The Flower and the Serpent

by Madeleine D'Este

  ‘When shall we three meet again?’

  ***

  HOLLY

  Holly flinched as Violet’s words bounced off the opposite brick wall. Every word was carefully enunciated with flourishing gestures, a performance designed for a stage with red velvet curtains and a proscenium arch, not on a plastic chair in an open plan classroom.

  ‘Lesser than Macbeth, yet greater.’

  Holly chewed on her lip as she, Lila and Violet - the three Witches - sat down. Next to her, Violet relaxed back in her seat with a pat of her hair. Ever since Violet had been picked for the part of Maria and she tossed old Jeanette aside for the new Violet, everything had become bigger, more dramatic, hyper-colourised. Holly always thought actors were supposed to be insecure.

  'Jeanette' was apparently too suburban for a promising stage career, but Holly missed her. Jeanette gobbled marshmallows for a bet until she spewed pink, she taught Holly how to reattach her bike chain and how to break in through the toilet louvres when she'd lost her house key. Since Jeanette left and Violet had come to stay, all that had changed.

  Jez rose in his slow-motion way and pushed aside his curtain of floppy fringe. Holly's tummy fluttered as he spoke. Among the boys of Beacon Hill, Jez was the closest thing to her poster of River Phoenix, Blu-tacked to her wall.

  ‘The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,

  And these are of them. Whither are they vanished?’

  Holly wasn't the only one fixated on Jez. She noticed how Violet watched him with her mouth slightly open. Jez continued his speech, but his eyes never strayed from Angelika’s direction. Holly hid a little smirk but then again Jez never noticed her either. Three months had passed since The Sound of Music closing night party, and Holly could still picture the moment when Violet and Jez skulked away together. For once Violet had kept all the juicy details to herself and Holly never asked. She didn't have to, whatever happened was over.

  The morning dragged on as the cast fumbled through their first full read through. Scene Five began and as Lady Macbeth started to speak, Holly could feel Violet seething beside her. Holly knew Angelika’s name, everyone did. Being beautiful was the closest thing to being famous at Beacon Hill High School. But Holly knew nothing else about her. How did someone become so self-assured at sixteen?

  ‘Only look up clear;

  To alter favour ever is to fear:

  Leave all the rest to me.’

  Angelika closed the scene and folded her hands on top of her script. She gazed around the circle with a quiet feline confidence. Violet snorted loudly and Holly winced.

  ‘Very good, everyone. We'll stop there for lunch,’ said Ravenswood. ‘Back at one o'clock.’

  The drama room filled with chatter as the teenagers scrambled to their feet, Holly yawned and Angelika stretched, Wayne and Jason patted each other on the back, and Jez rushed for the door.

  ‘You were so good, Violet,’ Lila said, her hand on her black and white striped chest. ‘So much better than me. The rhymes and those old words?’ She exhaled with a whistle.

  ‘They're my lines,’ Violet hissed. She curled her lips in a snarl, unconsciously revealing the crowded teeth she detested. Her mum's refusal to pay for braces had been Violet’s hysterical drama a few months back. ‘He's an idiot. She's an idiot. It’s so embarrassing.’

  ‘I thought she was alright.’ Holly shrugged.

  ‘You couldn't possibly understand,’ Violet scoffed.

  Violet pushed past Holly and marched out of the door. Violet would never be able to compete with Angelika if she stomped around like a rugby player. But Holly didn't dare mention it. She liked her head where it was.

  Lila scampered after Violet and Holly sighed, her shoulders slumping, knowing she should follow them. This was life or death to Violet, but there was always one drama or another. It was never about Lila, or her.

  Holly grabbed her satchel and headed towards the Quad, hoping a smoke would calm Violet down.

  ‘Hi.’

  By instinct, Holly tensed instinctively. She glanced up to see Jacinta loitering at the classroom doorway, her smile white and straight, expensive-looking caramel highlights in her dark hair.

  ‘I like your jumper.’

  Holly tugged the hem of her knitted baby blue jumper. ‘It’s just an op-shop find.’ She tried to sound casual, but her hackles were on full alert. What did Jacinta Martin want from her?

  ‘You're lucky. I never find anything good.’

  Holly laughed nervously. In her spotless white denim jacket, Jacinta wouldn't be seen dead anywhere near a dusty stale second-hand clothes shop.

  ‘You should try the Salvo's on Patrick Street. That's the best one and I think they've got a sale on at the moment.’

  ‘I'm always a bit suss. Wearing dead people's clothes, you know. But maybe we could go some time? Together? You could help me find something good.’

  ‘Sure.’ Holly chewed on the inside of her lip. As if she and Jacinta would go shopping together. They’d been in the same classes for four years and this was their longest conversation to date.

  Jacinta flipped open a magazine with another impossibly pretty face on the cover. ‘And your dress. It's like this one.’

  Holly huddled over the magazine, and as they turned the pages, Jacinta's sudden friendliness made sense. Where were Karina, Stacey and Melanie, Jacinta's gang with their perfect curls and tanned smooth legs, even in mid-winter? Jacinta had no one else, so she had to resort to the Witch Girl.

  ‘Kind of. But mine cost a dollar.’ Holly smoothed her white sun dress with the dark blue flowers.

  ‘Wow. You can't tell.’ Jacinta produced a bag of lolly snakes. ‘Want one?’

  Holly took a yellow snake one and ripped the head off with her teeth, her shoulders softening as her mouth flooded with sickly sweet pineapple. But she kept one eye on Jacinta. She'd be a fool to fully relax with a popular one.

  ‘You write for the paper, right?’ Jacinta asked.

  ‘Every now and then.’ Holly shrugged, but inside her tummy quivered. ‘It's only the school rag.’

  ‘That's cool, I saw your thing about—’

  Rowan drifted by. She tripped over Holly's satchel and crashed into a chair. Her dark curls covered her face as she fell onto her hands and knees.

  ‘I'm so sorry.’ Holly grabbed Rowan's elbow and helped her up to her feet. ‘I shouldn't have left my bag there.’

  ‘I’m so clumsy,’ Rowan said feebly, her hand sweeping her forehead. ‘I don't know what's wrong with me.’

  ‘Are you alright? You look pale?’ Holly said.

  ‘Do you want a snake?’ Jacinta thrust out the bag.

  ‘Just a headache.’ Rowan's voice was airy. ‘From that smell.’

  Holly smiled politely.

  ‘Can't you smell it?’ Rowan asked.

  ‘Paint, maybe?’ Holly offered. ‘From the maintenance men?’

  ‘Or Wayne’s cheap aftershave,’ Jacinta laughed.

  ‘No.’ Rowan shook her head, her eyes glassy. ‘It smells wrong. Something foul, something off.’

  ‘I could get you a Disprin? I'm sure someone has one,’ Holly said reaching out a hand for Rowan, but she'd already wandered away.

  Holly frowned. ‘There's something wrong with her.’

  ‘She’s off her tree if you ask me,’ Jacinta snorted. ‘She should lay off the buds.’

  Holly chewed her lip, debating whether to follow Rowan. But then until Jez passed by and her cheeks instantly flushed red.

  ‘Snake?’ Jacinta said as she offered him the bag.

  With a grin, Jez pushed the hair from his eyes. ‘Why did it have to be snakes?’ He held up his hands in mock alarm.

  Jacinta plucked out a red snake and wiggled it at Jez. He let out a high-pitched squeak and pretended to swat the snake away. Jacinta lunged at him, brandishing the lolly reptile like a sword.

  ‘Help me,’ Jez squealed and jumped on a chair. He clutched at his throat. ‘Somebody help me. Please!’


  Holly giggled. Jacinta tossed the lolly bag to her. She pulled out a green snake and joined in, chasing Jez around the circle of chairs.

  For a brief moment, Holly wasn't the witchy one. She wasn't on the receiving end. She was one of them. She savoured each moment while it lasted, because she knew it never lasted long.

  Chapter 3

  RAVENSWOOD

  As the cast giggled and elbowed each other on their way to the weak winter sunlight in the Quad, Ravenswood headed to his office for his ham and cheese on multi-grain.

  As he turned the corner, the babble of kids faded away and he was alone again in the dim corridors, his footsteps ringing. Like a blinkered horse, he focused his eyes on the path straight ahead. If he didn't look, he wouldn't see. This was his theory and it had worked so far.

  For a first run-through, he thought the kids were a five out of ten. Angelika was wooden but salvageable. A few pointers and a bit of coaching should unearth some of her talent. Luckily, his leading man Lionel commanded the stage – even when he was sitting down. With a few more days under his tutelage, Alan Wolf would be blown away. Ravenswood whistled and admired his tunefulness and the acoustics of the rough brick walls.

  Above his head, the public address system buzzed. Ravenswood clutched at his chest as a screech of feedback echoed down the windowless corridor. Underneath the hissing static, he thought he heard words, but as soon as he sensed it, Ravenswood clamped his palms firmly over his ears, glad for the thumping drum of his own heartbeat.

  Seconds later, the quiet returned and he breathed again.

  ‘Those bloody maintenance men,’ he muttered. ‘What are they doing?’

  He turned back and marched towards the main office. Electricity surges and speaker static were unacceptable. They would not interfere with his production. Everything had to be perfect for Alan Wolf.

  Ravenswood passed the locked-up library and the door opened. A bald man in blue coveralls stepped out, a cordless drill gripped in his hand.

  ‘What’s with all this racket?’ Ravenswood said, hands on hips. ‘I'm putting on a production. And you are interfering with our work.’

  The maintenance man stared at him, his neck was thick and ropey. Ravenswood gulped, a shiver quivered up his back, but the man said nothing in reply.

  ‘Where's Bruce?’ Ravenswood stammered. ‘Is he in the office?’

  The man shrugged and continued on his way down the corridor.

  ‘Wait. I'm talking to you,’ Ravenswood called, but the man disappeared into the dark.

  ‘Bloody cheek,’ Ravenswood harumphed and continued onto the main office.

  As he turned a corner, his hand grazed the wall, but rather than cold bricks, the surface felt clammy. The backs of his fingers came away coated in a sticky liquid. He sniffed them tentatively then stepped under an emergency light to examine his hand closely, but curiously there was nothing there. Whatever the goo on the wall was, it had evaporated.

  ‘Bloody kids,’ he grumbled.

  Another door opened and Ravenswood squealed.

  ‘Oh, Mr Ravenswood. Did I frighten you?’ Miss Quinlin said. ‘Sorry about that. I should get myself a little bell,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Miss Quinlin,’ Ravenswood sighed. ‘I didn't know you were on school grounds.’

  ‘It's always better here with no kids around,’ she said as she limped out of the science lab door in another one of her shapeless pink fluffy cardigans. ‘I can actually get some work done.’

  ‘Did you spill something? On the wall over there?’ Ravenswood asked.

  She hesitated before she replied. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Never mind. What's going on with the PA system? And the electrics? Do you know? These conditions are intolerable, I have a performance to direct.’

  She cocked her ear towards the speaker and squinted one eye. ‘I haven't noticed anything. But then again, my hearing is a bit dodgy. And sometimes I get a little wrapped up in what I'm doing.’ She coughed with an asthmatic rasp. ‘The maintenance fellows could be testing in different parts of the building. That would make sense. Although not many things make sense these days.’

  ‘I tried to talk to one of the workers before, but he walked off on me. So rude. He didn't even answer me.’

  ‘Of course not. They're from the Order of the Thorn,’ Miss Quinlin said with a half-smile. ‘The Brotherhood won the school maintenance contract.’

  ‘Monks?’

  ‘With a vow of silence. They call it the 'bound tongue'.’ Miss Quinlin nodded and her second pair of glasses on a pink plastic chain bounced against her chest. ‘It was quite a coup for the school. Very good workers and apparently, their work is a type of prayer.’

  Ravenswood raised an eyebrow. Monks in a silent order. Would he expect anything less in at Beacon Hill?

  ‘That explains the lack of obnoxious commercial radio,’ Ravenswood said, faking a light-hearted laugh.

  No wonder they gave him the creeps. If only he was more like his sister. She had moved on so easily. She didn't even get the nightmares.

  ‘Where can I find the head maintenance man? Bruce, is it? I want a word with him.’

  ‘Mr Booth. He’ll be around somewhere. He'll know exactly what's going on.’

  ‘Good. Nothing can interfere with my production. We have a full house on Friday. With very important guests.’

  ‘Of course.’ Miss Quinlin rubbed her chin. ‘Interesting choice, Macbeth.’

  ‘A classic.’ Ravenswood pulled himself to his full height.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. But such a history.’

  ‘Shakespeare.’ He shrugged.

  Miss Quinlin frowned and drifted away into her own world, her lips moving soundlessly. Was she praying, Ravenswood wondered? He squinted. She seemed to be repeating a single word; 'prevention' or perhaps 'reinvention'? Something ending in a 'shun'.

  Miss Quinlan jolted as if she'd been caught napping. ‘Sorry, miles away. Must get back. Next term's lesson plans won't write themselves.’ She continued down the corridor with her lopsided shuffle. ‘Break a leg as they say.’

  Bemused, Ravenswood shook his head and set out once more towards the main office. His stride was determined but as always, he was careful to look straight ahead. Nothing good ever came from the shadows.

  ***

  HOLLY

  Last Night

  Something dragged Holly out of her sleep, and she didn't know why. She held her breath, her own heartbeat clanging in her ears. Under the doona, she stiffened and shut her eyes firmly. She listened hard but the room was silent.

  She swallowed, and as she lifted her head from the pillow, a chill scampered up the back of her neck.

  Her bedroom was filled with light. Her curtains were wide open –- and she never left the curtains open because next door's windows looked straight into her own and she'd seen creepy Mr Hanson staring back at her too many times.

  A fat moon cast a rectangle of light on her ruffled bedspread. Her bookshelf was empty, all her books knocked clear from the shelves. The moon must be making the cat crazy.

  Holly tried to say ‘Star’ but the word got stuck in her throat. She coughed and tried again but no sound came out of her mouth; her throat was clogged like a drain.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move but it wasn't the cat. She sucked in a jagged breath, her heart battering against her ribs. Something black slunk towards her wardrobe door. It was blacker than the darkest corners of a dark room, a blurry person-shaped shadow. All the warmth drained from Holly’s body. Her forehead moistened as the shadow inched closer, wafting against the walls, sashaying through the dark. The shadow hovered by the doorway, an oil-coloured mass blocking her exit. She tried to call out for her Mum but her voice was nothing but a strangled wheeze.

  Had Dahlia's warnings come true? Was this one of the shadow people from her bedtime stories, the reason behind her birthday gifts of amethyst jewellery?

  Holly slowed her panicky breath and gritted her teeth. She glanced abo
ut her bedroom. She knew every inch of carpet. Holly tensed her muscles to make a dash for the door. The shadow floated past her desk and over the cork board covered in her blue athletics ribbons. She pulled in deep slow breaths and collected all the courage she had left. A starter's pistol sounded in her head, and she tried to leap up from her bed.

  But she didn't move.

  Her body stayed flat, pinned against the mattress. She pulled at her arms and legs, ground her teeth and moaned. She struggled, trying to move left then right, but only her neck and head moved. No matter how she thrashed, she was trapped tight like a mummy.

  The shadow crept closer to her, slinking along the wall. Holly screamed silently for help. The black shape grew taller and wider. It took over the entire room and blocked out the moonlight. Holly whimpered noiselessly. A heavy invisible weight pressed her down, making her sink her deeper into the bed.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ She desperately wanted to scream but she could only think the words. ‘What do you want with me?’

  Long black fingers stretched across her bedspread and inched towards her throat.

  ***

  VIOLET

  The cold wind in the Quad and a cigarette hadn't calmed Violet down. Back inside, she waited in line at the vending machine behind Angelika. Violet huffed. Angelika was in her way once again. She stared at the back of Angelika's head and wanted to tear out fistfuls of her hair by the roots.

  Angelika turned with a Diet Coke in her hand and flashed a brief cold smile, the type of smile for checkout girls and servants. Plebe, it said.

  Violet clenched her fists so tight she almost broke the skin. She wanted to rip the smile off Angelika’s face, kneel on her chest and force her to taste what Violet felt, shove it down her throat. But Violet exhaled instead; there were other ways, much more cunning ways.