Burnt Snow

by Van Badham

  ‘In Ryan’s pants,’ giggled Fran.

  ‘Church,’ said Kylie.

  ‘Buying up Yarrindi’s entire supply of holy water?’ asked Michelle, scooping food from her plate.

  ‘Father Rossi agrees that recent events could indicate potential demonic activity,’ reported Kylie.

  I shuddered.

  ‘Father Rossi watches too much television,’ said Michelle.

  Again, Fran giggled. ‘It’s not like he’s allowed to spend his time having sex.’

  ‘Her parents give so much money to Don Bosco’s that he’d agree with anything she said,’ said Kylie.

  ‘I didn’t realise she was religious,’ I said.

  ‘More superstitious than religious,’ said Michelle. ‘It’s not like she goes to Bible study or anything.’

  ‘It’s more about saying twenty Hail Marys before a Maths exam and invoking some patron saint of drama queens if she’s not getting her own way,’ said Fran. ‘And I’m sure she’s got weird repressed Thorn Birds issues for the priest, because he’s not that old.’

  ‘And he’s Italian,’ said Kylie suggestively.

  ‘Her parents do have some awesome stuff in their house, though,’ said Michelle. ‘You’ll see it tomorrow night. They’re from Colombia.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘I’m hopeless at guessing where people are from.’

  ‘Did you know that Kylie’s Aboriginal?’ asked Michelle.

  Kylie gave a big grin. ‘Wodi Wodi all the way,’ she said. ‘On my mother’s side. With my dad you wouldn’t know. I’ll probably get a letter when I’m eighteen telling me that I’m half-Martian.’

  ‘Sophie’s mother’s from Finland,’ Michelle told Kylie, as if she didn’t want me to be left out of the diversity free-for-all.

  ‘And Fran,’ said Kylie ‘is at least a quarter dairy cow.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Fran, ‘I’m totally fluent in Moooo.’

  She said it so suddenly that everyone erupted laughing. As I rocked with laughter my eyes caught the flash of blackness across the food court. I froze in my seat.

  Several metres away there sat a youngish guy at a table by himself. In an area with so many fluorescent lights and shining table surfaces, he stuck out for the colours he was not wearing. He drank from a white foam cup, the brightness of which contrasted sharply against the shining black hair that spilled to his shoulders, his cropped black beard, his tight black sweater. His colouring suggested he had olive skin, but even so he looked pallid and thin.

  Something dark, Nikki had said.

  I was trying to study his face when we suddenly made eye contact. His black eyes hit me like twin spears; I knew I recognised him, but I didn’t know how. I looked away so quickly I almost dropped the plastic fork from my hand.

  ‘What is it?’ said Michelle, leaning over.

  Fran looked across the room and saw the guy. ‘Cute emo boy alert!’ she said. ‘Do you know him?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘We could go over and talk to him,’ she said. ‘He’ll love what I’ve done with your eye makeup.’

  ‘I just want to get out of here,’ I said. Something was curdling in my throat. My hand was at my pendant.

  ‘Soph, it’s just a guy,’ said Kylie.

  ‘There’s something creepy about him,’ I said, my senses bristling. I stood up. ‘Please, can we go?’

  52

  By the time I got into the house my temples were throbbing. When I saw Dad coming out of the lounge room, I ran at him with such force I almost knocked him over. I dropped my bags to the ground as I threw my arms around him and crushed him in a hug.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ he asked.

  ‘Creepy guy at the mall.’

  Dad stepped away from me. ‘Did he touch you?’ he said, shaking my shoulders. ‘Did he—?’

  I shook my head. ‘No – just watching us.’

  ‘All of you or just you?’

  ‘I don’t know. And after the birds—’

  ‘It was all over the radio. I thought you might have cancelled the shopping trip. Tell me about this creepy guy – was there anything special about him? Cuts on his arms, or scars?’

  ‘Why would he have cuts on his arms?’ Just being with Dad erased the tension of the whole day and I burst out laughing. ‘That is a totally random thing to say.’

  Dad dropped his hands to his sides. He looked uncomfortable. ‘Just some ordinary mall weirdo, that’s what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Yeah. A Goth guy. No arm scars.’

  ‘Did you have to get security?’

  ‘It wasn’t that serious.’

  Dad’s forehead wrinkled, his face was grey. ‘You probably should tell your mother about the birds at school.’

  Now I frowned. ‘So she can tell me to chop up a chicken and smear its blood around the house? No way.’

  ‘Sophie, your mother knows about these things.’

  But to tell Mum about what had happened would mean telling her about Ashley – and, with Ashley, about Brody. Once the conversation started it wouldn’t stop. I could already hear question after question until I got angry, she got furious and I was grounded until high school was finished. Maybe even past that.

  She may have told me to stay away from Brody, and maybe I even wanted to, but Brody was still none of her business.

  ‘Soph?’ Dad was studying my face, confused by my silence.

  I wanted to tell him about Ashley, the air around the birds, her changing face – all these things that frightened me – but telling Dad was effectively telling Mum.

  I’d just have to handle Ashley by myself.

  ‘Mum’ll hear about the birds on the news,’ I said.

  I scooped up my shopping bags and walked into my room before he could say anything else.

  53

  Dad and I ate dinner and watched TV together, but I wasn’t relaxed and he knew it.

  When I decided to go to bed, I locked the window of my room and checked it was locked again before I turned off the lights and crawled under my duvet. Even lying down, I was rigid with anxiety.

  I grabbed my mobile phone and sent a message to Lauren. Can’t wait for Saturday!!! Love you! Miss you!

  Exclamation marks are not like you, came Lauren’s reply. What’s wrong?

  I breathed out, put down the phone without responding, and held my pendant in my right hand. Again, my own voice sounded in my mind, but I fantasised it was coming from the pendant.

  Just try to sleep, it murmured to me, but I couldn’t.

  54

  The next morning, anticipating a phone call from Mum, I was careful to stay in bed as long as possible and spend too much time in the shower. When I heard through the bathroom door that Dad was already on the phone to her, I wasted some minutes in front of the mirror. I was glad that the stupid bruise on my neck was fading, but it was still visible so I went back to my room and stuffed around with scarves for five minutes before Dad banged on the door.

  ‘Sophie, about the birds—’ was Mum’s opening line when I emerged from my room and took the receiver.

  ‘How’s Nanna?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘Beginning to put weight on her foot and hobble around,’ she said. ‘I want you to tell me what you were doing yesterday when the birds entered the school.’

  ‘Having sex and taking drugs,’ I said, vaguely disappointed that the first part wasn’t true.

  Her voice simmered with frustration. ‘Was that boy from the ice-creamery there? Or the boy from the fire? Your dad told me there was someone following you at the mall.’

  My blood boiled. ‘God, is all this paranoia about keeping me away from boys? If you were that concerned you should have found me another girls’ school.’

  My mother’s voice was equally hostile. ‘If you still want to go out tonight, Sophie, tell me who was there!’

  I clutched my pendant. Fight her, my brain said. Deny it.

  ‘No one was there. I was alone on a free, birds attacked. I didn’t
get hurt, I went to the mall. Dad has told you the rest.’ I tried to soften my tone. ‘I’m going to miss the bus to school if I don’t go now,’ I said, forcing calm, ‘but I am happy to discuss everything with you when we’re at Nanna’s tomorrow.’

  There were a wordless few seconds. ‘Okay—’ she began.

  I cut her off with: ‘Please tell Nanna I love her,’ and handed the phone straight back to Dad. Without another word I kissed his cheek and galloped out the door.

  I waited at the bus stop for ten minutes, deleting texts from my mother without reading them.

  55

  On the bus, Michelle warned me to stay quiet about the night’s plans in front of Belinda. She then embarked on a long speech about the night’s plans. We wouldn’t go to Sport she informed me with a scheming grin. Instead, we’d skip out and meet at the local supermarket as soon as the lunch bell rang. I smiled back with a decision to miss Sport for the rest of the year.

  In English we finally got to my big scene as Lady Macduff. It was over in less than five minutes. By Maths I was so tuned out that when Joel waved at me when I walked in, it took several seconds for me to wave back.

  Brody wasn’t in Modern. If I hadn’t half-suspected that he was sitting in the History book room at his lonely desk, I would have been glad that he wasn’t there. As it was, I felt responsible for his absence. When Ms Dwight put a handout in front of me with a commiserating, ‘No Brody today? Don’t blame him, after the birds yesterday,’ I almost wept.

  As I walked out for recess with Nikki and Belinda, Fran found us in the hallway. They talked, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I tried to remember what it was like to care about my schoolwork. With Lauren on her Canberra trip, it struck me that Sue would be spending the whole week at Baulkham Hills by herself. I sent her a text message that said Thinking of you, before I realised what had made me think of Sue in the first place. She wouldn’t be sitting by herself and moping. She’d be going through her folder, writing summaries of her subject notes, doing her reading for class and working on homework in advance.

  I was still dour when we reached the rest of the group. I didn’t register that there was anything unusual about the scene behind the labs until Fran stopped in her tracks with such force she tripped forward. Belinda and Nikki’s hands shot out to catch her before she hit the ground.

  ‘You right?’ asked Nikki in alarm.

  ‘Fine,’ said Fran, her cheeks turning pink.

  ‘Whoa there,’ said a male voice I didn’t recognise, and Fran blushed silent.

  The unknown brown-haired boy stood up and dusted invisible dirt from his black school shorts. He was tall and slim and even a pale green school shirt flattered him. He had short brown hair and blue eyes, and he gave me a smile full of teeth so white it was like meeting the star of a toothpaste commercial.

  ‘You must be Sophie,’ he said. He held his hand out and for a couple of seconds I couldn’t comprehend that he expected me to shake it.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked. His grip was a little tight.

  ‘I’m actually,’ he paused, ‘just leaving.’ Behind him, I heard a giggle. I realised it was Michelle. Again, he flashed his luminous smile. ‘I’ll see you another time, I’m sure,’ he said in a custard-thick voice.

  Then he turned around to Michelle, lifted up one of her hands and kissed it. ‘Later,’ he said to the group, still looking at Michelle. Then he walked off.

  ‘Seeya, Dan,’ said Belinda.

  Michelle’s cheeks were rosy. Fran stared at the ground.

  56

  If Nikki and I had been closer, maybe I would have asked her about the famous Dan Rattan and his unexpected appearance when we were in Ancient History. I would have really liked to debrief about Fran’s reaction, to find out what Nikki knew, and ask what I was supposed to do with the information I’d gleaned from eavesdropping in the girls’ toilets. Instead, Nikki ignored the reorganisation of the Roman army under Marius and talked about cupcakes whenever the teacher wasn’t looking.

  ‘Nikki,’ I interrupted, ‘yesterday, what did you mean about paranormal la-la?’

  Nikki snorted. ‘The school got attacked by killer blackbirds. You think that’s normal?’

  ‘You said—’

  She fixed me with a glare. ‘Are you causing it?’

  ‘How? I’m completely freaked out by it.’

  ‘Lots of crazy stuff going on since you turned up. Never happened at school before.’

  My ears pricked on the word ‘school’. I lowered my voice. ‘But other places – around here, the town?’

  I saw something flicker in Nikki’s eyes – a recognition, perhaps – that I wasn’t as stupid as she’d thought I was. The feeling was mutual; I knew Nikki was not saying something, but she gave a light shrug. ‘There are spooky stories. Small towns always have stupid stories. I haven’t seen anything.’

  I could tell she wasn’t going to elaborate. ‘But do you believe,’ I ventured, not really sure what I was asking, ‘that paranormal things happen? Do you believe that?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I thought of Ashley Ventwood … and realised I was asking myself the same question.

  Nikki’s face was blank.

  ‘Why did you think there was something dark at the mall?’ I asked carefully.

  ‘Was there?’

  I thought about the guy in black. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Just a lucky guess.’

  As quietly as I could manage, and barely moving my lips, I said, ‘What do you know about Ashley Ventwood?’

  Nikki stared at me as if she was watching my IQ drop. ‘I think she’s a loser and a freak. Maybe she is, like, a weird event vortex. In which case – I’ve told you before – stay away.’

  I wanted to ask more questions, but Nikki intercepted first. ‘I want to talk about cupcakes now,’ she said. And she did.

  57

  Art involved watching a video about Salvador Dali – I was grateful that the dark room and bored silence gave me a chance to slip in and out of the classroom without having to even look at Ashley. Even before the bell rang, I’d managed to leave the room and start off for the supermarket. I never used to be like this at Baulkham Hills. As I trundled up the road a troubling suspicion formed that Mr Tripp’s policy of double marks next year might destroy any motivation I had to learn anything at all for the rest of this year.

  I found Michelle, Kylie and Nikki in the baking aisle of the local Franklins, arguing over what flavours to buy for cupcake icing. They settled on peppermint and orange, which surprised me – as did the number of other seniors hanging around the supermarket, who were also missing Sport. When our quartet was laden with more cake mix, icing sugar, sugar sprinkles, magazines, corn chips and chocolate peanuts than I thought we would ever be able to consume in one evening, we sauntered straight to Nikki’s house.

  The house was a fair way back from the road, a split-level on a slope, with a front yard full of deep shadows cast by tall green trees. Nikki pushed open the door of what looked like a normal suburban house into a shrine of the Virgin Mary. A statue maybe a metre high stood in a purpose-built alcove facing the door. It had candles on either side of it and was painted in bright colours.

  This, I guessed, was the awesome stuff that Michelle had mentioned yesterday.

  ‘And there’s so much more of this inside,’ said Nikki as I stared at the statue’s rigid, glossy face. Nikki swung up a set of stairs to the left. The three of us followed her and an odd dread started to fizzle under my skin.

  The house had a smell I wouldn’t have associated with Nikki’s personality – like a combination of mothballs and soap. My shoulders stiffened. It was cold.

  It was creepy.

  The stairs led into an open lounge room with glass doors and a balcony. A sense of something warm and positive in the unnatural coldness radiated from a room on the left-hand wall. Turning towards it, I saw through an open door a single bed, above which was a huge poster of Marilyn Monroe applying Chanel No 5. Around it all wa
s the paraphernalia of someone my age and a lot less tidy. Nikki’s room.

  ‘Just dump your bags here,’ said Nikki, indicating a space beneath a counter that was shared with the kitchen. We did, and while the others carried our grocery bags into the kitchen and began to spill the contents onto a table, I took a look around.

  The lounge room was painted blue – the same blue, I realised, as the robe of the statue downstairs. The carpet was patterned, and dark, and the furniture was in the style I associated with furniture from charity shops, even though it was both clean and unworn. On the main wall hung a huge painted crucifix with a bleeding Jesus, next to a studio portrait of Nikki’s family.

  I looked more closely at this. Nikki’s mother and father had similar plump brown faces and pleasant smiles and her mother wore a gold cross around her neck. Nikki, smiling broadly, must have been nine or so in the photo – I almost didn’t recognise her because her hair, too young for bleach, was dark brown and in pigtails. There was someone else in the portrait whose short hair was bleached. She looked maybe thirteen and stood with her hand on Nikki’s shoulder.

  A sister? She didn’t have the smiles of the other three. She was thin, and her brown eyes fixed on the photographer with something that could have been blankness or disappointment.

  Nikki had never mentioned a sister in the time I’d known her, and something told me not to ask.

  Next to the portrait was a porcelain plaque inscribed with a Bible quotation in Spanish. Religious things overflowed from a wall unit that also held some old books, more photos, figurines and the television.

  It was when my eyes fell on the wall unit that I felt the unmistakeable sensation of being watched.

  Not by the girls but by something … some presence, near the television.

  I looked towards it. On a shelf, I noticed a small wooden figurine that, for no apparent reason, was making the hairs on my skin stand static and cold.

  ‘He’s our namesake,’ Nikki called from the doorway to the kitchen.