Clopwyck River - revised version

Chapter Two

I'm still thinking about Ciara's hair as we pull up outside my sister's house. I'm almost tempted to ask Jackie whether she saw what happened, but decide I don't want to invite more talk of grief counsellors by sharing my mind with her.
​"Well, I guess this is the place." Jackie turns off the engine, her eyes on the house, probably praying that my new guardian is home. "What a beautiful house." 
I look beyond the birch trees that line the front of the long garden, and silently agree with Jackie. The driveway curves up to a red door, ivy twists over a canopy, and creeps up a trellis towards the windows upstairs.
I'm drenched by the rain as soon as I open my door, and rush to the boot where Jackie is already unloading my things. I grab what she hasn't managed to load herself up with, and jog up the driveway. The aroma of snapdragons and rosemary jolts a memory of doing the gardening with my Mum back home. I blink back tears before they can take hold and wait as Jackie knocks on the door.
Before I can bolt into the descending darkness, my sister's husband, Andrew, opens the door.
"You made it!" His eyes shine brightly behind his glasses and his wide smile makes me feel a fraction less sick and nervous.
"Hi, Andrew."
"It's good to see you, Demi." I stiffen as he pulls me into a bear hug, then holds me at arm's length. "We're really pleased to have you with us." He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I can't believe it's your first time here. It took ages to renovate the house so we were like a couple of hermits in a cave, and then things got a tad chaotic because of a certain little someone."
Right on cue, clumsy footsteps signal the presence of Elliot, my nephew, as he comes bounding over and flings himself around his dad's legs. He looks up at me through a mop of golden brown hair, unsure what to make of this stranger. The feeling is mutual.
"Hey, buddy!" Andrew picks Elliot up, making him squeal loudly as he gives him a big kiss. "This is your Auntie Demi. She hasn't seen you since you were a tiny baby when we visited her in Cambridge."
Elliot and I solemnly regard each other until he buries his head into his dad's shoulder. I wish I could do the same thing but I don't have anyone's strong shoulder to retreat to.
"Sorry, you must be Jackie. What are we waiting for? Let's get inside and I'll make you a cup of tea. I'm sure I can find a towel so you can dry-"
"No, no, it's fine." Jackie waves both of her hands nervously. "I really must get going. I'm worried about getting out of town. My sat nav doesn't seem to like it here."
Me neither.
"You're sure you don't want to come in for a quick drink? Use the loo?"
"No, no, I really must be going. Demi-" She turns to me and awkwardly pats my shoulder. "I'm going to miss you. If you need anything, just call."
Yeah, right. On both counts. "Thanks, Jackie. For...you know, everything."
She scurries down the drive in that weird half run, half walk that adults do, and gets into the car. I feel a mild pang of gratitude and loneliness as she waves at me, then drives away.
"Shall we find Mummy?" Elliot claps his hands as I follow them in and Andrew closes the door. I take a deep breath, bracing myself to meet this blood relation who is practically a stranger to me. All these people are practically strangers, but if I dwell on that too long I know I'll start crying.
We walk inside, and the unique smell of their house, of them, embraces me without invitation. I look around the hallway: the flicker of a television lights up the living room doorway on the right; the stairs stretch upwards in front of me; an open door under the stairs glows with the light of a few lightbulbs from the deep in the cellar.
I follow Andrew into the kitchen. My sister, Daria, sits at a table turning the pages of a magazine. She looks up and I see why Mum said that I'd grown to look like her. Our shared genes show in her fair skin, freckles across her nose, and full eyebrows; the only differences in our appearances are her long, straight nose, and her curly dark brown hair. Mum used to press the end of my nose with her finger and call it a 'button', and my hair is the same colour as Daria's, but it's dead straight.
"Demi."
She stands up, but there's no welcoming smile or outstretched arms to her orphaned sister, offering to share the pain of losing our only parent. She wears the expression of a world champion poker player, her eyes pointing in my direction but not focusing on me. She stops in front of me, and for a second I think she's going to hug me, but instead she takes Elliot from Andrew. She holds him tight and kisses him on his forehead.
"I show Demi bedroom?" Elliot quietly asks his Mum. I can feel Daria looking me up and down out of the corner of my eye.
"That's a great idea, buddy!" Andrew says. "Come on then. We can all show Demi her bedroom."
Andrew leads the way up the stairs and I follow them to the last door on the landing. "It's not huge but we hope you'll feel comfortable in here, Demi."
Andrew opens the door for me and I walk inside, floorboards creaking under my feet until I step onto a woolly rug. The room smells like polish and air freshener. I take in the wooden furniture, the TV, and the matching spotty blue curtains and duvet cover, trying to picture myself living here, settling into a new life.
"Do you think you'll be okay in here?" Andrew asks nervously. "We thought the light would be good for your drawing."
"I'm not really into that anymore." Andrew looks like he's been kicked in the stomach, but I ignore him and look around the room. My room. I sit on the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly weak. It couldn't feel any less like my room. "Yeah. I'll be fine."
"Daria picked everything out and got it all ready for you."
"Thanks, Daria." God, it's hard addressing her. I feel like I know Andrew better than I know my own sister.
Daria shrugs. "It was no trouble. I had to get new towels anyway so just picked up new sheets at the same time."
"Well, thanks anyway."
There's an awkward silence until Elliot demands to be let down and toddles over to my bed. He puts his chubby arms up to me. "Up!"
I look at Andrew who's smiling and nodding, and Daria whose face is inscrutable. Having never in my life picked up a child, I put my hands around the sturdiest looking part of Elliot's body, lifting him under his armpits and plonk him onto the bed next to me. He clasps his hands together and raises his shoulders as he grins shyly up at me. The tension in my body eases a little as I look at his face, and for the first time in months I feel tiny fingers of emotion trying to nudge my empty heart back to life.
***
I've nearly unpacked one of the boxes when I suddenly see mine and my Mum's faces smiling up at me. Jackie must have slipped the framed photo into the box. I stare at the picture for a few seconds then open the drawer of the bedside table and place the frame inside, face down on top of all my sketch pads and pencils, and firmly close it. I shake away the emotions creeping up my chest and change into running clothes. I go downstairs and open the living room door, an intruder as I stand awkwardly waiting to be discovered. Andrew looks up at me and smiles.
"All set, Demi?"
"I think so. I've started unpacking anyway."
"Good. If there's anything you need, just ask. You hungry?"
I'm starving. "No, I'm fine. I was thinking of going for a run."
"It's too dark," says Daria. She's watching Elliot playing with his toys even though she's addressing me.
"I'll be fine."
"You don't know your way around."
"I do. Kind of."
Andrew gets up and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a head torch. "Here, take this. She'll be fine, Daria. Have you got your phone with you? Leave us the number. Just stick to the road, Demi, I wouldn't go into the woods. Even with the torch you'll hardly be able to see anything."
Daria frowns at Andrew. Great. I've been here two hours and I'm already causing tension between them.
"Oh, and here's your key. Don't be too late; remember it's your first day at school tomorrow."
Like he cares. Like I care, for that matter.
* * *
I lodge my earbuds into my ears and start to run, my feet splashing through the rain pooling on the ground. Ignoring what Andrew said, I run towards the woods and flick on the torch strapped onto my head. I don't know why I have to do the opposite of what anyone tells me, but I just do.
I stomp into the opening of the dark trees and after a few minutes I regret ignoring Andrew's advice: the isolation I've been feeling for the last two months seems manifested in the barky darkness surrounding me. I jog unsteadily, a heavy shadow growing in my belly. If this was a scene from a horror film, the audience would be shouting at the ditzy lead actress to go back the way she came. I stop to catch my breath, and suddenly my skin prickles like something's brushed its nail down my neck.
"Hello?"
Please, don't let anyone answer. I pull my earbuds out and stand motionless, the tinny sound of the music, my breathing and the swishing of leaves the only sounds in the darkness.
A twig cracks. I will my heartbeat to slow down, telling myself it's just the wind or a harmless fluffy animal, or perhaps Andrew has come after me knowing I wouldn't listen to him. My inner voice is not that convincing though, and my heart flutters up my throat.
"Hello?! Who's there?!" My voice cracks from the fear that's taken residence on my chest. I spin around hoping to see Andrew, but my foot catches under a tree root and before I can see anything, I've fallen into the mud.  The beam of light dances frantically in front of me as I try to regain my footing and stand up. I freeze, panic sprung from its starting blocks: there is someone standing in front of me.
It's not Andrew.​
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to three, hiding myself from whatever it is behind the safety of my closed eyelids. I open them again, but it's still there, standing over me like a foreboding nightmare. I try to scream for help but fear is squeezing its strong hands around my neck, choking me into paralysed silence. Telling myself not to, I slowly look up anyway, and the head torch creeps up the hunched shape to reveal who's there.
His feet are hidden underneath a long dark coat, the stench of stale urine, rotten food, and sewerage wafting across my face as it ripples in the wind. Spindly white hands protrude from the oversized arms of the coat, jagged and dirty fingernails making each finger a deadly claw. His head is masked beneath a heavy hood; eyes glow from deep within its shadows. He reaches towards me with one of his bony hands. Panting with panic, I instinctively throw my hands in front of my face.
His hand clasps my wrist and he starts to pull. I struggle against his grip but I'm hauled up to his level, surprised when I stand an inch taller than him. When I'm at my full upright position and steady on my feet, he releases me, takes a step back, and pushes his hood back. It's not a man at all: it's a woman. A really old woman. She wasn't trying to kill me: she was just helping me up.
She gazes at me, her bright eyes shining out of deep sockets like they're trying to escape their wrinkly surroundings. Her skin is plump around her cheeks but it's riddled with deep lines crisscrossing her skin like a spider's webbing. Wisps of dirty white hair stick out around her head like a crazy halo, and her chin juts up too close to the bottom of her hooked nose, no teeth inside her mouth to keep them apart. She looks a lot smaller from where I stand now, and she definitely doesn't look as dangerous.
I bend over and put my hands on my knees, trying to slow my heart rate. I get my breath back and glance up at her. She's still watching me.
"What the hell are you doing?"
She doesn't answer and I click my fingers in front of her face, covering my nose as I get another whiff of her putrid aroma.
"Hello? Helloooo, anyone in there? What are you doing creeping up on me?"
Still no response; she doesn't move but slowly stretches her mouth into a toothless smile, her thin lips creeping up to her sagging ears. Her eyes remain locked on mine, and she shuffles forward.
"Get away from me!" I step backwards, one eye on her and one on potential trip hazards. "What do you want?"
"You're here." I barely make out the word; her voice a croaky whisper carrying away on the wind.
"What?"
She tilts her head like an inquisitive old owl. "You're here," she repeats.
I calm a little: she's insane, but harmless. I hope. "I know I'm here, but I'm heading out of here now. You should too. Where do you live?"
​"You're here."
"Oh for God's sake! This is ridiculous!  Stop saying that! I know where I am, thank you." I get ready to set off. "Last chance. Do you want me to walk you home? If you know where you live."
"It happened here."
I stop and turn back to her. "What?"
"It happened here. You know it did."
I shake my head and take a step closer to her, frowning into her wrinkly face. "What happened? What the hell are you going on about?"
Her sunken eyes gleam, disjointed from the rest of her face. She reaches her hand up to my face, but I recoil from her papery touch.
"It happened here. There is evil here because of it. She can't rest."
Something clip clops over my grave.
"She, she....what? Who are you talking about? What evil?"
A gust of wind swoops down and fallen leaves and feathers whip into a whirlwind.  I glance up at the tree branches creaking above our heads then look back down.
She's gone.
"Hello? Hello? Old lady?" I look into the trees but there's no sign of her. I'm glad she's gone; she was giving me the creeps, big time. "Crazy old bitch."
Despite her obvious lack of marbles, that was probably the longest conversation I've had in months. I put my earbuds back in and carry on running in an attempt to burn off some adrenaline, and although I try to ignore the unease that's nipping at my heels as I run through the lonely woods, I can feel it keeping up with me.
​The light from my head torch bounces around a few meters ahead of me, until it merges with the silver light of the moon breaking through the tree trunks as I reach the other side of the woods. Silently thankful to have made it out of the woods alive, and not find myself stuffed inside some old bag's cauldron, I pick up the pace and stride towards my exit and the rest of my run.
​The river stretches itself out ahead of me as I emerge from the woods. Moonlight twinkles on the water like the wet eyes of an ancient dog, and I run towards the edge of the river, taking care not to slip on the grass and fall in. I don't exactly want to be here, but falling into the river never to be seen again doesn't seem like a sensible solution.
​I look up and down, deciding which way to go, and spot a suspension bridge arching over the river a few hundred meters up. I wipe my hands down my face, readjust my head torch and run towards it.
​As I get closer, I can make out the shape of someone hunched in the middle of the bridge. Oh God, that crazy old woman couldn't have made it there before me, could she? Needing some solitude and not feeling like deciphering any more riddles, I decide to run past the bridge and carry on up the river.
When I get to the bridge though, the figure's position paralyses me.
​I thought they were leaning against the handrail, perhaps enjoying the rain or waiting for the three billy goats to wander past. But they're not. They're actually sitting on top of the handrail with their feet dangling over the side. Their head is nodded right down on their chest, staring down at the water rushing underneath. I watch them for a few seconds, so still that I wonder if it's a real person or some kind of weird modern art.
​He- I think it's a he- lifts his hand and pushes the hair back from his face. The rain bounces off his drooped body, the moonlight illuminating the drops so they're almost alight, like one of those fireworks my mum used to get us for Bonfire Night; a roman candle. I look around, willing someone else to materialise, then knowing I can't just ignore this, I step onto the bridge and tread up the steps, two at a time, keeping my footsteps light so I don't spook the person who sits at the top.
​I get to the top of the steps, and I tread over the curved walkway of the bridge, holding onto the rail with one hand, my other hand above my eyes, feebly attempting to shield my vision from the rain. As I get closer I can see what a vulnerable position this person is in, their legs dangling over the rail and their hands in their lap, not even holding onto the railings. I can smell something odd, out of place in all this rain. I'm a few meters away from reaching them, and they look up, illuminated by a perfectly timed crack of lightening forking above us.
​Something tiptoes across my grave, and I gasp.
Despite the soaking wet hair and hollow, hopeless eyes, I instantly recognise him.
"Oh my God. Ben?"