The Sacrifice Box

by Martin Stewart

  Hadley nodded, then took a deep breath.

  ‘I know, that’s why she seems pissed off – she’s upset. She keeps seeing her mum all the time.’ She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, then looked at him. ‘Why did you come after me?’

  ‘I just didn’t want you to be … Everything in the room felt sore, so I ran after you.’

  ‘You ran out of class without asking permission? Weird shit really is happening.’

  He laughed, folded his arms behind his back and looked at his shoes. They stood between the fire doors and the sports ground, raised classroom voices meeting the burp of sheep and the rattle of tractors: murmurs of island life that somehow continued while their world fell apart.

  ‘Why have you been watching me lately?’ he said.

  She shrugged.

  ‘I just like watching you in class, sometimes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said I like watching you in class,’ she said, louder, leaning towards his good ear.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, hot lead filling his veins. ‘Why?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘It helps me think.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Just … your face. It goes all clear when you’re working, and it helps me concentrate.’

  Sep couldn’t think of anything to say. He just looked at her baseball boots, following the lines of the ink drawings she’d made on the canvas.

  ‘I always have, you know,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s just you only noticed in the past few days.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She sighed and watched the gull-shadows spiral on the grass, letting her head drop to one side.

  ‘Should we go back in?’

  ‘Maybe not yet. Just another minute.’

  She sat on the wall, and he hovered beside her.

  ‘So everyone knows,’ she said, crumbling stone as she pulled some moss free.

  ‘About what?’ said Sep.

  ‘About my diary … and me liking Mack. I started keeping it when I was getting bullied, and it was four years ago. I was just a kid – and then I sacrificed it so it would disappear.’

  Sep felt a jab of nausea and smothered it, clicking the Walkman’s buttons.

  But she shuffled closer to him – and he let them go.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter what people think,’ he said. ‘Who cares?’

  ‘You care.’

  ‘How’d you work that out?’

  ‘Well, you obviously do,’ she said, ‘otherwise you wouldn’t be leaving.’

  Sep thought about it for a moment.

  ‘They think I’m an asshole,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Everyone kind of … hates everyone. It’s just school. Do you like them?’

  ‘Well … no.’

  ‘So who cares?’

  ‘I said I don’t –’

  ‘But you do. And you shouldn’t. Mostly they’re just jealous because you’re so brainy. But it doesn’t matter. People think I’m weird because my mum’s Korean and I dye my hair. People dump on you for whatever you do, but you don’t need to run away from it. If you’re strong,’ she continued, closing her eyes as though convincing herself, ‘they can’t get at you, even if they try.’

  Sep watched the way the sun glowed on her skin, then turned away as she opened her eyes. He ran his tongue over his bad tooth, scanning the treeline for any sign of Barnaby.

  ‘This is getting to all of us though, isn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘But it doesn’t matter, I know it doesn’t – what’s happening is so much more serious than my old diary. If the box can do this to us, what else can it do? We could really get hurt.’

  She was twisting the glove on her left hand. Sep noticed another dark stain on the fabric. ‘What’s on –’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘My bike, this morning – some leaves got stuck under my tyre and I fell. It’s OK, I always fall.’

  Sep remembered: Hadley falling into a rock pool and getting seaweed stuck in her hair; Hadley missing the seat of a park bench and landing on the ground; Hadley tripping and landing in his arms one night when they were walking home – even though there’d been nothing to trip over.

  ‘Right,’ she said, standing quickly and shuffling the feeling back into her feet. ‘Let’s go back to class.’

  ‘We don’t have to,’ said Sep quickly, ‘if you don’t want to … Did you really fancy Mack that summer?’

  She blinked at the unexpected question.

  ‘Well, yeah. I think most of the girls … I mean, you know –’

  ‘Let’s pretend I don’t.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Everyone did.’

  ‘Do they still?’ said Sep, gripping his voice to keep it steady. He looked down, focused on the pitch’s white-painted grass.

  She laughed.

  ‘Pretty much. What was it Darren called him this morning? A steak in a T-shirt?’

  She turned and headed for the door, her shoulders bobbing in a deep sigh.

  ‘But you’re a vegetarian,’ said Sep.

  She laughed, then turned serious.

  ‘Do you have to leave?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said after taking a breath. ‘I mean, why would I stay? Are you going to stay here forever?’

  She looked past him, down to the tiny shops and paint-peeling signposts; to the pool-spotted rocks and the thin arc of pale sand.

  ‘Definitely,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘I mean, there’s nothing here. And I want to be an engineer – I want to build things. What do you want to be when you grow up?’

  She shrugged, then gave him a squint smile that spun the ground under his feet.

  ‘Happy,’ she said, then vanished through the door.

  The bell rang, signalling the start of history class. Sep waited a moment, then followed her inside.

  27

  Ward Seven

  They had polished the floor sometime that morning, and now sunlight bounced into her face.

  Maguire tried to turn her head, but her neck was trapped in a thick, foam collar. She shut her eyes instead, watching the veins pulse in her eyelids. Nurses darted around, and she followed their movements by the squeak of their shoes.

  She had no memory of the ambulance, or arriving at hospital. She remembered her husband’s study, something exploding in the grate and … nothing. Just a deep, rotten stench and a small, misshapen face.

  And now here she was, propped in a stiff bed on ward seven, plugged into a machine. Fire lit her throat whenever she swallowed. They had given her a cardboard tub to spit into, but she’d handed it back. Her head ached. They said it was her blood pressure, but she felt like she’d no blood left, like she was empty.

  And tired – so, so tired.

  Eventually she dozed, dreaming of her husband and cooking pots filled with birds; of a faceless child who spoke with Sep’s voice – and of a small, wooden puppet named Here’n’now, who laughed at things that weren’t funny and waved at her with tiny hands.

  As the sun climbed towards noon its glow dimmed on the floor, the corridor filled with the sky’s pale light and a thread of drool spilled from the corner of her mouth.

  She opened her eyes.

  It was visiting time. Only a few folk had made it on a weekday morning, but the ward was warmed by the soft murmur of conversation.

  ‘Would you like anything, Mrs Maguire?’ said a nurse, a tray held in front of her.

  ‘No thank you, dear,’ said Maguire. Her voice came as a dry, hissing thing, like dead leaves.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t make you more comfortable? Cup of tea?’

  Maguire shook her head, then winced.

  ‘Too hot. It’d be like lava,’ she said, narrowing her eyes at the pain. ‘Tap water?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Maguire watched her go.

  She let her eyes close again, gritting her teeth at the pain in her throat and letting herself drift away from the hospital towards
the empty memories of the previous night.

  Something stirred.

  Thom, she thought suddenly. Thom was there, in my house.

  Shoes squeaked towards her bed.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m so thirsty, I can’t – oh!’

  A little girl was standing at the foot of the bed, hands behind her back.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ she said.

  ‘I thought I was talking to the nurse,’ said Maguire. ‘Who are you with?’

  ‘Visiting my granny,’ said the girl, pointing theatrically with one hand. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’ve lost my patience,’ sighed Maguire.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not well. Go and see your granny now, off you pop.’

  ‘Do you want to see my special friend?’

  Maguire gave the girl a long blink.

  ‘Then will you go?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘All right. Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Her name’s Jessica.’

  ‘And where is Jessica? Behind your back?’

  The girl nodded again, then grinned and produced a ragged, patchwork dolly.

  ‘She’s my favourite –’

  But Maguire was already screaming, screaming though it burned her flesh, screaming even as the nurses pumped a sedative into her veins, her eyes wild and red – remembering in that instant the anger that had come for her, and the smell of Sadie’s burnt skin.

  -4

  Visiting: 1941

  Aileen answered the door on the third knock. Shelley, head wrapped tightly in a shawl, stood back from the step, her hand still in the air.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she said.

  ‘It’s nearly lunch,’ said Aileen through the narrow gap. She heard the clatter of plates behind her and closed the door a little, embarrassed by the watery cabbage smell from the kitchen.

  ‘Please. I’m sorry about all that, last week. I was – I didn’t know about your dad’s –’

  ‘Come in if you’re going to stand gabbing!’ said Aileen, hushing Shelley with a flash of her eyes.

  They tiptoed into her bedroom. Aileen saw that the pencil marks on the back of Shelley’s legs were wobbly, and the tan of her liquid nylons was uneven. But she fixed her eyes upwards as Shelley turned round, resuming her hardest expression.

  ‘Well, what do you want?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Shelley again. ‘We – Lizzie and me, and Morgan – we didn’t mean to be so rude. If we’d known about –’

  ‘Don’t you mention my pa again,’ snapped Aileen. ‘Just tell me what you’ve come to say and be on your way.’

  Shelley pursed her lips and squeezed her hands.

  ‘Your room’s always so neat,’ she said, looking at the sharply made bed and the tidy bookshelves.

  ‘Now,’ said Aileen.

  Shelley flushed and bowed her head. Her eyes were raw from crying, and her hands shook as she unwrapped the shawl from her head.

  Aileen gasped, and clasped her hand to her mouth.

  ‘It was a couple of nights after we went there, into the woods,’ said Shelley. ‘I was just brushing it, after a bath, and –’ She choked on a sob – ‘there were clumps coming away on my brush, like I was a moulting collie! At first I thought the Germans, you know: maybe they put something in the water? But when I went to see Lizzie her hair was fine, only –’

  ‘Only what?’ said Aileen, staring at the pocked, tufty surface of Shelley’s bare scalp.

  ‘She was so thin! Ever since she cursed her aunt with that box, she says she can’t keep anything down – only the eggs from her chickens. Everything else comes from the ration book, and she can’t keep the rations down! She’s wasting away!’

  ‘And you think I’m making this happen, do you?’

  Shelley looked horrified.

  ‘No! Lizzie thinks she’s cursed herself, and I –’ She covered her face – ‘I think so too. We didn’t do right by you, or the offering. If we’d known about –’

  ‘I don’t want your pity,’ said Aileen quickly, then as her eyes filled she reached up and lifted Shelley’s hands away. ‘I just want your friendship, the way it was before your head got filled with boys and cities. When we told each other secret things.’

  Shelley fell forward, wrapping her arms round Aileen’s narrow shoulders. Aileen felt the soft skin of her head against her cheek.

  ‘How’s Morgan?’ she said eventually.

  ‘He’s coughing non-stop: you’d think he had black lung. He says every breath is like the first time he tried smoking, and when he coughs it gets worse. He’s miserable – can’t hardly leave the house. You need to help us, Leen.’

  ‘Me? What can I do?’

  ‘You knew about it! You knew how it worked. It was –’

  ‘But I don’t know anything, not really,’ said Aileen quickly, her voice urgent. ‘I told you, I found the box by chance. So when the news came about my pa, I wanted you all back … and I somehow knew how to do it. An offering, made for each other, together. The strength we have in loving each other … it’s the most powerful thing we have, when the world is tearing itself apart. Love. Just love. A sacrifice made for each other – made with love. That’s all I know.’

  ‘But how? How did you know?’

  ‘A voice … spoke to me, like a waking dream. Those rules we said – I didn’t make those up! They were spun out of my mind, like candyfloss. Like they’d been given to me.’

  Shelley’s eyes widened.

  ‘By who?’

  Aileen looked away.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, taking a key from around her neck and unlocking her cupboard door. ‘But now … now I don’t think it was anyone friendly.’

  She opened the door and stepped aside.

  Shelley gasped, smothering her cry with her shawl.

  ‘Is that –’

  ‘Sadie,’ said Aileen, her chest tightening as the little green eyes paced the closet’s darkness with unblinking intensity. ‘My doll. My offering.’

  ‘But how –’

  ‘A few nights ago,’ said Aileen. ‘The night before Thom’s puppet climbed in through his window, and I’ll bet a few nights after your hair –’ She squeezed Shelley’s hand and spoke more rapidly, relief tumbling with the words. ‘They’re coming in order. I found her on the front step, dirty and wet, like she’d walked from the forest. I tried burning her, but all it did was melt her face and scorch her hair. She’s been watching me ever since. I can see the light of her eyes under the cupboard door. And every once in a while it winks out – just for a second. Like she’s blinking.’

  ‘Why?’ said Shelley, her hands trembling. ‘Why is this happening?’

  ‘Because it was done wrong: we broke the box’s rules and now it’s angry. Even with me and Thom – even though we left our offerings, like we were supposed to.’

  Sadie’s face turned towards them, and Shelley shrieked. ‘Close it! Close it, please!’

  Aileen slammed the door and turned the key as Sadie took an uneven step forward, and Shelley fell into her arms again.

  ‘Aileen?’ shouted her mother. ‘What’s all that banging? You’re supposed to be setting the table!’

  ‘I’m coming! I’m just finding some music,’ shouted Aileen, clicking on the wireless and filling the room with Glenn Miller’s soft brass.

  She beckoned Shelley closer.

  ‘We need to put them back,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since she arrived. We were meant to leave the offerings behind – so it must want them back.’

  ‘I think so too,’ said Shelley, wide-eyed and teary. ‘I just … the thought of going back there, I don’t think –’

  ‘You can do it! We’ll all go, together! We’ll do what we meant to do in the first place.’

  ‘All right,’ said Shelley, shivering as she was bundled out of the door. ‘All right. Today?’

  ‘Yes. Mother’s got Land Army at four, so meet me
round back, under the big elm. And never mind your lock of hair, bring something else – something that makes you think happily of us together.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Aileen pressed her face to the narrow gap. The sun was high and bright behind Shelley’s head.

  ‘I think … I think the box has real power,’ she said, ‘and we could have borrowed that power with our offerings. But it only works if we follow its rules, and when we broke them I think it started … feeding on the bad feeling we made that day. I think we let it see our upset and pain – and our worst fears,’ she added, brushing her fingers lightly over Shelley’s head.

  Shelley closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  ‘We’re going to set it right,’ said Aileen. ‘We’ll show it that we’re real friends by giving it all the love we have – and keeping our promise to each other by following its damn rules.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shelley, nodding tearfully. ‘Yes, you’re right. I do love you, Leen.’

  ‘And I you, Shelley Webster.’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘Aileen!’ came the voice from the kitchen. ‘The table!’

  ‘Go!’ said Aileen. ‘And it’ll be all right,’ she added, squeezing Shelley’s hand quickly before the door closed. ‘We’ll show that bloody thing what we’re made of.’

  28

  Wobie

  Wobie had eaten a bacon sandwich for breakfast – the ketchup was still bright on his shirt, like new-spilled blood – and unwisely opted for the paler tweed; dark circles were already spreading from his armpits into the stains of earlier sweat. His next cigar was tucked between his lips, wobbling as he muttered to himself.

  Sep watched him dab his tongue on his fingers, wetting them just enough to tease the newsprint apart.

  He’d sat in this seat hundreds of times, and knew it with his soul: the brownness, the heat, the dusty, clammy air and the textbooks; the yellow walls, from which drooped Kitchener’s moustache and a curling world map with the British Empire shaded pink. Everything was the same.

  Except today Hadley had sat next to him, and everything was different.