Chapter 24 –
A Different Kind Of Pain
‘Do you want to go first?’
‘No. I’m scared. It’s dark down there?’
‘I’ll be with you, Susan.’
‘I’m still scared.’
‘We’ll go down together, then. Hold my hand … There – that’s better, isn’t it? Now, hold it tight.’
The voices of the little girls, the Singing Sisters, although nearly whispers, were enough to wake me. I came to groggily, still tasting the whisky on my lips.
I rubbed my face and sat up in my sleeping bag. That night I was in the barn. Dave thought it best if we took turns sleeping near Mr Creosote’s lock-up. In case he started behaving differently, started talking, or simply tried to break out.
I looked round for the voices. The Singing Sisters should be asleep in the farmhouse. I listened.
‘Now. I’ll count to three.’
‘Are you sure it’ll be all right?’
‘Yes, Susan. It will be all right. Hold onto my hand. Tighter.’
‘I’m frightened.’
‘Remember what I told you. This is magic. We will see mummy and daddy.’
‘Will mummy and daddy be nice again?’
‘Yes, of course they will. Now, hold onto my hand tightly. One, two, three … jump.’
A terrible, terrible feeling of dread cut through me. My head snapped up.
From out of the darkness two girls glided down, halos of blonde hair around their heads.
I held up my hands in this futile, this fucking stupid futile attempt to catch them both.
They stopped five feet above my hands with a sound like a gunshot that still echoes in my head. Then they swung like little blonde dolls on the end of their ropes.
At that moment, my heart felt as if it had cracked like an egg.
Stiff, I walked out through the doors of the barn into the farmyard, the mud cold beneath my bare feet.
I did not know whether I wanted to shout, or just run and run and let the night swallow me whole. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.
When I was five, dad would wrap me in a blanket and carry me out to show me the night sky. He’d point out the stars. Those same stars that burned harder and brighter now the streetlights had died.
Far away in the distance, someone began to whistle. A slow, haunting sound. It was faint, but the night air carried the notes well enough for me to recognise the tune.
Ten green bottles hanging on a wall,
If one green bottle should accidentally fall…
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