Outside

by Sarah Ann Juckes

  And then there’s that door. That door.

  What’s behind the door, Ele?

  I screw my eyes up and ram my hands into them.

  No. I got to be brave. It hurts more than anything He ever did to me. More than broken jaws and bloody knuckles. But I got through that. I did. And I can get through this.

  Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a Tower, and she was alone.

  My shaking fingers claw hold of Willow. He’s looking at me like he’s struggling to see through the smell, and I know. I feel it, too, burning my eyes, pushing into my nose and lips. I pull his head forward and into his ear I whisper, ‘Please don’t hate me.’

  I pull away before I can see the confused look on his face. Before he can ask me why. Why would he hate me? Why am I being so weird? What could I have possibly done that’s so bad?

  I bend down and I pick up the key, red streaks dried up on it now. I turn and I give it to him.

  ‘What? Are they in here?’ he says, and I see it in his face. Fear. The whites of his eyes are haunted with sudden thoughts.

  I can’t lie no more.

  How to set things right – number three: Tell the truth.

  I shake my head. I shake it until Willow has to put his hands on my shoulders and stop me, but still – still – I don’t stop looking at him. ’Cause I know it’ll be the last time he looks at me like that. I ball up his sweater in my fist, trying to catch my thoughts.

  Are they in there, Ele? Are they?

  My breath builds and builds, and I wonder if I’m gonna be sick.

  All the time, he looks at me.

  ‘No.’ It comes out of me like a moan, like someone is twisting up my stomach from the inside. I double over. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

  And it hurts. It hurts and it hurts. All this bad is coming up out of me – up and up – ripping at my throat and my head. I want to swallow it back down, but it needs to come out.

  It’s time. It hurts, but it’s time.

  I steady myself on his shoulder, and his hand wraps round mine.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I spit the last of it from my head. Stand up. Look at his wide eyes.

  And I tell him the truth.

  ‘The Others ain’t in there.’ My voice sounds like poison. ‘And they never was.’

  I step back, pulling him with me, leading him and the key towards the door.

  ‘I made them up.’

  I bring his hand and the key down on to the keypad and the door bursts open.

  Fifty-Two

  It started as a game.

  We was so small when He locked us in there. Zeb and me. At first, we thought He’d be letting us out in no time. It weren’t the first time He’d locked us away. In cupboards and in rooms.

  He’d locked us in with her then, though. Our mother. And when she was there things never seemed so bad. We might have been squished together in dark, dusty places, but she lit them up with stories and songs. We’d play games and have so much fun we’d sometimes wish He’d never open the door again.

  But then we was in the Tower. And she weren’t there that time.

  We were alone.

  Every day, Zeb thought up ways for us to escape. Banging on the door. Trying to reach the sun bars. Trying to sneak past when He came in.

  We was only little then. No one heard us banging on the door, and we couldn’t reach the sun bars. When we tried to sneak past Him, He’d beat us so bad that we was tasting blood for weeks. He caught us. Every time.

  He was being all nice to me sometimes, too, telling me pretty things about how this was my home now. A home He went and built just for me and din I like it?

  Zeb got more and more angry and weren’t as fun as he used to be. He made me run all the time. He told me scary stories of what He was going to do to us. Zeb kept reminding me that He’d taken us and trapped us Inside.

  And, after a while, I kept thinking, weren’t it better to think of it His way? Weren’t it better to live in a story where I was in my very own home, built just for me? So, just like our mother used to do, I filled our Tower with stories.

  Even when He was less nice and started to make me do things I din like, it became easier and easier to escape from all that. The more I invented my stories, the more real they became. And so, when we got too big for our clothes and He took them away, that was OK, ’cause there never was no clothes to begin with, right? And, when He did the bad things, that was OK, ’cause it wasn’t for long, and the stories were right there again after.

  But Zeb couldn’t live in the story like I could. He stayed in the real and started dying inside himself, bit by bit. He would just stay in his corner, staring into nothing, sadness eating him up.

  And that’s when the Others appeared, jumping right out of the books and becoming as real as if they were always there. They were my friends. They looked like Goblins and were mighty crafty like the ones in the books, but they were also sweet as sweet could be. Cow with his simple eyes. Bee with her love of touching. And Queenie, who always got the story going.

  I wanted Zeb to play, too. But he din.

  I don’t remember when it stopped being a game and started being real. The two started muddling together in my head, and I saw everything as if it was real.

  When Zeb died, things din seem right. I started to see things how he’d seen them. I started to see the walls again.

  So I began trying to pick through my lies. Separate the truths from the reals. Was I Inside, or was Inside all there was? Sometimes I was mighty sure that there was an Outside, with trees and rivers and all. But then there was that other side of me that din want to think of that – not unless I really had to. ’Cause if there was an Outside, then I’d been Inside all that time. And I’d kept Zeb away from that Outside.

  Now that door is open and I know the real truth. And so does Willow.

  Fifty-Three

  I never thought a smell could be as powerful as a Giant.

  This one is. It grips at our throats, pushing itself into our mouths, our eyes, everywhere. It stuffs itself inside of us and empties us out. We become it. And it’s so bad. So, so bad.

  We don’t need to see Inside. Instead, we run back down the long room, retching and heaving. The buzzing black dots whip at our faces. And when we get out, the Outside air feels like breathing again.

  We both fall to the ground. I dig my fingers into the tiny stones. My hands are shaking.

  ‘Ele!’ Willow chokes out. ‘Ele!’

  He ain’t really looking for me, though. He’s looking all around him, eyes white. He stumbles around, looking bad.

  All their faces are in my eyes. Bee. Cow. Queenie.

  I’m sick again.

  ‘What’s in there?’ he says, dragging himself away from the door.

  I spit. ‘Him.’ I turn to sit on my hands to stop them shaking. ‘It’s Him.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Willow says, hands all over his face. ‘Oh, shit.’ Then he looks at me. He looks at me hard. And I can’t tear my eyes away, even though I don’t want to see that look. I can’t lie no more, though. Not to myself. Not to no one.

  ‘Did you …’ He wipes his hand over his face. ‘Did you know about this?’

  I keep my eyes on him. I keep them there.

  ‘Yes.’ My voice is still clogged up with all the bad.

  Willow stares at me, shaking his head. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say again, and my voice is all broken.

  He leans over, his head in his hands. ‘Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I thought –’ he says, voice all muffled. ‘I didn’t think, Ele. I –’

  He sounds like a little ’un.

  I push myself to my feet, my head still clouded up.

  Willow stumbles up, too, folding his arms round himself. I think he’s looking at me until I see his eyes are all out of focus. I turn round and spot what he’s really looking at: a figure marching up the hill towards us, arms swaying. My belly kicks.

  Ezra-Dad.

  Wi
llow don’t even pause for a second. Soon as he knows it’s him, he lets out a sigh and runs shakily towards him, looking all small compared to Ezra-Dad, even though he’s higher up the hill. As he gets closer, the moon lights up the concern on Ezra-Dad’s face.

  ‘What –’ Ezra-Dad starts.

  But his words are taken as Willow throws himself into Ezra-Dad’s arms, wrapping his own arms round him, clutching on. Ezra-Dad halts, surprise only stopping him for a second from squeezing Willow back. And then he does. He hugs him, and he hugs him hard.

  I watch them together. A wind blows up cold.

  Willow is speaking really fast, but his words get less and less like shaky cries and more like words as they pull apart and walk towards me. And, as they do, both of their stares find me.

  I step away.

  Willow stops when he reaches me, but Ezra-Dad keeps on marching towards the Tower, only his hand on Willow’s shoulder stopping him from going all the way. He swings back, free hand scratching through his beard, his face all shadow.

  ‘In there?’ he says. ‘In that one?’

  ‘Aye,’ Willow says, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  Ezra-Dad nods, looking at me. ‘Ye OK?’

  I nod back.

  ‘OK,’ he says, and I can almost see the thoughts dashing around his eyes. ‘OK.’

  I pull my hands up into the sleeves of my coat, shivering. I can see an awful lot from this hill. The mountains. Lights from the windows of houses. All these places where people are living without knowing all of this is even going on.

  Ezra-Dad looks at me again, and I know he’s gone and come to a decision.

  ‘Give me yer phone, Will.’

  Willow looks up at him, before darting a look at me. ‘Why?’ he says.

  ‘We need tae call the police.’

  ‘But, Dad,’ Willow says, shifting from foot to foot. ‘They’ll … I mean, what will they do to Ele?’

  Ezra-Dad sighs, putting his spare hand on my shoulder, linking himself to Willow and me. He looks at me sadly. And I know. I know people need to know now.

  How to be an Outside Person – number five: Tell the truth.

  ‘She’ll be fine.’

  And I nod. It’s OK.

  ‘No,’ Willow says, ducking from under Ezra-Dad’s hand. ‘Dad, they’ll take her away. They’ll think that she … she did this.’

  Ezra-Dad looks at me out of the corner of his eye. And I know that he already knows.

  I did.

  ‘They willnae think that,’ he says.

  But Willow is shaking his head, hands running through his hair. ‘We can … We’ll … we’ll hide it somehow.’

  ‘Will –’ Ezra-Dad starts.

  ‘No, Dad!’ Willow shouts over him, all his fear tumbling over anger. ‘I … I promised that I’d look after her. I promised.’

  Ezra-Dad squeezes his shoulder and Willow looks at him. And, even though they look mighty different, I reckon they’re almost the same now, in the dark.

  ‘And ye’ve done a damn fine job, lad. Better than ah –’ He swallows and looks up at the stars like he’s wishing on them. ‘Ah shouldnae have waited so long tae do it. Soon as ah met ye, ah knew something was up.’ He squeezes my shoulder tighter, and looks back to Willow. ‘We need tae call the police now, Will. OK?’

  Willow looks at me. I nod.

  Slowly, Willow takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to him. Ezra-Dad lets go of my arm to make the call.

  And, as soon as his hand leaves my shoulder, I run.

  Fifty-Four

  My legs are empty. I stumble down the hill, my heartbeat filling my ears. I trip over something sticking up out of the ground and fall sideways, turning the world purple.

  I drag myself up. There are rocks in my arms.

  ‘Ele!’

  Willow. Running after me, wheezing already.

  ‘Stay back!’ I shout, but it sounds more like a whisper. I try running again, but my legs bottom out from under me and I fall again, this time on to my knees.

  The pain feels like cold in my bones.

  ‘Ele!’

  Again, I stumble up. Again, I fall – but this time he’s there to catch me. He falls, too, so we’re both down on the ground.

  ‘Leave –’ I gasp. ‘Leave me alone!’

  ‘Nae,’ he says. ‘Let me help.’

  I shake my head, trying to fight him off, but I don’t have nothing left. I don’t.

  ‘Let me help,’ he says again, pulling my head up and looking into my eyes.

  I see myself reflected in them. And it’s stupid, but I don’t look no different.

  I thought I would.

  I hold his face. It feels warm in my icy fingers.

  ‘No,’ I say, and my voice don’t sound like mine. It sounds like it’s bleeding. ‘I lied about it all. About the Others. About Him.’

  Still he looks at me. Still he holds me. ‘They weren’t lies, Ele. They were …’ He pulls me closer to him. He’s shaking. ‘What the hell happened there?’

  I shake my head into his sweater. ‘Everything. Nothing.’

  ‘Did –’ He swallows. ‘I can’t believe I’m asking this.’ He strokes the hair out of my face. ‘Did He … keep you? There?’

  He ain’t looking me in the eye.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For how long?’ His voice has gone all high. Still he strokes my hair. His hand feels heavy.

  ‘Long,’ I say.

  He nods, his lips pressed tight. ‘And the Others you told me about?’

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m sorry, Bee. I’m sorry.

  ‘I made them up.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, and my eyes fly open. ‘I’m pleased no one else had to go through that shit.’

  He looks at me now, eyes full of sad.

  ‘Just … Ele. Will you forgive me?’

  I lean back. ‘Forgive you?’

  He licks his lips. ‘I didn’t know, you know? I thought … Well, I didn’t think. And all this time you were carrying all this and then I brought you back here.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was excited to come here tonight. Excited.’

  Everything in me is numb and cold. I can hear Ezra-Dad talking on the phone. Words like ‘body’ and ‘dead’ float over to where we are – not even that far away – but they don’t mean nothing now.

  ‘How did …?’ Willow says.

  I wrap the tassels of his jumper round my fingers. ‘I … I must have shot him,’ I say. ‘He had his gun out, and he was gonna kill me like he killed Zeb, so …’

  ‘Shit,’ Willow says. He doesn’t let go of me. ‘Zeb? The one you told me about before? Back in the shed?’

  I nod.

  ‘He was in there, too?’

  Eyes all wide. Blood circling the drain.

  I nod again, and I need to remember that Willow don’t know all this. He don’t know the story or the truth and it’s OK to be asking questions.

  ‘It was my fault,’ I whisper, feeling the pain twang in my belly again.

  He shakes his head, holding my arms. ‘Ele, none of this is your fault. OK?’

  Yes, it is.

  ‘Ele, look at me.’

  I open my eyes.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  I close them again. He grabs me harder, pulling me up all clumsy to my feet.

  ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you,’ he says.

  I can hear them now. Sirens, like the ones on TV. Sounding all strange in the dark, like dying animals.

  ‘It can’t be like this,’ he groans.

  I turn to him, and he’s looking all around us like he’s hoping to find the answers out in the dark.

  ‘The Others – you’re sure they’re not real?’

  His words hurt my ears. I nod.

  ‘What about …’ he says. ‘What about Jack?’

  I freeze. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Your friend, right? Well, what about him?’

  I choke. ‘Just knocks on walls,’ I say, but goddamn it. Goddamn it
, Jack. I’d forgotten Jack. Is Jack lies or truth?

  ‘OK,’ Willow says, grabbing my arms, a spark of something back in his eyes. ‘OK. Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.’

  The beginning.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It was after Zeb went. I was feeling mighty lonely and … and his knocks were there.’

  ‘What do you mean, knocks?’ Willow says, starting to walk me back up the hill. Ezra-Dad is sitting on the floor, head in his hands. We stride past him.

  ‘On the walls,’ I say, trying to look behind me, trying to see whether Ezra-Dad is hating me. ‘On my wall.’

  Willow pushes me into the smell.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, but he don’t.

  ‘Which wall?’

  We cough as we enter the building again. My legs are fighting him. They dig in their heels.

  Don’t make me go back in.

  ‘The … right side.’

  ‘And this –’ he coughs – ‘this was after Zeb got killed?’

  I nod, my eyes streaming.

  ‘And how exactly did he die?’

  Don’t make me say it.

  I moan. ‘He shot him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Willow says, looking back over his shoulder through squinted eyes. ‘Are you sure he was dead when He left?’

  ‘Yes!’ I shout, trying to get out of his grip. ‘He was shot in the head! He lifted His gun up and hit him right over the head with it. There was … there was blood.’

  We’re at the Tower entrance again. The door is ajar and I know what’s on the other side. I know it. But Willow don’t make me go through. He pulls me to the door next to it – the one on the right. He covers his face with his arm and bends down to pick up the key we dropped. The key all smudged up with His blood.

  When he stands up, his face is flashing with blue lights. ‘Ele, that’s not what being shot means.’

  I feel myself getting angry at being called wrong – even under what he’s saying. But then Willow lifts the key up to the door next to my Tower. The light above it goes green. And it’s a different kind of smell in here. Bad, but not dead.

  Willow pushes the door and opens up a room full of darkness. I grip the wall, recognizing everything in there as the Inside I know. I knew.