The Flower and the Serpent

by Madeleine D'Este

  Thankful for the peace and quiet of the toilet, she silently recited her opening speech and the knot in her stomach unravelled. She had this.

  Tomorrow night was her all-important opening move. She'd dazzle that professor from the university. He’d track her down after the performance, and they'd talk. He'd be ever so keen to help. He'd recommend someone on the mainland, someone even more influential. She could be off this crummy island in weeks.

  Outside the cubicle, a tap turned on and water gushed into the sink. Angelika frowned. She hadn’t heard the door open.

  She tensed as something slithered across the floor to her right. Was it a mouse? A cockroach? But it was too cold for cockroaches in Tasmania. Angelika scrutinised the shadows on the linoleum floor cast by the partitions. She waited perfectly still. Minutes ticked by and nothing else happened.

  With a long exhale, she returned to her lines.

  Again, something flickered in the corner of the cubicle. Angelika gasped and turned her head, her heart galloping. This time she saw the shadow move. It elongated, like black fingers grasping for her. She hoisted her feet off the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes widened as a thickening dark wave crept towards her.

  The main door to the toilets crashed open.

  Angelika flinched.

  The door slammed closed, and then open, over and over, like a screen door in the wind.

  She clutched at the neck of her tunic. There was no way a breeze could get inside the building. She rolled her eyes.

  ‘You know you're not supposed to be in here,’ she growled. ‘It's not funny, you losers.’ She unlocked the toilet door and stepped out.

  But there was no one was there.

  ‘Wayne? Jason?’

  The entry door stopped slamming but the tap was still running. Water overflowed onto the floor. Angelika lunged forward and switched off the tap. She glanced around. She was alone. Shadows were just shadows.

  ‘Get a grip, Ostholz,’ she muttered as she washed her hands, her cheeks burning despite the cold. If only she could splash water on her face but she needed to be onstage in a minute. She dribbled water down the back of her neck instead and bowed her head as the chilly stream cooled her skin and nerves.

  The final rehearsal would be starting any moment now.

  Angelika straightened and took a final glance in the mirror. She jumped at the black silhouette in the stall behind her.

  ‘Stop messing around,’ she said, her eyes narrowed. ‘I can see you.’

  The shadowy figure darkened, turning blacker than any other shadow in the room. Her Angelika’s stomach clenched. This time it wasn't stage fright.

  ‘Stop it. I can see you.’

  The black shape edged towards her.

  The fluorescent lights flickered.

  Angelika clutched the side of the bench until her knuckles were white and watched the encroaching darkness through the mirror. She was unable to turn around and face it.

  ‘This isn't funny,’ she stuttered.

  The figure, a person, stepped into the light.

  Angelika gasped, her breaths fast and raspy. In the mirror, eyes of pure hate glared back at her, a face glowing with evil.

  Angelika grasped at her tight chest.

  ‘You?’ she spluttered.

  She desperately wanted to run. Get out of here. Through the doors. But her legs were like concrete beams, fixed into the floor.

  Run. Her mind screamed.

  Now.

  But it was too late.

  She felt the crack on the back of her skull.

  A hot blast of pain.

  Then darkness.

  ***

  VIOLET

  As the cast rolled into the theatrette, the nervous energy of the drama room died, replaced by quiet fidgeting and the sound of scripts crumpled in clenched fists. Violet was up on stage, all ready to begin Act One. She’d set the tone for the whole production. She’d give the audience, and Alan Wolf, an unforgettable beginning.

  ‘Deep breaths, everyone,’ Ravenswood said as he paced in the gap between the stage and the front row. ‘Put all this morning's disruptions behind you. Focus. Think of your lines, your character, your fellow actors. Remember, use your scripts if you run into any problems. I prefer if you didn't use them, of course, but our time has been very short and the dialogue is complex.’

  ‘Too right,’ mumbled Wayne.

  ‘Are there any questions before we start?’

  ‘Where's Angelika?’ Jacinta said.

  Violet shielded her eyes against the stage lights and stared into the audience where the rest of the cast sat.

  ‘Doing her hair?’ Jason groaned.

  ‘She wasn't in the girls’ toilet,’ said Jacinta. ‘I was just in there.’

  Ravenswood sighed. ‘Go check again, please.’

  As the side door closed behind Jacinta, the theatrette lights went out. The room plunged into absolute darkness, as black as a cave. Holly squealed. Ravenswood gasped.

  Violet could see nothing but a thick inky darkness in front of her face.

  ‘Toby, what are you doing?’ Ravenswood yelled. ‘Don't move. Anyone. Or you might fall. I can't lose any more of you.’

  ‘It's not me, Mr Ravenswood,’ Toby yelled down from the lighting box. ‘I think it's a power outage.’

  ‘Great,’ Ravenswood muttered to himself. But as he mumbled, the lights flickered back on and the stage was bathed in the grey muted light of the moors.

  Violet blinked and Ravenswood sighed. ‘Places, everyone. Curtain down, Toby.’

  The red curtain started to descend and Violet took her position next to Holly mid-stage.

  ‘Something's happened to Angelika!’ Jacinta yelled as she rushed through the main door from the corridor. ‘There's no one in the toilet. Or in the drama room. But there's blood on the toilet floor.’

  ‘Blood?’ Ravenswood grabbed the back rest of the closest chair.

  Jacinta spun around to the stage and pointed her finger at Violet. ‘What have you done to her?’

  Violet's hand flew to her throat. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You've done something to her, haven't you?’

  ‘I haven't done anything. I went for a walk.’ Violet shook her head. This time she knew she was innocent for sure.

  ‘Oh, Violet.’ Holly sighed. Her face etched with pain as she stepped away from her. ‘Tell us where she is.’

  ‘We don't have time for this, girls.’ Ravenswood frowned. ‘If you know where she is, please speak up, Violet.’

  ‘Yeah, Vile-ette,’ said Jason.

  ‘She wants to take the limelight for herself,’ Jacinta said, hands on hips.

  ‘Why is everyone looking at me?’ Violet said, her cheeks flushing under the green make-up. ‘I've done nothing.’

  Violet looked around the theatrette for support but a sea of accusing faces stared back. And there was another face missing besides Angelika.

  ‘Where's Lila?’ Violet asked. ‘She should be here.’

  ‘I saw her by the vending machine,’ Wayne said in his thunderous voice. ‘But that was ages ago.’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Holly said. ‘You know how fragile she is.’

  ‘Have you done something with her, too?’ Jacinta said. ‘Are you some kind of serial killer?’

  ‘I would never—’ Violet wrung her hands. She turned to Holly, her eyes round and pleading. ‘I wouldn't hurt her. I wouldn't hurt anyone.’

  ‘Liar,’ said Jacinta. ‘Tell them, Holly. Tell them what you told me.’

  Violet gulped.

  ‘She talked about poisoning Angelika, so she could step in at the last moment.’ Holly cleared her throat. ‘And she's been asking around about black magic.’

  ‘Hear that? Black magic?’ Jacinta said. ‘She's been casting spells on us all.’

  ‘You didn't,’ Ravenswood gasped, his eyes glassy. ‘Say it isn't true.’

  Violet winced. Holly was telling the truth. Every word was a dagger in
her gut.

  ‘You caused the dreams,’ murmured Wayne. ‘It was you.’

  ‘And now Lila's gone,’ Holly said. ‘Tell us where they are. Please.’

  ‘It wasn't me,’ Violet said but her voice trembled. The walls closed in on her. She swallowed. ‘Yes, I wanted the role. Yes, I felt betrayed. But it's this is nothing to do with me. I said some silly things, okay. And, I burned some candles. But there's something else going on here. Can't you feel it? Holly, remember what the bus driver said?’

  Holly pursed her lips and then nodded hesitantly.

  ‘I've had nightmares, too, and felt the shadows following me. And what about all the accidents? You don't think I could do all of it, do you? How? Maybe Lila was right all along and the play is cursed. All I know is it wasn't me.’

  ‘Why should we believe you now?’ spat Jacinta.

  ‘Yeah, where's Angelika?’ said Jason.

  ‘I don't know.’ Violet held up her hands.

  ‘And Lila?’ Holly asked. She lunged forward and grabbed the black scarf around Violet's neck. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘I found it.’ Violet shrugged.

  ‘Isn't it Rowan’s?’ Holly recoiled. ‘Mr Ravenswood, you have to call the police.’

  ‘It's just a black scarf.’

  ‘I agree with Holly. Call the police,’ Jacinta insisted.

  ‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ Violet said in a weak voice. ‘Any of it. It wasn't me, none of it.’

  The others glared back with hate in their eyes. Even Ravenswood was speechless, his hand clutched at his throat.

  But this time Violet heard what the others heard: her own thin excuses. She opened her mouth to apologise but it was pointless. The time for talking was over.

  ‘Fine. Don't believe me,’ Violet said and straightened her shoulders. ‘I'll find them. Both of them. I’ll show you. You'll see I'm not responsible.’

  She marched off the stage and pushed through the door into the corridor.

  But at that moment, the theatrette went pitch black again.

  ***

  VIOLET

  ‘What the bloody hell's going on?’ Violet muttered at the ceiling as the lights surged and flickered along the corridor. A chill slithered between her shoulder blades as unearthly sounds whistled through the speakers.

  Was that a voice? Or just garbled static?

  The intermittent darkness wasn't going to stop her. She'd walked this path every single day for five years. She knew the exact number of steps to the toilets.

  ‘Lila?’ she said, her hands trembling as she pushed open the toilet doors. She swallowed hard and stepped over the puddles on the linoleum.

  She checked behind her but all three cubicle doors were wide open and unoccupied.

  Violet’s stomach sank when she saw a trail of red on the white sink. She reached out to touched it and stained her finger with blood. It looked and smelled real. But who's blood was it? Angelika's? Or Lila's?

  One of you will disappear never to return.

  Violet chewed her lip. There was another question. If it wasn't her, then who was responsible? She glanced up and flinched again at the sight of her green face in the mirror. But the gnawing feeling returned. She was forgetting something important.

  The air shifted behind her. She spun around. The cubicles were dark and empty but her instincts screamed there was something in the shadows.

  ‘Who's there?’ she whispered.

  No one replied.

  Thrusting out her chest, Violet stepped forward. She checked the first cubicle and then the second. There was nothing there. Her heart thumped like a kick drum.

  She stood in front of the third cubicle and gulped.

  But it was also empty.

  Violet exhaled and stumbled back against the sinks. Her mind was playing tricks on her. There was no one there. Now. But they had been here, and someone got hurt. But where did they go?

  She left the toilets for the quiet corridor. She paused at the door and looked left and right.

  Something hissed above her head. Violet stared up. It was the same sound she and Lila heard yesterday. It must be the pipes wheezing in the cold weather again.

  But the hiss turned into a wail. Hot water rushing through pipes didn’t make that noise. It must be the wind moaning through the trees. Was there a storm forecast on the radio this morning?

  Violet stayed perfectly still and listened intently, but her knees quivered.

  Whatever it was scratched and howled overhead. It wasn't creaking pipes or a strong wind. It was a person in pain.

  Lila?

  Violet clenched her fists to stop them trembling. She wanted to run in the opposite direction, but her mind overpowered her desire to flee.

  ‘Lila?’ she called down the corridor. ‘Where are you?’

  No one answered.

  Violet followed the noise.

  ***

  HOLLY

  The lights flashed back on inside the theatrette. Holly blinked but Violet was gone.

  ‘You have to do something, Mr Ravenswood,’ Holly said, her nails biting into her palms.

  ‘Sometimes we say things we don't mean,’ Ravenswood said as he took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  ‘She's unstable!’

  ‘We don't have time for this. You and Violet need to sort out your differences and make up.’

  ‘Two people are missing!’ Holly snapped. ‘Three if you include Rowan. I'm sure that was her scarf she was wearing.’

  ‘And she's gone to look for them. I just need everyone here. Right now. We're running out of time.’ Mr Ravenswood turned and marched up the aisle towards the lighting box. ‘Toby, show me the gel for the Banquo ghost scene again.? The rest of you, make yourselves useful and practice your lines. But don't leave the theatre.’

  ‘Do I have to do everything myself?’ Holly threw her hands in the air. She ran off stage, through the door and back into the drama room.

  Head pounding, she grabbed her backpack and rummaged inside. She pulled out the paper bag, unfolded the handwritten note inside and read Dahlia's instructions.

  As I wind, I forever bind.

  She crumpled the note in her fist and shoved it back in the bag.

  Yanking the mangy wig from her head, Holly sighed and combed her fingers through her own hair. Ravenswood didn’t seem to care and Angelika's mother could only listen and nod. Did anyone know what they were doing?

  Dahlia's solution was the last resort.

  Holly squeezed her eyes shut. Think. But all her strength was draining from her body.

  The floor melted away until Holly was free-falling. Her mind was half on her conversation with her mum the night before. Everything was changing. Her mum said she always thought Holly wanted to get away, that she should be happy. But now that the moment had arrived why did Holly feel so uncertain?

  Holly blinked and sighed, her focus back in the classroom. People were in danger. Why wasn't someone doing something? Was she the only one who cared? Did she have any other option?

  She reached inside her bag again and pulled out the spool of black ribbon and two candles, one black, one white. Her skull was tight, her brain throbbed against the bone. She had promised herself she would never do this.

  Would she do more harm than good?

  ***

  RAVENSWOOD

  ‘Holly!’ Ravenswood called after her but she was already gone. ‘No one else leave the room!’

  Ravenswood pinched the bridge of his nose and checked his watch. He'd give them another five minutes. Four girls gone AWOL and the electricity on the blink.

  He clenched his jaw. He couldn't crumble, he wouldn't. This time it would be different. All his doubters would eat their words, for once and for all. Even her.

  Ravenswood flinched as the stage lights dimmed but he exhaled when he remembered. ‘Too warm, Toby,’ he shouted. ‘It's supposed to be scary!’

  ‘But that's the one you wanted yesterday,’ Toby
said over the speakers.

  ‘No. It can't be. It's completely wrong.’

  Swords in hand, Wayne and Jason bounded across the small stage, the wooden flooring flexing under their weight. In his best Errol Flynn, Wayne lunged forward grinning, but Jason deflected his blow with a cackle. Ravenswood sat and rubbed his forehead. He had never understood the fun in rough-housing. His head thumped as he tried to sort through the mess in his head. Did he eat the vegemite toast he made this morning, or did he leave it on the bench?

  ‘How about that?’ Ravenswood flinched as Toby's voice burst over the speaker. ‘Spooky enough for you?’

  Ravenswood squinted at the backdrop, which was bathed in the dim grey half-light of dusk.

  ‘It'll have to do,’ Ravenswood said as he slumped. ‘Where are those girls?’

  ‘Ow.’ Wayne doubled over, clutching at his waist. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘You were too slow. You alright, mate?’

  Wayne grunted, his face twisted. ‘I'm fine,’ he wheezed.

  Ravenswood glanced over at the boys. Wayne leaned back and inspected a little red stain on his pale blue surcoat.

  ‘Crap,’ Wayne said. He spat on his fingers and rubbed the stain, which made it worse.

  Ravenswood stared open mouthed. He'd been too distracted by the lighting and his throbbing head to notice why their sword practice had been so much louder than before.

  ‘Idiots!’ Ravenswood shouted. ‘How did you get those?’

  ‘Mr Neilsen said it was alright,’ Jason said, biting on his lip.

  ‘We thought it’d be more authentic,’ Wayne mumbled.

  ‘And dangerous. You could have killed him!’ Ravenswood ran down to the stage. ‘Are you alright?’

  Wayne nodded, his face pale. ‘It's just a scratch.’

  ‘He didn't move like he should have,’ Jason stuttered. ‘And then the light changed.’

  ‘You came too close,’ Wayne said.

  ‘Don't blame me!’ Jason roared.

  ‘Someone get the first aid kit,’ Ravenswood bellowed. ‘At this rate, I'm going to have to play every role myself. Hand them over.’