Dark Winter

by John Hennessy

  Then, he would smile that thousand-watt smile, and you were gone. He just had that affect on girls. The only time he and I spent together, alone together I mean, was after school, where he would play the piano – beautifully of course, and I would try and keep up with the violin. I could not pretend I was anywhere near the standard he was, but he would laugh along with me anyway.

  So many times I wanted him to ask me out. I would make a special effort with my make-up and hair – a school safe style that I could get away with, but he would treat me little more than a kid sister, and it irked me even more when I was not asked to the prom by him.

  Why would he do that anyway? He showed no interest in me in that way, and I hadn’t the courage to just ‘bloody well ask him out then’ as my Nan had once told me.

  I used to practise my signature in my exercise book. Mrs Jackson. Mrs R. Jackon. Mrs Romilly Jackson. Or sometimes even, Mrs Romilly Jackson-Winter. I had betted my father might like Troy more if I promised to keep the family name after we got wed.

  Of course, this was all in my dreams. Whilst he had his pick of the girls at school, he plumped for Toril Withers, thus ensuring I would hate her guts even though she was nice enough to me. Ugh! Please don’t be nice to me! That only made things worse.

  It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Toril was made prom queen. With her glasses, she rocked a sexy, bookish librarian. Without them, she was a goddess.

  I was Troy’s kid sister to Toril’s goddess, no more, no less than that in his eyes. I was simply ‘Rom’, to him. Nobody else, save for my father sometimes, called me by that name, and I wouldn’t like it if they did. After all, Rom was the idiot-cum-genuis Ferengi, in Star Trek Deep Space Nine.

  So, calling me Rom? That was a privilege reserved only for Troy Jackson.

  Beth O’Neill. Perhaps she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the school, but in the end, I managed to mess that up too.

  The first thing to know about Beth was that she was from a strict Irish-Catholic family.

  But the first thing people usually saw and noted about Beth was her gorgeous flame-red hair and sparkling green eyes. It was a striking combination that should have blown most boys away, but she had a ordinariness about her which meant that she didn’t sparkle like many other girls. Boys like Troy liked the ones with presence. When Toril walked into the room, you noticed. When Beth did likewise, you didn’t. It was just how it is.

  Beth was also incredibly down to earth. She always wore her crucifix around her neck, and when asked why she did this, she said “Faith. If you have it, you don’t need anything else.”

  As time went on, several boys did ask her out and she refused, concerned that all they wanted to do was use her, then dump her. Her parents had done a good job of traumatising her. Still, she prayed intently at school mass and sung beautifully during the hymns.

  Beth was traumatised further when her parents were found in their bed, burned to death. She became a lot more introverted after that, and I found myself, finding her fascinating. Like me, she didn’t get involved with any cliques. She was not given into gossip, and studied hard, and whilst I didn’t have a faith so much, I respected that fact that she did.

  We had another thing in common. By the time the school prom came around, no boy had asked her out. Of course, I was never in danger of being asked out (nor would I accept

  anyone else but Troy asking me, but he never did).

  Still, we acted like we had been asked out – at least that was the image we gave to my parents, and as far as Beth’s family were concerned, she would stay over at Rosewinter with me.

  I had gotten two of the prettiest dresses I could find from the local prom shop, and got Beth to try one on.

  “It fits beautifully,” she said, twirling around in her gown. “How did you know?”

  “You’ve got an amazing figure, Beth. You’d look good in anything.”

  She smiled a weird half-smile at me, and then looked at me.

  “Go on then, give us a twirl.”

  Beth’s humour was infectious, and I twirled in the dress, again and again.

  We’d done something our folks would not have agreed with. I broke open the drinks cabinet. My father kept all manner of spirits, mixers, shots in the cabinet. You name it, it was there.

  I gave Beth an over-sized wine glass and filled it to the brim.

  “What is this?” she asked, taking a whiff of the ‘demon drink’, as her folks called it.

  Mine too, for that matter.

  “Jack Daniels,” I said. “Do you want some coke in there?”

  Beth was already sipping it. After the first one burned within her throat, she gulped it down.

  “Ow!” she said. “Have you got anything else? It’s a bit strong!”

  I had in my hands a bottle of Southern Comfort. “This is pretty nice, but strong too. Maybe you’ll like it.”

  Beth did like it, a bit too much in fact. I also realised that we were incredibly drunk, and Beth remarked how her legs were fine until she tried to stand up.

  “I’ve got to…got to go home, Romilly,” Beth said with the straightest of faces, before cracking up, with, “but I don’t know where I live!”

  “That’s a shame,” I slurred. “I’m not sure where you live either.”

  “Milly, I’ve always wanted to ask you this, but never had the courage before. You know…the thing? You and the thing?”

  “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink, Lady Bethany.”

  “Well, yes, maybe. But that’s not the point. Show me, you know, the thing-”

  My head cleared momentarily. “Beth. For God’s sake, what is the thing?”

  “Never mind. Let’s play a game,” said Beth. “Let’s play I Never.”

  “What?”

  “You know…I Never did This, I Never did That…”

  “Okay,” I said. If this was the only way I could get her to communicate whatever The Thing was, then, so be it. “You first.”

  “Oh no no no no no no no no no…” laughed a tipsy Beth. “I came up with idea for the game. You. First.”

  Alright then. She was playing me. I would play safe.

  “I never….went to the Eastern point of Gorswood Forest.”

  “That’s a doozy,” said Beth. “No one has. I mean, no-one who ever came back to say they had.”

  I had heard that too. From Nan.

  “Your turn, Beth.”

  “I never got asked to the prom.”

  “Not true,” I retorted. “You never accepted whoever asked you.”

  “Martin Miley. Craig Sherrington. Michael Laurence. Are you serious? Would you have said yes to any of them?”

  “No Beth.” That’s why we are both here tonight, playing Who Wants to Be Prom Queen.”

  “Spill it, Milly.”

  I thought for a moment. The more you played I Never, the more you revealed about yourself. I adjusted my position, and sat on my hands, and rocked from side to side.

  “I never asked Troy Jackson out.”

  Beth’s turn to spill it. The drink went down the wrong way and she coughed violently. I went to slap her on the back, but she was okay.

  “I knew it. I knew it!”

  “Come on Beth, it’s not news. Every girl wanted to be asked by Troy.” I was being defensive, because I was embarrassed. I had never told anyone directly about how I felt. I did tell Nan, but she hadn’t been at school with me. Telling Beth changed things. Changed nothing.

  “You fancy him too,” I stammered.

  “Actually, I don’t,” said Beth. She seemed honest in her answer. “He’s intimidated by tall women, so that rules you and me out. Toril, on the other hand-”

  “-is petite, perky and gorgeous, yes, I know Beth.”

  Toril was a nightmare. She was perfect. She didn’t have to cast a spell for Troy to fall for her. He had done that all by himself.

  “Hands,” she blurted out finally. “Your hands. I never really seen them up close.”

 
; “You don’t want to see that really, do you Beth?”

  “Yes. Yes I do. I need to know if it’s true.”

  I sighed. I knew how this would end up, how it always ended up. Rumours circulated, I tried to quash those rumours, and by doing so, I would be shunned. I really liked Beth, but she was forcing my hand, literally. Maybe she wouldn’t remember after she had slept the alcohol off.

  With the gloves on, my hands looked completely normal.

  I slipped them off, and revealed the blackened veins

  On my hands that made me look like I was a hundred years old.

  “Oh, Mary mother of God,” exclaimed Beth, blessing herself. “I had no idea it was that bad.”

  She fainted from shock, and I don’t remember how I crawled into my bed, but I rolled my head into a piece of paper.

  When I woke up, Beth had already gone, but had left me a note.

  “Sorry. It freaked me out. I know I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I was severely hung over the next day, but managed to call Beth on my cell. There was no answer, nor for several days after that. I had lost a friend, and she was the closest thing I had to one in all my time at school.

  I knew that I shouldn’t have shown her. Beth knew better than that to ask. The demon drink caused all this.

  Surely she knew what to expect? I just showed her my hands. No-one had been killed though, so why all the drama?

  Still, Beth refused to talk to me, and I considered the friendship over.

  After that, she did end up in a clique of sorts, with two girls I really wasn’t sure about.

  Toril Withers was a bit of a paradox. She had raven coloured hair and huge chocolate brown eyes. Boys would like her just fine, until she would start cleansing their aura, or inviting them to her Wiccan 101 after school classes. Troy Jackson seemed to rise above all though that, and adored Toril. You could see that he looked at her differently to any other girl.

  Some boys would even put up with her attempts at being a witch just to get to her. But she seemed to sense they were up to no good, and she would make up some excuse not to be with them. Being a Wiccan was just as important to Toril, as being a Catholic was to Beth.

  “Does it bother you,” asked Beth, “That you know you are not really good at being a witch?”

  “No,” said Toril. “Does it bother you when you don’t go to church sometimes?”

  “Not really,” said Beth. “I’m still a Catholic. I’ve got my faith.”

  “Good for you,” said Toril, “and I’m still a witch.”

  Toril and Beth got on, but there was no doubt that what Toril needed was some kind of kindred spirit. Equally, it needed to be someone that Beth could relate to.

  In the second year at school, Jacinta Crow arrived. People gawked and stared at her, because Jacinta had white hair. Not like white-blonde that you can get at a hairdressers, but old-lady type white hair.

  Rumour has is that her parent’s died in mysterious circumstances. Students, being cruel as they sometimes are, believed that Jacinta killed them, and had been sent to our town, far away from her original home as punishment.

  Unlike Beth, whose emotions were often all over the place, Jacinta had a coolness that Toril adored. Someone else Toril adored, Sherlock Holmes, had Dr. Watson as his foil, and Beth….didn’t really fit the bill. Jacinta, on the other hand, did. In drama class, the normally reserved Jacinta came into her own when play acting with Toril. Jacinta later admitted to have never read any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works, but said that she did in order to get close to Toril.

  “Why did you say you had read the stories, when you hadn’t?” asked Toril.

  “I needed a friend,” said Jacinta, “and you looked like you needed a kindred spirit.”

  Those were exactly the words Toril was looking for. Just how Jacinta could know this, Toril could not fathom a guess. I could see it irked Beth terribly, and finally, the long silence between us both ended.

  “Hey Romilly,” she said brightly. “Want a coffee?”

  I had been looking in the shop windows at things I could not afford. I turned around to see her. “Oh, hi Beth, how are you doing?”

  “I’m good. You got time for a chat?”

  “Sure.”

  We sat down at the coffee house and Beth apologised for being so distant. I had had time to think about the cold note she had left me, and I couldn’t help but spit bullets at her.

  “Beth, the only reason you are talking to me now is because you feel Toril and whatshername – Jacinta – are freezing you out. Not a nice feeling is it, to be dumped, without a chance to defend yourself, is it?”

  “It’s not, Milly, honestly.”

  I glared at her. I would not have her call me a pet name after how she treated me. Two long years and she had never said a word. We both knew why though.

  “You had Toril, and with her and Jacinta you were making a pretty nice crew, weren’t you? Now it’s not working out so good, you come back to me. I’m not going to be used, Beth.”

  “I’m not using you!” Beth screamed. “I never was! I missed you, it was me that messed it all up, and I’m sorry. I freaked out when I saw your hands like that. I am so sorry. I’m hoping we could talk, and maybe, you know, we can all be friends. You, me, Toril and Jacinta. Please, Milly.”

  I didn’t glare at her this time. I felt rather ashamed of myself. Also, I was annoyed at Beth. We had wasted time. I didn’t mind her having other friends, but I hated that we had lost two years of what had been up to then, a potentially great friendship.

  I still wasn’t sure about Toril and Jacinta. Both girls regarded me with disdain, as pretty much everyone else did. I wasn’t a mixer, and I let the students know it.

  I was, however, sure about Beth. There was an earnest expression in her eyes that told me she really did want to be friends again.

  Still, I thought it best to say what I thought, even if it meant losing her friendship. Again.

  “I don’t think the Witch or White-Hair will want me tagging along like some lost puppy, Beth.”

  Expecting her infamous Irish temper to flare up again, I braced myself, except, it didn’t happen.

  Beth sat down again and sipped her coffee.

  “Toril knows she is not much of a witch, but she’s working on it. As for Jacinta, she’s had it rather hard in life. You know what I’m talking about. I’d been in Gorswood Mental Hospital myself for a few months. Jay’s parents were thought to be amongst the group who set the place on fire. I thought with Rosewinter being close by, you’d know that. Your safe haven is in the vicinity of crazy people Romilly. At least, the ghosts of the crazy people that roam the woods. If you’re not scared when you’re there, you should be. Not all the horrors of Gorswood Forest lie in the East, you know.”

  “Don’t try and scare the f-, the hell out of me, Beth.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe when you and her are close friends, she’ll let you in on it. But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I gossiped. So I can’t tell you, except to say that maybe you shouldn’t called them Wooden-Witch and White-Hair to their faces.”

  “I didn’t mean disrespect. It’s what some at the school used to call them.”

  “But you know better than to do that, Milly. You, of all people.”

  Beth was right. I shouldn’t name call, and bay for blood like the rest of the sheep. I had been on the wrong end of it often enough.

  “I know. Sorry again.”

  I just had to ask her.

  “Beth…did you ever tell Toril, Jacinta, anyone, about that night? You know, what you saw, in the wood-cabin? I had kept that rumour from becoming truth all the time at school, you know?”

  “Jesus God, no. I told no-one.”

  “But your folks knew, right?”

  “They assumed something, incorrectly of course. I mean, they know your parents too, and parents talk. I told them nothing about your hands, and confessed to being completely bombed out on drink. Grounded for a week, and had to say a full ros
ary every day for three months. My soul was saved. Father Brannigan exorcised the demon.”

  Beth laughed that infectious, contagious laugh again.

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m okay, Milly, honestly. We’re okay, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I meant it. It was great to be back with Beth. The way I saw it, having Toril and Jacinta as friends, even if they weren’t close ones, didn’t matter. It was a bonus. So there would be four of us, and that sure beat one versus the world.