Twisted Little Things and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “That's who it was, you know,” Emma continued. “I'm sure you had your suspicions, and you were bang on the money. I met the Devil a long time ago, honey, and I let him whisper into my ear. And I listened. I did what he told me to do, and now look at me. Fat, old and sick in a hospital bed, with two gangrenous legs waiting to get removed, and a kid of my own who died years ago in misery. And the Devil got bored of me, too. That's the real kicker. Is that enough for you, Vicky? Have I been punished enough for stealing a goddamn fucking spoon from the church?”

  “This has absolutely nothing to do with me,” Victoria replied. “If you think for one moment that you can pin your own miserable failures on me, then -”

  “If you hadn't ratted me out, life would be different,” Emma added, interrupting her. “Come on, you've at least got to admit that. I'd never have been sent to that fucking stupid camp, and maybe I'd never have met the Devil, and -”

  “Nonsense!” Victoria snapped.

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is! You're just trying to deflect the blame for your own pitiful life choices!”

  Emma laughed, and again the bed's metal frame rattled slightly.

  “I don't even know why I came in here,” Victoria continued. “As soon as I saw your name on the chart, I should have excused myself immediately. I don't have anything to say to you, and you most certainly have nothing to say to me! This was a mistake!”

  “Then why did you come in?” Emma asked, as Victoria turned to walk away. “Did you just wanna gloat?”

  Spotting some orderlies heading toward the room, Victoria paused for a moment before turning back to Emma.

  “Evil bitch,” Emma continued, still smiling. “You think you're so fucking perfect, don't you? That's what you thought all those years ago at the church when we first met, and it's what you think now. You think you're a fucking little angel, and that I'm some kinda evil bitch whore, and -”

  “That's quite enough of your awful language,” Victoria replied, interrupting her. “You really haven't changed, have you?”

  “I sure haven't” Emma replied. “I'm still what you made me, more than fifty fucking years ago. I'm still that same little girl you betrayed, but do you want to know something? I'm not even bitter. At least I've lived, and at least I haven't spent my entire life skulking in the shadows, too scared to rock the boat. I met the Devil, and he spoke to me, and I listened, and I've lived according to his words. And when I finally leave this pathetic mortal world, I'll be going to a much better place. A place for people who know what it's like to truly be alive!”

  “Do you think I don't know what it's like to live?” Victoria asked, stepping closer.

  “Look at you,” Emma sneered. “You look so timid, I reckon a flea'd make you leap back in terror.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That's fucking right.”

  “Maybe you'd be surprised.”

  Emma laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

  Before Victoria could reply and tell her about her dark visits, three orderlies stepped past her and made their way to the bed.

  “What's going on?” Emma asked them. “Are you moving me?”

  “You're just going for an X-ray,” one of them explained. “Don't worry, it won't take long.”

  “Did you hear that, you dumb bitch?” Emma sneered, with her eyes still fixed on Victoria. “Maybe I won't be dying just yet. Maybe I'll still be around to make you suffer! And I swear, if I get the chance, I'm going to make the whole fucking world pay for what it put me through! You'll just be the start, but there'll be plenty of others!”

  “You shouldn't have pushed me!” Victoria said firmly.

  Emma frowned. “Huh?”

  “In the church, all those years ago. You shouldn't have pushed me over and made me scrape my knee.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You pushed me and made me fall.”

  “When?”

  “In the church!”

  “I don't...” Emma paused, and now there was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “I don't know what the fuck you're on about. I sure as hell don't remember pushing you fifty years ago and -”

  “You did!” Victoria sneered, stepping toward her. “You pushed me, and you never apologized!”

  “And you still give a shit, all these years later?”

  “It hurt!”

  “So?”

  “It hurt!” Victoria yelled, with tears in her eyes.

  Emma stared at her for a moment, as the orderlies prepared to wheel her bed out, and then slowly a smile crossed her lips. A few seconds later, she began to laugh.

  “What's so funny?” Victoria hissed.

  “I pushed you over fifty years ago,” Emma chuckled, “and you're still angry?”

  “You scraped my knee!”

  “Oh God,” Emma muttered, shaking her head. “That's priceless. That's great, but do you know what? I'm sick of this hospital, and I'm sick of you!”

  She began to sit up, only for one of the orderlies to gently press her back down.

  “I want out of here!” Emma shouted, as if suddenly overcome by a rush of anger. “You don't have the right to keep me here, not if I want to leave!”

  “Please,” another orderly said, “we're only here to help you.”

  “Fuck that!” Emma hissed, suddenly grabbing a pair of scissors from the orderly's breast pocket.

  “Watch out!” Victoria shouted, stepping forward. “She's -”

  Before she could finish, Emma drove the scissors into the orderly's chest, piercing his heart. She quickly pulled the scissors out and turned, plunging the blades into the face of the next orderly and slicing straight through his right eye. As the two orderlies slumped back with blood spraying from their wounds, the third orderly stared in horror, as if he was frozen to the spot. Emma quickly turned, raised the scissors, and -

  “No!” Victoria yelled, lunging at her and pushing her back.

  “I'm gonna kill you all!” Emma screamed, trying to stab Victoria in the neck.

  “Get help!” Victoria shouted, as an alarm rang in the corridor. “We need security in here!”

  “You fucking bitch!” Emma hissed. “You goddamn cock-sucking piece of -”

  She let out a gasp of pain as Victoria slammed her wrist against the bed's metal railing. Dropping the scissors, she tried to grab them again, only for Victoria to pick them up instead.

  “Whatever, bitch,” Emma sneered. “You don't even have the guts to -”

  Screaming, Victoria slammed the scissors down against Emma's chest, driving the blade straight into her heart. Filled with a sense of pure, primal rage, she pulled the scissors out and then stabbed her again and again, each time moving closer to her neck. Emma gasped and gurgled, spraying blood from her wounds as Victoria raised the scissors up high and then brought them crashing down one more time. The blades sliced straight through Emma's forehead and into her brain, which is where Victoria left them embedded as she staggered back and saw blood dribbling down onto the linoleum floor.

  “Thank you,” one of the orderlies gasped from the floor, “you... You saved us!”

  “Well?” a little girl's voice said suddenly. “Make up your mind.”

  Victoria turned, but there was no sign of a child anywhere. People were shouting in the distance, but the voice had seemed to echo into her mind from somewhere else, as if it was trying to break through.

  “Vicky? Are you gonna tattle or not?”

  Victoria paused for a moment, feeling a little nauseous, before turning again and finding that she was back in the church, with fourteen-year-old Emma standing just a few feet away.

  Part Six

  September 1st, 1963

  “Well are you?”

  “Am I what?” Victoria stammered, looking down at her nice clean dress. The same dress her mother had told her to wear for church.

  “Are you gonna tattle on me?” Emma continued. “Make your mind up, 'cause we've got all his silver to cle
an.”

  For a moment, Victoria simply stared at the other girl. In the blink of an eye, she'd imagined a whole life for them both. She was used to her thoughts seeming realistic, and she knew that sometimes it was hard to differentiate between fantasy and reality, but this time she'd really allowed herself to get lost in her dreams for a few seconds. Now, however, she realized that none of it had been real, and that she'd still been in the church the whole time.

  “Coward,” Emma muttered. “I knew you'd chicken out. Now get up here and -”

  Suddenly Victoria turned and began to run, making her way along the aisle and then bursting out into the sun-drenched cemetery. Spotting her mother nearby, she ran over and immediately tugged on the sleeve of her dress.

  “What is it, honey?” her mother asked. “You can't be finished with the silver already.”

  “Emma stole a spoon!” Victoria stammered, her eyes with with shock as she tugged again on her mother's dress. “She put it down the drain! She stole a silver spoon from the church!”

  “What are you talking about?” her mother replied. “Victoria, you mustn't be -”

  “She stole a spoon! She -”

  Suddenly hearing a banging sound, Victoria turned just in time to see a green car crunching at slow speed against a tree. A moment later, the annoyed driver burst out of the car, ranting and complaining about something. As she watched the scene, she realized that this was exactly what she'd imagined a moment earlier inside the church, and now it was coming true.

  This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, of course. Not by a long shot. Although she was only twelve years old, Victoria had already begun to realize that she possessed a special gift, something that others seemed to lack. She didn't understand the gift, not yet, although she was slowly starting to guess the rules. All she knew for certain was that she could always imagine how the future would unfold if she made a certain decision, and she was always right.

  Always.

  For a moment, she imagined what would happen if she didn't tell anyone what Emma had done. In the blink of an eye – faster, even – she saw another life pan out for Emma. A happy life, with moments of good and bad, but ultimately fulfilling. Easy. Without too much misery and pain.

  A shudder passed through Victoria's chest.

  “Victoria?” her mother said after a moment. “Whatever's gotten into you?”

  “Emma stole a spoon!” Victoria replied, turning and looking back up at her. “A silver spoon! I'm not lying, Mommy! She said she stole a cup, too! I can prove it! She put the spoon in the drain, and she threw the cup into the river!”

  As the adults began to discuss the matter, Victoria turned and saw Emma watching from the doorway.

  “Emma!” an angry voice called out finally. “Get out here immediately and explain yourself!”

  Emma sighed, and she looked particularly annoyed as she skulked down the steps. She cast a dark scowl at Victoria, clearly annoyed at having been betrayed, but Victoria simply stared straight back at her.

  “Thanks a lot, dork,” Emma muttered. “I can't believe I actually thought you might be cool. Now I'm gonna get in a whole heap of trouble! My Dad's gonna go crazy!”

  “You shouldn't have pushed me over,” Victoria said firmly, her eyes filled with patient, simmering anger. After a moment, she began to scrunch her nose tight. “You shouldn't have made me scrape my knee. Now you're gonna pay.”

  The Ferry

  Prologue

  They're still screaming, which means they're still alive in there.

  Which means I still have a chance.

  “Sophie, no!” Mark shouts as I jump. “Stop!”

  Almost slipping as I land on the other boat's upturned hull, I drop to my knees but quickly steady myself. Rough waves crash against us, lifting the damaged cruiser for a moment before pitching it back down, almost knocking me clean off the side and into the dark water. At the last moment, I'm able to grab one of the broken fair-leads and hang on, although the sheer force of the storm quickly slams me back against the hull, knocking the air from my lungs.

  Somehow, I still manage to hang on, even though I feel as if my arms are being from my shoulders.

  “Sophie!” Mark shouts again, but this time I can't make out any more of what he says as the howling wind steals his words away. It's not hard to guess what he wants, though: he wants me to go back onto the rescue boat, he thinks I'm taking a huge risk. He thinks it's too late.

  A flash of lightning fills the dark sky, followed less than a second later by a rumble of thunder.

  Scrambling across the slippery hull, barely able to see as rain pounds down through the night air and salty water stings my eyes, I almost lose my footing several times, but I'm able to hold on and keep myself from slithering down into the freezing, storm-lashed sea. I know I won't have much of a chance if I go overboard, even with the life-vest. The waves tonight are huge, stronger than anything I've ever seen around here, and they'd easily smash me against the hull of either the upturned cruiser or the rescue boat, most likely shattering every bone in my body. This is one of those storms that'll go down in the history books, and I'll probably be telling my grandchildren about this night.

  If I live to have any.

  Hearing a sudden thumping sound, I realize that someone's frantically banging on the inside of the upturned hull, beneath my feet. I can hear cries, too, muffled but urgent. Ignoring Mark's calls for me to return to the rescue boat, I edge my way along the capsized cruiser until I reach the aft end, where -

  Suddenly a huge wave pitches the boat up several meters at the far end, sending me crashing back down until I land hard against the hull and slither straight down into the water, ripping my life-jacket in the process. There's just time to hear Mark shouting my name before I slip underwater, and when I open my eyes I immediately see the lights of the rescue boat above, and the looming dark shape of the upturned cruiser. The whole scene flashes for a second, followed by a roar, and it takes a moment before I realize there was more lightning and thunder. Getting my bearings, I start to swim back up, before spotting a faint light on the cruiser's side.

  And three faces.

  I swim closer and find a small window, with three people frantically banging on the glass from the other side. There's water up to their chins and I can see the fear in their eyes: the father, using the base of a fire extinguisher to try smashing the glass, which is never going to work, not with the difference in pressure; the mother, watching and begging for a miracle, and shouting as she sobs; and the little girl in her arms, looking out at me with a strangely calm expression, almost as if she's already dead but her parents haven't noticed yet.

  After a moment, the little girl blinks.

  Banging on the glass from the outside, I point up, trying to make them understand that I'm going to get help. The man freezes for a moment, as if he only just noticed me, and then slowly he nods. The woman shouts something, although I can't hear what she's saying, not from this side of the glass. The kid just stares. Finally, running out of breath, I start to swim up until I break the surface, gasping to get air back into my lungs as the heavy waves toss me from side to side, briefly banging me against the side of the wrecked boat. Slipping under again, albeit briefly, I take in a mouthful of water and feel it slipping down my throat, before I manage to get my head up again, coughing and spluttering.

  Suddenly I feel a hand on the back of my neck, and a moment later I'm hauled up onto the rescue boat. There are disorientating lights everywhere as I land on the soaking deck, and I'm immediately rolled onto my back as Mark leans down and puts his lips against mine. I try to push him away, to tell him that I don't need his help, but he gives me the kiss of life anyway, and a moment later I roll onto my side as seawater bursts up into the back of my throat. I start coughing again, barely able to catch my breath, and when I try to get to my feet I feel a sharp pain in my gut, forcing me back down. I immediately recognize the feeling of cracked ribs.

  There's anoth
er flash of lightning, and then a looming roll of thunder that ends suddenly. For a moment, I can't see anything; it's as if I'm lost in a calm, quiet, still voice of darkness, before suddenly my sight comes back and I find myself face to face with the rain-soaked deck.

  “Sophie!” Mark shouts, barely able to make himself heard above the howling wind. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, unable to get any words out.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he continues. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

  “They're -” I try to say, before coughing again and bringing up more water. I lean forward, desperately trying to get it all out at once, although the effort makes my cracked ribs hurt even more.

  “Leave her alone,” another voice says nearby. “Jesus, Mark, now isn't the time.”

  “She put herself at risk,” he replies. “She put us all at risk, she -”

  Before he can finish, I pull myself up. With waves tossing our boat, everything seems to be swimming around me, and I almost fall back before steadying myself against the rail. I look over the edge and see that, if anything, the storm has become stronger in the past few minutes, but when I try to spot the upturned cruiser, I can't see any sign of its damaged hull at all. Pushing past Mark, I make my way to the other end of the boat, but there's still nothing.

  “It's gone!” Mark shouts, hurrying to join me.

  “Where?” I croak, my throat feeling harsh and sore from all the seawater I swallowed.

  “It's gone, Sophie. They're gone.”

  I turn to him. “Where?” I shout again. I can taste blood now, but there'll be time to rest later. Adrenalin is pushing me to keep going.

  “It's too late,” he continues, more firmly this time. “They went under.”

  “No,” I tell him, pushing past and trying to see the upturned hull, even though there's no sign of it anywhere. “There are three of them! They're still alive down there! I saw them just thirty seconds ago!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw them just before you pulled me up!”