Down Below is Silence and Darkness

Gillian sprinted through the house, chased by her galloping siblings. The scent of dusty towels hit her as she opened the linen closet. She closed the door and cool darkness enveloped her. All she longed for was a moment’s silence.

Her army of brothers and sisters hooted as they thundered past. With her head in her hands, she waited. Soon, they would find her and drag her out into their noisy world.

In her best dreams, there was no sound. Fantasy to her was floaty nothingness. She often dreamed of walking a silent beach, utterly alone.

She had nine brothers and three sisters. She had nine sets of aunties and uncles who brought their own kids to their large house most nights. The loudest family in Pitlair and possibly all of Scotland – that’s what Gillian had been born into. A girl who’d love nothing more than to finish a book in sweet silence. The house clattered with noise at all hours.

The back of her head tapped against wood as she blew out a long breath. Footsteps pounded outside, breaking the line of light at the bottom of the door. She braced herself, ready to be dragged downstairs where the karaoke machine was already in full swing, and the parents glugged their drinks, shouting over the music to be heard.

Something rustled. The noise came from the corner of the luscious darkness. She leaned forward, straining her eyes.

A boy peered back at her.

She flinched, her elbow knocking into a pile of towels that tumbled over her.

The boy looked about eight, just like her. By the thin light that buzzed from under the door, she saw his cold, black eyes. His skin was dusted with something like grey ash. Atop his nest of hair, horn-like curls flicked at the air.

Gillian held her hand over her chest. Her heart pumped against her palm. “Who—”

“Shh,” the boy said, raising a finger over his mouth.

She wracked her brain. Was this some distant cousin she’d yet to meet? There were so many, it was hard to keep track.

“Who are you?” said Gillian, whispering. “Are you a . . . a bad thing?”

The boy’s voice was high and innocent, but laced with the buzz of an angry wasp. “We are all a little bit bad, aren’t we, Gillian?”

“I guess so.”

When she was frazzled, she often slapped or kicked her brothers and sisters, screaming at them to just leave her the flip alone. They swarmed around her every second of every day. She eyed the door, waiting for them to come find her.

“Silence awaits,” said the boy. “Just take my hand. Come down below.”

“B-below?”

“Down below is silence and darkness.”

“Silence . . .”

She breathed the word, tasting it. She had never experienced true silence before. Sitting here in this moth encased space was the most silence she'd enjoyed in months.

“I can take you with me,” said the boy.

“How do I get there?” she asked. “Quick, quick. Tell me.”

“You must do something bad.”

“Like, how bad we talking?”

“Bad enough to get his attention.”

“I—”

The door swept open. A lance of bright light stung her eyes as her brothers grabbed her. Bob and Albie wrestled her out into the light, yanking her by the pigtails. Through her flower-dotted leggings, the rough carpet burned her knees.

She pushed one of the laughing boys off and glanced to the closet.

It was empty.

The constant noise made her feel hollow. Her house, in the middle of their sad, broken street, teemed with bodies. It was a wonder no one went missing.

Saturday came and that meant one thing – another party. Even more people would cram the halls with their chattering and their booze.

She sucked it up the best she could, running and playing with her siblings until her forehead was all sweaty, hoping they wouldn’t hunt her down when she tried to sneak away later.

Had she dreamed up that ashen boy who hunkered among the clean towels? He hadn’t appeared to her since.

Do something bad, he’d said. But what to do? If she did something mega bad, she’d get a hiding. But the lure of peace sang within her.

She hid in the upstairs toilet, drawing a breath. She didn’t need to pee, but it’s how she recharged, if only for a moment or two. Already the tunes were pumping down the stairs and the doorbell ding-donged every five minutes letting in new partygoers. It was no use staying in here. A penny was all you needed to unlock it from the other side.

She’d never felt so alien. Her family were people people, and she thought life was hell. She couldn't keep up.

“Hey, Gilly poop-poop,” called Albie, knocking on the bathroom door. “You taking a massive dump in there? Ha!”

She sighed, then flushed the toilet and joined the throng of people and rampaging kids downstairs.

Bodies crowded the hallway, cackling and roaring with laughter. The false smile she’d stuck on her lips took everything from her. It took twenty minutes before she felt the walls closing in, zapped of all energy.

“Take me away from here,” she said to herself as she walked into the wall of noise that was the living room.

She could feel the blare of the music through the karaoke machine, the dead notes rattling her eardrums.

She bolted up the stairs. Someone grabbed her by the ankle. Her teeth clattered when her chin hit the step.

“Ow, watch where you’re going,” said Joy, the oldest sister.

“Off me!” said Gillian, kicking her ankle loose.

“Or what, bookworm?”

Gillian stood. She glared at her bigger, broader sister, then shoved her in the chest and ran upstairs, taking them two at a time.

Pamela, ten, was waiting at the top of the stairs, a waiting smile on her face. “Where you headed, Wordzilla? We not cool enough to hang out with?”

Gillian ran past her, heading towards their bedroom, knowing they wouldn’t leave her alone now until they got bored of teasing her or slapping her around.

Joy tackled her from behind. The air whooshed out of Gillian as they hit the floor. Joy flipped her over, driving her bony knees into her shoulders, pinning her arms to the floor.

“You like books, eh? How about I write one now?” Joy stabbed at her chest with pointy fingers, pretending she was pressing keys on a typewriter. “Blah, blah, blah. Boring words, blah.” Joy slapped her face. “Ding!”

Pamela stood on one of her pigtails. A rip of pain blazed along her scalp.

“I’ll tell Mum!” said Gillian.

“Ha,” said Joy, typing away. “Gotta find her first.”

Gillian squirmed under her sister. She brought her knees up, thudding them into Joy’s back.

“Right, you wicked trollops,” said Granny Lottie. “Get off that poor lassie.”

Joy gave her one last vicious poke in the chest before getting off her. Pamela giggled by Joy’s side and they both went thundering down the stairs, toward the noise.

“Thanks, Gran,” said Gillian, getting to her feet.

“Don’t you sweat it, dearie. Quiet wee girl like you in this house of ruffians. Must be terrible.”

“Aye, it is. I just want peace and—”

“But you’ve just got to get on with it. Grow a pair. Life’s gonna pass you by if you don’t dive in headfirst. Come back down the stairs like a good wee lassie. Face the music.”

“Suppose so.”

“That's my girl. Why you so quiet all the time? Like you don't even like us.”

“It's not that. I just . . . you wouldn’t understand.”

“No need to be quiet when you've got all this family around you. Life is people. I wish you’d just learn that, okay? Come on down with me and we’ll sing us a tune on the karaoke.”

Her gran shuffled her foot over the first step, her weighty flesh overhanging her ankles. The stairs protested under her as she stepped down.

Gillian watched her gran’s bulky form wobble back and forth as she struggled. One push. That would be enough of a bad thing, surely? That would buy her a one-way ticket to sweet, sweet silence.

“Down below is silence and darkness,” whispered Gillian.

“Eh?” Her gran turned, mid-step. She tried to grab the bannister and missed. “Woah, woah!”

Gillian shot forward and grabbed her arm, saving her from tumbling down the steps.

“Thank you, dearie,” said her gran. “Let’s get our sweet arses back to the party.”

Gillian stood in the apex of noise. In the living room, the party went full tilt. Every inch of space taken up by drinking adults or the kids zipping among them. The tangy smell of beer seemed to seep up from the carpet.

Auntie Bets leaned over and handed her a warm microphone. “Give us your usual.”

Gillian’s cheeks went red with fright. “Oh, no. Not—”

Countless eyes turned toward her. The track started its pedantic beat. She was trapped. She held the microphone so close to her mouth that her lips touched the cold, silver surface.

“One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow,” she started.

The crowd roared as she sang the song, clapping along. Never mind that she sounded like a squealing guinea pig, they loved when each of the kids performed.

When she was done, she felt dead inside. Energy used up. Cream-crackered to her soul.

“Ha, ha,” said Albie, pointing at her, “ya total singing fanny.”

Their dad slapped him across the ear. “Stop that, you. She gave it a good pelt.” He turned his slurred attention on her. “Well done, Pamela.”

“I . . .” Her dad forgetting which one she was hit her like a physical blow. The edges of her vision fizzled. She suddenly felt far away from herself.

“Dance time,” said Gran. “Time for some boogie arses. I'll show you how I used to make the boys crow.”

The room sprung back to life. Adults and kids bumped into her, almost knocking her over. A gap appeared at the centre of the room.

The boy stood. The last of the day’s light shone in through the window. His skin had looked grey in the closet, but now she saw it was tinged with blue.

Gillian’s stomach nearly came out of her arse. He coiled a smile at her. Everyone danced around them as she stared at the boy. Despite there not being enough room to sling a cat, they avoided him like a stink.

He raised his hand and snapped his bony fingers.

“What are—” said Gillian.

Everyone froze like statues.

It was quiet.

Her skin tingled with it. Something in her soul seemed to turn inside out. She basked in it.

“Down below is silence and—”

“Down where?” she said. “Take me. Please? I can't take it here anymore.”

All around her were the people she loved most, but she felt like an island here. A book lover. A library seeker. A silence craver.

“He needs you to do something bad,” he said again.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Show me.”

A smile broadened on his smooth face. It slithered across his cheeks like blue plasticine. “Kitchen.”

“Are you the de—”

“Kitchen.”

She manoeuvred her way through the busy hallway, past the frozen statues, careful not to touch any of them. Her aunt Cathy stood against the wall, looking down at her drink while her uncle Bert whispered in her ear. Her youngest brother Andy leaned into a corner, his eyes frozen wide, his hands covering his legs like he was about to pee his pants.

The party was in the kitchen. Smells of cigarettes and fruit punch filled the room as she tiptoed around the throng of people.

The boy with the plasticine face stood at the end of the counter, next to a glass punch bowl. Her socks stuck to the linoleum floor where the red punch had spilled over. She recognised the high smell of vodka and rum and opened spirits.

“Spike it,” said the boy.

“Spike it? Smells like it has all the booze in it already.”

He pointed to the cupboard beneath the sink. She went over and opened it, bringing out a large, plastic container. Liquid sloshed around inside visible behind the red warning crosses.

“This?” she said.

“Something to really get this party where it needs to be.”

“Won't that hurt them?”

“A bit.”

“I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“I can give you what you want. Silence. Darkness.”

She closed her eyes. In the quiet, she could hear herself think. It was bliss. The knot of tension that forever squirmed in her mind dislodged itself. Her skin prickled with relief.

“I don't want to hurt them, though,” she said.

“He needs a bad thing or he won’t let you in. Come on. It won't hurt much. Just a tummy ache is all. Why don’t you take some first? That way you'll see it'll be fine.”

“Oh, alright, then.”

The bright cap didn’t want to budge. Eventually, she wrestled it off. The pungent chemical smell hit her, catching her throat. It reminded her of day trips to the swimming pool where the whole family would seem to take over the building.

“Ugh,” she said. “If I put that in the bowl, they’ll notice for sure.”

He pointed to the glass bottles beside the large bowl. “Mix in our special ingredient. They’ll never know. Come on. It won’t hurt too bad. Then we can go to the down below.”

“Down below is silence and darkness.”

She poured in the liquid. It glugged into the bowl, thinning the bright red colour.

“More,” he said.

She emptied the bottle into the punch, then grabbed a random assortment of spirits and mixed them in. The red of the fruit juice brought the bowl to the brim.

“You first,” he said, handing her the ladle.

“Promise it won't hurt them?”

“It won’t. Go on. Down that cup. Do it in one.” His lips cracked as the edges of his mouth formed into the shape of a smile. “Quicker that way.”

“Alright, then. Here goes.”

The taste throttled her. Her face went red as it burned its way down. She held on to the thought of sweet silence that he’d promised. Stabbing pains in her stomach brought her to her knees.

She coughed up a line of blood that splattered the floor. A twisting heat gripped her brain. Her limbs gave up and she fell forward.

His gleaming eyes were the last thing she saw.

The dark seeped into her like a cold mist, settling about her shoulders. It was sweet and quiet and heaven. She felt no pain, no fire in her stomach. She stood in darkness – weightless, dreamy and utterly alone. Bliss.

It felt as if she walked through space, some ghostly being with nothing weighing her to the ground. The darkness seemed to breathe around her.

She cast her mind back to the bad thing she’d just done, praying that no one drank as much of that poison punch as she had.

“Hello?” shouted Gillian. “Is anyone there?”

Her screechy voice echoed back to her.

The silence washed over her, claiming her.

A man’s voice broke her peace. “Ehm, hello?”

“Uncle Bert?”

Another voice. “That punch sure packed a punch, ha, ha.”

More voices joined her, filling up the dark world.

“No! It’s not fair. You're not supposed to be here,” screamed Gillian, clamping hands over her ears.

The party continued down in the dark.