
Spirit gathered
her thoughts, sucked the energy from the air around her and hurled two stabs at
the painted wooden door which rattled in its frame at the impact.
‘Jesus Christ, what the hell’s that’ grumbled a man’s voice
from inside the house as footsteps pounded down the stairs. He yanked
the door open and stood there in the open doorway, tying his dressing gown cord
around him and scowling out into the night. His scowl turned to a look of
confusion then a flash of anger as he scanned the high street and realised
no-one was there. He mumbled under his breath and turned to close the door
behind him shaking his head in frustration. Spirit slipped quietly passed him
on a breath of cold night air into the living room. He stomped angrily back up the stairs still muttering and cursing to no one in particular. Spirit followed in his wake
and drifted slowly into Lily’s room. The mother had replaced the quilt back on
the bed and was tucking Lily in staring down into her eyes.
‘I’m sorry Mummy; I didn’t mean to make Daddy angry’ said
Lily, her head poking out of the quilt cover.’
‘Shush honey it’s not your fault, Daddies not mad at you, he
just wants to get some sleep. Now it’s time for you to go back to sleep, I’ll
leave your bedside light on, is that okay?
Lily nodded and queried ‘Who was that at the door.’
‘No one Sweetie, it’s just the wind.’ The mother gave her a
final peck on the cheek and stood up ‘Sleep now honey and I’ll see you in the
morning’ then Mother left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Lily
turned on her side and waited for sleep to take her. Spirit watched from the
corner of the room thinking to herself that it was true, they could have been
sisters, perhaps twins even, they were the same age, had the same long dark
hair and big brown eyes. Spirit thought of her own mother, the memories were
very dim now and she couldn’t remember her name but she could remember her own.
She had been Fabienne, Fabienne De Sauveterre. She had been born in October
1785 in Lyon France, Papa owned a silk mill and was very prosperous. She
remembered being told by her mother that she was a privileged child and she
shouldn’t look down on the servants just because they were poor. She should
treat them with respect and kindness; she was nearly a princess after all. She knew she had once had a younger brother
although she couldn’t picture his face anymore. She also knew she had died two
days before her ninth birthday.
She had watched her parents led to Les Brotteaux for their
execution by the firing squad. For years she had wandered around Lyon but, with
her whole family dead and her house burnt to the ground, there was no reason to
stay. For the last 200 years she had been carried by the wind to every corner
of France and Spain looking for an end to this existence, She had tried
unsuccessfully to kill what was left of
herself many times. She had finally given up trying and instead tried to find a
way to ease the crushing loneliness and despair that was with her every moment
of every day and night but there was no escape from her sorrow. She had decided to try and cross the sea to
a new place. She had heard England was only few miles away but was wary of
crossing an ocean in case she got lost and spent the rest of eternity wandering
the open seas at the mercy of the elements and with nothing to look at except
an endless expanse of water. Spirit thought that she might be able to cross the
channel by following one of the ferries to Dover so she picked the biggest one
and trailed it across the churning sea to the English port. Feeling quite
pleased with herself she had allowed the wind to take her exploring in this new
land and it had brought her eventually to this little girls bedroom. Maybe she
would find salvation in this new country. She had tried to make friends with
little girls before but it had never worked. Perhaps this little girl who
looked so much like she had once looked might be the one, perhaps it was time
to try again. Spirit had never had trouble with languages or dialects. It was
as if they were speaking with gestures and movements or a look in their eye. It
was the inflections in the voice that carried the message to her. The words
themselves were just music in the background. She couldn’t read people’s minds;
she just knew what they were saying.
Lily made a small cough and turned over under the quilt.
Spirit moved forward and looked down at her peaceful sleeping face lit by the
glow of the bedside lamp. The door was closed so spirit was trapped in the room
but she didn’t mind. She had been trapped in all kinds of dank holes in the
past and this was a lovely little room so she waited patiently, she waited for
morning to come as she had done every night for as long as she could remember,
lost in her thoughts and hoping that, maybe at long last, this little girl
might be her friend.
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The Good the Bad and the Ugly, all comments gratefully appreciated.