Young Writers Society

5. Dearly Missed

“Wake up!” I was rudely woken up by someone pounding on my bedroom door with their fist. “C’mon, Ames – get out of bed!”

“It’s Saturday, Dylan!” I moaned, my voice slightly muffled by my pillow. Of course it was Dylan, who else could possibly annoy me more?

“Do you listen to a thing we say? Ames, we’re going to see Dad. If you’re not ready in five minutes then we’re going without you!”

But my bed was so warm… so comfy…

“Urghhh…” I moaned again, but softly this time. Dylan still heard me. I swear he had ears like a bat; they were certainly big enough to be bat-ears.

He lowered his voice, “Ames…”

“Okay, okay.” I sat up. Half of my hair was plastered to my face and I felt the creases of my pillow etched across my cheeks, but Dylan was making me feel guilty. If Mum wanted to see Dad then we went – if we had other plans or not. Dylan and Mum were experts at emotional blackmail, and, unfortunately for me, I was useless at ignoring their deliberately quiet voices and sad looks.

I rubbed my face clumsily, trying to wake up. That was when my dream came back to me.

I’ll help you…

What had I agreed to? When the remaining light in the room had seeped away I thought I’d been tricked. Having woken up unharmed I wasn’t so sure now. I could survive her visits, couldn’t I? She was only going to talk to me. How bad could that be?

But I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to know about her pain. Or her death. I didn’t want her to tell me about her miserable existence. I just wanted to live a normal, happy life, without the burden of her story. If, of course, any of this was real. What if this was all some crazy dream? Or, more likely, what if I was going mad? None of this was real. Maybe I should start to believe that before I got committed.

“Not real…” I whispered to myself. “None of this is happening…”

It was an appealing thought. I wanted to wrap myself up in it like a thick blanket, protected from her words which would only fuel my insanity. I didn’t want to go crazy. I didn’t want to know what she had been through to make her so sad.

I didn’t want to know.

“Ames!”

“I said okay!” I snapped back to my brother, returning to reality.

“Ten minutes!” was his reply.

٭ ٭ ٭

Mum, Dylan and I stood in a sombre semi-circle around a polished rock.

Mum clutched the bright yellow flowers to her chest, their happy petals pressed against her struggling heart as though she hoped they could somehow transmit their cheer to her. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, painfully noticing how thin she was. Her baggy top dwarfed her and her skinny arms poked out from the huge, short sleeves. Her bleary eyes peered at the gravestone so hard it was like she believed if she looked at it for long enough he could come back.

But no one could come back.

Except maybe Alonsa.

On the other side of Mum, Dylan coughed into one of his fists. Like me he hated coming here. He saw no point to it other than a way for Mum to punish herself by this constant reminder that Dad was no longer here. I hated it because I also knew there was no point – Dad wouldn’t hang around a lump of stone because it had his name on it. The graveyard was far too dreary for someone like Dad. A jovial man who’d had a booming laugh and a twinkle in his eye. A man who’d adored his family and told the most wonderful stories. No, he wouldn’t stay here.

Finally, Mum bent down and emptied the brittle, dead flowers from the little, silver pot. She replaced them with the smiling, bright yellow flowers. She hummed a little tune to herself as arranged the new flowers in the container nicely.

“I hope you’re happy, John,” she murmured. Dylan watched her warily, looking a little worried. “I hope you’re happy…”

She straightened and ran a wet hand through her greying hair. She gazed at the headstone with the strangest expression. Her eyes were cool as she said: “You always were fascinated with angels and ghosts.” She sighed and turned away, heading towards the waiting car. Dylan followed her, placing a supportive hand on one of her shoulders.

What did she mean by that? I watched Mum curiously before I looked back down at the marble gravestone.

John Peter Robins. Beloved Husband and Father. Will always be dearly missed.

I knew Dad wasn’t there, but I needed to say something or it felt wrong.

“I miss you, Dad.”

I felt the tears start to gather in my eyes as I stared at the marble slab. It was just the slight wind. That's all.

“Ames!” Dylan called to me. It seemed strange to hear him shout in such a peaceful, quiet place.

Hastily I wiped at the tears which had escaped. I turned to face Dylan and Mum who were waiting by the car. I sniffed a little and desperately tried to get myself under control again.

٭ ٭ ٭

Alonsa looked furious.

I had been lying in my room, listening to music, when she’d appeared above me. She’d swooped down and grabbed me by my shoulders.

I was scared. Frightened. Terrified. She held my shoulders so tightly her long fingernails dug painfully into my flesh. Her eyes were wild and angry as she glared down at me.

“Come and see!” she growled.

And then she was gone. So was my bedroom ceiling. Images flitted around me, moving too fast for me to follow. Flashes of random explosions of colour; moving objects which were gone before they could take shape; shrieks, wails, laughter, frightening bursts of sound. These all surrounded me at once. It was too much. Too much…

“Stop!” I moaned. “Please…”

It stopped. Just like that. I was beyond amazement. But the sudden darkness did not last long.

A young girl. She looked about six. She giggled behind the small hand she held against her mouth. Her blue eyes were sparkling with happy cheekiness. Long blonde hair loose, but gathered behind her dainty shoulders. Her dress was simple, but beautiful. A brilliant blue with rich gold and red embroidery.

We were in a great, stone stairwell. It twisted upwards so high I couldn’t see where it ended. Not even when I craned my neck and leaned over the elaborate stone banister.

I looked back at the little girl.

“Where am I?”

She giggled again and then took off; flying up the stone steps like it was no effort at all.

“Hey! Wait!” I called after her. I began to run up the steps, intent on catching her, but I stopped when I heard a shout from behind me.

“Miss Alonsa!” a voice called.

I turned so sharply I almost fell down the stairs. Looking down, I saw a plump woman wearing a dull, grey dress and a white apron decorated with white frill. She stood where I had only moments ago and was watching the little girl skipping up the steps. I saw she meant to go after her. Awkwardly, she lifted up the dress with her fat fingers so she could manage the steep climb.

The only answer was another giggle. Looking back up, I saw the girl dancing away. She was getting further and further away from both of us.

“It ain’t roight tah go runnin’ abart so,” the woman complained. “Best be gettin’ back soon, Miss Alonsa, or your Ma and Pa’ll be knowin’, you see if they down’t,” she huffed and puffed, suddenly breathless.

She soon gave up on the pursuit and leaned heavily on the banister, wheezing for breath.

“Poor Berna!” the little girl called down the staircase.

I squinted up and saw her on her tip-toes, leaning over the banister. Her head poked out and I could make out the huge grin on her face even from down here.

I felt a sudden panic. She was leaning over far too much. She would fall! She would fall and certainly die!

Just as I opened my mouth to call out a warning I realised it was too late. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in horror as one of her feet slipped. She started to topple over the banister.

She began to scream and the woman, Berna, shrieked a terrified “no!”

Then she was yanked back by a figure that’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere. A boy, a few years older than her; with thick, dark hair and an air of solemn purpose, stood clutching her clothing. He let go all of a sudden as though she were filthy. Then he mysteriously retreated into the shadows, quietly melting into the dark until he disappeared.

“Fank ‘eavens!” Berna exclaimed before she ran once more up those stairs, passing me. I became certain then that she couldn’t see me, and I was relieved. I didn’t want to imagine the ruckus I would’ve caused if she had seen me. This was obviously way back in the past and no way would I have fitted in with my modern clothes and short hair. I began to wonder what era I was in.

The little girl lay weeping, still terrified. Berna knelt clumsily down and touched her shoulder lightly.

“Poor li’l’ lamb,” she cooed thickly. “Come now, let ol’ Berna sooth ya good ‘n’ propa.” So then she pulled her into her large, motherly embrace. She stroked her head gently and let the little girl rest in her arms, crying.

“Fank ‘eavens!” Berna repeated, “Fank ‘eavens for ‘em Karpen.”