Fate of the Fallen

by Darren Lewis

  *

  The pale grey light woke her this time and the girl pushed herself slowly upright, and sat on the edge of the bed. As she had countless times before her eyes scanned the room, as if seeking something. Today was they day she saw it. On the floor near her bedroom door was an object, silver in colour. She stared with hard unblinking eyes. She swore she heard a small laugh from within her mind. It was a pen, only a pen. But above it written on the wall was a message. It seemed to be in the handwriting of a young child, messy, with extended loops and lines, but readable. The girl mouthed the written words again and again. Even as the first and second bells chimed she repeated those words to herself. A small sense of resolve and determination spun through her being and she walked confidently. She knew at the end of the day she would have to stay on her feet, lest anyone see this message. All day, as the sweat poured from her head and soaked her face and clothes. As the muscles in her body screamed for release, the girl smiled grimly and repeated those words as often as she could.

  The world is wrong.

  *

  The girl had managed to stay on her feet and pushed away the hands that made to pick her up and carry her home. She stumbled away, sobbing, not at the pain in her body but in the last few minutes she had convinced herself that this morning was a dream, or her imagination or some new cruel punishment being inflicted upon her. Reaching home she moved slowly through the house, not wanting to find out what was true but being drawn irresistibly towards it. She entered her room and fell to her knees, crying for the first time in happiness. The words were still there and she was going to make sure she found out where they came from.

  Instead of sitting on the bed and the temptation of sleep, the girl sat on the floor near the wall. With a strange mixture of fear and excitement she had added a question to the wall.

  Why?

  And now she had an overwhelming desire to go to the toilet. Toilet? She thought. What's a toilet? She shook her head, dismissing the odd thought and leaning back against her bedroom wall. The day had taken a massive toll on her however, just like every day before, and even though she fought and fought she fell asleep.

  *

  The girl's head banged back against the wall, bringing her instantly awake. Darkness had fallen and confusion rang through her head as she tried to remember what she was doing. Her shoulders ached and brought her back to full consciousness. There was just enough light for her to see the wall and she gasped at the new message that had been added while she'd been sleeping.

  You are not who you are.

  She read again and again, her mind twisting and whirling. Sometimes she read one line and other times all of the short conversation.

  The world is wrong.

  Why?

  You are not who you are.

  Each time she expected to receive some new insight or revelation but nothing was forthcoming. Her body ached and she felt sure that deep sleep was not far away. She attempted to roll her shoulders, but cried out in pain as her right shoulder screamed at her as cramp set in. She tried to use her left hand to massage the pain away but could not move it. She couldn't even feel it. Panicked, she slowly eased her head around causing dull throbs to pass through her neck and looked at her left hand, expecting it to be gone, vanished into the grey darkness. Maybe it had detached itself, crawled off and was sitting under the bed, watching her and ready to pounce on her unawares. She snorted and shook her head gingerly at such thoughts, wondering where such a weird idea would've come from. Her left hand was there on the floor, curled around something. She became quite fascinated as she attempted to flex her fingers but saw no response. She sighed sadly, the hardships of the day were telling her body to sleep and it was obeying without asking her permission. As she wondered if another message would be waiting for her in the morning, her hand twitched and flopped and without time for her to be surprised, it jumped towards the wall.

  The girl watched entranced but unafraid as her left hand began scrawling on the wall with the pen it held in its grip. This message was short and it seemed to wrench the girl's heart when finished.

  Help me!

  Her hand had dropped uselessly back to her side. Aches and pains forgotten, as it seemed something in this strange world was for once attempting to communicate. She gently prised the pen away with her right hand and wrote underneath the latest message.

  How?

  Her left hand twitched again and she passed the pen back to it. Once again it raised itself to the wall and began writing in its childish scrawl.

  Prisoner! House. Help!

  The girl gasped as the pen dropped to the floor. She knew what house was meant. It was the house of the bad one, the one who punished her everyday. She shook her head, afraid. Her hand came to life yet again but this time it pulled her towards her bedroom door. The girl got up and let it lead her to the hallway. She had traversed that hallway countless times, but never in the dark grey of the nights here. It was familiar and alien at the same time, as if something was ever so slightly off kilter without being apparent. It made the girl's stomach clench and scurrying fingers of fear to run across her neck, making her shiver. Her hand ignored all these feelings and kept twitching and tugging until it reached a large mirror hung on the wall. The hand lifted and lay flat against it. The girl looked in the mirror and in the dark light she saw her reflection smile at her.

  *

  “Don't be afraid.” The reflection told the girl.

  The girl, who was quite stunned, swallowed and then answered quietly.

  “Okay.” She whispered.

  The reflection smiled again, and a thoughtful look crossed her face.

  “You look awful, and I've been trying to get through to you for ages.” She sighed.

  “Who… who are you?” the girl stammered.

  “A friend, one who needs your help. I'm a prisoner at her house. You have to free me.”

  The emphasis alone on `her' was enough for the girl to shake violently, as goose bumps raised and raced along every inch of her skin.

  “Hey, hey.” The reflection said comfortingly. “I know how scared you are, but I'm here now and I can help.”

  The girl sniffed and leaned in close to the mirror.

  “How can you help, you said you were a prisoner?” She whispered.

  “I know how to beat her and escape this place. But to do that I have to show you how I became her prisoner.”

  The girl's mind raced. This might be a trick, but what choice did she have? She could simply take her hand away from the mirror, or at least try and then go back to her bedroom to sleep and face another day strapped into a harness. No, there was no choice, trick or not.

  “What do I do?”

  The girl in the mirror smiled encouragingly.

  “Put your other hand on the mirror and look in my eyes.”

  The girl swallowed and took a deep breath, and did as she was asked. As her right hand came into contact with the cold of the mirror the reflection's eyes began to glow. Soft at first but then brighter, until it seemed to bore into the girl's mind. There was no pain and as the glow dimmed, the girl realised she was staring at a clear blue sky and her skin was warm. A strange sense of familiarity overcame the girl, as if she had walked into a room of strangers but to her surprise, she knew everyone.

  “My name is Ellie and this is what happened that awful day.”

  Ellie's story

  Ellie was standing completely still, staring out of the window at the clear blue sky. A fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead and upper lip. She took deep breaths in through her nose and then silently exhaled through pursed lips. It was decision time.

  The day was absolutely scorching, without even a tiny breeze to offer the brief relief of coolness. It was so hot that nobody in the village walked the streets and no cars travelled the roads. It was silent for the most part. Children would go outside to play but the searing heat simply sucked the energy right out of them, seemingly using that stolen energy to beat down harder on any
adventurous soul that went outside. Paddling pools were off limits as yet another hosepipe ban was in place, a fact that annoyed Dad as he had planned to wash the car. Even the wildlife had sought refuge in an attempt to stay out of the sun's angry glare and slept or buzzed away lazily in any shade possible.

  Ice cream vans had attempted to serve people but had run out quicker than the heat could melt any icy relief. Two had actually broken down and the police were called to stop people from tossing the drivers out and serving themselves.

  Yes, decision time.

  Ellie and her family had sought some sort of escape in the living room. Every window was open and mum had set up a fan to blow air through the room, though it seemed to be annoying them all more than anything. The faint breeze it offered was replaced by irritation when it swept away to another part of the room. Ellie and Jack had been slumped on the sofa. At first Ellie had tried reading to him but he wasn't interested, so she had turned the television on only to discover it was too hot to pay any attention to it. Mum and Dad were sitting in chairs staring into space, red faced and grumpy. Ellie had thought that if the police had wandered over after the ice cream debacle, they would've declared it a crime scene, they were all so lifeless.

  Ellie peeled herself off the sofa and headed for the kitchen, where she discovered a terrible truth. They were out of ice cream.

  So decision time had arrived, go to the local shop, though she imagined that everyone else had already done this or try a friend's house and see how charitable they were feeling. As far as Ellie was concerned, either choice carried the expectation of misery coupled with the whisper of hope. Or what her parents called the government. Jack called from the living room in a weak cry.

  “Ellie. Ice cream!”

  Ellie rolled her eyes and blew a breath out in dramatic fashion, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice on a hot day for her sibling.

  “Okay, Jack. Okay.”

  *

  Ellie reached the top of the hill and looked at her feet. She was surprised they didn't look like the two lumps of molten metal that they felt like. Every inch of her clothes was plastered to her skin and her bum felt like it was glued to the saddle of her bike. She came to a gliding stop and slowly, grimacing all the while, peeled her bottom off the bike. Ellie let the bike fall unceremoniously to the ground and she half walked, half waddled to a low wall while pulling her shorts away from her rear end, to sit and wait for her friends to catch up.

  Ellie had tried her friend's houses and freezers but hadn't been successful, and they were just as desperate as Jack for an ice cream so her friends had volunteered, reluctantly, bravely and stupidly to accompany her to the shop. The parents had forced notes and coins on them, almost pleading for them to be successful. Ellie had backed away, grinning and making sure not to lose eye contact. Her friends arrived at the top of the hill just as Ellie was stretching her legs out, huffing and puffing, looking red-faced and miserable. Ellie raised her eyebrows at them.

  “Told you it was hot.” She said in a matter-of-fact, almost smug tone.

  Cerys, the youngest of the little group, muttered something under her breath about ships as she let her bike down and sat next to Ellie. Lily, the oldest of the three, stopped but did not dismount. Her face was red and sweaty also, but her eyes seemed to be fixed on something down the road. Cerys took a deep breath and spoke quietly.

  “The breeze, when you're moving, is great. But when you stop, it's like being hit with a frying pan,” She paused a moment, “that's on fire,” her brow furrowed in concentration before continuing, “that is somehow hanging in the air waiting to hit you.” She sighed and put her sweaty head in her sweaty hands. Ellie screwed her face up at Cerys.

  “I would say the heat's gotten to you, but you've only been riding for five minutes.” Ellie complained. Cerys turned her head without raising it.

  “I'm a redhead and we don't do well in the sun.” She explained. Ellie rolled her eyes and flung her hands up in annoyance. The heat seemed to be getting to her too.

  “Why didn't you bring a hat? Or sunscreen? Why did you come?”

  “Wanted a Magnum, didn't I?” Cerys retorted, irritated now.

  “You want to shut up!” Ellie huffed. Cerys sat upright and pushed Ellie's shoulder.

  “You shut up! You and your stupid ideas! We should just go to Becky's house, she has a pool!” Cerys countered. Ellie spluttered.

  “My idea? I didn't force you to come along, bumface!”

  Ellie and Cerys were nose to nose at this point and each could feel the heat radiating off the other's face as they stared angrily at each other. Before the argument could progress any further, Lily spoke for the first time.

  “Who's that over there?”

  Ellie gave Cerys a final glare, and Cerys stuck her tongue out at Ellie before they both looked to where Lily was pointing. Ellie saw three children standing outside a small cottage everyone in the village knew very well.

  When Ellie and her family had first moved to the village, the cottage in question was lovely to look at whatever the weather was doing. The garden had trimmed lush grass, rose bushes dominated the borders and a grand apple tree took pride of place in the centre of the front lawn. The house itself resembled something from a child's picture book, with beautifully carved woodwork, small white windows and a high pointed roof capped off with a tall chimney. It always looked fresh and new. The retired couple who had lived there were very proud of their house and well known to all in the village. The old man was chatty and always had a cheeky look in his eye regardless of who he was speaking to. Mum said he was always the life and soul of village council meetings, mocking those who always seemed to oppose anything new. His wife was quieter but always had a smile for everyone. Then sadly, the old man passed away and the wife sold the house, and went to live with her son and his wife.

  As Ellie, Lily and Cerys walked their bikes towards the cottage and the three children, Ellie was saddened by what it had become. The new owner had moved in and did not care for the garden or the house. The grass was long and unkempt. The rose bushes were being surrounded and engulfed by weeds in military perfection. The once proud apple tree was nothing more than a skeleton of wood, its branches clawing uselessly at the sky. The house itself, though occupied for a couple of years now by the new owner, looked abandoned. Dark curtains were drawn over each window with the exception of the main window at the front of the house. The woodwork looked rotten and the house seemed ill as the paint peeled away in strips. Children and unbelievably to Ellie, some adults, started describing the cottage as the witch's cottage. Ellie had heard the stories of the witch in the village and how children would dare each other to stare at it or knock on the door and run away. This was of course performed with a lot of screaming, shouting and giggling. Ellie had to admit, if you were a witch and wanted it known, then this was how you'd let your home look.

  The three children, girls that Ellie knew from school, saw Ellie and her friends approaching and they elbowed each other into silence and looked guiltily around them. Ellie walked around them, blocking their view of the house.

  “Come on girls, that's enough.” She said calmly. Lily looked more annoyed and was shaking her head at the younger girls.

  “Maybe you should go and apologise.” Lily suggested. The girls looked terrified, not just with coming face to face with their witch but having to admit to being mean to their victim. Ellie and Cerys nodded in agreement. Ellie turned to look at the cottage.

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “We're sorry.” One of the girls moaned mournfully. Ellie snorted.

  “Not to us!”

  Cerys peered over Ellie's shoulder and then pointed at the front window.

  “What's that?” She asked in alarm. “Is it on fire?”

  All six looked at the window and saw the flickering orange light. Then the window frame began to rattle and the glass seemed to bend outwards.

  “Whoever's got their phone call 999!” Ellie cried. Each gir
l reached in their pockets and each shook their head.

  “No signal!”

  “Nothing!”

  “I got a text! Oh, it's from yesterday.”

  “Nice to know we're still living in the 19th century here.” Cerys added sarcastically.

  Ellie looked at the sky in agitation and pointed at the three girls.

  “Go to the neighbours and use their phone. Now!”

  The girls scampered off and Ellie, Lily and Cerys lined up on the pavement to watch the cottage. Ellie desperately wanted to go in and help out the lady who lived there, but she knew the best thing to do was wait for the fire brigade.

  “Maybe she's casting a spell?” Cerys said hopefully. Ellie and Lily turned and gave her the same withering look. “What?” Cerys asked in an injured tone and she shrugged. “Maybe she is a witch.” Ellie looked over her shoulder at the house she had sent the girls to, hoping they wouldn't be too long.

  “Don't be daft. There are no such things as witches.” Lily stated.

  “Perhaps she's creating fire with her hands.” And Cerys began weaving her arms and hands around. “Or maybe she's breathing it onto the fireplace rather than using matches!” She added with a grin. Lily tutted.

  “Blimey, Cerys. You have some odd thoughts. There's no such thing as magic, and nothing can breathe fire! Right, Ellie?” Lily nudged Ellie with her elbow.

  “Ummmm.” Ellie said, not sure what to say. Luckily for Ellie, before Lily pestered her anymore the orange glow disappeared.

  “That's it, she's finished now. We'll all have boils and warts on our noses by the end of the day.” Cerys said smugly.

  “Cerys!” Ellie and Lily chastised their friend. Cerys smiled and was about to reply when a rumbling noise came from the cottage.

  “What now?” asked Lily.

  Ellie was uneasy now. Her spine tingled and despite the oppressive heat of the day she now felt cold. Goose bumps rose on her arms and she rubbed them while staring at the cottage.