Pandora

by Arabella Wyatt

  “It’s for your own good,” shouted her mother, stung by the anger and contempt in Pandora’s face. “You’re always questioning, always making trouble for me.”

  “That’s why you’re doing this? So you can all have an easy life with everyone doing what you tell them?”

  “It’s not like that,” protested her mother. “You’re twisting the good work we’re doing. We’re doing this for the good of the whole village.”

  “Yes, indeed,” hissed Miss Hill. “No more yobs! No more danger!”

  “No more sexual deviants!” added Reverend Cope, his face twisting in hatred. “Gays and lesbians!”

  “But I’m...” slurred Pandora, slumping against the fridge, her legs unable to support her. She had always known what she was, deep down, even if she had never put words around it. But to call her a deviant because of the way she was born? How was that for the greater good? “You’re changing me, making me into something I’m not.”

  “We’re doing it for your own good,” repeated Mrs Laskaris as her daughter slipped down to the floor. “You’ll soon be happy and popular.”

  “Popular with who?” mumbled Pandora, trying desperately to keep arguing, to keep asking questions, to retain her sense of self.

  “Popular with boys,” smiled her mother.

  “But in a socially acceptable way, of course,” said Reverend Cope, wagging a finger. “Such as at the church dance, where all teenagers and unmarried people can be chaperoned by responsible older people.”

  “And you’ll finally be popular with other children, with nice children,” said Mabel. “Not undesirable types such as that disagreeable Zoe Bailey.”

  The committee moved around the fainting girl and smiled down at her, rejoicing that she had been saved and would soon be a valued member of the village community. It was, to them, the most heart-warming thing they could imagine.

  “And we’ll have a fresh start,” said her mother. “Don’t you want that? You can be the daughter I’ve always wanted! We can do so much together. Cooking and dress design and flower arrangement, just like mothers and daughters should. Don’t you see? We’ll be a proper family!”

  As the blue light drained Pandora, Mrs Laskaris finally moved forward and held her fainting daughter in her arms. “I’m doing it for your own good!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Pandora drifted in and out of consciousness for several days. When she finally awoke, she found Mabel sitting next to her bed with an expression of concern on her face.

  “You,” breathed Pandora. She tried to rise but she was weak, weaker than she had ever been. She felt as though she were confined in an invisible straightjacket which limited all movement, mental as well as physical. She could barely move her head or find the strength to speak.

  “Hello, my dear,” said Mabel with a vindictive smile. She had been looking forward to this moment, where she would finally bring Pandora round to her way of thinking. For her own good. She took Pandora’s hand and stroked it, as though caring for the weakened girl, leaving a trail of blue light pulsing over her skin.

  “Now, don’t you say anything, my dear, you just listen to me,” said Mabel. As she spoke, the blue pulsing light streamed over Pandora, sponging away her thoughts and beliefs, replacing them with Mabel’s own.

  This was the final move. The girl was strong, far stronger than anyone the committee had ever known. Most people were happy to think as they were told to think, but not Pandora. Mabel distrusted such people. They were bad for the community. Mabel and the committee had to consider what was best for everyone. It was a heavy responsibility.

  “Now, you do understand that we can’t have bad people here, don’t you?” continued Mabel in a gentle, kindly tone of voice.

  Pandora nodded weakly, her mind unravelling as Mabel made a cat’s cradle of Pandora’s thoughts, pulling them free of her head as easily as unwinding a ball of wool.

  “You see that we have a nice life here and that everyone new must fit in with our nice life? You do see that, don’t you, dear?” Mabel leaned forward intently, causing the blue light to pulsate even more strongly than before.

  “Yes, Aunt Mabel,” mumbled Pandora weakly.

  “Good. If people are not like us, they are bad people. This is self-evident. And everyone would be happier if they stayed where they belonged and didn’t try to move out of their place. Like your father.”

  “Dad?”

  “Your father is a credit to his family. He knows his place as the third under gardener at the Manor House, and he positively thrives in the open air. They’re used to it, these continental types. You do see that everyone has a place and should keep it, don’t you, dear? Your father wants the best for you. That’s why he wants you to be like us, not like him.” Mabel’s smile became a snarl as she thought about the foreign Mr Laskaris. “You can see the simple truth in my words, can’t you?”

  “Yes, Aunty,” burbled Pandora, her body burning under the covers. She felt a great weariness in every limb. If only she could rest, she would wake with a clear head.

  “You’ll always be a good girl, won’t you,” insisted Mabel sharply. “You’d never do anything bad, would you? You’d be guided by us on and moral issue, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, Aunty.” Mabel’s reasoning made perfect sense.

  “So, if I told you not to open this box, you wouldn’t dream of disobeying, would you?” asked Mabel, lifting an old wooden box up and placing it on Pandora’s body. She tensed. This was the final test. Giving the wretched child the actual box was dangerous, but it had to be done, for peace and sanity. They had to know that Pandora was a good girl.

  Pandora stared weakly at the wooden box and ran her hands over it, feeling convinced that she somehow knew what it was. The box shifted slightly in a way that had nothing to do with her light touch. A sudden impulse to open the mysterious box passed through her mind, but immediately the thought was banished by the knowledge that this was not the sort of thing a good girl would do. Besides, Aunt Mabel had forbidden it.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” asked Mabel, staring intently, a sliver of drool hanging down from one corner of her tight, pursed lips.

  “I, I’m not sure,” said Pandora.

  “What’s the matter, my dear?”

  “I feel as though I’ve seen this box before, and just for a second, I thought I heard whispering coming from it.”

  “Do you think you ought to open the box?”

  Pandora looks horrified. “Oh no! That wouldn’t be right at all. You told me not to.”

  Great Aunt Mabel smiled in delight. “Quite right, my dear. But just imagine, just for a moment, that someone were to tell you that inside that box was another way of life, one very different to what you have now. Would you be curious to know more about it?”

  “A different way of life?” repeated Pandora in genuine bewilderment. “Why would I want another way of life? Everything is so perfect here in Willowcombe Clatford.” Her frown deepened as she struggled to understand the concept.

  “So, you wouldn’t want another life outside the village? Away from all of us?”

  “Outside?” gasped Pandora, an expression of horror on her face. “I don’t like the sound of that at all. I mean, who would want to be outside? You have no friends and you wouldn’t belong anywhere.”

  “You know the old Greek myth of Pandora’s box?” asked Great Aunt Mabel.

  Pandora frowned again as another sluggish memory stirred deep down. “I think I may have read it once,” she said. “A long time ago. Pandora did something really bad.”

  “That’s right, she did. She opened the box and let all the evils out into the world, but worse than that, she disobeyed! You wouldn’t ever do that, would you, dear?”

  “Never,” coughed Pandora with scorn. “Being disobedient is a terrible thing.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Great Aunt Mabel as she leant forward, her beady eyes staring at Pandora’s face as
the blue light covering the young girl increased in intensity, washing over Pandora until finally it moulded itself to her face and body, draining away her individuality and ability to think. Her black hair rippled and changed to a light brown-blonde, and her dark Mediterranean colour faded to a lighter Anglo-Saxon hue.

  “I’m so pleased, Pandora, that you have absorbed our values so well. You are truly one of us now. Now, be a good girl and get some rest. It’s the award ceremony soon for the end of school, and then you’ll have a whole six weeks of holiday. Fancy that! I hope you’ll come and visit your old aunty? I’ve got plenty of jobs that you can do. The grass always needs cutting, the orchard needs tending and the spare room could do with painting. It will keep you out of mischief.”

  “Yes, Great Aunt Mabel,” mumbled Pandora, realising that she wasn’t confined by a straitjacket inhibiting her. She was wrapped in cotton wool which protected her from the world, cuddling and protecting, keeping her from anything which would disturb or upset her.

  “And you won’t disobey your Great Aunt or your parents or your teachers or your elders?” smiled Great Aunt Mabel in satisfaction as the last traces of blue light faded away to nothing.

  “Never, Great Aunt Mabel.”

  Mabel patted Pandora’s hand as though she were an obedient dog. “You are a good girl, to do what your aunty tells you. You are truly a credit to Willowcombe Clatford, and long may it continue! You know we only have your best interests at heart.”

  For a moment, Pandora felt a brief memory tug at her, something about her aunt and the committee, but it was gone before she could register it. She looked at her aunt, a smiling old lady, and grinned shyly at her. All that was left was the knowledge that she was a good girl, and that everyone knew what was best for her.

  She loved her Great Aunt Mabel.

  To be continued?

  About the Author

  Aarabella Wyatt has written six books in the Lady Mechatronic steampunk pirate series, as well as the dark fantasy The Death Ship trilogy, in which she explored the dangers of religious fundamentalism.

  Pandora, an exploration of social fundamentalism, is her first work aimed at young adults.