Her fingers were blue.
It would be incriminating enough, if they hadn’t caught her in the act. Now it was just embarrassing. Bella Jones was known in the small town of Erskineville, so it was with a well worn look of disapproval that Constable Loiuett approached the desk at which she sat.
‘Bella Jones: frequent delinquent, would-be career criminal – why am I not surprised? You should know by now that we won't tolerate your vandalism.’
Bella sighed. ‘It’s art, okay. I have the right to express myself!’
‘It’s stupid, and no, you don’t. At least, not on Mrs. Crawford’s property.’
Const. Loiuett sighed, staring around the small, listless office. He rubbed his eyes; it was too early to be dealing with this. Bella was getting uncomfortable with the silence, beginning to fidget.
‘Does your Grandma know you’re here?’
‘No,’ she said, growing quiet and still. ‘Gran doesn’t do, or say much anymore.’
‘Well,’ Loiuett said brightly, ‘it’s a good thing you know the habits of the elderly.’
*
It stood at the edge of town, a long low structure surrounded by tall, leafy trees. ‘Erskineville’s Golden Retreat, Paradise Come Early,’ read the once bright, tall lettering plastered on the sign above it.
Something about the still, quiet mustiness seemed to bear down on her, as if it resented her intrusion on its slow decay. There was a cool wind blowing, disturbing the carpet of leaves that were strewn between her feet and the door. She didn't move forward or think, or do anything at all. It was as if she was waiting for something.
As if on cue, the white door, cracked and peeling, swung inward. In the doorway stood a tall, wild old man with long grey hair. He was smiling, revealing a gleaming gold tooth. They stood for a moment, merely eyeing each other, before the man bowed deeply – a gesture that might have looked half-respectable if not for the fluffy bathrobe he was wearing.
Bella couldn't remember moving but in the next instant she was within the doorway, enclosed in darkness and she could feel the man's breath on her shoulder. Dimly, she could make out a large receptionist desk, a pot plant and a few chairs. Across the room, a doorway framed a brilliant white light, and again, without seeming to, she was there. Together, they entered into what was, Bella could see at once, the main room.
It was basically a hall, so long and large was it. Several tables and chairs were spread out across the room, with games of chess, backgammon, checkers or cards being played by a variety of aged people. Some turned to see the new arrival, but no words were spoken. In one corner a TV set was placed, its flickering blue-white lights the only sign it was on.
The entire room was silent.
They were bathed in the grey light of morning. It came through the large windows that dominated the opposite wall, and the clear door leading into the garden. There was a tree in the corner of it, massive and bowed, its ancient roots so vast that barely anything else found room to grow. Only the weeds, dark green and long, gleamed wetly with dew. The whole scene had a surreal quality to it, and Bella found that into the absence of sound, her presence was a crescendo, a triumphant procession of clanging noise. Her breathing was harsh, and loud; her footsteps sashayed atop the carpet; the rustle of fabric as she moved scraped against the ears.
Her heartbeat was thunderous.
As they got closer to the tables, Bella’s straining ears finally caught the first of the faintest sounds. Their breaths were so shallow and quick, it seemed a miracle to her that they stayed so quiet. But even as she thought this, there seemed to be a stir, as of a dog shaking its fur, and a whisper, faint at first, but growing in strength, was heard.
Why is she here?
Why did you let her in?
What have you done?
This should not be.
This is wrong.
Get her out, quick.
No one had moved, or seemed to speak. Bella whipped her head around, but found her feet frozen to the spot. This couldn’t be happening, not here, not now. She’d thought the voices behind her, thought them a memory of childish delusions, of her parents. But they’d never been so clear, so strong.
Get her out, quickly, before He wakes.
There is still time… time…
It echoed forlornly in her mind, this last voice, as if at the last moment this had changed. Now that they were through most of the room, Bella noticed a doorway at the end that she hadn’t seen before. It was open, and through it she could see a chair. It was massive, and dark, its legs and arms sculpted into monstrous, contorted shapes. Within it sat an old, bald man. He had been sleeping. Not so, now. His eyes, the most piercing black she had ever seen, were firmly locked on hers. And he was smiling.
Bella...
He seemed to sound it out, as if savouring it. His voice was a rich, melodic wave that washed over her, comforting and warm. His mouth never moved and he didn't say, or move again, but she was content in the knowledge that she was his, that finally she'd found her home and everything would be alright again. How could she doubt it? It was as if she'd known it her whole life.
*
-Bella!
She sat up, snapped out of the dream by the frantic cry. It was midnight, and the soft light of the moon speared through the room. Highlighted in it, stood a small, gnomish creature. A tuft of white, snowy hair drifted lazily above its head. Bella blinked, confused and terrified for a moment, before she realised that it was Grandma standing there, and not a demon.
'Grandma, what's wrong?'
Grandma Jones tottered forward, her rheumy eyes intent and focused for what seemed the first time in ages.
'Watch out for him, sweet Bella, watch out. He'll get you, and then you'll never be free. Not once, not ever. Promise me, Bella. Promise me you won't go there!'
'Grandma, what's going on?' Bella asked, fearful. 'Watch out for who?'
'The wizard!' she hissed. 'Promise me!'
For a moment, Bella felt the most profound disappointment. She'd thought
it was something real, and for a second, even though she knew it would never happen, she'd thought the old Grandma was back.
'Oh. Okay, Grandma. I promise. '
She watched as the intensity slowly faded from Grandma's light blue eyes, as a look of contented satisfaction came over her face and she slowly walked away. After that she rolled over, trying to ignore the wetness that slowly spread over her pillow.
*
The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever occurred. Grandma went about her normal business, cooking and rattling around the kitchen, humming all the while. Bella sat at the kitchen table, slowly spooning some cereal into her mouth. More often then not, Grandma never actually made anything, only going through the motions.
After finishing, she placed the dish in the sink and carefully cleaned it. As she did so, a loud rapping was heard at the door. Bella dried her hands, dreading the inevtiable. The knocking sounded again. Growling, she threw the towel down and walked over to open the door.
Standing there, looking prim and proper, was Const. Louitte.
'Ready?' he asked.
'Let's just go,' she replied, closing the door behind her. 'How long do I have to do this anyway?'
'For three months, if you behave. A lot longer if you don't.'
It didn't matter to her, not really. Bella Jones was made of strong stuff, and it wasn't as if anyone would miss her during the day. She got into the car quietly, a little subdued. The drive to the retirement home was silent and uneventful. The car pulled up to a quiet stop outside the reitrement home. It was a long, low structure surrounded by tall, leafy trees. Above it a sign read, 'Erskineville's Golden Retreat, Paradise Come Early,' in bright, shiny lettering.
There were a few cars outside the building, and people moved in and about the home, old and yound alike. For a moment, she hesitated, not wanting to get out of the car. It wasn't anything like her dream, but still, something held her back. Bella turned to see the Constable watching her expectantly.
Seeing her indecision and fear, he softened, 'It'll be okay,' he said. 'I know yesterday was a troublesome day for you – it always is – but this won't be so bad. And I'm sure your parents would be happy.'
There came the usual flare of aggression and resentment at the mention of her parents, gone these seventeen years or more, but it wilted and faded. She decided, this once, she'd let it slide and without another word, she opened the door and walked away. Whatever menacing afterthoughts remained from her dream the night before soon faded, and she even found herself having fun escorting some of the old folk around.
People called out greetings.
‘Hey John, whose the beauty? Got yourself a new wife, have you, you old dog?’
‘Oh my, would you just look at those legs? Oh, but you remind me of myself at a younger age, dear, hee hee!’
‘Martha, I didn’t know you had a sister!’
It happened when she was with Martha, this last moment. She wanted to play Bridge with the rest of the girls, and was giving Bella directions to the recreation hall. As they were walking down the hallway, they turned, and suddenly they were there. It was the same room from her dream, she recognised it instantly. Her footsteps slowed, but her elderly companion didn't seem to notice and motored on to sit at the table at which her friends were playing cards.
Bella was frozen to the spot, beset by images. Through the clear glass windows, she could see the sunny garden, with its clear paths and many flowers, shrubs and park benches. Over this though, superimposed, was a massive, ancient tree. She recognised it, knew it intimately. The present day image flickered, seeming to vanish and wink out of existence, crushed by the immensity of the oak.
The day was overcast, suddenly, and as she turned her head to peer down the hall, she already knew what she was going to see: the door. It gleamed with a polished finish. In the now grey light, the room seemed neglected, and filthy. The walls were peeling, exposing their bones as the skin sloughed off. The chairs and tables were covered in grime, while around them, the happy occupants were no more – in their place, mere sacks of depressed meat and bone slouched, in a state of near decay.
Any moment now, the door would open she knew, and then it would all be over. As she was holding her breath, a freezing cold hand clamped down on her shoulder. Bella jumped, barely holding in a shriek.
'Oh, I'm sorry dear, did I startle you?' Martha asked, all innocence.
Sunny once more, normality resumed. Bella shook her head, feeling dizzy and ill.
'Ah, yes... Sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention.'
'Not to worry, we all find ourselves lost in a spell sometimes.'
It was as if the last five minutes hadn’t happened, as if she'd imagined it all. This normality, however, felt more wrong then before.
Everyone was being too nice, too normal, as if they were reading scripts, and playing rehearsed roles. She looked back to the room she had seen earlier, but the door was shut and there was no sign of it ever having been open.
Sweat was rolling down her face, and she was trembling. Her throat was dry, and she bit her lips to stop them from trembling. She wanted to run, to never come back to this place, but something held her there and she knew she had to go to the room, had to open the door and see for herself.
'Martha, what's behind that door?' she said, indicating toward the end of the room.
'You mean, who, dear – that would be old Mouvar, no use seeing him I'm afraid, poor dear hasn't spoken a work in decades.'
Leaving the old woman to her game, Bella wandered down the hall, past the tables and the T.V. She found herself creeping quietly forward, as if afraid to make a noise, to disturb the quiet. She leaned forward, pressing her ear against the door. It seemed to pulse beneath her skin, as if it were a living thing. At first she heard nothing, then faintly but with growing strength, she heard a softly sung tune. It was light, beautiful, and eloquent in a way that surpassed language. She found herself caught in its grasp, ensared in its folds, its encompassing, melodic sound. It was both ancient and young, and it spoke of love, of pain and sacrifice.
Bella could have stayed there for hours, listening to that eternal saga, but with every note she felt a tug, gentle at first then harder, stronger, tearing at her mind. She couldn't move her head, it was stuck to the door and something was squriming and pushing its way into her ear. She screamed and screamed, but not a sound could be heard, consumed by the song, become nought but a verse in its vaste, world spanning form.
The first thick, wet tendril entered her mind, and she choked and gasped blood against the door, feeling long buried memories shift and stir, shaken from the depths of suppressed past. At the same time, Bella felt her senses expand, and the rich scent of dark, moist earth filled her nostrils. She knew with certainty then, that the room behind the door was filled to the brim, and in the centre of this chamber in the earth, the old man sat, patiently singing his song. Within that ancient frame, a far older, inhuman mind clicked and buzzed, and with each minute more and more of its attention turned to her.
She had to get away, she knew, but she could barely move and with each tug more of her went numb from pain, became more submissive and passive. It was a barrage she simply couldn't withstand. She thought she was screaming, but she couldn't be sure. It seemed an age since she'd first felt it. Bella became aware slowly, of something creeping across her head, face and mouth, of multiple somethings buzzing and clicking around her; finally, it was too much.
Bella wrenched her head back, nearly tearing her ear off with a great, moist suction from the mouth that gleamed and squirmed in the middle of the door. She broke off , turned and fled back, and away. Her ears were ringing; she could hear a baby crying in the distance, beneath the harsh notes of a chanting, foreign tongue. The walls shook and blurred. The sound of bemused laughter haunted her, nipping at her feet, urging her on. Faster, and faster she ran, and there was nothing stopping her; no wall, lock, person or thing. Everything melted away into darkness.
*
Eventually, there was light. Following, groggily, came the awareness of light, and soon after this, memory. A face swam into focus. At first, she thought it was her mother and a sweet flower of pain and longing bloomed in her heart. But it became clear, seconds later, that this woman was older, and wiser then her. It was Grandma, but as Bella had never known her before.
She was young, a handsome woman in her mid-30's, wearing a soft white dress that flowed about her knees. She was smiling, and her gaze was clear and knowing. She held out a hand, and Bella reached out to take it. As she was brought to her feet, Bella could see they were standing on a hill overlooking Erskineville.
'Grandma, where are – '
Grandma motioned her to silence, pointing at their feet. Lying there in the grass was a brightly coloured pop-up book. As Bella watched, it opened and a tale, spanning generations, began to be told. It began with the first of her line, a desperate farmer on the banks of a dried up river. To save his family, he called upon ancient powers, a creature long thought to be myth – the Wizard. From the ground, a tall, emaciated creature emerged, clothing itself as a man and speaking in his tongue.
Little words appeared beneath the images. 'The Wizard is not of this world, Bella, and to speak our tongue, binds it to truth.'
The creature waved a long, chitinous arm, and with a trickle, and a roar, the river burst back into life.
'To make the waters flow again, the Wizard demanded a high price.'
The man, at first profuse in gratitude and relief, became enraged and agitated, his little cut-out arms flailing wildly. He stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving the creature to sink back into the earth.
Bella didn't need to see the next words, she knew them instinctively.
'It wants me.'
Grandma Jones nodded sadly.
The page lifted, over, and one after another, flickering faster and faster, images of tragedy striking her family members throughout history assailed her. Year after year, the Wizard appeared and demanded due recompense and year after year was rebuffed. The price was too high. Finally, the page stopped and the last was, as she knew it would be, of her own parents horrible car accident.
'Your page is yet to be written. But it is now time for you to make a choice.'
Bella nodded, and turned to wish her Grandmother good-bye, only to see she had already gone. Behind her, there was a door, open and waiting. Bella turned and walked back into darkness.
*
The first thing she was aware of was pain. Her head was throbbing, it felt as though a heart had been crammed into her skull and with each beat, it slammed against her mind. It hurt, and she moaned.
She could her voices arguing in the distance.
'What happened to her?'
'We won't be sure til the paramedics arrive, sir -'
'Blast and damnation, how can a girl sustain such an injury at a retirement home? A retirement home, for christs sake!'
Bella opened her eyes. She was lying on the grass, in front of the Golden Retreat. Crickets chirped loudly. Standing some way ahead of her, were Constable Louiett and Captain Moore, both staring off down the road, hoping to catch sight of the one ambulance service the small town had to offer. They wouldn't need it she knew, but she didn't bother telling them that. They wouldn't understand, after all. Gracefully, she got to her feet, silent and cat-like.
Her feet seemed to float across the ground and she fairly flew across the ground, through the door and into the home. No one saw her, or if they did, stopped her. In moments, she was in front of the door. This time, there was no need for a kiss, and it swung open, hinges protesting quietly, to reveal the room inside. The Wizard sat, in his dark, monstrous chair, waiting. Rich earth covered him to his knees and she found herself wading through it. He had been expecting her, it seemed.
You have come to pay the debt.
It was not a question, but she answered as though it were. 'Yes.'
This is good. I have been waiting.
He rose from his chair. He was tall, far more so then she expected and he towered over her. There was a sense of buzzing, of clicking and an eager anticipation but there was no malice in his eyes. Bella found that she was not afraid, that for some reason, she was calmer then she'd ever felt before. This was meant to be, she knew. He was only a pace from her now.
'C-can I hear it? Just one last time?' she blurted out.
He tilted his head, surveying her for a long moment, and she thought he was going to say no. Without a word, he opened his mouth, and began to sing. She sighed, immediately lost within the intricate trills and harmonious sounds that seemed to encompass all of nature, the sound of leaves in the wind, birds chirping and the music of water as it sloshed, fell, and roared across the earth's surface. It was wonderful, but through it all she sensed an immense sadness. This was a song not meant to be sung by one alone.
They were close now, he and her. Only a breath seperated them.
She could see the pictures now, within the melody. Of the water rising at his arrogant, lofty command – of the community, the family that had sheltered beneath the crust of the surface, being swept away, drowned in one terrifying moment. The water had been halted for a reason, and he had not known. Beset by guilt, he demanded a fitting sacrifice in return, but was rebuffed and rightly so. He had no intention of harming the human, never had, but he was the last of his kind now and had duties to consider.
Over the years, the reasoning, the justification had faded and gone, washed away beneath tides of human blood. But every day, on the same day all those fateful years ago, he sang his song of mourning and yearned for release. Now finally, it was at hand. He would be released from his debt, to meet his family on the other side. Already, the two of them were fading, lost to the sounds of a sweeter music.
