she
began the ritual. She gently pressed the blade against the papery skin, turning
it through ninety degrees to make the sign of a cross at the point where palm
became wrist. White marks, fading like the memories of the life she’d had
before. No blood, just a slight pressure, a reminder that a solution was always
there, waiting beneath the surface.
She put away the blade and submerged
herself, listening to the odd sound of water in her ears.
After her bath, she dressed in clean
clothes and returned to Hayley’s room. The girl was still sleeping, lying in
exactly the same position as when Lana had left her. The girl’s eyes moved
rapidly beneath waxy lids; she was seeing something different than the
depressing sights around her. Maybe even something wonderful.
Lana leaned over and watched her
daughter’s sleeping face.
“I’m sorry, honey. Mummy couldn’t
make it better.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she stroked Hayley’s cold cheek.
“I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t manage it. I’m sorry for your illness,
I’m sorry for the things we’ve seen and done. I’m sorry your daddy isn’t around
to see how beautiful you are.”
Hayley’s eyelids flickered, and then
slowly opened. Her eyes were completely white, without a trace of pupil or
iris. She opened her mouth and a trail of saliva ran down her chin.
“Oh, Hayley. Oh, honey.” Lana
cradled her child in her arms and reached out to something she didn’t believe
in. If there was a God, or some kind of greater power that watched over the
fallen, then why would it not answer her pleas?
“The Slitten,” said Hayley, her
voice low and cold and even. “They will help. Just ask. Ask.”
After everything she’d seen today,
Lana was ready to believe in anything; any slim hope offered to her looked
appealing, even the private fantasy of a damaged teenager. She let go of Hayley
and fell to her knees at the side of the bed, clasping her hands in prayer. She
lowered her head and gathered whatever energy still inhabited her battered
body.
“Just ask.” Hayley’s voice was a
whisper, an echo.
“Help me. Please help.” Lana’s voice
sounded different, felt strange as it left her throat. The words were like
solid objects regurgitated into the room. They had shape and form and dimensional
properties: they were alive, and went out in search of something incredible.
Hayley was sitting up in bed when
Lana opened her eyes. The expression on her daughter’s face was one of bliss,
like a child on Christmas morning. She held her hands together in front of her
chest, and then slowly, and with great intent, she unbuttoned her nightdress.
Lana leaned back, and then moved
forward. “What are you doing, honey?” The hope was gone; the belief was spent.
There was nothing here but a girl who had lost touch with reality and a mother
who had failed to protect her.
“I’m summoning them.” Hayley’s
breasts were bigger than she expected; they spilled out of the open neck of the
garment, full and firm and lactating. Watery milk striated with pale crimson
streaks leaked from the rigid nipples, drawing wet lines down Hayley’s
bloodless, paper-thin chest.
Rain hammered at the windows, but it
wasn’t raining; hadn’t rained for hours. Shadows streaked the walls and
ceiling; the bricks and floorboards creaked as if in preparation for the
arrival of something glorious. The air turned dusty, grey light seeping from
invisible cracks to baptise the room.
Light webbing drifted down from the
ceiling, like the web of a spider, but longer, firmer, thicker. At the top of
each frosted strand there was a small bundle which began to unfurl. Dusty
petals opening. Striving for the light.
“What are they?”
“The Slitten.” Hayley bared her
chest to the room, throwing back her head and closing her eyes in an expression
of near ecstasy. The Slitten responded en masse; scores of them dropped like
desiccated spiders from the ceiling, rolling across the floor towards
began the ritual. She gently pressed the blade against the papery skin, turning
it through ninety degrees to make the sign of a cross at the point where palm
became wrist. White marks, fading like the memories of the life she’d had
before. No blood, just a slight pressure, a reminder that a solution was always
there, waiting beneath the surface.
She put away the blade and submerged
herself, listening to the odd sound of water in her ears.
After her bath, she dressed in clean
clothes and returned to Hayley’s room. The girl was still sleeping, lying in
exactly the same position as when Lana had left her. The girl’s eyes moved
rapidly beneath waxy lids; she was seeing something different than the
depressing sights around her. Maybe even something wonderful.
Lana leaned over and watched her
daughter’s sleeping face.
“I’m sorry, honey. Mummy couldn’t
make it better.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she stroked Hayley’s cold cheek.
“I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t manage it. I’m sorry for your illness,
I’m sorry for the things we’ve seen and done. I’m sorry your daddy isn’t around
to see how beautiful you are.”
Hayley’s eyelids flickered, and then
slowly opened. Her eyes were completely white, without a trace of pupil or
iris. She opened her mouth and a trail of saliva ran down her chin.
“Oh, Hayley. Oh, honey.” Lana
cradled her child in her arms and reached out to something she didn’t believe
in. If there was a God, or some kind of greater power that watched over the
fallen, then why would it not answer her pleas?
“The Slitten,” said Hayley, her
voice low and cold and even. “They will help. Just ask. Ask.”
After everything she’d seen today,
Lana was ready to believe in anything; any slim hope offered to her looked
appealing, even the private fantasy of a damaged teenager. She let go of Hayley
and fell to her knees at the side of the bed, clasping her hands in prayer. She
lowered her head and gathered whatever energy still inhabited her battered
body.
“Just ask.” Hayley’s voice was a
whisper, an echo.
“Help me. Please help.” Lana’s voice
sounded different, felt strange as it left her throat. The words were like
solid objects regurgitated into the room. They had shape and form and dimensional
properties: they were alive, and went out in search of something incredible.
Hayley was sitting up in bed when
Lana opened her eyes. The expression on her daughter’s face was one of bliss,
like a child on Christmas morning. She held her hands together in front of her
chest, and then slowly, and with great intent, she unbuttoned her nightdress.
Lana leaned back, and then moved
forward. “What are you doing, honey?” The hope was gone; the belief was spent.
There was nothing here but a girl who had lost touch with reality and a mother
who had failed to protect her.
“I’m summoning them.” Hayley’s
breasts were bigger than she expected; they spilled out of the open neck of the
garment, full and firm and lactating. Watery milk striated with pale crimson
streaks leaked from the rigid nipples, drawing wet lines down Hayley’s
bloodless, paper-thin chest.
Rain hammered at the windows, but it
wasn’t raining; hadn’t rained for hours. Shadows streaked the walls and
ceiling; the bricks and floorboards creaked as if in preparation for the
arrival of something glorious. The air turned dusty, grey light seeping from
invisible cracks to baptise the room.
Light webbing drifted down from the
ceiling, like the web of a spider, but longer, firmer, thicker. At the top of
each frosted strand there was a small bundle which began to unfurl. Dusty
petals opening. Striving for the light.
“What are they?”
“The Slitten.” Hayley bared her
chest to the room, throwing back her head and closing her eyes in an expression
of near ecstasy. The Slitten responded en masse; scores of them dropped like
desiccated spiders from the ceiling, rolling across the floor towards
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