Downhill Chance (39 page)

“No, silly; fairies don’t live in houses. It’s an old fisher’s shack; I remembers from the time when I was young, there was nets and stuff lying about. You see? Instead of us looking for him, he’s looking for us. So he don’t feel no threat; just a little company is all he wants—or—” and her voice lowered whimsically “—perhaps he knows that it’s me that’s been needing a little company the past while. Anyhow, it’s only a bit more than a week that he’s been here. I think he likes it that I’m here—why else would he leave me berries and things?”

“What did he look like?”

“I just got a glimpse. He—he got curly hair, real long curly hair—in a ponytail—and it’s yellow in the sunlight. And that’s all I seen—just a glimpse, peeping in through the window over there. I don’t think he knows I seen him.”

“But what was he standing on—was he bigger than your finger?”

“Nope—not this fairy. He was as big as me.”

“Then perhaps he’s not a fairy—perhaps he’s a banshee!”

“Don’t be scared,” replied the aunt as fear crept into Hannah’s tone. “I’ve learned not to be scared—either being by myself or alone in the dark. Like your daddy says, it’s all right to mosey alone sometimes. Didn’t your daddy say that? Didn’t he?” she coaxed, tightening her arm around Hannah’s shoulders.

“There, then,” she soothed as Hannah gave a little nod. “I bet he’d say that even lone fish runs aground sometimes, too; but you don’t always end up in the fisher’s net, either. An old bear ambles about day after day after day, doing nothing but eating and prowling. But the minute he knows he’s being tracked—he changes everything he does. Well, that’s like me. I’m not going to sit home, feeling scared and waiting and waiting for whatever it is I’m scared of to catch up with me. And I’m not going to be scared, either, of its waiting out there for me. Mommy said we were nothing more than walking roots, and that’s what I feels like; no more than a walking root, and the most important part of me is hidden in the ground somewhere, all nice and safe and getting only what I feeds it. First, I used to think I was feeding it all bad things; but I don’t think that no more. I believe I’m feeding it good stuff, too—like coming here and thinking things through. And that’s why I don’t get scared no more; not really, because I’m nothing more than an old root, anyhow. There now,” she said with a little laugh, rocking Hannah comfortably, “you got a caplin for a father, and a root for an aunt. Poor thing, you. And you got me prattling, you do— worse than Mommy used to. Lord, she prattled so. Does Clair prattle?”

Hannah shook her head, and Missy was quiet for a minute. “I didn’t think so,” she said. “She could never have borne the grandmother, anyways. Lord, now there was a root that could prattle; like an old weedy vine that just went on and on and on, strangling everything it come across till it wore itself out.”

Something scratched at the side of the shack and Hannah started. “Nothing, it’s nothing,” soothed Missy, “just the brambles, is all. It used to make me jump all the time too when I first come here. Here, lie down and get comfy. It’s the nicest thing, sleeping here—feels like you’re wrapped up in a wave, they sounds so loud, and you’ll be asleep before you knows it.” Lifting her flashlight and bundle off the table, she snuggled down, her cheek resting coolly against Hannah’s. “Warm enough?”

Hannah nodded. “Were you lying here when you seen the fairy?”

Missy nodded, her hair scratching Hannah’s cheek.

“Weren’t you scared at all?”

“I knowed before I glimpsed him he was good.”

“How did you know?”

“Same way the old bear knows he’s being tracked; I felt him. But I didn’t feel no fear, only safer; like he was watching over me whilst I slept.”

“Do you think he’s watching now?”

“Uh-huh. Not scared, are you?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Good, let’s go to sleep. And we’ll be up in no time, walking home, and perhaps we can find some fairy butter on the way—oh, dear—”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that my stomach gets bad sometimes. Just cramps. Don’t go worrying if they gets worse; they always goes away. It’s just being this way, that does it—you know.”

Hannah didn’t know. But she knew enough about women and babies and stuff to know not to ask questions and was content for a while, to lie quietly, eyes glued to the window, more fearful than hopeful, despite the assurances she gave her aunt. One thing for a fairy to be no bigger than a finger, but tall enough to look through a window? But as was promised, she didn’t know she was sleeping till she felt her aunt rising.

“Aunt Missy?”

“Shh, it’s the cramps, is all. Lie back down, I goes outside for a minute.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said, instantly awake in the darkened room.

“No, no, Hannie, I’m just going by the door.”

“I don’t want to stay by myself.”

“Ohh, don’t be silly. I already told you, there’s nothing to be afraid of, else why would I come here all by myself?”

Hannah lay back down as her aunt flicked on the flashlight and, with a reassuring smile, untied the string holding the door.

“See, I won’t even leave the stoop,” she whispered. “It’s just a bit of fresh air I needs. Keep watching the window now, in case you sees a fairy.”

Hannah sat up. It didn’t fit that her aunt should be talking to her about fairies, not with her sick with a pregnant belly out on the stoop, and she, Hannah, just a youngster, lying on a berth of rot in an old fisher’s shack on the far side of a cavern screaming with phantoms. And for once, she wished this favoured aunt might start sounding more like her mother, and order her to leave off the foolishness of fairies and banshees, and tuck her in tightly and shush her to sleep. Thinking of her mother brought a lonelier feeling to the queerness of the night. These nights were the first she had ever slept without her mother a scant ten feet away, and when her aunt finally came back in, closing the door behind her, she lay back down with a sense of relief.

“There, that feels a bit better,” said Missy, snuggling in again. “You warm enough?”

Hannah nodded, wrinkling her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Shh, I don’t smell nothing.”

“Is it the squawroot?”

“No, it’s nothing. Go to sleep.”

“But I smells squawroot.”

“You smells the boughs you were sleeping on—they smells like squawroot. Now go to sleep.”

Twice more Hannah drifted, only to be wakened by the sea washing upon the shore, or a gull crying out into the night. Each time she hugged more tightly against her aunt and dozed again. Then, after what felt as if she’d been sleeping for a long, long time, she awakened fully. There was a coldness around her. The aunt was gone, and with her, one of the blankets keeping them warm. She sat up, looking around the darkened shack. “Aunt Missy?”

The wind grew louder, creaking the loosely held boards of the old shack, and washing the sea noisily up over the shore. The window rattled and her eyes flew to it in terror. There was nothing, nothing, only the black of the night. Scrambling out of the makeshift bed, she felt her way to the door, pulling it free from the string tying it from the outside, and ran through the brambles and out on the moonlit beach.

It was empty. Then came a chorus of devils wailing from the cavern, and she turned wildly, hearing her aunt Missy’s voice in the mad distortion of echoes. She backstepped, a frightened whimper growing in her throat. Another cry from her aunt, more urging, more pressing, and Hannah whimpered again, fear binding her feet. How she wished now for her mother and her father to come running up the shore. But only the wind answered her prayer, heaving the sea more forcefully upon the beach. She jumped to one side as it washed up over her feet, soaking them. And then she bounded for the cavern. Carefully at first, her feet slipping on the wet rocks, and then more recklessly as the echoes of her aunt’s voice vanished in the roar of the sea. Scrambling over the outcropping of rocks, she rounded the mouth of the cavern and stood rooted in fear. Her aunt was there, lying crumpled on the beach, the flashlight burning steadily besides her and someone—something—half lying over her. It moved, the flashlight catching its face and a rippling of screams tore from her throat as a monstrous, mutilated creature with one eye raised its head her way.

“Aunt Missy!” she screamed.

“AUNT MISSSY AUNT MISSSY AUNT MISSY!!”
the cavern screamed back, and she fell to her knees, squeezing shut her eyes against the long, thin banshee with the mangled face and hair hurtling towards her. Two bony hands clasped her shoulders and she went rigid with shock, her breath stuck with her screams in the thick of her throat. It struck her across the face, and she opened her eyes, choking and rasping.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” it—he—said, his voice almost gentle. “She’s sick—we’ll get her inside.”

Closing her eyes, she screamed again, shaking her head senselessly as the cavern screamed more loudly, wildly all around her. Still holding her shoulders, he shook her gently.

“Don’t be frightened—I’m not going to hurt you. Missy’s sick; we have to help her inside.”

“Hannie!” Missy’s voice sounded weakly. “Hannie—” and then the sound of her retching.

“Come,” the creature said kindly. “I need you to carry the light.” Then, letting go of her, he started back to Missy. “Hannie’s fine,” he said, bending over her, “she’s fine. Come now, Hannie, and take the light.”

Hannah hadn’t moved, was staring at him, frozen. His back was to her and barely discernible in the dark as he managed to hold on to the flashlight whilst rolling Missy into his arms, her face ghostly white, her hair all messed around her face and her arms dangling like a broken doll’s.

“Hannie,” she whimpered, then convulsed, her knees drawing up to her stomach. Breaking free of fear, Hannah ran to her.

“I’m right here, Aunt Missy,” she cried, her throat raw from screaming, “I’m right here.” Taking the light he held out to her, she lit their way along the wall of the cavern, holding on to one of the hands dangling lifelessly besides her.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he reassured her, and she followed, her insides quaking with a fear she’d never known, despite the softness of his voice as he coaxed her along besides him outside the cavern and onto the beach. Once there he quickly knelt as Missy started retching again, and Hannah turned from the sight of her being so sick, and yet wanting to drag her away from this hideous thing from the cave, believing sorely that it was he and the cave itself responsible for the sickness. She stole a glance at him but saw only the unscarred cheek, his one drooping eye and a thin-lipped smile.

“Can we go get Mommy?” she cried out.

The drooping eye raised itself onto her. “She’s been sick for a while now. She’s getting better. Best if you lie down with her and help her sleep. By morning, she’ll be good as new. Go first,” he said as Missy’s retching subsided and he rose, still carrying her.

Clearing the branches aside, Hannah led the way to the shack, the foolish thought crossing her mind that there was no need to tie the door now, for the worst that a night could offer was squatting besides her bed, tucking in her aunt. He turned to her, speaking softly. “I think I dropped her bag. Will you check the path near the door? Just the path, that’s all. Go on.”

As she stepped back outside, Hannah hesitated, fearing the night. She walked along the path, but in the dark she could see nothing, so returned to the shack. He was leaning over Missy, speaking quietly but sternly.

“It’s too late for that now. You’d kill yourself as well.” His voice faded as Missy caught sight of Hannah appearing in the doorway and glanced up at him worriedly.

“Come,” he said, turning to Hannah. Your aunt took sick, but she’s going to be fine. Come sit with her.”

Hannah stepped towards her aunt, watching him as he sat back, cross-legged, on the floor. And with a gesture that spoke of a familiarity established by time, or, as in this case, germinated by the grimness of a shared moment, he brushed a lock of hair away from Missy’s cheek. And when she opened her eyes to him, they were soft upon the empty socket and the ragged scar on his cheek.

Not so gracious was Hannah. Gaping wide-eyed, she looked from the scar to a silver medallion with black lettering etched across it, hanging from a strap of leather around his neck. Strung onto the same strap was a round stone, the size of an infant’s fist, which he absent-mindedly rubbed with long, thin fingers as she shifted her glance onto his one brown eye, large and drooping, as if from the weight of its wide, flat lid. He looked no older than her father, but there was a settling around the corners of his mouth, puckering it down, as if time had rested heavily there. He smiled, as if used to such scrutiny as hers, and patiently allowed for it.

“When I’m not woke so early, I usually do like this,” he said, a faint lilt of foreignness softening further his words, and taking hold of a printed scarf looped around his neck, he hauled it up as a band around his forehead and covered the scarred socket. Untying a piece of rawhide from around his wrist, he flattened back his unruly hair, and grasping a fistful, secured it into a grizzled ponytail.

“Is he the fairy?” whispered Hannie to Missy.

“Ohh, Hannie—”

“My name’s Gideon, and I’m nobody special, I fear.”

“Pity then, if that scar was for nothing,” said Missy, reaching out a finger as if to trace the ravaged cheek. The exertion proved too much and she let her arm fall to her side, her mouth quivering as if she might cry—or smile. “Where do you come from?”

“The Labrador, mostly. I’ve been camping by a pond just up over the hill. I’m looking to meet an old friend—but first, I just wanted to camp out for a bit. Then I saw you and—” he inhaled deeply “—I thought you’d feel safer knowing there was someone about. So I’ve stayed a little longer than I intended.”

“You’re very kind.”

He smiled. “I know when it’s more loneliness than solitude a person’s feeling. Lie with her,” he said to Hannah as Missy’s eyes lids began to weigh heavy. “It’ll help keep her warm. I’ll be outside the door if she gets sick again.”

“Please—take a blanket,” said Missy as he rose.