A Strange Fire (Florence Vaine) (8 page)

 I took one step forward, and then another. Slowly, slowly, I was nearing
the figures. As I got closer I could see that they were lit by candle light,
tall, thick, white church candles surrounded them, and there was something
ceremonious about that fact. Still the noise continued, and it got louder and
louder the closer I came to the encircled figures. Crack. Crack. Crack.

 The candle light allowed me to see movement, but only outlines in
varying shades of black and grey, something akin to a messed up version of
Victorian shadow puppets. Instinctively I knew what I was seeing was wrong,
even though I didn’t know what I was seeing. Sinister. Underhanded. Dark and
evil plots and plans. When I got to no more than four or five feet away from
the scene I stopped, because it was at that point that I could see what was
happening.

 Fear and revulsion shook me. Never in my entire life had I been more
scared, sick and angry at the same time. They were all of them female, all
wearing the same long grey hooded cloaks. I could see their heads, and their
long hair, and the shape of their bodies and knew that they were women. At
least forty of them, and above them, sat atop a high altar was another woman.

 I couldn’t make out her features because her entire body was pulsating
with energy, vibrating with long threads of incorporeal waves. Waves that were
flowing from the mess of blood and guts and hacked up limbs that were on the
floor encircled by the women, who were wildly and ravenously devouring the
fresh human remains. They licked the spilled blood from the floor, bit into the
ripped flesh, crunched the bones with their teeth, sucked out the marrow.
Crack. Crack. Crunch.

 Something inside of me wanted to stop them, to put an end to the
cannibalistic and inhuman act that was taking place. But not only did I want
them to stop, I also wanted to punish them, because what they were doing hit me
deep inside of my heart. Struck a chord with my morality, my faith in humanity,
and even though I’d seen many an atrocity in my life, this was undoubtedly the
worst.

 For a moment I didn’t care that I was amongst monsters, that if I made
my presence known I might very well be the next victim on their list. I had to
act. I let out an almighty scream, probably the loudest noise I had ever made,
timid and shy as I normally am. But the women didn’t budge, didn’t hear a
sound. I shouted, “Stop this! Stop this now!” but still none of them turned to
look at me, didn’t act as though they heard me at all.

 Even the woman up on the altar didn’t look at me or acknowledge my
presence, and right then I had a feeling that maybe this
was
just a dream.
Not real at all. Because surely if it had been real then these murderous
cannibals would have heard my screams and my shouting. And then, sure enough,
just as I was thinking this, something began to drag my body backwards, like an
extremely powerful gust of wind.

 Back, back I went, across the room, to where the whole episode had
begun. Dimmer and dimmer the scene faded from my vision. Faded to black until I
woke up, sweating and gasping for breath in my bed. I ran my hands down my face
and over my body to make sure I was really there, safe in my bedroom in Gran’s
house.

 I sat up and shifted to the edge of the bed, pulled on a jumper because
even though I was sweating, I was also freezing cold. Which didn’t make one bit
of sense, but less and less was making sense to me. My throat was almost too
dry to swallow without pain so I went downstairs to get a glass of water, the
clock in the kitchen said it was four-thirty in the morning. I took my water
and sat down at the kitchen table by the window.

 It was a quiet, starless night. I tried to focus my thoughts on
something, anything other than what I had just witnessed. Dream or not, it was
the most shocking and frightening thing I had ever seen. The images were
imprinted into my brain, and try as I might they weren’t shifting. I didn’t
want to think about the implications of such a dream, what exactly it meant.

 If I’d learned anything from my obsession with
Buffy the Vampire
Slayer
, it was that freaky dreams such as the one I’d just had meant
trouble was coming. Although my trouble would be the kind involving a strait
jacket, instead of the dangerous adventure variety, ultimately culminating in
triumph over an evil adversary. No, my life was certainly not a television
show.

 When I finished every last drop of the water in my glass I returned to
the sink for another and then sat back down again. What could be going on with
my brain, throwing out such a horrendous dream, straight out of a horror film?
I’ve thought about some messed up things in my time, like what it would be like
to kill a man (my dad, not that I’d ever act on it, of course) but this, this
scene of monstrosity, it really was something else. I took a Xanax for my
nerves and then sat in that seat in Gran’s kitchen for the rest of the night,
replaying my “dream” over and over again in my head. Never once deigning to
return to bed to sleep, I wasn’t going back to wherever it was I’d visited.

The next day at school I skip lunch to go to the computer room, I want to
look up some dream interpretations and maybe figure out what the one I had last
night meant. Gran doesn’t have a computer in her house, so this is the only
chance I’ll get to do my research since it’s Friday and then I won’t be in
school for the weekend.

 I can’t go that long with this eating at my peace of mind, not that I
ever really get much. I’m always in fear, that’s how Dad taught me to live, in
fear of each and every step I take. I click onto the Google homepage and type
in “dreams of cannibalism” and see what my search brings up.

 One of the first few on the list is an interpretation, so I click on
that and start reading, it says,
Dreams relating to cannibalism refer to a
certain aspect of your life which “consumes” you and drains you of positive
energy. If you see a cannibal attacking you and trying to eat your flesh this
means that there is something or someone in the waking life that feeds off of
you. If you are a cannibal in your dream the situation is reversed and you
become the one who feeds off somebody. Seeing yourself as a cannibal may also
speak about your ambitious nature, about your wish to conquer all adversaries
and defeat all enemies in the waking life.

 
I read on to the end of the page, but still I’m confused. It all
seems to be about either being attacked by a cannibal or being one yourself,
but in my dream I was a witness and nothing more. Of course, maybe the fact
that cannibalism is the subject matter holds all the meaning to begin with.
Thinking about it, it could be, as many things in my psyche are, related to my
dad.

 Perhaps he was the one who drained me of positive energy. Come to think
of it, there was no “perhaps” about it. Living with the man was killing me
slowly, in my mind and in my body. But then why am I having this dream now, at
a time when I’ve finally gotten free of him? Post-traumatic stress maybe?
Again, nothing makes any sense to me.

 “What
are
you reading?” asks a smug and instantly recognisable
voice from behind me. Josh. He places a hand on my shoulder, but I quickly turn
around and remove it.

 “None of your business,” I tell him, minimising the window.

 “Having nightmares are we kitten?”

 “Are you stalking me?” I spit. It surprises me that I haven’t stuttered
once, when normally, and particularly with boys, my speech is stunted as hell.
For some reason I feel like I know Josh even though he is a complete stranger,
like we’ve got something in common despite being nothing alike. His aura shows
signs of victimisation, which is odd because Josh is anything but a victim. I’d
be more inclined to believe the opposite.

 “Well I do go to school here sweetness, so it’s only to be expected that
we bump into each other,” he smirks and then takes a seat beside me, the only
other person in the room is a girl with red hair and glasses at the front near
the door.

 “Why aren’t you at lunch?” I say with a heavy sigh.

 “I wanted to check my email,” he grins

 “Well then, don’t let me keep you,” I turn away from him and go about
visiting a music website just for something to do. I won’t be continuing my
dream research with this idiot sitting beside me.

 Josh leans in and nudges my shoulder with his. “I wouldn’t mind if you
kept me,” he breathes.

 “Was that a come on?” I scoff, sputtering a laugh.

 “Of course,” he grins. “Why else do you think I’d be pursuing you like
this, because it’s certainly not for friendship.”

 “Well isn’t that just lovely.”

 “Thanks for the compliment,” he says, blatantly ignoring my sarcasm. “So
we were talking about your nightmares?”

 “No we were not. You were sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted,
n-now go away please.”

 “Was it scary?” he asks with false dramatic intensity, and pulls his
chair right up to mine. “If you let me into your bed then maybe you wouldn’t
have bad dreams, then again, you probably wouldn’t be sleeping either.”

 “Don’t think you can speak to me like that. Now am I going to have to
make a report that you’re harassing me or are you going to leave?”

 “Aw don’t be a prude Flo, we could be good together.”

 “How many times do I have to tell you,
never
going to happen.”

 His eyes widen for a moment and he lets out a breath. “You aren’t
stuttering any more, how come? Were you putting it on all this time?”

 “Yeah, I just love people thinking I’m a freak,” I reply before
continuing. “It’s not like I always stammer when I speak, it comes and goes.”

 “Hmm, really,” he says considering it, then in a swift change of subject
he asks, quite blatantly, “Are you a virgin, Flo?”

 “Is that another come on?” I ask him casually, trying to disguise my
indignation at his invasive questioning.

 “Answer me,” he says, in a low voice.

 “Fuck you.”

 “Please do, but really, are you?”

 “Why do you want to know? Have you got a fetish or something?”

 “I want to know lots of things about you babe,” his eyes wander over me,
“and I’ve got
lots
of fetishes.”

 At this I decide that Josh probably isn’t going to quit bothering me so
I log out and grab my school bag, maybe I can grab a sandwich before lunch
ends. I glance at the clock, I still have at least twenty five minutes until
the evening lessons start.

 “Wait a minute, where are you going?”

 “To lunch, goodbye Josh.”

 “I’ll walk with you,” he says, instantly standing and following me.

 I turn and narrow my gaze, anger bubbling in my chest, why won’t he stop
pestering me? I surprise even myself when I growl, “Don’t you dare try to
follow me, if you do I’ll make sure you regret it.”

 At this he stops in his tracks and frowns, and I think I hear him
mumble, “Psycho bitch,” before sitting back down at a computer.

 My next classes pass in boredom, German and Accounting. I don’t have any
friends in these subjects so I have to sit all by myself. When Accounting comes
to an end I groan when I remember that my last class of the day is PE. I only
have it once a week, but still, it has always been a torture to me. It’s like
the annoying cousin you can’t stand but have to make an effort with because of
familial duty or some such nonsense.

 I don’t understand why the education system doesn’t just allow those of
us who aren’t athletically inclined to be left in peace. Each week we’re
humiliated by being made to take part in an activity we’re useless at.
Although, happily I find that Caroline and I share this class, so it’s not so
bad. I bump into her in the girls dressing rooms where I change into the grey
sweatpants and tight navy t-shirt I stuffed into my bag this morning before
leaving Gran’s.

 Once we’re dressed we head out to the basketball court, Caroline
informing me that we always have PE outside when the weather is good. Today the
sun is shining merrily and golden in the sky. It seems that almost every person
I know in this school is in the same class as me this hour. First I spot
Christian, Marley and Steven warming up. Then I see Frank, Alex, Ross and Layla
hanging out by the basketball net chatting.

 Unfortunately, I also notice Josh and several of his buddies here too,
and did I mention that whore Ingrid? PE is turning out to be fairly crowded.
What I don’t see is a teacher. When I ask Caroline she tells me that our
teacher, Mr Procter, only ever shows up twenty minutes into the class to check
on us and then disappears again. We’re expected to sort out activities
ourselves.

 “Well if that’s the case,” I tell her, “then why don’t we just choose
sitting on the grass and soaking up the sun as our activity for the day?” I
continue smiling.

 Caroline grins back. “Sounds good to me,” and she grabs a ball from the
big plastic bag on the ground. “We can sit and throw this back and forth to
each other, if Procter comes out we can just stand up and pretend we’re playing
catch or something.” Then she winks, proud of her ingenious plan. “By the way,
where did you go at lunch, I didn’t see you?” she asks.

 “I just had to look some stuff up online. I spent lunch in the computer
room.”

 “Oh,” she replies, she must have thought I’d gone for a secret
rendezvous with Frank or something. I wish.

 I plonk myself on the grass and stretch out like a cat, the sun beaming
down on me.

 A minute later Josh runs over from the court and sneers, “You know,
sitting down and being lazy isn’t considered a part of Physical Education.” I
ignore him, not even bothering to sit up. I’m enjoying the rays too much.

 “It is in my book Mr Peroxide,” says Caroline, and I smile at her
nickname for Josh.

 “I wasn’t talking to you Caulfield, besides, you of all people should
consider my advice, if you don’t exercise you’ll get fat, and nobody wants to
shag a fat ginger.”