Dark Winter (6 page)

This would be slow and torturous, and the fact that tarantulas had an undeserved reputation as predators, was lost on me in that moment. I did all I could to stay awake, but fear overtook me, my low blood pressure kicked in, and I limply, pathetically fainted into nothingness, whilst the hairy arachnid, continued its slow but certain journey towards me. His eyes seemed to enlarge as mine got smaller.

             
                            *                            *                            *

I was having a dream, nightmare, an out of body experience, I didn’t really know for sure.

Sometimes it was better not to see the horrors approaching you, so I should be glad I was laying down in the woods with my eyes closed tightly, with old bug eyes and the eight legs that carried him on his way towards me. I tried to pray to the God I had held so much disdain for, and asked –
pleaded
with him to take that horror away.

The winter season seemed to come earlier each year, and so my parents would set off earlier for their holiday if my father’s company allowed him to do so.

Where they were going, they would be safe from the harsh cold and the biting needles of snow that stabbed at my face. On those days, I didn’t venture outside of Rosewinter at all.

The cabin was stocked with pretty much anything and everything you could eat, so there was no need to.

Although very cold and dark outside, it was very cosy inside and I loved it. I could forget that I was actually on my own, and enjoy the silence.

I could light a fire, read a book, and drink a cup of tea, though my Mum thinks I drink far too much of the stuff. No sooner had I finished one cup when I would be reaching for another.

Things had run smoothly for the last two years. I had done as my Nan had asked me. I had kept my kung fu skills up, and stayed at Rosewinter on my own, just a few days at a time. I had even enjoyed the experience.  My parents had seen me grow up and mature. Part of it, I admit, was an act. I just had to convince them.

Putting on a front was vital as a teen.

“Hi Romilly.”

“Hi Mum.”

“Everything alright?”

“Sure.”

“Want some tea?”

“Sure. Thanks Mum.”

Repeat.

Nan often led the conversations with me through her stories, and was rarely, if ever wrong.

I had kept the Mirror safe. But I became increasingly worried that it would not return the favour. Whatever was going to happen, was simply going to happen. I had no say in that.

It would have been great to have a friend, just anyone at all, on the night the Zee-girl paid me a visit. I was so shook up that I couldn’t think straight. In the cold light of day, I knew that she was looking to claim the Mirror, and kill me if necessary. Nan had said so. I just hadn’t truly believed it then. Actually try to kill me. What kind of gift was this?

“A gift. A curse. Can often be much the same thing Romilly,” she had said once.

But the strange marks on my hand were just one of the reasons people stayed away from me. Even if I liked certain people, I would mess it up.

There was Troy Jackson, of course. He was captain of the football team, captain of the basketball team, and in the last year at school, head boy as well. Everyone liked him.

Girls loved him and though they probably wouldn’t admit it, the boys wanted to be like him.

Who wouldn’t? At 6’1”, he was tall enough for me. He was broad shouldered, had wild black hair that billowed gloriously in the wind. He had piercing blue eyes and a chin that looked like it was cut from the hardest granite.

Then, he would smile that thousand-watt smile, and you were gone. He just had that affect on  girls. The only time he and I spent together, alone together I mean, was after school, where he would play the piano – beautifully of course, and I would try and keep up with the violin. I could not pretend I was anywhere near the standard he was, but he would laugh along with me anyway.

So many times I wanted him to ask me out. I would make a special effort with my make-up and hair – a school safe style that I could get away with, but he would treat me little more than a kid sister, and it irked me even more when I was not asked to the prom by him.

Why would he do that anyway? He showed no interest in me in that way, and I hadn’t the courage to just ‘bloody well ask him out then’ as my Nan had once told me.

I used to practise my signature in my exercise book. Mrs Jackson. Mrs R. Jackon. Mrs Romilly Jackson. Or sometimes even, Mrs Romilly Jackson-Winter. I had betted my father might like Troy more if I promised to keep the family name after we got wed.

Of course, this was all in my dreams. Whilst he had his pick of the girls at school, he plumped for Toril Withers, thus ensuring I would hate her guts even though she was nice enough to me. Ugh! Please don’t be nice to me! That only made things worse.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Toril was made prom queen. With her glasses, she rocked a sexy, bookish librarian. Without them, she was a goddess. 

I was Troy’s kid sister to Toril’s goddess, no more, no less than that in his eyes. I was simply ‘Rom’, to him. Nobody else, save for my father sometimes, called me by that name, and I wouldn’t like it if they did. After all, Rom was the idiot-cum-genuis Ferengi, in Star Trek Deep Space Nine.

So, calling me Rom? That was a privilege reserved only for Troy Jackson.

Beth O’Neill. Perhaps she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the school, but in the end, I managed to mess that up too.

The first thing to know about Beth was that she was from a strict Irish-Catholic family.

But the first thing people usually saw and noted about Beth was her gorgeous flame-red hair and sparkling green eyes. It was a striking combination that should have blown most boys away, but she had a ordinariness about her which meant that she didn’t sparkle like many other girls. Boys like Troy liked the ones with presence. When Toril walked into the room, you noticed. When Beth did likewise, you didn’t. It was just how it is.

Beth was also incredibly down to earth. She always wore her crucifix around her neck, and when asked why she did this, she said “Faith. If you have it, you don’t need anything else.”

As time went on, several boys did ask her out and she refused, concerned that all they wanted to do was use her, then dump her. Her parents had done a good job of traumatising her. Still, she prayed intently at school mass and sung beautifully during the hymns.

Beth was traumatised further when her parents were found in their bed, burned to death. She became a lot more introverted after that, and I found myself, finding her fascinating. Like me, she didn’t get involved with any cliques. She was not given into gossip, and studied hard, and whilst I didn’t have a faith so much, I respected that fact that she did.

We had another thing in common. By the time the school prom came around, no boy had asked her out. Of course, I was never in danger of being asked out (nor would I accept

anyone else but Troy asking me, but he never did).

Still, we acted like we had been asked out – at least that was the image we gave to my parents, and as far as Beth’s family were concerned, she would stay over at Rosewinter with me.

I had gotten two of the prettiest dresses I could find from the local prom shop, and got Beth to try one on.

“It fits beautifully,” she said, twirling around in her gown. “How did you know?”

“You’ve got an amazing figure, Beth. You’d look good in anything.”

She smiled a weird half-smile at me, and then looked at me.

“Go on then, give us a twirl.”

Beth’s humour was infectious, and I twirled in the dress, again and again.

We’d done something our folks would not have agreed with. I broke open the drinks cabinet. My father kept all manner of spirits, mixers, shots in the cabinet. You name it, it was there.

I gave Beth an over-sized wine glass and filled it to the brim.

“What is this?” she asked, taking a whiff of the ‘demon drink’, as her folks called it.

Mine too, for that matter.

“Jack Daniels,” I said. “Do you want some coke in there?”

Beth was already sipping it. After the first one burned within her throat, she gulped it down.

“Ow!” she said. “Have you got anything else? It’s a bit strong!”

I had in my hands a bottle of Southern Comfort. “This is pretty nice, but strong too. Maybe you’ll like it.”

Beth did like it, a bit too much in fact. I also realised that we were incredibly drunk, and Beth remarked how her legs were fine until she tried to stand up.

“I’ve got to…got to go home, Romilly,” Beth said with the straightest of faces, before cracking up, with, “but I don’t know where I live!”

“That’s a shame,” I slurred. “I’m not sure where you live either.”

“Milly, I’ve always wanted to ask you this, but never had the courage before. You know…the thing? You and the thing?”

“I think you’ve had quite enough to drink, Lady Bethany.”

“Well, yes, maybe. But that’s not the point. Show me, you know, the thing-”

My head cleared momentarily. “Beth. For God’s sake, what is the thing?”

“Never mind. Let’s play a game,” said Beth. “Let’s play I Never.”

“What?”

“You know…I Never did This, I Never did That…”

“Okay,” I said. If this was the only way I could get her to communicate whatever The Thing was, then, so be it. “You first.”

“Oh no no no no no no no no no…” laughed a tipsy Beth. “I came up with idea for the game. You. First.”

Alright then. She was playing me. I would play safe.

“I never….went to the Eastern point of Gorswood Forest.”

“That’s a doozy,” said Beth. “No one has. I mean, no-one who ever came back to say they had.”

I had heard that too. From Nan.

“Your turn, Beth.”

“I never got asked to the prom.”

“Not true,” I retorted. “You never accepted whoever asked you.”

“Martin Miley. Craig Sherrington. Michael Laurence. Are you serious? Would you have said yes to any of them?”

“No Beth.” That’s why we are both here tonight, playing Who Wants to Be Prom Queen.”

“Spill it, Milly.”

I thought for a moment. The more you played I Never, the more you revealed about yourself. I adjusted my position, and sat on my hands, and rocked from side to side.

“I never asked Troy Jackson out.”

Beth’s turn to spill it. The drink went down the wrong way and she coughed violently. I went to slap her on the back, but she was okay.

“I knew it. I knew it!”

“Come on Beth, it’s not news. Every girl wanted to be asked by Troy.” I was being defensive, because I was embarrassed. I had never told anyone directly about how I felt. I did tell Nan, but she hadn’t been at school with me. Telling Beth changed things. Changed nothing.

“You fancy him too,” I stammered.

“Actually, I don’t,” said Beth. She seemed honest in her answer. “He’s intimidated by tall women, so that rules you and me out. Toril, on the other hand-”

“-is petite, perky and gorgeous, yes, I know Beth.”

Toril was a nightmare. She was perfect. She didn’t have to cast a spell for Troy to fall for her. He had done that all by himself.

“Hands,” she blurted out finally. “Your hands. I never really seen them up close.”

“You don’t want to see that really, do you Beth?”

“Yes. Yes I do. I need to know if it’s true.”

I sighed. I knew how this would end up, how it always ended up. Rumours circulated, I tried to quash those rumours, and by doing so, I would be shunned. I really liked Beth, but she was forcing my hand, literally. Maybe she wouldn’t remember after she had slept the alcohol off.

With the gloves on, my hands looked completely normal.

I slipped them off, and revealed the blackened veins