Wickerman Cove

Part 1: An Ending

Then

Steph was too sick to be frightened.

It was the weirdest thing – lying in bed, pipes going off to machines that she couldn't really focus on, a window so her parents could see her. Sometimes, when it was dark outside, the window reflected the mountain of toys stacked up on the cabinet next to her, still in boxes. Not that she cared. It was just weird – like Christmas times ten, even though it was March.

Only dimly weird though. Everything was dim. Except the lights – they hurt – but everything else. Her head hurt, but they'd given her stuff so she didn't feel it. She was scared, but only a little. Mostly it was too hard to feel anything. Even talking to her mom was hard, like lifting a weight.

Everything was like lifting a weight.

She was seven. Even if she hadn't known, she would have worked it out. It was the first thing everyone said: poor kid, she's only seven years old.

Then there were the nightmares – dark rooms full of scary stuff. Shapes that moved like people. A woman that leaned over the bed, with a deer skull and horns for a head. A whispering that came from everywhere at once. Ice cold hands that stroked her hair.

Steph would have been terrified if she hadn't been so sick. Sometimes things would feel normal, but it was like watching clips from different movies. She was with her mom, then she was on her own, then there was a nurse, then it was dark, and only the weird lady was there.

Then, one time, it was her grandfather. The Russian was Dedushka, but she called him Deddy, since she called her father Pop.

Pop always said that Deddy was handsome when he was young. Steph thought he was still handsome now – he had a strong jaw and silver hair that he combed to one side. He wore a silk scarf around his neck, and he patched his pants instead of buying new ones. Pop said it was because they'd been poor in Russia. He'd moved from St. Petersburg Russia to St. Petersburg Florida, and been there ever since.

"Hello, Buttercup," he said, taking her hand. "You're awake."

Steph managed to say something that sounded almost like his name. Maybe not quite.

"That's okay," Deddy said, stroking her hair. "You don't have to say anything. You don't look so good."

Faintly, that made Steph realise that Mom wasn't around, since she would have hit the roof. Mom didn't like people saying that Steph was sick, only that she was going to get better. It didn't feel true, but she said it with a sort of fever in her eyes, which made it even scarier.

Then she realised that something was different. The dark woman was standing behind Deddy. She had one hand on his shoulder. The dark woman never usually showed up when there were people in the room. Deddy put a hand on his shoulder absent-mindedly, like he was patting her on the hand. Another jolt of fear got through the haze of drugs and fever.

"Shhh," Deddy said. "You don't mind her. She's okay."

He turned to the dark woman, who towered over him with her sweeping night black dress and terrible antlers. "You see? I told you that you'd scare the kid," Deddy said, turning back to Steph. "Anyhow, you don't worry, I've got something."

Steph was too tired to pretend she was grateful. It would be another thing to go on the pile with all the others. She hoped some other kids would get to play with them once she was gone.

He got it out of his pocket in a piece of tissue paper, and unwrapped it carefully. It wasn't a toy. Of all the dim, fuzzy things in the world, this stood out cool and crisp – a tooth. It didn't look human, and it was capped in bright silver with patterns of leaves that moved when she looked at them. It was just over an inch long, the right size to fit in her hand.

"Do you want this?" Deddy whispered, leaning low over her, whispering quickly as if they were in a race against time. "Do you, Stephanie Alexandra Zoubareva, of Port Charlotte, Florida, accept this gift?"

She nodded, despite the difficulty. Deddy pressed the tooth into her palm and folded her fingers over it. A jolt, like a tiny shock of electricity, went through her. The dark lady squeezed his shoulder again, a faint blue light flaring in the dark sockets of her skull-head. He reached back and patted her hand.

"Alright, buttercup," he said, levering himself out of the chair. To Steph's surprise, the dark lady moved to follow him, with a swirl of dark velvet. "I love you sweetheart. You get some rest."