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Authors: Allyson Bird
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Susan’s face. He brushed against the small, hot lantern once and howled with pain. He bumped it again and it fell off the hook and onto the floor. A flash of fire shot across the caravan floor. Billy and the gypsy woman scrambled back as Susan struggled to get away from the flames, trying desperately to get to her feet. She shot a glance across at Jago, who did nothing but remain still, his arm around Bethany’s tiny waist—a slow smile spreading across his face
Susan felt the rope binding finally give way from her wrists and she snatched up the lump of iron that held the caravan door open and smashed it against Jago’s head. Pulling Bethany up from the bed, she tried to get her away from the flames that now blocked the door. Realizing there was no escape, they both retreated further into the tiny caravan whilst the smoke thickened, and the heat grew unbearable. The dog whimpered and clawed at the floor as Bethany screamed.
Beneath her feet Susan felt weakened wood and she brought the full force of her heel down on the splintering planks. With another mighty effort she brought her heel down again until she could feel the planks give way beneath her feet. With more stamping and pounding she broke a hole through the floor. Quickly, she lowered Bethany and then Roux through the gap. She continued to hammer at the rotten boards until there was room enough for her to get through too. She ran from the blazing caravan to Bethany and Jane, who were crouching at the edge of the trees. Susan stared once more at the inferno, and once more, saw the flames engulf the Manchester house, back in England.
The council had done a good job on the renovation and the estranged husband tried to rent the house after the fire. I blocked him. If it was one thing I could do, it was to make sure that he didn’t get the house that joined onto mine. A single mother got it, who knew well what had happened there.
Each night, last thing she would do was, say goodnight to her own tiny sleeping daughter — and then calm the dead little boys who tried to speak through burnt faces. The boys, refused to leave.
A look of pain flickered across her face as Susan remembered those boys. She looked down into the cobalt-blue eyes of Bethany, and then those of her great-great-grandmother. Jane—with a triumphant smile—began to fade away into the darkness.
The red caravan burned brightly in the night, attempting to outshine the blood-red moon. Billy and the gypsy woman were nowhere to be seen beyond the smoke, but Susan thought she heard cries of pain; Jago, writhing in the inferno, and in his own madness.
“Where’s Grandma gone?” Tears fell down her pale cheeks, across the berry lips and onto the faded autumn flowers that she still held in her hands.
“To a safe place, Bethany.” Susan stared into the flames. “We will find our own safe place, Bethany, I promise.”
Susan was crying now too, but more with a sense of release, than from fear.
Author note: This story has brought back painful memories but had to be written. Distance and time have made that possible. In 1994 I raised the alarm when I heard strange noises and black smoke coming from the house next door to mine, in Manchester. One pathway led to both houses and one month later I removed the withered flowers and rain drenched toys that lined that path. Each day for a month I had walked past them and each day I had wanted to throw them away but couldn’t because I was afraid someone would see.
Shadow Upon Shadow
“ The inhumanly still face leaned over toward her, the shadows of its great horns drooping over its forehead. Within the staring sockets she could see no eyes at all .” By kind permission, from “Dolls,” in Scared Stiff by Ramsey Campbell. MacDonald & Co. Ltd. 1987.
It took a long time to push, with a struggling will, to that higher part of Alice’s mind where she could not tell reality from insanity—between
Susan felt the rope binding finally give way from her wrists and she snatched up the lump of iron that held the caravan door open and smashed it against Jago’s head. Pulling Bethany up from the bed, she tried to get her away from the flames that now blocked the door. Realizing there was no escape, they both retreated further into the tiny caravan whilst the smoke thickened, and the heat grew unbearable. The dog whimpered and clawed at the floor as Bethany screamed.
Beneath her feet Susan felt weakened wood and she brought the full force of her heel down on the splintering planks. With another mighty effort she brought her heel down again until she could feel the planks give way beneath her feet. With more stamping and pounding she broke a hole through the floor. Quickly, she lowered Bethany and then Roux through the gap. She continued to hammer at the rotten boards until there was room enough for her to get through too. She ran from the blazing caravan to Bethany and Jane, who were crouching at the edge of the trees. Susan stared once more at the inferno, and once more, saw the flames engulf the Manchester house, back in England.
The council had done a good job on the renovation and the estranged husband tried to rent the house after the fire. I blocked him. If it was one thing I could do, it was to make sure that he didn’t get the house that joined onto mine. A single mother got it, who knew well what had happened there.
Each night, last thing she would do was, say goodnight to her own tiny sleeping daughter — and then calm the dead little boys who tried to speak through burnt faces. The boys, refused to leave.
A look of pain flickered across her face as Susan remembered those boys. She looked down into the cobalt-blue eyes of Bethany, and then those of her great-great-grandmother. Jane—with a triumphant smile—began to fade away into the darkness.
The red caravan burned brightly in the night, attempting to outshine the blood-red moon. Billy and the gypsy woman were nowhere to be seen beyond the smoke, but Susan thought she heard cries of pain; Jago, writhing in the inferno, and in his own madness.
“Where’s Grandma gone?” Tears fell down her pale cheeks, across the berry lips and onto the faded autumn flowers that she still held in her hands.
“To a safe place, Bethany.” Susan stared into the flames. “We will find our own safe place, Bethany, I promise.”
Susan was crying now too, but more with a sense of release, than from fear.
Author note: This story has brought back painful memories but had to be written. Distance and time have made that possible. In 1994 I raised the alarm when I heard strange noises and black smoke coming from the house next door to mine, in Manchester. One pathway led to both houses and one month later I removed the withered flowers and rain drenched toys that lined that path. Each day for a month I had walked past them and each day I had wanted to throw them away but couldn’t because I was afraid someone would see.
Shadow Upon Shadow
“ The inhumanly still face leaned over toward her, the shadows of its great horns drooping over its forehead. Within the staring sockets she could see no eyes at all .” By kind permission, from “Dolls,” in Scared Stiff by Ramsey Campbell. MacDonald & Co. Ltd. 1987.
It took a long time to push, with a struggling will, to that higher part of Alice’s mind where she could not tell reality from insanity—between
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