1889 - The Burning Man | ✔

The Burning Man

I had often been told when I was much younger - much like Michael's age - that naughty children were snatched away in the dead of night. It was said that he lived in our world but on the other side, like looking into a mirror but the reflection is upsidedown. I suppose looking back now it is quite amusing to think I used to believe those tales meant to make children behave, go to sleep and the lot. Though I did have to admit that this was peculiar. Perhaps a copycat using tales to create a buzz with his dreadful kidnappings. Five of our boys have already disappeared and in a small village like Wetherwell, their loss is felt immediately. I know it was foolish of me but I really believed things would change this year and that the world may end up somewhat better. Why should it be though? Why should 1889 be better than the horror of 1888? Wherever we go trouble is always close behind.

Our friends that fled the terror with us are now leaving. I imagine I'm going to be unbelievably bored in the house all day with only Michael to talk to. I will miss Peter and John more than they know but I know it is for the best - only the boys are going missing.

Despite everything, trade seems to be the same. People come and go like the tide with no one wanting to stay for longer than a few days but at least that means work for mother and father. We were already low on money and things have quickly gotten worse since leaving London. Michael's condition is worsening and he is barely able to walk and so I have to look after him. I can't help our parents anymore. Their long hours working seem to keep lengthening and I almost hated Mr Flaxted for it - he was always overworking them. Frequently it's just Michael and me at night and sometimes it scares me but I am sixteen years of age now and so it shouldn't.

"Women shouldn't be afraid in their own home, they are the protector's and the keeper's of it," mother would say. She stopped saying that after the last winter.

A call from the other room aroused me. I got up and marched briskly to Michael's room. He lay sweating on his bed as pale as a sheet.

"I've been calling you for hours!" he complained.

"No, you have not. Stop exaggerating."

"You were writing in that silly diary again weren't you. Mother says writing is more suited for men remember..."

"Of course, I remembered but I didn't listen. And anyhow, she was talking about novels and I don't write those...anymore."

Today was Halloween. It's supposed to be fun but how can any such celebration be fun when the purpose is to spread fear. Fear will never be amusing, not to me. Nevertheless, it appears that everyone here is indulging in this nonsense - everyone is dressing in either pale white or black; carved pumpkins lie about, and the most awful thing is that the 'grown-ups' too are taking part. I feel guilty not letting Michael prance around in the chaos that is today but I know it's the right thing to do. To be frank, I don't know why everyone seems so jubilant when their boys are still nowhere to be found. It's as if they've forgotten.

I understand that I'm still relatively new here but everything still feels strange. Most of the people are cold and closed off to outsiders. Even in school, Michael says he has no one to talk to. It's as if this place isn't part of the rest of the world. All the great machines in London are no way to be found here either are people. At least in Whitechapel people had character, a personality but here - it's slow and stale.

I could feel a tugging sensation on my back.

"I can't do anymore, Mary. It hurts," said Michael.

"Well done, you did a lot today."

I picked him up and placed him into the wheelbarrow. It was about the only thing we owned.

"It's quite chilly."