need the practice, and anyway I need to get used to driving in the dark again.’

  ‘Well, I know but …’ She trails off with a deep sigh that tells me that she’s almost resigned to my request, but her eyes narrow with suspicion.

  I already know what she’s thinking.

  ‘Don’t worry – no booze. As if, after last time.’

  Gabe’s confidence must suddenly plummet to the ground, as for once his face gives him away – to me at least. He picks up his coat and the keys.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say slinging my already-packed bag over my shoulder, ‘everything will be fine.’

  ***

  I think I’m rambling as Gabe drives along, but he’s so quiet, and I’m desperately trying to pretend that this is all normal, that I’m not lying to him, and that the sounds that used to be whispers are louder and closer than ever.

  ‘When do I get to drive then?’ I ask cheerfully.

  ‘Further down, when the roads aren’t so narrow,’ he says abruptly.

  I almost remind him that I’ve driven down them before but stop myself, certain that this isn’t something he wants to recollect.

  The atmosphere in the car remains tight, despite my attempts to lighten it.

  Does he know?

  He senses something, I can tell, and he’s been so close to everything so far. But not as close as me. That’s why I’m the one that is going to find that creature tonight; end this once and for all.

  This is my job.

  As the road widens he pulls over and I know this is my chance. I’m racked with guilt; I’ve put him through enough already, but this is for his good too.

  Sorry Gabe. I really am.

  He steps out of the car, and discreetly I press down the lock on my door. Then, when he’s walking around to the passenger side I throw myself over into the driver’s seat, and slam down the lock on that door.

  63

  MY STOMACH TWISTS TO see the horrified look of recognition on his face from the other side of the windscreen. He’s not fast enough as he grabs at the door handle and he’s looking at me dumbstruck through the driver’s window. I feel a sense of relief, though my heart still beats furiously against my ribs.

  I wind the window down a touch – just so that we can hear each other speak – but no further than that. I don’t want him to be able to stop me, and he will.

  ‘What are you doing!’ he shouts, eyes huge, scared, pleading.

  He’ll stop me if he can.

  He’s pulling frantically at the handle, creating a rocking movement as I am pulled in both directions. Towards him, away from him. He stops, seems to calm down, in an attempt to reason with me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say slipping into first gear.

  He moves back to the front of the car, hands on the bonnet, blocking my way.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going,’ and I press my foot firmly on the pedal, causing him to move hastily out of the way, spraying mud with the spin of the wheels as I tear off, leaving him, hands placed on head, distraught, in the mirror behind me.

  I wind through the lanes as small flakes of snow fall gently and sparsely, just a flurry, and I drive on, until I hit the spot. It is a place that I recognise instinctively, and
bring the car to a stop. The forest pins me in from either side of the road. I get out and make my way through the first of the tall pines. The ground is spongy, and brown, covered in pine needles and other woody debris. There is light but it is different somehow, and the air feels and sounds unusual. It takes a few minutes to adjust to the new sensations but it happens without much effort as I pick my way through.

  It becomes less dense and I step through into a thick blanket of white, the snow falling in large clumps, the less dense canopy of the forest, with its naked branches, allowing it to settle on the ground. The air changes again. Colder, sharper, the strange muffled sound that snow creates, making everything more intense – sounds, senses – as if you could reach out and take hold of it all.

  My black boots sink deep into the snow, and my grey jeans and coat provide an obvious contrast to the flawless covering beneath and around me.

  There is silence, save for the sound of trampled snow. But then I stiffen and stop.

  A branch snaps.

  My head whips around, but when it happens again, I realise that it has come from the trees ahead. Before I am ready, a figure emerges, dark and hunched a few feet away from me. As it straightens I see it more clearly. White-grey hair tumbles over the right shoulder and her clothes are shabby and worn-through. Over her shoulders a black shawl is draped. She barely looks up to acknowledge me, but it is obvious that she knows I am here.

  Her again.

  More clearly now. She looks so unsteady on her feet that I feel as though I should help her, so I make my way towards her. As her milky-white eyes meet mine I sense her impatience, and with the stick that she carries to help her walk she taps me firmly on the side of my leg.

  ‘You’re in my way girl,’ she snaps and so I move to the side.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I offer.

  ‘Always so sorry girl. Always so sorry.’ And as she walks away and off in the opposite direction I hear her saying those same words over and over, until once again, I am left alone in the silent forest.

  My ears sharpen with every step, as I pick my way through, until in the distance a new sound enters my awareness – a fast flowing motion, a sign of something moving. I move forward hastily until I come to the edge of the trees, and in front of me I see it. A river of red runs through the forest, separating the trees by banks that are now white with snow. Moving forward I see that the river is blood red. It is blood. Banked either side by the snow-white ground, pulsing through it, vein-like and rich.