Returned (2 page)

             
Her eyes scrutinised the ceiling in her box room tracing the uneven little cracks that split like tiny little blood vessels across the full length of it. The cracks were further emphasised by the once white gloss that someone must have smeared on in the 1800’s. She had a feeling that everything was going to be old and faded in this little village. Sighing, she closed her eyes.

             
Her thoughts drifted back to the drive from London. Her mother had twittered about meaningless gossip in the village. How much gossip could there be in one tiny place? It had been the most lethal question she'd ever asked her mother. Once you got her started, there was no stopping her.

             
Apparently there had been some scandal the previous week involving the butcher’s son who was married to a local woman. This woman was just about ready to pop the bun out of her oven. These were her mother’s fabulous choice of words. The man had taken a fancy to a woman who’d been visiting the village and he’d just high-tailed it out of the village with her.

             
Her mother had told her in excited tones that the butcher was fuming and the runaway man's mother was in hysterics over the whole thing. The pregnant wife had nearly given birth, the stress becoming too much for her. Villagers were of course speculating. What else could they do? Her mother was already giving her opinion. She really didn’t care and was mortified that her life was going to revolve around silly little gossip.

             
Mind you, if Cora thought about it, and she had
a lot
during the four hour drive from London, see, she was already succumbing to the silly gossip, she was happy for him, the butcher’s son. At least he had escaped the crappy little village. She'd made the mistake of voicing her opinion and her mother had been less than welcoming over such nasty comments.

Pot.

Kettle.

Black.

Cora managed to hold back her snide remark and the parent silence had followed. Parents use the silent treatment assuming their kids hate it. Cora loved it.

             
As they'd exited the motorway, hills loomed high and dominated the distance as tiny roads weaved along the belly of it. Houses had become sparser and more luxurious with distance. She hadn’t seen a crowd of tourists walking and gawking at the greenness of the hills or the intricate designs of the brickwork used in the houses.

             
Eventually, they had turned off the main road which could only be described as a mud path. They had crawled along at a snail’s pace as the sun dipped lower among the hills casting streaks of soft orange and warm reds that streamlined the early evening sky. A small thatched cottage sat surrounded by lush green land and rickety stables. It looked nice but only from a visiting perspective. Her opinion changed greatly now that she was a resident in this village.

             
A small entryway ahead and to her right broke the full spread of green trees as yet untouched by the deathly breath of autumn
.
Her mother turned slowly giving her the first view of the house that she was to call home for however long her mother decided.

             
The house was a standard two up, two down with a small garage hastily built on to the side of it. The drive was long and pebbly, not smooth like the roads in London. So, she may just be wearing rose tinted glasses because she knew there were thousands of pot holes dotted around the streets of London, but when comparing the two places, London came up trumps.

             
A small cracked faux terracotta box brimming with a mixture of yellow and purple pansies, not petunias so her settling in excuse was out of the window, excuse the pun, was strategically placed under the large ground floor window.  At least they added a little colour to the grey drabness of the house. The house was imprisoned by trees, a tall dominant wall that seemed to suck the light right out of the house and area. As first impressions went, this hadn’t been great.

             
Opening her eyes, Cora lifted herself up onto her elbows and looked around her very small bedroom. If she was being honest with herself, something she hated to do, this room wasn't any bigger or smaller than the one she’d occupied in London. But that would mean she'd reluctantly have to give brownie points to Lancashire and she didn't want to do that.

             
A baby blue bookcase, minus the books appeared to be crushed uncomfortably against a small wooden computer desk, minus the computer. Both objects obviously pushed the limits of the length of the wall. The walls were painted a cornflower blue, her favourite colour was yellow, and almost like the paint was repulsed by the house, the thin layer was already melting off revealing a god awful mud brown underneath. Her much loved green travel bag was slumped against the computer desk.

             
Her single, smaller-than-average beech wood bed was currently dressed in a plain blue duvet, co-ordinating with the walls, and was sat directly under the window giving her a view of the pebbly drive at the front of the house.

             
Sighing, and rather selfishly wishing it was loud enough for her mother to hear, she reluctantly reached for her toiletry bag and headed towards the bathroom. The bathroom struggled to house a tiny shower, toilet and the sink. She looked in the mirror that hung at a weird angle on the duck egg wall as she rigorously brushed her teeth.

             
Her shoulder length hair, a dark russet colour was pulled back into a ponytail, this was her usual style because she hated that it got in her way. Her eyes the colour of mud stood out against her ashen skin. Her nose was average in size, a little pinched at the end in her opinion, her full lips were pale and slightly cracked. She had a smattering of freckles that were almost carefully placed along her nose and her cheeks bones. She turned away from the mirror, spat the remaining toothpaste in the sink and started swilling out her mouth. She didn't want to spend the night with her mum trying to make small talk so she stomped back to her bedroom. 

             
The quarter moon hung high and bright swimming in the deep midnight blue surrounding it. Occasional grey wisps pushed across the tips of the cream surface casting distorted shadows across her room. Long, pointy fingers crawled along the bottom corners of her room and began snaking slowly up the walls, stretching, searching. The wind howled, she could almost feel the wind’s cold breath sliver along her skin and start winding itself around her neck. She shivered as she listened to the groan of the trees that swayed in the torrential wind. They wouldn’t fall on the house, would they?

             
Rolling over, she pulled her duvet higher to partially hide her face as she tried not to think about the crazed hand ready to snatch her. This was an exaggeration, and impossible, she knew, but still her heart tripped when she thought about it. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to sleep.

Chapter 2

THE DREAM

An urgent whisper embedded itself deep into Cora’s subconscious. It rushed through her foggy state of sleep banging frantically on the door to get in. She groaned. Why was someone waking her up like this?

“Go away,” she muttered, her words slurred with sleep.

She didn't have a clue who she was talking to. She didn't care as long as they left her alone. The voice was unfamiliar to her; the tone of it was almost musical, very soft and very feminine. It didn’t sound like her mother.

             
She pulled the cover over her face shielding it against the bright sunlight that was smacking her directly in the face. The voice was becoming too faint but she unfortunately caught some of the words which piqued her interest.

It wasn't them...

Not their fault...

You need to find....

The tone was becoming more insistent making her listen. She fought to concentrate on the unknown voice. Who was she talking about? It wasn't their fault? Whose fault?  She was no longer asleep and the voice was fading. Clenching her eyes shut, she feigned sleep, her mind couldn’t be that intelligent, right?

             
The woman’s voice, a whisper, still held that bite of panic giving her the impression that she needed to know something and she needed to know it now. It dawned on her that this wasn't a dream. How could it be? How often did someone find that they could listen to a voice which was apparently a dream, but be consciously aware of being awake? Oh God, she was losing her mind. Simply moving to this small village had messed with her head.

             
The woman's voice screeched bringing her back to the here and now. Her heart kicked up a notch, the rush of blood in her head becoming louder. This wasn’t normal. The woman’s words were not getting through to her, she sensed the urgency and her voice erupted as the pitch became painful. Cora made a big mistake and opened her eyes.

             
It wasn’t entirely dark under the covers as the already powerful rays of the early morning sun seeped through the thin duvet. She pulled the covers back and breathed deep fresh air. That had to be a dream? It couldn't be anything else, could it?

No, it couldn’t.

She was just on edge about this whole move. She wasn't feeling right, that was it. This was a poor attempt at convincing herself but she would accept it.

“Cora, sweetheart, are you awake?” 

Jumping at the sound of her mother’s happy sing-song voice, she pulled herself up in the bed and told herself to get a grip. Dreams were meant to be weird and unexplainable. That was the whole point of them.

Her mother gingerly edged the door open with a smile plastered on her face. “Cora?”

Cora eyed her mother suspiciously. She definitely knew that tone of voice, it usually meant one of two things. 1. She had done something and felt bad about it. 2. She was going to do something and felt bad about it.

“I need to go into work today,” she said and Cora watched the smile on her face waver.

Her mother had gone with option number two. Cora knew the look on her face could turn milk sour but this whole move had been her stupid idea and now she was ditching her to go play teacher.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “I have to go to a meeting about the new curriculum and my role within the school. It was a last minute decision. We can go explore the village this afternoon.”

Her mother did this to her every time they moved. Why was she so surprised each and every time?

“That’s fine, Mum.” Cora shrugged nonchalantly even though she struggled to hold back her disappointment.

What else could she do? Complaining and snide remarks got her nowhere. She accepted the orange juice from her mother. “I’ll go for a walk and look around the village myself.”

             
Cora conjured her best I- already- hate- it- here- but-
I –will- cope- for- you- smile
and took a sip of the orange juice.
The deep worry lines that had hounded her mum’s lovely hazel eyes faded, the lines taking their place now a result of her radiant smile. She felt guilty, she didn’t want to, but she did. She knew she was stressing her mother but this move also caused her problems. Okay, so she wasn’t homeless or starving but her life was a mess. Was she being too hard on her mother?

Probably.

But then parents had a way of making you feel guilty for your outbursts even when they were perfectly justifiable. They must pass some parent exam to perfect that technique.

“I will be back no later than 3pm, I promise.” She flashed another brilliant smile as she left the room.

“Sure Mum, that’s great,” she mumbled, and watched her mother shut the door.

             
The fake smile slid from her face. Sipping her orange juice, she listened as her mother plodded down the stairs and shut the door behind her. The loud irritated groan coughed out of their old car. Well, if she had to go and explore this village that excited her mother so much, she might as well get it over with.

*

The wind nipped, literally burning her flesh as it smashed up against her. It felt extremely cold for the late days of September. She couldn't understand how the leaves hadn’t already died from hypothermia. One small walk around this village and she would be highly at risk. 

             
Briskly walking with her head and neck pushed against her thick coat to guard against the whiplash of wind, she turned right at the open entryway of their drive and started heading towards a cluster of houses she spied in the distance.

             
She slowed her walking pace when she felt warm and was breathing heavy, a sign that she was definitely out of shape.  In her opinion the gym was a nightmare place full of scary lookin
g demons and treadmills to hell;
it was not a place she frequented.