Sadie Madison and the Boy in the Crimson Scarf

20 | The Red Paint

After helping her children out of their elegant clothes and putting them to bed, Larissa sat in the living room, staring determinedly at the front door, praying it would open. The grandfather clock ticked through the night. Its rhythmic pulse did its best to soothe Larissa's frayed nerves, finally sending her into an exhausted, yet restful sleep. She stirred every hour, on the hour, as the clock chimed brightly, fidgeting nervously with her red cuff bracelet, and looking, with bleary eyes, towards the front door. But Michael hadn't come home, so Larissa returned to her dreams, the grandfather clock keeping watch.

* * *

Sadie sat up; the bedclothes twisted around her waist. She stood, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. To her horror, Sadie soon realised what stood before her was not a reflection.

The girl with the dark markings smiled playfully, putting a pale finger to her lips.

"Come with me."

And then, she ran.

Sadie leapt from the bed, hurrying through the door as the girl's white linen dress billowed like a trail of ghosts. Whistling along the landing, they swept downstairs, ignoring Larissa as she slept in the living room. Sadie found circus performers and magicians drinking tea and eating cake in the kitchen. Long blades of grass burst through the flagstones. A cage containing three strange creatures sat on the table. They hissed as she passed, displaying jagged teeth, spreading their wings.

Sadie followed the girl out the back door and up the stone steps to the garden where a large tent had been erected. Jugglers and fire-dancers and acrobats milled about, stretching, rehearsing, watching. Alexsy Rubinov and a handful of his esteemed guests sat to one side on velvet sofas drinking champagne, their faces distorted, bulging, swollen.

Scampering towards the swings, the girl dug her nails into her wrists, blood pooling to the surface, and screamed a nightmarish war cry.

The garden fence took the brunt of her fury.

She lashed at it with her hands, smearing blood against the stained beams. Red daubs gushed from her veins, arcing into the moonlit night, landing on winter flowers and the snow-packed earth. Her screams turned to a low, inhuman moan as the strain of her endeavours took their toll. But some malice whipped at her heels, demanding more of her, pushing her to her limits and out the other side.

Sadie stood at arm's length, watching. The girl wailed from the pain, the lactic acid burning in her muscles, the blood dripping into the soil. Together, their little hearts pounded like bolting hooves on a cobbled street.

The world fell silent, but for the girl's soft wheezing.

She slid down the fence. Blood coated her white linen dress as she repeatedly stabbed her hands into the hard, white earth. Every face in the garden turned towards the fence, towards what the girl had written, applauding and raising their champagne glasses in the air.

A word. One single word.

But what did it say?

Sadie stepped back, her head angled, trying to read it. The word slipped in and out of focus, as elusive as the wind. She stared, squinting, as the letters began to form—

* * *

The front door slammed. The vibrations echoed through the bones of the Madison house.

It woke Sadie sharply. "Oliver?" she whispered, lifting her head.

"I am here," he said, sitting beside her.