Sun-stone Breadcrumbs

Sun-Stone Breadcrumbs

Benjamin Brice's biggest mistake was that he ran. His fat duck-like legs, tried to waddle off in an escape as soon as he saw B coming, who guffawed at the ludicrous sight, and with minimum effort stuck out a foot and tripped him up. If he wasn't so fat, he probably wouldn't have fallen as hard as he did. Girls from school walking past, snorted with laughter at the sight of his white Y fronts slipping down his moon-of-bottom. Feeling a mixture of embarrassment and pain, flushing red, he clumsily pulled himself up and his trousers to cover his modesty.

'You've got to be, what, 300lbs right?" B watched with interested curiosity and he struggled to get upright before grabbing his blazer while he rose puffing like a train as he told himself that he definitely, 100% was not going to cry. B knew he was trying to keep it together. Making him give in was just too easy. Fist rolled into a hammer, B pulled it back for maximum impact and Benjamin winced.

'Low carb. High protein. That's what you need.' With all effort mustered, B landed a punch hard on Benjamin's nose.

‘Crack.’ The crunch of his bone snapping popped dully inside his head. Pain flashed throughout his body. His knees buckled and his nose exploded like a bomb. Blood slid in shame down his pale face as he howled in agony, clutching the pieces of what was left of his nose.

B let him go. There was a lot of blood - bright red. And it ran freely. She watched. It ran down his chin and dripped onto the collar of his white uniform shirt. The drips bloomed like little red roses before they swelled and joined together like a massive ink stain.

Smiling, she realised something. She really did enjoy punching Benjamin Brice. Perhaps this was what she could add on the form social services gave her to fill out, under 'hobbies'. Punching Benjamin Brice always resulted in something so... dramatic.

It was after 11pm when B got in. The house was a brick terrace with three steps leading to the black painted front door. From the doorstep you could see straight into the living room. Joe might be waiting up for her, although she knew Margaret would be asleep.

Light flickered in the darkened room through the sash windows. Her mouth went dry as she nervously patted down her frizzy afro. Crystal raindrops rolled off her hair and soaked into the collar of her olive coat. Her spaghetti legs refused to take her further. She stared at the semi-closed curtains and the glare of the television screen. He was waiting. Her clever brown fingers, still smeared with Benjamin's blood, fumbled inside her coat pocket for keys.

By rights she shouldn't even be there. It was all his fault. Before mum met him, she just drank. After he came on the scene, it was alcohol plus whatever drugs he could get. They’d be remnants of a party, every morning when she used to wake up. Empty bottles and cans of beer were strewn on tables, the window sill, every surface in their flat. And some bottles, on their bulbous bellies, lay on the floor, mouths dripping leftover beer. White powder was on the coffee table with old cash cards as well as cold half eaten leftover pizza. Pepperoni. Always pepperoni. Cooked dinners were rare before, but after he arrived they were non existent. B learnt to cook.

She had thought that if she looked after mum well enough, she would stop drinking and be a proper mum. And she believed it was working, until she met him.

B’s mum had gotten at least one hot dinner inside her everyday. Whereas before her skin was a dull brown with a tinge of green, when B started feeding her she looked a bit brighter. Her brown eyes looked larger, more switched on and B could swear her small frame was filling out a little. Even B could see she could be beautiful. Her high cheekbones and pouty superstar lips were always something B admired and hoped she inherited. How could anyone say she was ugly with a heart and soul as pure as hers?

Framed sepia pictures of better days stood on the bookshelf. Ivy was sporting an enormous afro, short brown tweed skirt and black rimmed glasses stood in front of B's dad's Datsun Cherry. Her round toed flat Clark shoes screamed nerd as she clutched a cigarette in one hand with her school bag on the pavement leant against the car. In those days they had school school bag. Not like now where any bag big enough would do. Her school emblem was embroidered on the side. B could just make out the small crest on the large front pocket. It always made B smile as she stared at the only photo she had of her parents together. The glasses Ivy wore were for show, of course. Ivy told B she had aspirations of being a young black erudite and had plans of university. It didn't happen. B happened instead. And B, with dogged determination, tried to be the best mistake Ivy ever made.

The flat was cleaned and she also sometimes set mum a bath, washed and cornrowed her hair for her. On the days where mum couldn't get out of bed, B brought her tea and toast. If uneaten, it would be cleared away when she got in from school. If eaten, B took it as a sign she was getting better and made chicken soup. Her mum loved her chicken soup and whenever B made it mum would try to guess the secret ingredient. It was a game they both loved to play.

Mum sometimes would guess throughout the day, and if it was a school day, it would be continued when B came in. The truth was, there was no secret ingredient. It was just canned soup from the shop around the corner that B added black pepper to. She knew it and so did mum. It was the game that they enjoyed, and for B, it was a snippet of how her mum would’ve been without all the alcohol and the drugs and the cigarettes and the funk she found herself in sometimes.

When she got into a particularly bad funk, B knew it could last for a couple weeks. Even getting up to go to the toilet would be too much. Mum had a potty underneath the bed that B would empty, bleach and put back daily. Nothing changed with the cigarettes though, despite B bringing home leaflets from school on how they can give you cancer.

Then one day when mum ran out of cigarettes. B went to the usual shop on the corner to get some but they were closed so she took a risk. The shop opposite school sold cigarettes. They were used to selling to kids without getting caught so she knew it's probably be okay. She was late for school though, and so was subject to a bag check by the Head of Year for a mobile phone.

It was supposed to be a deterrent to students getting to school late, which never made sense to B. The innocent students who did everything they were supposed to do could still be late occasionally. Yet they would have their privacy invaded. How was that in their best interest? It just made B angry and want to defy them even more.

When they searched B's bag they found more than a mobile phone. What they did find triggered trouble.

School began their own investigations because of suspicions they had previously. Social services were called once they figured out how B was looking after mum. Because by that time, it wasn’t just mum that B was looking after, it was him too. After their all night parties, they would wind up either asleep on the floor, the sofa or the bed. Either way, B was in the habit of making mum breakfast, so instead of making tea and toast for one, she made enough for two.

That was years ago now and this was B's fourth foster home. She was on her first foster home when officer Cathy told her in the peach living room of foster mum number one, that her mum had overdosed and died in hospital. Officer Cathy struggled to get the words out. She stumbled before spilling them out in a long unintelligible sentence.

B remembered how the sun streamed in from the thin living room curtains as Officer Cathy spoke. It was after school. Dinner was cooking - chips. The foster mum was banging about in the kitchen, setting up the table and making clear long glasses of orange squash with ice cubes. The kind that created cool sweat drops on the outside of the glass that you'd swipe off before picking up.

Officer Cathy had brown hair scraped into a bun with wispy bits escaping at the front of her hairline. She had a fringe that she had gelled down, desperate to escape its confines, lifting up a tiny bit every time she moved. She also remembered her freckles. Don’t people with fair hair have freckles? And yet here was Officer Cathy, in this peach room, with freckles galore and chestnut brown hair. Perhaps it was dyed.

‘Do you dye your hair?’ B asked. Officer Cathy abruptly stopped talking. She blinked. ‘I only ask because you’ve got freckles. Don’t people with fair hair have freckles? I have a couple freckles on my nose, see?’ B pointed to a lonely freckle to the left of her nose and one under her eye. The silence stretched. Officer Cathy looked at her. The police radio crackled. Her mouth opened a bit like a fish for a moment and she frowned as she thought of what she should say next. B imagined her with ginger hair. That plus her freckles and her mouth gaping open reminded her of a goldfish so she giggled. Officer Cathy stood up and went to speak to the foster mother in private leaving B to be swallowed by the velvety-soft peach sofa. And after a few moments, Officer Cathy was gone.

B was left having steaming hot chips with vinegar, beans and fish fingers for tea, sitting at a hard wooden table on a chair where her feet didn’t touch the ground, pretending she had a mum and a dad and a home. All that was missing was Floppy the dog.

She couldn’t remember why she left that home. It was the best home she had. They fed her proper meals. Her bed was warm and she could still go to her old school, plus there was the added bonus of her not having to look after anyone - no stinking potties, no drawing the curtains to shut out the sun because it hurt mums eyes, and no cleaning up of beer bottles and left over drugs. There was no mum at all. They all seemed to think she should be happy. B agreed, but she wasn't. She would've given anything to be back in that flat making mum a cup of tea and toast, or pretending she had a secret ingredient to canned chicken soup. But this foster home was perfect minus the fact it was all fake.

It was in the second home that trouble started. B was 12 years old and apparently he couldn’t help himself.

She scratched her head as she finally put the keys into the door and it creaked open. He jumped up and appeared at the doorway. His large frame hiding the light from the television.

‘Where have you been? Oh Thank God you are safe! It’s after 11pm! What on earth are you doing out so late?’ He walked toward her, his bald head reflecting some of the dim light.

This was a routine. B knew he didn’t really care. It was like a game he played. And she played along. The silent conspirator.

‘Margaret and I have been so worried!’ He came closer. His cigarette breath wafted around her head. He smoked rollups. She hated rollups. He reached out a hand and tentatively stroked her cheek. She flinched as the corner of her eye caught the sight of his forearm. More freckles. His voice softened.

‘You know I don’t like it when you stay out so late. It makes everything difficult.’ He stepped closer still. B, rooted to the spot, stiffened as he gently wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. She felt his large stomach on hers as her chin bumped against his shoulder and he ran his forefinger down her spine. His nails were sharp through her t-shirt underneath her coat. His face came close as he breathed her in. ‘It is way past your bedtime,’ he whispered, ‘and mine.’

Tears stung.

‘Shhh… don’t worry. I am not mad with you, really I’m not. There's no need for these tears.’ Brushing one away with his finger, he said, ‘I was just worried. You’re safe now. Feel my heart.’

He grabbed B’s hand and placed it under his shirt, flattening her palm on top of his nipple.

‘Y’see? It’s racing.’ His pale blue eyes glinted in the dim light from the flickering television. ‘I am so happy to see you that my heart is just… galloping away.’ He smiled again with a resigned sigh.

B wondered if she could punch him the way she punched Benjamin Brice. She could do it. She knew she could. She pursed her lips and rolled up her fist into a tight ball, but it got stuck by her side. ‘Come on. It’s late, let’s go to bed.’

He let her go, sprang excitedly into the living room, switched off the television and downed a glass of whisky that was sitting on the coffee table, before returning to where B was rooted to the spot in the hall. He smiled and reached out his hand to hers. ‘Come on.’

B, finally moving, took his hand as fresh tears wobbled in her eyes, and they both climbed the stairs to bed.

The next day, B was up and out early. The house slumbered as she crept down the stairs careful to avoid the sixth step that creaked. Margaret would be up making Joe some bacon and eggs soon, as well as doing her mother thing, but she didn’t have an appetite for food or for a pretend family.

Not bothering to wash, she pulled her navy school uniform on that was strewn across the floor from the night before. Pushing away the memories of how they got there, she got up, brushed her teeth and slammed the front door on her way out. It was too early for school but she had no desire to stay in that house longer than she needed to. She would walk the streets.

East London was grimy. This early, you could see the night before still not quite over. B skipped over rubbish strewn streets and occasional piles of dog shit already stepped in as she dodged smeared foot-shaped brown prints. Prostitutes were looking for breakfast in cheap cafe's. Crack heads were walking the streets picking up dead cigarette butts as the sun struggled to pierce through thick grey hungover clouds. Fresh graffiti was scrawled over the new shutters of Superdrug. Still. It was home. B spent most of her life on these streets. After her mother, the social services always placed her near enough to where she used to live so she wouldn’t have to change schools. At first, B liked this idea. Now she didn't care.

B wasn’t good at school. She had no desire to learn about quadratic triangles or how volcanoes in Peru worked. She knew where her life was going and it wasn’t university. She needed a job. ASAP.

As she sat daydreaming in her Maths class, gazing out of the window, she imagined herself in a small flat above a busy little market. She would have a little two bedroom flat. The window in the kitchen would overlook a little roof garden where she'd have a little lawn framed with tulips. She'd grow some herbs on the window sill. Thyme. Maybe some parsley. She would have a dog - a rottweiler. She’d call him Tyson or something like that. And he would be her protector, and they would watch tele together. She’d maybe do a bit of shopping in the market. Everyday she'd buy dinner fresh like she had seen on the tele, rather than do a weekly shop and she would be safe and happy. The place would be her own.

‘Beatrice?’

B looked up to feel the class staring at her. She scowled. ‘What?’

‘The answer?’

‘I wasn’t listening.’

‘Beatrice, why aren’t you paying attention? You are here to learn!’

‘Cos it’s boring.’

Miss Riley gave a pained smile.

‘Not everything worth knowing is entertaining Beatrice.’

‘It's B. Just B.’

‘Sometimes, Beatrice, you have to pay attention and learn anyway, even if it isn't fun to watch. Not everything is designed to be entertaining.’

B said nothing, just stared at the teacher, who sighed before getting back to the class. It wasn’t until Science that things got interesting.

They were looking at raw hearts. Mr Penfold in his lab coat, had placed a heart on each desk, one between two. His over-large eyes blinked through his black rimmed glasses as he watches the students pile into class.They grabbed white lab coats hooked on the wall, before taking science goggles out of a large cardboard box on the teacher's desk. They were to dissect the heart and examine the chambers. Now, this wasn’t boring.

She could see clearly all the parts of the heart. It wasn’t a human heart. Apparently. But it was similar. Maybe a pig’s heart, B wasn’t paying attention to that bit, she was wondering what they did with all the blood. Poking the heart with her pen, she picked the flesh off a part of the heart and flicked it at Jeremy. She giggled as he crouched low examining his heart with the fleshy bit B flicked sitting nonchalantly on his blond hair. But was when they were packing up that it happened.

B, and her sole friend Loraine, were packing away with everyone else. It was nearly lunchtime. Mr Penfold had given the warning for putting the classroom back to how it was when they found it and so students were milling around, throwing their lab coats back on the brass hooks on the wall and taking their dissected hearts into the store room.

Lunchtime. That was a time that B usually hung around the bike sheds to smoke a cigarette. She had discovered what her mother liked about them so much. It wasn’t the nicotine, it was the feeling of being bad. B loved it.

She and Loraine would sit under the shelter and light up. Sometimes on the weekend, they would break into school through the fence at the back of the field, and smoke by the bike sheds. Sometimes with alcopops, sometimes without. Today’s lunchtime would be spent stealing someone’s lunch (she had a hankering for a cheese and pickle sandwich and knew just the kid who could provide it) then eating it behind the bike sheds. She’d have a cigarette or two after, and then probably slip out the broken fence at the back of the field and bunk.

Today though, there was something new in the store room. As she was placing her heart on the table at the back of the room with all the other hearts, she heard a squeaking and hissing.

The back of the room was dark, windowless and smelled of chemicals. A cage could be seen in the dim. A square cage with an animal inside. As she drew closer the squeaks and hisses became more prominent and she saw two black eyes, glinting in the dim. It was a rat. A black, greasy looking rat.

B recoiled and instinctively held her nose as he flashed around the cage in anger. His coil-like tail banging on the bars and ruffling up the hay in its bed.The anger rolled off it in waves. B turned and left the room hastily, with Loraine hot on her tail.

‘We gonna get some lunch?’

‘Not today.’

‘Eh? Why not? You know there are a few kids good for a chocolate bar and a packet of crisps. I saw Joshua go to the corner shop this morning, he’s bound to have something.’ But B wasn’t listening. In her head she was already formulating a plan. She was going to break the rat out. Quite why she decided to break it out, especially when it repulsed her, she wasn’t sure.

Maybe it was because she felt trapped. Maybe it was because she could relate to his fear and anger. Or maybe it was because she was wilfully bad and wanted to defy the school and its rules. B wondered what kind of a person kept an animal locked up. Maybe the poor rat was the next project they were going to dissect. But just one look into its eyes and she knew. She had to free it. Somehow. She would go back after school. And Loraine was going to help her.

It was a full week later that B managed to liberate the rat. Loraine didn’t help. Of course. Although she had said she would. When it came down to it, she chickened out. Despite B threatening to thump her if she ran away. She ran away anyway.

It was around 6pm and most of the teachers had left. At that time, it was only Bam Bam the caretaker who was there. His dirty blonde locks were half dyed rainbow colours and were tied into a rough ponytail.

The science labs were still empty. Bam Bam was busy checking windows, switching off computers and locking doors in the Art department. He always stuck to his routine.

B strolled into the labs, made her way to the store room and to the black rat. He looked at her. Expecting, and she stared back. His sharp eyes were fixed on her as she walked slowly up to the cage. His nose, twitching. B stared.

His fur was very greasy. Greasier than she thought perhaps might be normal. And his mouth was open as he breathed. Little white fangs could be seen protruding from his red gums. His paws hung in front of him like some kind of mini t-rex, as he was frozen in place on his hind legs.

B moved forward and tried the latch. It lifted easily. Nervously, she reached in. Hesitating momentarily, thinking it might bite her, she quickly clasped it in her hand and placed it in her pocket before walking quickly out of the school building.

He felt warm and as her heart raced, she could feel the drumming of his own heart against her body. She sped out of the school, onto the field and only then broke into a run for the broken fence, all the time holding the rat carefully in her pocket.

Jogging all the way back to the house, she passed two men in a black Ford. One was talking into his mobile phone while the other had his arm hanging out of the car window, cigarette balancing in between his lips. Left eye squinting through the streaming grey smoke, he took a drag while watching B jog by as he bopped his head to the booming bass coming from his sound system. B glanced in his direction making a subtle confirmation of his presence. He nodded. It wasn't wise for B to ignore the local muscle.

She made it back in record time, but a she rounded the corner she saw something that made her forget about the stolen rat inside her pocket, for there, outside the house, not one but two flashing police cars pulled up. B froze. Police always meant bad news.

B sat in the police station’s Family Room. It felt as if she had been arrested. She was bundled into the car that was parked at the front of the house. It felt as if she was the criminal as she hid her face from people who walked by staring at the spectacle of Joe being cuffed and put into a second police car. It felt as if she were the criminal as she was taken to a room and questioned with cameras they didn’t think B knew about.

Officer Cathy was there too. Her hair was still brown, and she still had a smattering of freckles on her nose but she had gotten a bit fat in the couple years that had passed. B smirked. She imagined her sitting at a desk eating pink frosted doughnuts. Breaking into her thoughts, Officer Cathy entered the room.

‘Beatrice. How are you?’

On closer inspection, it looked like she might be growing out the brown hair dye.

‘We have reason to believe that your foster father has…’ her words tailed off. B met her eyes as Officer Cathy’s attention was drawn outside of the room. She followed her gaze and saw what she was seeing through the window.

There was another girl. Younger. Possibly 12, being taken into another room. And then there was the foster mother Margaret. Her red rimmed eyes betrayed her distress, as did her scraggly hair. She also walked past the window of the room B was in, flanked by another officer.

Officer Cathy stood. ‘I will be right back.’

She wasn’t of course. B had imagined what she would say to her if she had come back, but all she could come up with was asking hair about her hair again. As it was, she didn’t get the chance.

Moments later, B was back in a car, speeding through the city. The urban landscape of pollution-stained brick buildings, cracked concrete pavements and a thin smog coating the air surrounding her, turned first to a brown smear racing past the window which slowly turned to a green. She was being relocated. Again. B felt relieved at not having to see Joe. And it seems this time, finding her somewhere near her school wasn’t an option.

After hours of driving, they arrived at a house. The detached house was a short walk from the local village that they drove through. It was all very pretty in the evening light but as they arrived B realised how very far she was from London and everything that was familiar to her. Turning a corner, they slowly approached a detached house. The tyres crunched the gravel as the car came to a halt and the two officers who were riding with her, got out of the car. B looked at the house.

Ivy crept up the walls and threatened to squeeze into the paint chipped window frames. The house was larger than anything B had been in before. Although it wasn't remotely as big as a castle, to B this detached three bedroom home was akin to a palace.

As she got out of the car, a wily wind blew up, flapping her olive green coat. The rat in her pocket stirred, reminding her it was still there. Pulling her coat closer to her body, she followed the second police officer up the gravel path that crunched under her boots.

It was late evening. Both officers were eager to get back to London and so B was placed in the living room where she could hear their hushed voices.

Looking out of the living room window, she could see dark woods in the distance. To the left there was a small children's playground and if she squinted, she could see a merry-go-round and swings. She wondered if it was anything like the park in East London, with broken glass on the asphalt and dirty needles that could sometimes could be found under the swings. The woods, however, seemed to stretch on for miles.

She craned her neck close to the window to see if she could see what was beyond the woods on the right, but she couldn’t. It got darker and blacker the further in the woods she stared.

The living room door opened and she sprang back from the window. The police officers came back into the room and sat B down on the sofa. This one was brown. Not peach, and not leather like Margaret and Joe. B expected difficult news and braced herself. Although all they said, was that she needed to stay there for a few days and they would be back soon to pick her up. B had a million questions but not one would come to the surface and spill off her tongue. Instead she just nodded and they left.

Then there was the woman.

She looked like she as in her early sixties with a kind face and wrinkled eyes. Clearly the homeowner who was speaking to the officers in private about B's life. Yet again others controlled her life. The woman smiled.

‘Are you hungry? I imagine you must be hungry after all the drama of today.’ B said nothing. ‘I am Helen. I live here with my husband Sam.’ B just stood and stared as she wondered how long she would be there for. As if reading her mind, Helen continued. ‘You are just staying here until the police manage to sort out what is going on with your foster father.’ At the mention of Joe, B suddenly felt hot with embarrassment. She knew what this was about. Her face flushed red as her eyes fell to the floor in shame. She didn't want to think about it. Ever.

‘Come, let me show you to your room.’ Helen beckoned her with her hand as she turned to climb the red carpeted stairs. B followed.

The stairs creaked softly as she climbed up them one by one. B cast to her memory that the 5th and the 9th step were the ones that creaked the most - valuable information she may need. It reminded her of Joe and the 4th creaking stair at that house. Realising where that particular memory was leading he, she pushed it away.

Helen was a larger lady and her blue flowered dress could be heard switching from side to side. As of yet, there was no sign of this ‘Sam.’

Her room was at the top of the stairs to the left. Helen pointed out the bathroom to her. She also told her that there were a few bits and pieces in her room that she might need like a toothbrush, shower jelly and a towel. B wondered what the rush was and why she couldn’t just have packed her things. As it stood, Helen went on to tell her that she would not be there very long. This was an emergency short stay house. Hopefully it would all be sorted out soon and she could get back to London and school. B was surprised how this thought comforted her.

Her room was large and without a carpet. A single bed lay to the back of the room with the window beside it. In the corner of the room there was a large wooden desk with a matching three door wardrobe. On the desk was the towel and shower gel Helen mentioned before. B had no intention of showering.

‘Make yourself at home. I’ll bring you up a snack in a moment.’ And with that Helen left the room closing the door with a satisfying click. As soon as she left, B thought that later she would push the desk up against the door to secure it. Helen’s slippered feet could be heard flip-flopping down the stairs before the passageway fell to silence.

The soft moaning of the wind whistled in the wooden window frames. B sat on the bed. It’s springs screeched in protest and the rat in her pocket started wriggling. She pulled out the large oily-looking animal and took a good look at him.

She had no idea what she was going to do with it. It stared at her as if she knew all the answer, although, she was sure he was glad she stole him away.

There was no cage or box she could put it in but there was the wooden desk. Inside the top draw were old newspapers that would make good bedding. B shoved them aside and placed the rat quickly inside before she shut it.

Before closing it completely, an article caught her eye. Pulling off the sheet from under the rat, she closed the draw leaving a small crack for air, and began to read.

It was dated 50 years ago. The story was of a boy who got lost in the woods. Benjamin.

B raised an eyebrow as she thought of Benjamin Brice, although she was sure if he got lost in the woods, he would survive for weeks purely on his fat alone. He might even get eaten by some larger creature.

The article spoke of how Benjamin had gotten lost in the woods. Apparently

he was looking for his younger sister who had wandered into the woods earlier that evening and vanished. Rumors had spread of there being a large jaguar-type cat living in the woods, escaped from a nearby zoo. Despite search and rescue efforts, no remains at that time, were found of either child. Neither did they find evidence of a wild cat. The younger sister turned up months later. She had been abducted by her estranged father. The boy however, remained missing.

B put down the article and looked towards the woods. Their large branches reached quite high, and where other woods B had seen on television, started with smaller trees that got bigger the further into the woods you went, these woods just had thick trees, right on the edge of the wood. And they stood with stubborn purpose.

The wind blew and whistled through the old window frame as B stared out. She reached out a hand to push open the window clasp when a soft knock on the door stopped her. Helen entered.

‘It’s not much but I brought you a nice sweet cup of tea and some toast. If you want an egg, I can easily rustle one up for you?’ B remained silent. Helen took that as a no.

‘Right then. Have a good restful night sleep. There’s a t-shirt in the wardrobe if you wanted to change into something more comfortable to sleep in.’ B could hear a clock ticking in the hallway. It was after 10pm.

‘Sam and I are going to watch the news before bed. You are welcome to come and join us if you wish?’ The wind blew stronger making the window whistle again. ‘It’s probably going to rain. I will turn the heaters on low. If you get too hot, just let me know. Night night.’

B continued looking out the window with her back to Helen, who softly closed the door behind her. She sighed and sat back on the squeaky bed, not taking her eyes off the woods. The smell of toast made her tummy rumble. The only other sound that could be heard was the rat scratching around. ‘Digging to Australia’ - Be thought.

Next to the desk was the large wooden wardrobe. She was half tempted to climb into it to see if it would lead to Narnia. She glanced around the back. Normal. Her hand felt the certainty of the grainy wood. Definitely no magical woodland there. No Mr Tumnus or the White Witch to be afraid of. It was all nonsense. Childsplay. That kind of thing didn’t happen in the real world.

The rat was still tunneling to Australia. He had pushed the draw open a little and his nose peeked out. B bend down to look closer at him and as she did so the rat turned abruptly and looked her straight in the eye. She froze as he took in the measure of who she was, his eyes slightly bloodshot. B waited, and as she watched the rat that watched her back, she noticed his lips curling in a small snarl as a growl rumbled in his throat. Could rats growl? She wasn’t sure, but it seemed this one was growling at her.

It was then that she noticed that perhaps he wasn’t growling at her at all, as his beady eyes were now looking at the window. She followed his gaze but saw nothing. Pushing the draw a little more closed to prevent his escape, she walked over to the window. The latch protruded awkwardly towards her as if inviting, so she grabbed it and pushed it open.

It was then that she saw him. A boy. About her age, running into the woods. Without thinking, she pushed the window further open, climbed onto the window ledge and jumped. The window was on the first floor and so she landed heavily on the gravel below. Used to escaping from bedroom windows, she brushed herself off and chased the boy into the dark woods.

At the entrance of the woods was a pathway. It was clear. She hadn't seen that from the bedroom window. Looking back, she saw the house and the window she had jumped from, gaping open. The wind picked up. Luckily B still had on her olive green mac-like coat and her black boots. These were her favourite boots. She had kicked Benjamin loads of times with these boots. They left a mark. Their grip was good.

She stepped into the woods, firm and sure as she began to look around for the boy that she saw running. What was he doing? When she caught him, what on earth was she going to say to him? By rights, she should be in that room, eating her toast, drinking her tea. Instead, she was here, walking deeper and deeper into the strange woods. Unaware of what possessed her, she just knew she had to go. She had to move forwards into the dark.

The woods seemed to close in on B a she heard whisperings and rustlings. What once was a clear path, suddenly seemed to deteriorate with overgrown weeds and brambles covering the way, making it harder for her to pick her way forward. She turned around to glance back at the house she just left, only to find that it was completely gone. She was much farther to the woods than she realised. As she looked up, the branches on the highest limbs seemed to wave and moan at her as she realized that she was quite probably lost. She had walked in a straight line though, so walking back in a straight line should bring her back to the edge of the woods.

Abandoning her idea to follow the boy, which now seemed ridiculous to her, she turned around and walked back the way she came. The path, however, did not get better. Instead of becoming clearer, it got more and more lost in the undergrowth. It wasn't right. She knew she was walking in the direction that she came. Looking up again to the sky, she saw it was a deep blue. Stars twinkled in the distance as clouds began to form. It was getting later. A wind blew up again, colder than before, and B drew her coat up around the body. She was grateful that she had boots on as it seemed that the weeds on the floor had somehow become sharp with barbs.

And then the rain started. It was slow at first but soon came down in blinding sheets, chilling B to the bone. The ferocity of the wind made it difficult for her to breathe as she struggled forwards against the relentless rain. The wind howled and filled her ears with what sounded like screams that grew louder and louder. Shielding her eyes from the rain, blinded, she could hear the ripping of soil and mud and stone. Halted to the spot, she glared through the rain at what she thought she saw.

A scream ripped from her mouth as she saw the largest of trees, ripping its roots up from the now rain-sodden ground and move sideways like a crab, joined by others, they were forming a circle around her. Their thick trunks betrayed yawning, screaming mouths and long stretching holes for eyes that seemed to grab at her soul.

They were trying to catch her, she knew they were. In a split second, she sensed her advantage, she could move faster than them; she could run.

And so she ran, faster and faster deeper and deeper into the woods. She could hear the trees screaming in frustration as twiggy branches tried to grab at her clothes and rip at her hair. Twigs caught the tight curls in her afro as she screamed, ripping free. Her skinny long spider legs darted this way and that as she bounded through the dark looking for a way forward. It was only after a few moments that she came to a clearing and noticed the weather relented a little. The pouring rain turned to drizzle as she caught her breath and looked around.

She was in a circle. It looked like flattened grass where the trees either couldn’t or wouldn't tred. Well aware of how ridiculous that thought sounded, she nevertheless knew it to be true. As she wandered into the center of the clearing, she glanced backward to see what she thought were the trees, waiting anxiously on the edge. They appeared to pulse with anger as some moved around the edge of the clearing to get a better look at her with black, bottomless eyes.

She shivered and pulled her coat closer to her body and looked forward, well aware of the menacing audience. She was trapped.

The crescent moon was riding high, glaring down at her through the trees as if to question what her next move was. She didn’t know. Sitting down to take a short reprieve, she lowered herself onto the wet grass. As she sat down, she felt a scampering around the side of her leg. Instinctively, she sprang to one side, only to see the greasy back rat that she had rescued from school.

Somehow it had gotten out of the draw and followed her out. She clasped its small warm body in her cold fingers and stroked his jet black fur. His nose twitched as it sniffed upwards in the direction of the sky. With her forefinger she scratched under his chin like a dog. He seemed to like it.

Getting out was going to be much harder than getting in, she guessed. Glancing backwards, she saw the trees, moving and swaying in the wind as if waiting for her to make her move. They tree were gaining in number as more and more found their way to the edge of the circle creating a thick, dense, pulsating barrier.

There was one particular large tree at the front with long low boughs resembling extra long arms, that appeared to be holding smaller more eager trees, back. The boughs were knobbly and rough, good climbing boughs, thought B. But higher up on the trunk, B saw the scowling face of the old tree. She cold feel the hatred flowing from his eyes in her direction, and laced under the hatred, was a raw and wild hunger. She had to get out of there, the sooner the better. If she didn’t know better, she would say they were plotting. With that, she stood and placed the rat carefully in her pocket. This time, she zipped her pocket up to stop it from escaping again. And as she glanced downwards, she noticed something small and bright on the seemingly-black grass.

It glowed like some kind of jewel. B picked it up and looked closer. It was a stone. It sparkled bright in the darkness like a little piece of sunshine, lighting the way. She followed the makeshift sunbeam which led to another glowing stone. Walking towards that one, she also picked it up and placed it in the palm of her hands. Her hands glowed brightly as if she was clasping the sun.

Lowering her hands, the light fell from her immediate eyeline and she saw another light glowing on the dark floor, in the distance. She followed the glowing sun stones again, and again and again. The lights stretched outward into the clearing and straight to the other side, but when she got there, the trees seemed to clear a path. It was as if they wouldn't go near the glowing pebble-like sunlight she now held in her hands, and for that she was grateful. She followed the glowing trail of stones, collecting as she went and found that they led to a small wooded cabin.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen but the trees lurked just beyond the cabin. She allowed herself to be distracted instead by the cheerful warm glow coming from the windows.

Smoke rose merrily from its chimney. Her stomach grumbled as her feet took her closer. And she was tired. She wasn’t sure how long she was in the woods but it felt like hours. It was still night but, if someone had said she had been there days, she would’ve believed them.

Deciding how to approach the cabin, she saw that the door suddenly swung open, and there in the doorway was the boy she saw running in the woods.

B stopped and stared. He beckoned her forward. And as he did so, it was then that she realised that she recognised him.

It was the boy from the newspaper clipping that she saw. But the report was from over 50 years ago. How could this be him? Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, or maybe he was a relative? Either way, she followed him into the warm cabin.

There was a fire burning with a pot warming something up that smelt suspiciously like chicken soup.

‘Can you guess the secret ingredient?’ He said as he walked over to the pot, took a spoon and tasted the soup. B said nothing. She stood in the doorway, wet, cold and tired. Knowing she should resist, she couldn’t help herself.

‘A dash of dark soya sauce?’ she said as she stepped in out of the cold dark.

‘Nope.’

‘Sprinkling of sugar?’

‘Nope’

‘Molasses?’

‘Nope, but a very good try.’ His eyes twinkled in the firelight and B took him in.

He had short brown hair with a side parting and large brown eyes. Skinny, he wore just a long white shirt with three quarter length sleeves, and his feet were bare. B watched him as he moved easily around the small cabin, grabbing two bowls and dishing up the soup. Turning towards her, he gestured for her to sit on the bed in the corner, to which she did after placing her glowing stones on the wooden floor with a clang. He handed her the soup, a wooden spoon and sat beside her.

Spooning the soup into his mouth, he gestured for her to follow him. Which she did.

The soup tasted better than the one she ever made. A warm glow filled her whole body and seemed to dry her out completely. She raised an eyebrow in shock at what seemed like magic soup, and the boy just laughed. She smiled back and ate the rest, enjoying the warmth that spread. The rat in her pocket also seemed to enjoy the effects of the soup as he grew heavier and heavier. B imagined he was getting tired and falling asleep. She unzipped the pocket incase he was getting hot in there and carefully removed her coat. The boy, politely took her coat and hung it next to the fire on a chair to warm.

Neither one of them noticed the rat scamper out of the pocket and run underneath the bed that they sat on. Neither one of them seemed to notice the sharp clever green eyes from the corner of the cabin, watch the rat in its hiding place.

They chatted to the early hours of the morning. B told him everything, why she was there, where she came from and what had happened to her mother. She spilled all her secrets, about Joe, about how he made her feel and about Benjamin Brice. She confessed how she bullied him for years and how she thought he deserved it for being so pathetic and weak. She confessed how she hated him. He was much larger than her but still couldn’t defend himself against her. And she realised that she too, had the ability to defend herself against Joe and the others who abused her, but she did not so there was a part of her that hated herself too. She couldn’t figure out why she did not defend herself, except that she was so very afraid. She was always afraid.

The boy listened as she talked and when he saw that dawn was arriving, he told her to lie down.

‘Everything will be better after you have had a sleep. It is late, and you are tired. I promise, everything will look different when you awaken. Your life has been unfair, and harsh. That is all at an end. This I promise you.

And B believed him. And as he gently pushed her shoulders down so she lay on the bed, a calmness washed over her. She felt completely at ease with this boy. It was as if she had known him for years. She breathed in deeply and as she breathed out it was as if all her troubled flowed out of her in a thick black smoke. More and more smoke came flooding out of her mouth and filled the cabin with its poison.

‘That’s it, breathe,’ he said as he stroked her hair. Her curls, laden with twigs and debris from the storm, felt damp to his touch as they held in droplets of rain. And it was then that he held her in his gaze.

His eyes, like pools of chocolate that B wanted to dive into, caught her. He lowered his face to hers, closed his eyes and B felt the soft brush of his lips. Her heart flamed into her chest before pounding heavily like drums. She opened her eyes and her mouth to catch her breath, but what she saw filled her with horror.

It was not the boy she spent the night with that had kissed her. Lifting their lips from her mouth was the most hideous old hag B had ever seen. Her nose was long and bent with a large wart on the end and her skin was tinged green. B screamed and jumped backward in the bed as the witch-like woman sat up cackling in glee. The laughter of the witch rang out shrill into B’s ears despite her clasping her hands over them.

The black smoke that had come out of her breath turned a luminous green as a wild wind whipped up from nowhere and screamed around the cabin, whipping the now green smoke up into a mini tornado in the one roomed cabin. The witch's cackles rode on the wind as B heard chanting in the air. She couldn't make out everything they were saying but she definitely heard a warning about the woods, referred to as The Wily Woods. B screamed as the bed she was on rocked back and forth, banging on the wooden floorboards. She clung onto it’s sides as best as she could as it raised off the ground several times and banged back on the floor. Something black scampered out from under the bed.

The rat! B saw it running from what looked like an enormous black cat, with sharp claws and wicked eyes. It swiped after the rat, unable to catch it as it was too fast. B could hear the rat growling and the cat spitting. The rat, caught up in the luminous green smoke suddenly become immobile and began to grow.

Before B’s eyes, the greasy rat became larger and larger and larger. His blood-shot eyes were red and angry and his fangs became dagger-like as a growl ripped menacingly in his throat. The larger he grew, the more the cat backed off until it ran out of the cabin through an open window and into the woods.

The witch’s form hoovered in mid air as she glared down at B hungrily.

‘At last… At LAST!’ she screamed as she cackled in glee hoovering in the cabin. As an afterthought, she seemed to remember B cowering on the bed and smiled a toothy grin.

‘Thank you my darling. So sorry about the boy.’ She transferred momentarily back into the boy in his white shirt as she hovered. ‘He was a rather good fit at the time. You though, were much better. All your anger, bitterness and meanness! Well, it was too much to resist! You were just delicious!’ She cracked again as B noticed her complexion becoming healthier. B felt weak, and thin as she lay on the bed. The now enormous rat jumped up into her lap and protectively growled and snarled at the witch.

‘Oh! This is new!’ She laughed, ‘My, haven’t you grown? Makes no difference. I have what I need. You may find yourself a little drained dear. Not a stitch of meanness left in you I am afraid. That was too good to waste on a human. I have all I need.

Oh. A word of warning B,’ she said as she began to float out of the cabin door, ‘don’t cross the borders of the woods! If you do, you’ll regret it!’ And with that, the witch floated out of the cabin and vanished, and B’s vision blurred as she passed out.

B lost all measurement of time. She seemed to float on a white cloud surrounded by mist. Voices could be heard coming in and out of consciousness. And she ached. She tried to lift limbs but found them too heavy. Everything was too heavy and too much effort. Her eyes wouldn’t open properly, but in the confusion, in the mist and in the chaos, he was there. His black fur a comfort. She burrowed herself into it, small and round, she fit in the crook of his arm as he bared his teeth and ripped apart those wispy shapes that came to devour her. Time could not be measured as he defended her again and again. And she slipped in and out of consciousness before falling again into a silent oblivion.

B awoke. The fire was merrily crackling casting an orange glow in the darkened room. A large rat lay curled up in front of the fire, fast asleep. B slowly swung her legs off the bed. They felt stiff and cold. Her boots were gone. Her clothes were gone. She found that she was wearing a white long shirt with three quarter length sleeves.

Quietly stepping past the sleeping animal, she tiptoed to the cabin doors and walked outside.

The air was cool and calm. Trees whispered in the distance as B walked towards them. In her path lay large trees with scowling faces. Long sharp pinching branches that reached for her as he approached. B observed them as they seemed to growl and snarl at her. She stepped on their soil. And to her surprise, they ripped up their roots and stepped back. The snarling stopped. The growling quieted and they cleared a path for her to walk.

And as she did so, she saw the woods with new eyes. In the pitch black, she could see the bats roosting in the highest branches, she could hear the cockroaches scuttling in the underbrush and she could hear the spiders, hissing their greeting to her. Her bare feet, no longer cold, walked through the dark wood with a calm command. The pale moon riding high peered down at her as she walked deeper and deeper into the woods and she felt his measured approval. There she saw ghostly figures gliding in and out of sight. It wasn’t long before she approached the cabin again as if she never left.

The door open as she left it, but the rat standing on its hind legs, was in the doorway. It observed her with sharp bloodshot eyes, before disappearing inside. B took a deep breath and looked back at the trees that glared at her. She turned away. And as she approached the cabin, she took one more look at the woods whose eyes bored into her soul.

What was hungry before now watched her with curiosity. She smirked as she turned her back on the largest tree and closed the cabin door.

The End