by James Crow
‘And Peter, what about his bricks?’
‘His are a bit confused, jumbly, and black and red and purple.’
‘I guess that’s not so good?’
‘Peter’s going flippadoodaa.’
‘What else do you see?’
‘This isn’t a game, Rose. We need to –’
‘Skedaddle.’
‘Yes. Can we? Please?’
‘It’s raining outside, we should wait until it stops.’
The girl sighed, looked her up and down. ‘You like to fantasise.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Yes, you have thoughts about Danni. The one who likes horror films. You like her black shiny hair, and you saw her naked in the changing room the one time you went swimming together, an image you hold dear. You often imagine she’s in your bed and you and her are –’
‘All right! Enough!’
‘We can go now?’
Rose stared at the girl, an angel of a child, a glowing face, a smile to melt hearts.
‘You want to doubt, Rose, want to blame the drugs, but you can’t do that.’
‘No?’ Rose felt the welling of tears and swallowed them away.
The girl looked down into the lucky cup then back to Rose with a wise old look on her young face. ‘You’re right, Rose, this is a strange do for you, I understand that. Once this is over and we’re safe and far away, we can play this game all night and all day, whenever you want to.’
‘We can?’
‘Yes. I’ll tell you how you regret not getting married.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘I’ll tell you about how you lost your virginity at thirteen, how you wished it had been to someone else but you made do, and I’ll tell you about your silver friend in the drawer at home.’
Rose’s cheeks flushed hot.
‘And I’ll tell you how you once streaked through the woods at midnight with old friends from uni. How you skinny-dipped in a freezing Swiss lake and jumped in the hot tub after.’
‘That’s amazing.’
‘It is amazing, I agree. You will be able to see, too.’
‘Me?’
‘Eventually, yes. I know that, Rose.’
‘You know a lot. I think this is another lucid dream. Weed, cheap red, and those bloody tablets. I should have known better.’
The girl chewed on her lip, Rose could almost hear the cogs turning. ‘So, the hidden camera? The one the crows showed you, is that part of this dream?’
‘The crows showed me?’
‘Of course. The crows are on our side, Rose. This is not a dream.’
‘The crows showed me?’
‘Repetition, Rose. You don’t like that, either. Although you did inflect the second use of showed, so I suppose that’s okay.’
Rose gave a little laugh. ‘Clever.’
‘But not clever enough because we’re still here and really, Rose, we need to be up and running.’
‘Still here, yes.’
‘Rose, the crows took your bangle and flew at that smoke alarm with all their might before it broke enough to wedge the bangle inside. Despite the pain and bloodied beaks they did that for you. For us.’
Outside, high up, a single caw. The hairs on Rose’s neck stood up. ‘We need to go, don’t we?’
‘Like yesterday.’
Rose returned to the curtain and lifted a corner. It was light now, grey and raining and a blustery wind. No sign of Pervert Pete, or anyone else for that matter. She went to the door and slid the bolt and peered outside. This was crazier than crazy, but yes, they would go right now. She turned and almost jumped from her skin to find the girl right behind her.
‘Cooly-dooly,’ the girl said.
1
The girl had urgently refused the offer of a coat, saying there wasn’t time to faff about, and besides, she was feeling golden inside and out, and neither cold nor rain would bother her. She had also refused to allow the lucky cup into the Corsa’s boot, insisting they take it with them and that she be the one to carry it, and that there really wasn’t a second to spare – they needed to skedaddle!
A deep and hearty laugh that rumbled on much like thunder, coming from the direction the mystery girl had exploded through the mist, had Rose in instant agreement.
She locked up the Corsa, and with cabin 4 at their backs and cold rain in their faces, they stepped out onto the path into the grey dawn light.
‘Wait,’ Rose said, went back to the cabin, closed the door and locked it. If anyone did come looking for them, then at least they’d waste some time knocking. She hurried back to the girl, took her arm and once more they set off on the path. Three crows flying across the loch in close formation came in to land through the trees a hundred yards or so ahead, out of view, where the pathway ran up an incline and turned into the communal area. Rose hesitated.
‘It’s okay, Rose, they’re watching out for us.’
‘Of course they are.’ Rose put an arm around the girl’s shoulder. She was soaked to the skin, yet Rose could feel the warmth coming from her. With the path becoming slippery underfoot, they walked on through the rain, up the incline, and rounded the corner to the communal area and a sight that stabbed fear through Rose’s heart.
She stopped in her tracks, pulled the girl back. The picnic benches were filled with little birds – sparrows mostly, as far as Rose could tell. Crows had gathered on the floor, crows on the barbeque, crows on the roof of the big hut, crows in a line on the noticeboard, and a helluva lot more crows in the trees. The air felt charged. Rose almost lost her footing.
The girl steadied her by the arm. ‘Four hundred and forty-six sparrows. That’s a lot. Despite the crows, they’ll tell Master we came this way.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Rose said. They moved quickly on. Rose kept her eyes on her boots and clung to the girl, as four hundred and forty-six sparrows chirruped and cheeped as they passed. Rose did not look back as they rounded the next rise and cabin 5 came into view.
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ the girl said.
‘What doesn’t?’ All Rose could hear was rain dripping through the trees and the occasional caw from the crows they’d left behind.
‘The M&Ms. I can hear them.’
They moved closer to the cabin. A pain-ridden scream came from within, and Rose brought them to a stop.
‘That was Muriel,’ the girl said.
A prolonged male scream sounded. Rose pulled the girl to her.
‘And that was Martin. They’re done for, Rose.’
‘Who are Muriel and Martin?’
‘The M&Ms. They’re my friends.’
‘I see,’ Rose said. She noticed there was no car parked outside. ‘They don’t have a car?’
‘They hid it, so I’d believe they weren’t in.’
‘They did? Where?’
‘Further down, but that’s done for as well. We need to keep moving, Rose.’
Rose looked back up the path. She couldn’t see further than the rise before the communal area. ‘Is the master still coming?’
‘Yes. And the wood spirit.’
‘Wait here, Bethany.’ Rose went up the cabin’s steps to the front window. The smallest of gaps in the curtains allowed her to see inside. Two naked forms embraced, their skin slick with blood. The man was sinking his teeth into the woman’s breast. The woman threw her head back and screamed once again. Rose backed off, down the steps, caught the girl by the hand and they hurried into the rain.
Lightning sheeted the loch in momentary whiteness as they arrived at cabin 6. ‘This one’s yours? Cabin six you said?’ Rose asked over the rumble of thunder.
The girl stared at the cabin with sad eyes. If it wasn’t for her rain-soaked face, Rose would swear she was crying.
‘Bethany? This cabin is yours?’
The girl nodded, looked Rose in the eye. ‘Yes. But we can’t stop here. It’s not nice – really not nice.’
Two vehicles were parked at the side of the cabin. All R
ose needed to do was convince the girl’s parents to drive them out of there. She’d tell them about Pervert Pete, show them the camera in their smoke alarm and they’d be on the road in no time.
Rose pulled the girl with her to the cabin’s side. The sight of the flat tyres on the 4x4 brought a punch to her gut. The smaller car by its side also had two flats. A chink of light from the bedroom window, a woman’s laughter from inside. She told Bethany to stay put and went to the window. The gap in the curtain was small, but if she looked at an angle it was enough to see the outstretched arms tied to the bed and the terrified blood-covered face of a gagged man.
‘Unfortunately, that’s my father,’ the girl said from behind, ‘he’s a bad man.’
Rose was about to turn away when a female hand, slender fingers covered in blood, came into view above the man’s bulging eyes.
‘And that’s Mum.’ The girl sighed. ‘They’re done for, Rose. Let’s go now. Please. Master’s talking to the sparrows.’
Rose didn’t notice the razorblade until the woman ran it down the man’s nose. She stumbled backwards and thumped against the 4x4’s door as the man screamed an agonising scream. The girl was tugging at her coat. ‘Rose! Please let’s go!’
Laughter again from down the pathway. Louder this time, and, if Rose wasn’t mistaken, the laughter was accompanied by giggling – a girl’s high-pitched giggle, as if she was being tickled – and they weren’t that far away.
‘They aren’t far away at all, Rose.’
Rainwater ran through Rose’s hair and down her face, trickled into her blouse, made her shiver. Was this really happening? The girl clutching the lucky cup had the presence of an angel, with her plain yet bright face. Rose glanced at the eye in the lucky cup; it was only just underwater, raindrops splashing; it held Rose’s gaze.
Just a dream were the words she was thinking. A crazy nightmare.
‘Rose, surely you’re not that dumb.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve already been through this. This isn’t a dream. You are not nuts. And this isn’t a trip.’
Rose looked back to the cabin window. A woman laughing – Beth’s mum. ‘I – I just saw –’
‘I know what you saw, Rose.’
‘This can’t be real. It just can’t.’
‘I thought you weren’t dumb. But here you are, Mrs Dumb herself.’
‘What?’
‘Rose, you’re a writer. You of all people should be having an open mind right now.’
‘An open mind?’ Rose laughed.
The girl took her hand, tugged, but Rose stood fast.
‘I could embarrass you all day long, Rose, but we haven’t got time. Please come!’
‘Embarrass me?’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘You know, I could tell you about the time you farted in church and blamed the bride’s nephew. Or the time you rubbed your boyfriend’s toothbrush in an unsavoury place to get revenge for him cheating on you. Or the time you –’
Rose laughed. ‘Yes, yes. Everything you say is correct because in dreams you can know or do anything. Now, pinch me and wake me up.’ She offered out a hand.
The girl looked at her. A concerned look. She stepped up to her, placed the lucky cup in Rose’s hands. ‘Don’t drop it,’ she said, then slapped Rose hard across the face.
Rose didn’t drop the cup. The girl took it from her. ‘Did you wake?’
Rose touched a hand to her cheek. ‘That bloody hurt.’
Laughter again. So, so loud. Then a clatter – a prolonged clatter – like . . .
‘Wings, Rose. Four hundred and forty-six sparrows taking off all at once. And look,’ the girl nodded over Rose’s shoulder.
Rose turned to see crows. Lots of crows. Some were hopping up the path. Some flitting through the trees. Some flying in from above. All of them were cawing, beaks snapping as they grew closer.
‘They’re telling us to skedaddle, Rose.’
Another scream from inside the cabin – Beth’s father. Another scream from the other cabin – the woman, Muriel. And that laugh again, a deep bellow that seemed to shake the air around them. Crows advancing. Loud caws and snapping beaks. The closest pounced, snapped at Rose’s hand then flew backwards, wings flapping at her face. Rose backed off, saw the blood running from her finger, felt the sting of the cut.
‘He’s coming for you, Rose.’
She glanced at the rain-soaked girl. The lucky cup was almost full. The girl emptied it, hung it over a thumb, let it dangle there. ‘I may as well throw this in the loch. Hasn’t brought us much luck.’
Sudden quiet. Every crow went still.
Silence, apart from the rain.
‘They’ve stilled so you can hear, Rose.’
‘Hear?’
Laughter. A hearty bellow. A childlike giggle. Then . . .
Footsteps. Heavy boots, slapping wet. Then . . .
Rose heard them coming. Not out there, beyond the rise, around the corner, almost upon them, but in her head . . . their words . . .
Who will you love first, Master?
Whoever we come across first. I’m not fussy, aye.
Do you have a favourite?
Laughter. You, of course.
A giggle. I know that. But who are you looking forward to the most?
A pause. Rose can hear her thudding heart.
The writer woman.
Why her?
She was giving me the eye. I’ll do her slow, aye.
A sigh. I do love you so.
Rose looks to the girl. She’s holding the lucky cup like it’s a bowling ball and she’s about to lob it into the water.
I can’t wait to see her split in two. Another giggle.
‘Bethany?’
The girl pauses, her arm swung back.
‘I think I want to run.’
They ran through the rain, the path growing slicker with mud and mulchy leaves. As they neared cabin 7, a red car came into view.
‘Two flats,’ the girl said. ‘Don’t bother stopping.’ They didn’t.
‘M&Ms’ car?’ Rose panted. It felt like she was trying to run on hollow legs.
‘Yes.’
They didn’t stop until they’d rounded the southern curve of the loch, where the mist remained heavy, despite the rain that tore through it. The pathway and wooden bridge ahead was a shiny oily-grey. Rose thought at first it was flooded until she saw it moving in a rhythmic squirm.
‘Eels,’ the girl said.
Rose knew eels could migrate over land from one water to another, an occurrence rarely witnessed, but this wasn’t just a few eels.
‘Two hundred and sixty-seven that I can see, and another seven hundred and eighty-three on their way.’
‘On their way?’
‘In the shallows, the marsh grasses. They’re trying to stop us. Eels are slippery little shits.’
‘How do we get past?’
‘We run with light feet,’ the girl said. ‘I’ll go first.’
Light feet? The muscles in Rose’s legs were burning, her lungs were crying out for rest and nicotine, or better still a generous joint, at home, in bed, away from this madness. ‘I’m not that fast. I’ll slip and fall.’
‘You will be fast.’
‘Like a fast badger?’ Thunder rolled overhead and a gust of wind spattered cold rain into Rose’s face.
‘Yes, Rose, exactly like a fast badger. Pretend you’re running over hot coals. Keep your weight in the air.’
Rose wiped her face and looked back up the path they’d run down. No sign of anyone following. Rose’s idea of this master, she realised, was an image of Frankenstein’s monster carrying a child through the mist. ‘This master, he’s still coming?’
The girl looked at Rose through tails of wet hair. ‘He’s coming, Rose. He gets inside your head, and once you let him in you’re done for. We have to keep going.’
Rose glanced back at the path to mist and rain. ‘Or he’ll tear us apart?’
‘No, you will
be first, he’ll split you in two. My fate is worse.’
‘What could possibly be worse?’
‘Rose, look!’ Eels now packed the bridge, the path beyond and the path leading to it. They’d grown in number, compacted – a few at the front were breaking free and wriggling towards them. ‘Eels aren’t so clever. They’ve made us an easier path.’
‘A slippery path.’ The chances of going arse over tit and falling into the eel-infested marsh were high.
‘Run like the wind, Rose, and keep your weight in the air.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘You can do this, Rose. Things can always be done when you’ve got no other choice.’
A distant scream, a blink of lightning, a rumble of thunder.
‘When you put it like that,’ Rose said. ‘Get yourself going and I’ll do my best to follow.’
The girl, God bless her, gave a bright smile. She kissed the lucky cup, clutched it to her chest, turned to face the squirming mass, readied herself to run, took a breath.
‘Wait!’ Rose thought about cutting back to where the marshland turned to open water, they could surely swim across. But the water was black, choppy. ‘Do eels have teeth?’
‘Bad idea, Rose,’ the girl said, and she ran into the squirming eels taking great leaps. She crossed the bridge in three seconds. ‘Easy peasy,’ she shouted from the other side and kissed the lucky cup again. ‘Run and leap, Rose!’
Rose braced herself and ran, not looking down. The soles of her boots bounced off eels as thick as her arms, and she kept going, chest aimed high, weight in the air. The girl caught her at the other side.
Hand in hand they hurried on. Forked lightning whip-cracked directly above the loch, thunder crashed and rolled, the sky darkened. Whittle’s cabin came into view through the sheeting rain.
As Rose stepped breathless onto Whittle’s dry porch with the girl by her side, multiple screams sounded from across the water. Rose didn’t turn to look. She rapped on the door. ‘Do you know this man, Bethany?’
‘No, but I know he’s busy.’
‘Busy?’
‘Frantic. Excited, I think.’
‘Good bricks or bad bricks?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see him.’
The curtains were drawn; there was no gap to see through. Rose rapped again. She put an arm around the girl’s shoulder, hugged her to. ‘You’re soaked through. You’ll catch your death.’