Her fingers were blue.
It would be incriminating enough, if they hadn’t caught her in the act. Now it was just embarrassing. Sera 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.
‘Sera Jones: frequent delinquent, would-be career criminal – why am I not surprised?’
Sera jutted her jaw out. ‘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. She hated to admit it, but her core experience was almost built around this rebellious, messy, fifteen year old. She rubbed her eyes; it was too early to be dealing with this. Sera 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.’
*
Sera stared with growing horror at the old home. She still didn’t quite believe she’d been given community service. Her choices had been garbage disposal or helping to care for the elderly. It had been a near thing and now, staring at the building, Sera wondered whether she had made the right choice. 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.
She had known about it of course, there was no area that had survived the scrutiny of her restless prowling over the years. For some reason, she had never come too close to it, though. Every time she’d had it in her mind to come investigate the idyllic valley, something had come up or some new fancy would strike her and she would wander off, thoughts of the home melting away. It was, she knew, where they’d found her parents all those years ago.
Instinctively, Sera turned away from that thought, focusing instead on the shaded building. As she crossed the border of light, and into that darkness, she had to suppress a shiver. Something about the still, quiet mustiness seemed to bear down on her, as if it resented her intrusion on its slow decay. Uneasy, she hurried forward, reaching the white door that led to the reception desk. It’s paint was peeling. She knocked on the door. From within, she could hear the faint sounds of movement, and the scuffling of locks being withdrawn. At least it’s secure, she thought. The door snapped open, and over the lock-chain, a pair of suspicious eyes peered out at her.
‘What do you want?’ came the peeved request, sounding as if it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Sera summoned her best scowl and muttered shortly, ‘Community service.’
‘Are you with the terrorists?’ the old lady whispered harshly.
Before Sera could do anything but stare with amazement, a gruff male voice rang out. ‘Just open the door, Martha, you crazy old bat.’
The eyes disappeared, and the door shut as the lock was drawn back. It opened to reveal an elderly couple. One, Martha she presumed, was still in her nightdress; her dark grey hair was mussed up all around her head. The other, a tall broad old man was dressed in a pinstripe suit.
‘Welcome to the Golden Retreat, I’m the proprietor, John Maine,’ he said, smiling with his broad, moustachioed lips.
‘Oh baloney, you’re no more the proprietor then I am,’ Martha said, cackling to show the absurdity of that idea.
John grimaced, ‘Well, I might as well be. Ain’t anybody else here to do the job.’
Sera stared from one, to the other, before asking slowly, ‘Where are all the
staff?’
‘All gone,’ Martha said, shaking her head. ‘Long gone.’
Sera blinked, astonished. ‘Even the nurses? Who administers the medication? Prepares the food?’
‘Oh we do all that,’ she said. ‘Besides, no one knows our needs better then we do. We like to take care of ourselves.’ She smiled.
Somehow, Sera was not reassured. She glanced around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Brown and white panelled wallpaper added to the sense of immense age – in one corner, the receptionist desk stood, a polished reminder of a professionalism that was, as Martha had said, long gone. Surely, Constable Loiuett didn’t know of this and would release her from service?
‘So, uh, you won’t need me, then?’ Sera said, hardly daring to hope.
Martha and John exchanged a glance. They seemed suddenly nervous.
‘Well now, dearie, we may not need help, but that’s not to say we don’t like some company – it does get very dull around here.’ She smiled again. Her teeth were brown and crooked. Her eyes, a clear grey, were stressed and pleading.
Sera’s hopes plummeted. She couldn’t refuse an old lady some company, which she so clearly needed. ‘Okay. So where do I start?’
John took her arm gently, giving it a fatherly pat. ‘Why don’t you come into the rec room and meet the gang,’ he said, steering her through the doorway. He had locked the door behind them.
They entered into what was, Sera 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 Sera 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 scraped atop the carpet; the rustle of fabric as she moved scraped against the ears. Her heartbeat was thunderous.
Even John was subdued, as they moved through the room, quietly introducing everyone. As they got closer to the tables, Sera’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. Sera 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. She glanced at her companions, and saw that they too were frozen, smiles locked in place.
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, Sera 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.
As if on cue, everything changed. Sound, in all its infinite variety, rushed back in: chairs scraped, people coughed, cursed, and complained; bowl movements, dice rolling and the burble of everyday chatter and laughter assaulted her. 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!’
‘Welcome, lass, it’s good to see a new face.’
It was as if the whole last five minutes hadn’t happened, as if she had witnessed something she should not have. 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.
‘I want to go home now,’ she whispered. A moment’s pause, a ragged breath drawn, and then, ‘Please, let me go.’
John’s grip was too tight, Martha’s smiling face so close she cold see every seam and crack in her skin, and everything was too close, too loud for comfort. She needed to break free, needed to breathe.
‘I have to go, now!’
Sera broke away from her captors, turned and fled back, and away. Her ears were ringing; she could 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.
