Dark Places

by Dawson, H A

  She caught the attention of a member of staff, and having discussed her requirements, she made her way to the checkout with roses, geraniums, red-hot pokers, and evergreen shrubs. Then, with her skirt wafting in the breeze and her strands of hair crossing her face, she wheeled her items to the car, placed them inside, and drove home.

  Feeling a little more inspired, she changed back into her gardening clothes and hurried outside, where she spaced the plants onto the freshly dug soil near the border with Grace’s house and began to make holes. Her task to create designated areas of flowerbeds in the hectare-sized plot was monumental, but rather than expecting immediate results, she considered it a two or three-year plan. Not only would they clearing be a slow process, but also the plants would take a while to establish, and, with the aid of a lawnmower, the weeds would take time to revert to grass. However, for now, the blanket of weeds remained, and the lushness of uniform blades remained a distant dream.

  She stood up, stretched her back muscles, and looked across the garden border. A man with a grave expression exited Grace’s house. Expressionless and with her arms folded, Grace followed his movements to his car. Once he had departed, she turned to Michaela.

  Michaela voiced her greeting, told her of her purchases, and they shared a brief exchange. When she felt the conversation was reaching a natural conclusion, she broached the subject of the house and shared her enthusiasm regarding her historical finds.

  ‘Jim’s child drowned,’ she said. ‘He was responsible.’

  Grace’s body tightened. ‘You shouldn’t be prying into other people’s business.’

  The reprimand hung in the air, and her head dropped and her arms folded. She tried to shield herself from her guilt by reminding herself of their relationship, but the sense that he was a stranger remained.

  ‘It happened in my pond,’ she said. ‘I need to know the details.’

  ‘Do you? Or are you just interested in the gossip?’

  Of course not. I need to know if Catherine was involved. I’ve heard rumours.’

  Grace smirked. ‘There were two people there. It could have been her.’

  Michaela shuddered. She had heard a scream, a woman’s scream. Had that been Catherine? She decided not. Catherine had been innocent of the crimes thrust upon her. She had not killed her own children, nor had she assisted in the deaths of others. It must have been someone else, a family member perhaps, or maybe his mistress.

  ‘I was told Jim was a bit of a cad,’ Michaela said, ‘he had little time for his wife and children, but lots of time for other women.’

  ‘There you go again! None of this is any of your business. You shouldn’t be bad mouthing a family you know nothing about.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like him. You said he was antagonistic.’

  Grace glared.

  ‘Was he a friend of yours?’

  She shook her head and stomped back to the house. ‘Check your facts the next time you spread gossip! He was misunderstood, and because of small minded people like you, he spent his entire life in miserable isolation.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You of all people should be more gracious.’

  Michaela’s words were blocked and she was unable to whisper an apology, but it would have been futile. Grace had already returned indoors and she had slammed the door in a mark of anger.

  Michaela’s instinct was to hide. The last thing she wanted to do was to share her embarrassment with Sam, so taking cover in a quiet corner of the house was out of the question. He may be preoccupied with an electrician, but that would not mean she would be invisible. Looking through her floating strands of hair at Grace’s house and seeing she was alone, she decided to stay outdoors and tend her new garden. At the first sign of movement coming from next door, she would flee.

  Grace’s fury still lingered it was stifling. She didn’t especially like her neighbour and didn’t feel let down; it was more that she disliked having enemies. With the exception of Sam, Grace was the only other human being in her immediate vicinity, and she had hoped that she could learn to like the woman she considered stiff, earnest, and cheerless.

  Progressing with her work, her eyes remained focused on the ground and her head swirled with their brief conversation. It was difficult to understand why her neighbour had been angry and concluded that they must have been friends. Perhaps she disliked the entire village blaming Jim for the loss of his child, and regularly came to his defence. People could be nasty at the best of times, even regarding the innocent. His life could not have been easy.

  So what had happened? If it had been a horrible accident, there would not have been so much anger about and at least some of his family and friends would have been supportive. She could understand her mother walking away, as she was hostile at the best of times, but her father had been an easy-going man and it was difficult to see him denying himself a relationship with his brother. She needed facts. Regrettably, they were going to be difficult to attain.

  Her mother wasn’t willing to talk, Grace was unapproachable, and the villagers deprived of the facts. Brief panic slid through her veins, fearing the truth would remain in obscurity. For the sake of her baby and other future children, she had to know what had happened. How could she protect her baby when she did not understand the dangers?

  Alerted to a sound coming from Grace’s house, Michaela jerked, her pulse quickened, and she leapt to her feet. Whilst Grace disappeared around the other side of the house carrying a bin, she wasn’t willing to get into another argument and edged a little to her left, hiding behind an overgrown bush, and continued to pry through a small gap in the foliage.

  Grace walked stiffly keeping her stern gaze fixated on the ground, and not looking towards the border. It offered no hope that they would be able to put aside their differences, and it caused her anxieties to swell. It would be dreadful having to avoid this part of the plot, and how would she explain it to Sam?

  More importantly, how would she learn the truth about Catherine if no one was willing to talk?

  She sunk to the ground and rested on the warm dry grass, and remembered her mother’s request to forget the past. They had been wise words. She should forget the darker side of Primrose Cottage, and focus on her baby, her future. It was just a house. Catherine was not important. The previous deaths were not important. Her mother’s secrets were not important.

  Nevertheless, a small part of her refused to listen.

  For days, Sam had been helping the electrician, Joe, with the rewiring. They lifted floorboards, drilled holes, and passed wires between the rooms. Often Michaela witnessed Sam in awkward positions on the floors, and as he stretched out, she thought of the advantage his lean body offered. He could bend, twist and press himself into narrow gaps, unlike Joe, his heavier counterpart, who huffed and puffed with every movement. Surreptitiously, she glanced at his rounded belly and ill-fitting jeans and watched as his crack appeared when he bent over. She considered it unattractive, and it increased her appreciation of her neatly groomed husband.

  Sam had a fantastic attitude regarding the renovations, and his enthusiasm rarely faltered. He worked twelve hours a day, infrequently stopping for more than half an hour at a time, and split his time between his business and the house. Praising his energy, and feeling weary and dulled in comparison, she headed to the patio and flicked through a local newspaper.

  She scanned the adverts, searching for value-for-money decorative accessories, such as mirrors, artificial plants, candleholders, and paints and wallpapers. Having owned a flat, their possessions were limited and not enough to fill the spacious accommodation they now owned. They had space to fill and creative ideas waiting to fill them. She turned over the page.

  A screech of brakes ripped through the silence, followed by the sound of strained reversing and the slamming of a car door. Driven by curiosity and concern, she leapt off her chair and trotted to the drive.

  A woman dragged a small tearful boy towards her. ‘Where the bloody
hell is he?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Get out here you lying rat!’

  Michaela was stunned into silence. The woman shoved past, stomped towards the house, and shouted through the open door to Joe, continuing with her verbal abuse. After a few moments of ranting, whilst ignoring Sam and Michaela, she headed back to the car, leaving the boy, Oliver, bundled in a heap on the concrete; his pink face contorted, tears flowed down his cheeks, and his arms gripped his legs.

  Joe was full of apologies and cradled his young son in his arms.

  ‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I’m sorry, I would have liked to have finished that section.’

  Michaela scrutinised the two men. ‘I don’t mind looking after him for a while. I’m not busy.’

  Joe hesitated.

  ‘Oliver,’ she said gently, ‘would you like to go exploring?’

  His face softened.

  ‘We have a large garden with lots of hiding places. It’ll be fun. There might be one or two surprises for you as well.’

  His face brightened and he nodded his agreement. Joe also concurred, and placed his son on the floor and proceeded to the house thanking her profusely. Sam mouthed his gratitude and blew her a kiss before he too departed.

  An exploration of the garden began. Oliver’s small fingers squeezed into Michaela’s palm, desperate for a consoling hand as she led them down a path. She stopped at various points and introduced birds and insects to her companion. Since his expression was one of fascination, she guessed that this was his first nature trail experience. Even the bark of an ageing willow tree provided a moment of fascination, and when she told him it was at least one hundred years old, he traced the grooves in awe.

  ‘That’s older than Daddy!’

  She nodded. ‘It’s older than his daddy too. Do you have grandparents Oliver?’

  Oliver was dumbstruck. ‘It’s older than Granddaddy! He’s really old!’

  The boy extended his arms around the tree, and then, with his head close to the trunk, he looked upwards. His arms followed, and he jumped as he stretched, exclaiming his achievement.

  They continued their journey, but when she saw the small pond, she hesitated as images of the drowning child emerged. Her legs felt weak and unresponsive and her stomach churned. She could not move forward, despite Oliver’s eagerness to look at the water and stood firm to his pleas.

  ‘Please,’ he said.

  Catching her unawares, he freed himself from her grip, surged to the edge, and crouched down and peered into the water. Trembling, she hovered at his rear and stared into the murk.

  A piercing scream sounded in her mind. She looked at the water, imagined the flailing arms of the child and the desperation in Jim’s face, and a chill enveloped her. Desperate to get him away, she stepped to Oliver, who was poking something in the water, and yanked him to his feet.

  ‘We must get back. Your daddy will think you’ve got lost.’

  ‘Do we have to?’

  She forcefully led him away. ‘I have something else to show you first, but you have to promise to be very quiet and very still.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. Do you like surprises?’

  Oliver nodded. He was an endearing little boy with blond spiky hair, vivid blue eyes, a small upturned nose, and pink lips, and he warmed her heart. Striding back to the house, exchanging words of joy and excitement, visions of her spending time with her own son eased her back into a tranquil state. It was easy to imagine being a mother with a delightful child by her side, and she could hardly wait. Wanting to share her pleasure, she glanced through the windows of the house, searching for Sam. She didn’t see her husband but caught sight of Joe by the bedroom window.

  ‘Look who it is,’ she said to her young companion.

  He looked up and his face broke into a wide smile. No longer was he the traumatised little child with a reddened tearful face, he was a symbol of happiness and innocence. How quickly he had recovered from his ordeal.

  ‘I want to tell daddy about the pond,’ he said.

  Soon. Firstly, we are going to creep into the barn like two little mice. Can you do that?’

  ‘What’s there?’

  ‘You’ll see, but don’t forget, no sudden movements, and no sounds.’

  Oliver nodded.

  ‘Good boy.’

  He tiptoed to the barn with Michaela a step behind. At the door, she held his shoulders and then pressed her finger to her lips, motioning to be quiet. The door creaked open; they stepped onto the dusty concrete; they looked up to the beam, gazing beyond the stacked-high boxes. Balanced at a cross-section was a swallow’s nest, and positioned flat and barely visible was the female bird.

  Oliver’s jaw dropped. Mesmerised, and without making a sound, he watched as the swallow safeguarded her eggs. The bird was unlikely to be happy with the intrusion, yet she stayed put, unwilling to leave her clutch exposed to danger.

  ‘I hope he’s not giving you trouble,’ a voice sounded.

  She turned and stepped towards Joe who was returning tools to his vehicle. ‘He is a lovely boy. Well behaved.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. Tricia can get hot headed at times.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I needed a break from things, and it is good experience for me, I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  She flushed. ‘You’re the first person we’ve told.’

  ‘I’m honoured.’ He studied her proud face. ‘I can tell you’ll make a fantastic mother. You’re a natural.’

  A loud crash and a scream resonated from the barn. They bounded towards the sound, and her heart palpitated and her body quaked.

  Flattened beneath the boxes was her young companion. He did not cry out; he was silent in his pain.

  Chapter 13

  Anguish carved into her face; her eyebrows wrinkled and her skin was ashen. She pulled away from Sam rejecting his comforting hand. She wanted to feel the pain; she wanted the punishment.

  The ambulance drove along the lane as Michaela replayed the torturous images in her mind, from the moment of the fall to the lifting of Oliver’s broken body onto the stretcher. The ten minutes they had spent waiting for the paramedics were the longest of her life, as the minutes had refused to tick by. She had paced the ground, rushing between the lane and the barn, she had scanned the little boy for optimistic responses, and she had yelled at Sam for no apparent reason. But she could not make eye contact with Joe; her guilt was far too intense.

  Oliver had been her responsibility and she had failed. It had been a simple task: look after a small boy for an hour. How could she have been so stupid? She should not have left him alone in the barn. He was a five-year-old child, innocent to the dangers of unstable, stacked boxes. She was an idiot, undeserving of motherhood.

  Her self-deprecation continued as Sam guided her into the house, speaking soothing words. Yet rather than providing a calm reassurance, her anger bubbled.

  ‘Just leave me alone!’ She yanked her arm from his grip. ‘It’s my fault! He could die, and you just want to be nice. How can you be so heartless?’

  Her tears rolled. She trotted to the living room.

  ‘He’s not going to die. He’s going to be okay.’

  ‘How can you say that? You’re not God! You don’t know any more than me.’

  ‘He was in shock.’ He gripped her upper arms. ‘He was speaking. He will be all right Michaela.’

  She fought his resistance but he was too strong, and after tussling for a few seconds, her energy slipped and she flopped into his arms. He guided her heavy weight to the sofa and encouraged her to sit. Immediately, her adrenaline raced. She bolted to her feet and paced the floor.

  ‘I should never have let him stay here,’ she said.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. Joe wasn’t blaming you.’

  ‘Of course he was, and so he should. How could I have been so stupid?’

  ‘You have
to stop blaming yourself. It was an accident.’

  ‘No Sam. It was no accident. I knew that children weren’t safe in this godforsaken place, yet I still put my own feelings first.’

  She bit her lip, desperate to add that she didn’t deserve to be a mother, but the words would not come out; she was terrified of hearing the truth.

  ‘You have to forget about the curse. It’s nonsense. Many children have lived here happily.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Jim for a start . . . and, I should imagine, your father. They both turned out okay.’

  She held an unyielding stare.

  ‘I agree that the house has had more than its fair share of accidents, but that is all they are, accidents. The pond accident was just that – an accident. And the staircase incident was waiting to happen. Grace said it was in a bad state of repair.’

  ‘No. She said it looked like it had been partially sawn through.’

  He hesitated. ‘Perhaps someone had started making alterations and gave up leaving the whole thing unstable.’

  ‘I don’t see why anyone would do that.’

  ‘People do strange things. That’s why it is important I do a thorough job. Everything is being quality checked by a builder. We will be okay.’

  His words made sense, but she was not ready to forgive herself for her carelessness. What anguish was Joe feeling, and his furious partner too? And what about little Oliver? He had such a gorgeous smile. Would she ever see it again?

  The crash and scream resonated in her mind, and her gut churned. His day had never been destined to be a happy one. He had already suffered because of his mother’s temper, a result of his father’s careless planning and lack of communication. The little boy must have wondered why he was at the centre of all the troubles.

  Biting her lip, she gazed through the window to a bird feeder on a nearby post. Sparrows waited in the tree whilst others clung to the plastic feeder and pecked at the peanuts. A pigeon flew across the open expanse and headed towards the setting sun, and a great tit sat motionless on a dead branch. With envy, she thought of the simplicity of their lives. Eat and sleep, and once or twice a year have young. They did not suffer from the complication of emotions or consciousness. Are humans any better off as a result? She did not feel as though she was, and right now, longed for freedom from her evolutionary gift.