Her mother had tucked her in and left the door ajar. Usually the landing light was left on but now she was a “big girl”, she knew her mother would turn the light off before going down the stairs. She hated the light being turned off. She hated the dark. The dark was where The Lady lived.
Sarah was lying on her back with her face turned to the door, dreading the click that signalled the dark. She gripped the pink duvet cover in her hands and pulled it up to her chin so that she could cover her face if The Lady appeared. The Lady was scary. She had never seen The Lady but she knew what she looked like. And she knew what happened to the boys and girls that The Lady snatched.
The Lady was one of the Ankle Snatchers. She knew that. She knew that when you were “big” and you had to turn your own light off, the Ankle Snatcher would reach out and grab your ankle, pull you under the bed and eat you up if you didn’t get to your bed quick enough. But that didn’t mean that in the meantime, the Ankle Snatcher couldn’t come and look at you, size you up and see how big you were getting.
Sarah had never been afraid of monsters under the stairs or in the wardrobe. She knew they didn’t exist. The only ones that existed were the ones under the bed, the Ankle Snatchers, and her Ankle Snatcher was The Lady.
Sarah knew that, despite never having seen her, The Lady was quite small for an adult, smaller than her Gran. She had a long, thin face with a nose that hooked cruelly down to the thin, blood red lips that covered badly stained teeth. The Lady’s eyes were heavily hooded and a pale, watery blue, with large bags under them. The cheekbones stuck out, sharply tapering to a wickedly pointed chin and she had long, dirty grey hair that fell in greasy tangles to her thin, bony shoulders. Unlike Sarah’s Gran, The Lady was all sharp edges and long thin limbs. Except for her hands. The hands were different.
Sarah had seen The Lady’s hands but not on The Lady. She had been at the zoo and they had been in the bird garden when she saw them. The vultures were sitting on branches, bobbing their heads up and down, eyeing up Sarah and her parents. That was when she had seen The Lady’s hands. Sarah had never known how to describe The Lady’s hands before but now she knew that they looked just like the feet of a vulture but with four fingers and a thumb. The zoo assistant had pointed out the long talons on the vultures foot that the birds used for tearing meat and Sarah knew instantly that that was how The Lady grabbed you; she reached out and dug her long talons into your skin so that you couldn’t get away as she pulled you under the bed and into the underworld where she had a big pot ready and waiting.
Sarah’s squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the click of the landing light being turned off. She didn’t want to see The Lady. The Lady would stand there, taking deep wheezing breaths trying to get Sarah’s scent to see if she was ready to eat. She would smile and show those stained, tombstone teeth, eyeing her greedily all the time. And then she would laugh in the same way that Mutley from the cartoons laughed but there would be nothing funny about it. The Lady was evil and she had an evil laugh.
Sarah didn’t want to sleep with the light off. She knew The Lady was coming to check on her. She knew it, could feel it in her bones and she would go and turn the light on if she could reach it but she was scared of putting her feet on the floor, scared of having those long talons wrap themselves around her ankle and pull her under the bed. She was shaking slightly now and she knew she was close to tears. She could almost smell The Lady’s fetid breath and all she wanted was her mummy. Sarah screamed.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Thursday, 22 February 2007
The Shadow
It’s dark. Stormy. Rain drums on the pavement. You’re huddled in a doorway. Arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm. The cheap cider numbs you from the inside while the cold winter air works from the outside. The alley is strewn with bins and litter. There are street lamps but the rain is heavy and makes them inefficient.
She’s walking fast. Or at least as fast as her stiletto heels will let her. Her head is hidden from view by an umbrella held in front of her and she walks bent at the waist against the November wind. Her footsteps provide a sharp tattoo against the constant drumming of the rain. Water is sloughing off the umbrella and hitting her stocking clad legs. Her navy skirt suit is scant protection against the elements. Her hands are bare and seem almost ethereal compared to the rest of her dark form. As she passes from one orange pool of light to the next you watch. Her shadow moves from behind her to the side and then to the front. A constant predictable motion and you know her shadow means no harm.
There’s another shadow in this alley and it follows the woman. You can see it barely ten feet behind her, hugging the walls of the buildings she walks past as if someone was walking there but there’s no person other than the woman to be seen. There’s something wrong with this shadow. It seems more solid than a normal shadow yet you can see the brick work of the wall through it. It’s almost man-shaped but not quite. You try to stare to make out the shape but the more you look the less distinct it becomes.
The woman is coming closer to the doorway you’re sitting in. Soon she’ll be opposite you. She doesn’t seem to know that someone – something – is following her. In the darkness between lamps, the shadow appears darker and more alive, more solid, than anything you’ve seen before. You’re scared. Should you sit where you are and pretend not to see? You find yourself rising shakily on legs too old to run if you needed to. You grasp the plastic cider bottle in your left hand to stop the trembling as you pull the brim of your cap lower on your forehead. Wiping the rain from the whiskers on your cheek you’re gripped with indecision. Should you make your presence known? Something deep inside tells you that would not be a good idea. So you watch the woman and the shadow pass directly opposite. And when they do pass, you turn to watch, a sickening curiosity growing inside. Yow know something’s just not right.
With a momentary panic you realise that less than thirty feet ahead from the woman the streetlight is broken. The shadow appears stronger in the darkness – what will happen when the woman enters the void where the light should be? Gripping the cider bottle harder, you want to move, to make a sound, to stop her from entering the blackness and leaving the sanctuary of light. But you can’t move. The alcohol and cold are working against you as well as the ever increasing fear. There’s a strange electricity in the air now heightening your senses but the woman is oblivious to anything but getting to her destination. You realise you can no longer hear her heels on the pavement, the rain is too loud, the wind’s moaning covering any other sounds.
Four steps, three steps, two, one…....
The woman enters the void and the shadow follows. And then nothing. They should be coming into the pool of light soon but – you’re holding your breath now – there’s nothing. No visible movement. No sound. Maybe the woman is ok and you’ve been panicking for nothing. She’ll walk into the orange pool and carry on her way and you can go back to being the drunken bum you are. But still nothing. You wrap your arms around yourself trying to stop the shivering, whether from cold or fear you’re not sure. You slide down the door you’ve been leaning against and huddle against the elements, never taking your eyes from that black area between streetlights.
You can feel the electricity in the air start to build. The hair on your arms, neck, head – every hair – on your body stands on end. Something is going to happen. You start counting – you’re not sure why, you just feel like you have to do something. You get to 25 when it happens…
With a crash of thunder and a flash of lighting the alley is momentarily transformed and is so bright it hurts your eyes but stubbornly you keep them open and in that second, that one little second when you should have closed your eyes, you see the shadow with the woman in it’s embrace, the discarded umbrella and a lonely stiletto at it’s feet in a dark pool of thick liquid.
Dark night again, pools of orange light. You’re shaking your head from side to side trying to understand what you’ve just seen. There’s a warmth beneath you and you realise you’ve released your bowels yet you’re still chilled to the bone. You stand, getting ready to run like you’ve never ran in your sixty-eight years when an explosion of red comes from the void and with it the dismembered limbs of the woman in the navy suit, thudding against walls, hitting the pavement, scattering across the alley and skidding to a halt in gutters and rubbish. There’s a moaning sound like someone in distress – it’s you – and as you turn to run, you’re hit by something on the arm and looking down, see the pale face of dark haired woman staring up at you, the mouth open in a silent scream.
The world turns black…..
She’s walking fast. Or at least as fast as her stiletto heels will let her. Her head is hidden from view by an umbrella held in front of her and she walks bent at the waist against the November wind. Her footsteps provide a sharp tattoo against the constant drumming of the rain. Water is sloughing off the umbrella and hitting her stocking clad legs. Her navy skirt suit is scant protection against the elements. Her hands are bare and seem almost ethereal compared to the rest of her dark form. As she passes from one orange pool of light to the next you watch. Her shadow moves from behind her to the side and then to the front. A constant predictable motion and you know her shadow means no harm.
There’s another shadow in this alley and it follows the woman. You can see it barely ten feet behind her, hugging the walls of the buildings she walks past as if someone was walking there but there’s no person other than the woman to be seen. There’s something wrong with this shadow. It seems more solid than a normal shadow yet you can see the brick work of the wall through it. It’s almost man-shaped but not quite. You try to stare to make out the shape but the more you look the less distinct it becomes.
The woman is coming closer to the doorway you’re sitting in. Soon she’ll be opposite you. She doesn’t seem to know that someone – something – is following her. In the darkness between lamps, the shadow appears darker and more alive, more solid, than anything you’ve seen before. You’re scared. Should you sit where you are and pretend not to see? You find yourself rising shakily on legs too old to run if you needed to. You grasp the plastic cider bottle in your left hand to stop the trembling as you pull the brim of your cap lower on your forehead. Wiping the rain from the whiskers on your cheek you’re gripped with indecision. Should you make your presence known? Something deep inside tells you that would not be a good idea. So you watch the woman and the shadow pass directly opposite. And when they do pass, you turn to watch, a sickening curiosity growing inside. Yow know something’s just not right.
With a momentary panic you realise that less than thirty feet ahead from the woman the streetlight is broken. The shadow appears stronger in the darkness – what will happen when the woman enters the void where the light should be? Gripping the cider bottle harder, you want to move, to make a sound, to stop her from entering the blackness and leaving the sanctuary of light. But you can’t move. The alcohol and cold are working against you as well as the ever increasing fear. There’s a strange electricity in the air now heightening your senses but the woman is oblivious to anything but getting to her destination. You realise you can no longer hear her heels on the pavement, the rain is too loud, the wind’s moaning covering any other sounds.
Four steps, three steps, two, one…....
The woman enters the void and the shadow follows. And then nothing. They should be coming into the pool of light soon but – you’re holding your breath now – there’s nothing. No visible movement. No sound. Maybe the woman is ok and you’ve been panicking for nothing. She’ll walk into the orange pool and carry on her way and you can go back to being the drunken bum you are. But still nothing. You wrap your arms around yourself trying to stop the shivering, whether from cold or fear you’re not sure. You slide down the door you’ve been leaning against and huddle against the elements, never taking your eyes from that black area between streetlights.
You can feel the electricity in the air start to build. The hair on your arms, neck, head – every hair – on your body stands on end. Something is going to happen. You start counting – you’re not sure why, you just feel like you have to do something. You get to 25 when it happens…
With a crash of thunder and a flash of lighting the alley is momentarily transformed and is so bright it hurts your eyes but stubbornly you keep them open and in that second, that one little second when you should have closed your eyes, you see the shadow with the woman in it’s embrace, the discarded umbrella and a lonely stiletto at it’s feet in a dark pool of thick liquid.
Dark night again, pools of orange light. You’re shaking your head from side to side trying to understand what you’ve just seen. There’s a warmth beneath you and you realise you’ve released your bowels yet you’re still chilled to the bone. You stand, getting ready to run like you’ve never ran in your sixty-eight years when an explosion of red comes from the void and with it the dismembered limbs of the woman in the navy suit, thudding against walls, hitting the pavement, scattering across the alley and skidding to a halt in gutters and rubbish. There’s a moaning sound like someone in distress – it’s you – and as you turn to run, you’re hit by something on the arm and looking down, see the pale face of dark haired woman staring up at you, the mouth open in a silent scream.
The world turns black…..
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