"Are we going to sleep there tonight?"
"Sure. Tomorrow's Sunday, so the fishers won't be up as early. Nobody'll see us, and if they do—" she paused "—I won't care any more."
Hannah looked about. The water was ink black despite the moon, and she felt that same unease she felt in the thicket, as if she were venturing somewhere that she ought not to be. And things sounded louder at night, more pressing with its need to be immediately understood.
"There's the cove—just up ahead," said Missy. "Mind, there's nothing in there—just water and rocks and kelp—lots of it. And I brought a flashlight so's we can see where we're going. First, let's get inside the cove before I lights it; that way nobody can see the light and come snooping. Here, take my hand."
Catching hold of her hand, Hannah followed her aunt around the outcropping of rock, and into what appeared to be a giant mouth of black against the greater black of the hills. More eerie was a rustling, sludging sound, echoing from within its jowls.
"It's the kelp," said Missy as Hannah pulled back timidly. "See?" She flashed on the light, flicking it around the cavern walls open to the sky and its black water glistening as sprigs of kelp slithered above its surface, brushing against large rocks that dotted the narrow, broken beach skirting the base of the cavern walls. "Everything echoes in here—that's why it sounds so loud," added Missy, her voice faltering despite the sureness of her step as she inched her way before Hannah deeper into the cavern. "Listen," she said, hugging the rock wall besides her so's to keep her feet from slipping into the water, "I'll make it echo for you—Baa aaaa aaaa!"
"BAA AAAA AAAA!" the walls echoed back, and Hannah clasped her hands to her ears, shutting out the ghastly sounds reverberating madly in return.
"Aunt Missy—"
"Ohh, don't be scared, silly," said Missy, laughing. "Go on, you try it." But there was a timidness to her laugh, and a falsity of tone that sounded to Hannah like her mother's whenever Brother had gas and she was trying to cajole him into sleep. Yet despite the added fear rising within her, she felt sadness too, that her aunt needed so much to comfort her, and taking a little breath, she bleated "Baaa" into the chamber.
It barely registered back, but Missy oo'd and aahh'd so much, you'd think the cave was singing just for her. "Come on, now; we're almost halfway," she coaxed, as they crept deeper and deeper into the dark, "and once we're in the little shack, everything will be fine, because you know something, Hannie, it's a good feeling I have about bringing you here, and now that Clair's letting you come overnight, we can come back agin sometime, perhaps during the day and we can comb the beach and find lots of things. There, now, halfway," she exclaimed, and Hannah clung more tightly to her aunt's hand as she walked her around the inside of that cove whose thickened waters hissed like snakes around her feet and whose walls brayed phantom cries all around her. With relief they reached the far side, and Hannah ran out onto the beach with the moon shining bright, and the waves breaking white upon the shores.
"Do we have to go back there?" she cried out, her sense of release painful.
"It'll be morning when we do, and lots of light," said Missy, "and you'll see then that it's not scary at all. Come now, just up through here." Leading the way towards the treeline, she shoved aside some brambles and came upon a battered old door, tied shut with a piece of string.
"See—here we are." As she pulled away the loosely tied knot, the door fell open, letting out a smell of rot. "It's not very big, but comfy," she said, stepping inside, her flashlight flitting over a broken window, a pile of boughs made into a bed with blankets and a rusted oil drum, cut in half and serving as a stove. Stepping farther inside, she tossed her bag onto a rickety wooden table standing in the corner, with several candle stubs sitting in clam shells decorating its centre. Hannah spotted the flowers the second Missy did, a bouquet of Queen Anne's lace, bluebells and daisies—wild flowers that grew everywhere around the Basin. But there were some other things mixed in with it, ferns that grew deep in the woods that she'd seen way inside of Chouse sometimes, walking with her father, and a kind of berry that grew only on the barrens. And more intriguing was the piece of leather that tied them, wide enough for a hairband and hemmed with red and purple stitching.
"It's beautiful," whispered Missy, grasping the bouquet to her breasts. Her eyes swung widely around the shack, as did Hannah's, settling on the open door. Darting back, Hannah pulled it shut, staring half fearful at her aunt and the bunch of flowers.
"He—don't mean us no harm," said Missy, sitting on the makeshift bed and making room for Hannah to come sit besides her.
"Who don't?" whispered Hannah.
"I'll tell you, but you must keep your promise—you won't be scared."
"I—I'm not."
"Then listen really well," said Missy, wrapping her arm around Hannah's shoulders. "It's—it's a fairy who leaves me the flowers."
"A fairy!?"
"I seen him."
"But—how do you know he won't hurt us?"
"Because he leaves nice things."
"But fairies trick you."
"No, no, not unless you try to hurt them—or lead other people to look for them. And we've done neither. He—he's found us. I was just sitting here, not looking for anyone, and he found me. And he means no harm, I can tell."
"But—perhaps this is his house."
"No, silly; fairies don't live in houses. It's an old fisher's shack; I remembers from the time when I was young, there was nets and stuff lying about. You see? Instead of us looking for him, he's looking for us. So he don't feel no threat; just a little company is all he wants—or—" and her voice lowered whimsically "—perhaps he knows that it's me that's been needing a little company the past while. Anyhow, it's only a bit more than a week that he's been here. I think he likes it that I'm here—why else would he leave me berries and things?"
"What did he look like?"
"I just got a glimpse. He—he got curly hair, real long curly hair—in a ponytail—and it's yellow in the sunlight. And that's all I seen—just a glimpse, peeping in through the window over there. I don't think he knows I seen him."
"But what was he standing on—was he bigger than your finger?"
"Nope—not this fairy. He was as big as me."
"Then perhaps he's not a fairy—perhaps he's a banshee!"
"Don't be scared," replied the aunt as fear crept into Hannah's tone. "I've learned not to be scared—either being by myself or alone in the dark. Like your daddy says, it's all right to mosey alone sometimes. Didn't your daddy say that? Didn't he?" she coaxed, tightening her arm around Hannah's shoulders.
"There, then," she soothed as Hannah gave a little nod. "I bet he'd say that even lone fish runs aground sometimes, too; but you don't always end up in the fisher's net, either. An old bear ambles about day after day after day, doing nothing but eating and prowling. But the minute he knows he's being tracked—he changes everything he does. Well, that's like me. I'm not going to sit home, feeling scared and waiting and waiting for whatever it is I'm scared of to catch up with me. And I'm not going to be scared, either, of its waiting out there for me. Mommy said we were nothing more than walking roots, and that's what I feels like; no more than a walking root, and the most important part of me is hidden in the ground somewhere, all nice and safe and getting only what I feeds it. First, I used to think I was feeding it all bad things; but I don't think that no more. I believe I'm feeding it good stuff, too—like coming here and thinking things through. And that's why I don't get scared no more; not really, because I'm nothing more than an old root, anyhow. There now," she said with a little laugh, rocking Hannah comfortably, "you got a caplin for a father, and a root for an aunt. Poor thing, you. And you got me prattling, you do—worse than Mommy used to. Lord, she prattled so. Does Clair prattle?"
Hannah shook her head, and Missy was quiet for a minute. "I didn't think so," she said. "She could never have borne the grandmother, anyways. Lord, now there was a root that could prattle; li
ke an old weedy vine that just went on and on and on, strangling everything it come across till it wore itself out."
Something scratched at the side of the shack and Hannah started. "Nothing, it's nothing," soothed Missy, "just the brambles, is all. It used to make me jump all the time too when I first come here. Here, lie down and get comfy. It's the nicest thing, sleeping here—feels like you're wrapped up in a wave, they sounds so loud, and you'll be asleep before you knows it." Lifting her flashlight and bundle off the table, she snuggled down, her cheek resting coolly against Hannah's. "Warm enough?"
Hannah nodded. "Were you lying here when you seen the fairy?"
Missy nodded, her hair scratching Hannah's cheek.
"Weren't you scared at all?"
"I knowed before I glimpsed him he was good."
"How did you know?"
"Same way the old bear knows he's being tracked; I felt him. But I didn't feel no fear, only safer; like he was watching over me whilst I slept."
"Do you think he's watching now?"
"Uh-huh. Not scared, are you?"
"I'm not scared."
"Good, let's go to sleep. And we'll be up in no time, walking home, and perhaps we can find some fairy butter on the way—oh, dear—"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Just that my stomach gets bad sometimes. Just cramps. Don't go worrying if they gets worse; they always goes away. It's just being this way, that does it—you know."
Hannah didn't know. But she knew enough about women and babies and stuff to know not to ask questions and was content for a while, to lie quietly, eyes glued to the window, more fearful than hopeful, despite the assurances she gave her aunt. One thing for a fairy to be no bigger than a finger, but tall enough to look through a window? But as was promised, she didn't know she was sleeping till she felt her aunt rising.
"Aunt Missy?"
"Shh, it's the cramps, is all. Lie back down, I goes outside for a minute."
"I'll come with you," she said, instantly awake in the darkened room.
"No, no, Hannie, I'm just going by the door."
"I don't want to stay by myself."
"Ohh, don't be silly. I already told you, there's nothing to be afraid of, else why would I come here all by myself?"
Hannah lay back down as her aunt flicked on the flashlight and, with a reassuring smile, untied the string holding the door.
"See, I won't even leave the stoop," she whispered. "It's just a bit of fresh air I needs. Keep watching the window now, in case you sees a fairy."
Hannah sat up. It didn't fit that her aunt should be talking to her about fairies, not with her sick with a pregnant belly out on the stoop, and she, Hannah, just a youngster, lying on a berth of rot in an old fisher's shack on the far side of a cavern screaming with phantoms. And for once, she wished this favoured aunt might start sounding more like her mother, and order her to leave off the foolishness of fairies and banshees, and tuck her in tightly and shush her to sleep. Thinking of her mother brought a lonelier feeling to the queerness of the night. These nights were the first she had ever slept without her mother a scant ten feet away, and when her aunt finally came back in, closing the door behind her, she lay back down with a sense of relief.
"There, that feels a bit better," said Missy, snuggling in again. "You warm enough?"
Hannah nodded, wrinkling her nose. "What's that smell?"
"Shh, I don't smell nothing."
"Is it the squawroot?"
"No, it's nothing. Go to sleep."
"But I smells squawroot."
"You smells the boughs you were sleeping on—they smells like squawroot. Now go to sleep."
Twice more Hannah drifted, only to be wakened by the sea washing upon the shore, or a gull crying out into the night. Each time she hugged more tightly against her aunt and dozed again. Then, after what felt as if she'd been sleeping for a long, long time, she awakened fully. There was a coldness around her. The aunt was gone, and with her, one of the blankets keeping them warm. She sat up, looking around the darkened shack. "Aunt Missy?"
The wind grew louder, creaking the loosely held boards of the old shack, and washing the sea noisily up over the shore. The window rattled and her eyes flew to it in terror. There was nothing, nothing, only the black of the night. Scrambling out of the makeshift bed, she felt her way to the door, pulling it free from the string tying it from the outside, and ran through the brambles and out on the moonlit beach.
It was empty. Then came a chorus of devils wailing from the cavern, and she turned wildly, hearing her aunt Missy's voice in the mad distortion of echoes. She backstepped, a frightened whimper growing in her throat. Another cry from her aunt, more urging, more pressing, and Hannah whimpered again, fear binding her feet. How she wished now for her mother and her father to come running up the shore. But only the wind answered her prayer, heaving the sea more forcefully upon the beach. She jumped to one side as it washed up over her feet, soaking them. And then she bounded for the cavern. Carefully at first, her feet slipping on the wet rocks, and then more recklessly as the echoes of her aunt's voice vanished in the roar of the sea. Scrambling over the outcropping of rocks, she rounded the mouth of the cavern and stood rooted in fear. Her aunt was there, lying crumpled on the beach, the flashlight burning steadily besides her and someone—something—half lying over her. It moved, the flashlight catching its face and a rippling of screams tore from her throat as a monstrous, mutilated creature with one eye raised its head her way.
"Aunt Missy!" she screamed.
"AUNT MISSSY AUNT MISSSY AUNT MISSY!!" the cavern screamed back, and she fell to her knees, squeezing shut her eyes against the long, thin banshee with the mangled face and hair hurtling towards her. Two bony hands clasped her shoulders and she went rigid with shock, her breath stuck with her screams in the thick of her throat. It struck her across the face, and she opened her eyes, choking and rasping.
"I'm not going to hurt you," it—he—said, his voice almost gentle. "She's sick—we'll get her inside."
Closing her eyes, she screamed again, shaking her head senselessly as the cavern screamed more loudly, wildly all around her. Still holding her shoulders, he shook her gently.
"Don't be frightened—I'm not going to hurt you. Missy's sick; we have to help her inside."
"Hannie!" Missy's voice sounded weakly. "Hannie—" and then the sound of her retching.
"Come," the creature said kindly. "I need you to carry the light." Then, letting go of her, he started back to Missy. "Hannie's fine," he said, bending over her, "she's fine. Come now, Hannie, and take the light."
Hannah hadn't moved, was staring at him, frozen. His back was to her and barely discernible in the dark as he managed to hold on to the flashlight whilst rolling Missy into his arms, her face ghostly white, her hair all messed around her face and her arms dangling like a broken doll's.
"Hannie," she whimpered, then convulsed, her knees drawing up to her stomach. Breaking free of fear, Hannah ran to her.
"I'm right here, Aunt Missy," she cried, her throat raw from screaming, "I'm right here." Taking the light he held out to her, she lit their way along the wall of the cavern, holding on to one of the hands dangling lifelessly besides her.
"Everything's going to be fine," he reassured her, and she followed, her insides quaking with a fear she'd never known, despite the softness of his voice as he coaxed her along besides him outside the cavern and onto the beach. Once there he quickly knelt as Missy started retching again, and Hannah turned from the sight of her being so sick, and yet wanting to drag her away from this hideous thing from the cave, believing sorely that it was he and the cave itself responsible for the sickness. She stole a glance at him but saw only the unscarred cheek, his one drooping eye and a thin-lipped smile.
"Can we go get Mommy?" she cried out.
The drooping eye raised itself onto her. "She's been sick for a while now. She's getting better. Best if you lie down with her and help her sleep. By morning, she'll be good as new. G
o first," he said as Missy's retching subsided and he rose, still carrying her.
Clearing the branches aside, Hannah led the way to the shack, the foolish thought crossing her mind that there was no need to tie the door now, for the worst that a night could offer was squatting besides her bed, tucking in her aunt. He turned to her, speaking softly. "I think I dropped her bag. Will you check the path near the door? Just the path, that's all. Go on."
As she stepped back outside, Hannah hesitated, fearing the night. She walked along the path, but in the dark she could see nothing, so returned to the shack. He was leaning over Missy, speaking quietly but sternly.
"It's too late for that now. You'd kill yourself as well." His voice faded as Missy caught sight of Hannah appearing in the doorway and glanced up at him worriedly.
"Come," he said, turning to Hannah. Your aunt took sick, but she's going to be fine. Come sit with her."
Hannah stepped towards her aunt, watching him as he sat back, cross-legged, on the floor. And with a gesture that spoke of a familiarity established by time, or, as in this case, germinated by the grimness of a shared moment, he brushed a lock of hair away from Missy's cheek. And when she opened her eyes to him, they were soft upon the empty socket and the ragged scar on his cheek.
Not so gracious was Hannah. Gaping wide-eyed, she looked from the scar to a silver medallion with black lettering etched across it, hanging from a strap of leather around his neck. Strung onto the same strap was a round stone, the size of an infant's fist, which he absent-mindedly rubbed with long, thin fingers as she shifted her glance onto his one brown eye, large and drooping, as if from the weight of its wide, flat lid. He looked no older than her father, but there was a settling around the corners of his mouth, puckering it down, as if time had rested heavily there. He smiled, as if used to such scrutiny as hers, and patiently allowed for it.
"When I'm not woke so early, I usually do like this," he said, a faint lilt of foreignness softening further his words, and taking hold of a printed scarf looped around his neck, he hauled it up as a band around his forehead and covered the scarred socket. Untying a piece of rawhide from around his wrist, he flattened back his unruly hair, and grasping a fistful, secured it into a grizzled ponytail.
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