At first, when they arrived, there was an air of curiosity around them. An hour ago, they’d known exactly what to expect. Grandma would be laying out cups and saucers for the mourners. The teapot with the cracked spout would make an appearance. But here they were. In the palm of the creator, at the end of their chapter. A string of pearls on the brink of collapse. The intake a sharp chord plucked from a single breath. Nightfall would incite a hailstorm of depleted stars. The grandfather clock echoed the witching hour. Grief stood at the door with a stretched hand.
“Please, come with me…”
….
The words hung…
…with finality.
The teapot had made an appearance, but not in quite the way expected. Instead of being used to dish out tea and condolences and comfort, it had sat in the middle of the room with no Grandma to put it into action. Just a silence that drowned their eardrums. Had them wondering where the… last amount of time…had gone.
Then she came, and here they were. Grandma was ready for them now, as she ushered to the outside air beyond the door, teapot in hand. They had been reunited, and she looked different. Glowing, light, un-aging…deathly. “We’re going to get some tea, I’ve run out. Your Mother would have wanted her family to be comfortable in such times.” She lined her finger down the edge of the teapots crack.
She stepped out into the nightfall, and they followed, Grandfather clock chiming them off.
The air was intense, what a strange mix of sorrow, anger and loss. These are the usual feelings of grief, but with a sprinkle of bitter sweet deceit. My eyes had stayed solely on the back of grandmas head, her salt and pepper hair in a neat bun, wiry and yet soft. Every single thing in this room seemed to be contradictory, even grandma. Of course she would have known, all these years, she must have known… but you wouldn’t think it, she is so composed, then again, maybe that’s just her character. Her strong shoulders must have felt so heavy all these years, I’m feeling all the feelings, all at once, it is all just racing, and I am trying not to ping-pong from one perspective to another. Empathy, rage, hurt, betrayal, happiness… how can it be so interlinked? My gaze now follows the calming slow movements of this old ladies feet, in those slippers, faux fur lining the rim of the suede, short steps, shuffling along to meet the corner armchair, that has always been grandmas chair. My emotions are so raw, and confused, my thoughts are on overdrive in a chaotic loop, how could Mum do this to us? I can’t even comprehend or fathom how she could have even managed it.
I’m still fixated on grandmas feet, she’s now fully seated, on the old fashioned red velvety armchair, silence sweeping coldly through the room for what feels like a century. I’m building my courage internally to look up.. 1,2,3, okay, I’ll count down again from 5, not that swapping the numbers about or adding on a few is going to make any difference.
I land on the one with the familiar waives of dark auburn hair. I thought I recognised her when she approached me the day of the storm at the book shop two months ago, I had greeted her just like any other customer, apart from my facial expression, which was almost accusatory.
It’s raining now, I can feel the wind howling, battering against the windows of this small otherwise peaceful cottage. I raise my head and meet her glassy celadon and sage eyes piercing into my skin, I imagine quite possibly a mirror image mimicking mine on that grey afternoon. The realisation hits me like a soothing slap, I also have central heterachromia, so does Joshua, Evelyn and Zachary, as does Mum. So did Mum.
The wind began howling even stronger, and the rain was pouring so hard that you couldn’t see through it. We all stared at each other, not knowing how to proceed. She didn’t tell us the next step to continue with this meeting of strangers. We all stared at her, waiting.
I could feel the draft coming from beneath the floorboards, the howls began to get louder and deeper as they were vastly approaching , the door started to shudder and I could hear the screws parting from their hinges, with every thud I could see the clay particles falling from the cracks in the teapot sat on the coffee table infront of grandma.
I got up from my chair and looked out the window. The storm was surrounding us now and we were sitting ducks in this broken down cottage, the windows creaked and the glass slowly cracking, I looked back to see the horror in everyone’s eyes. ‘We need to barricade ourselves in and stay low, Grandma stay down here’ I pointed to a small cellar door, it wasn’t big enough for all of us but the others found different hiding places, we could now hardly hear one another. the storm was on top of us, windows bursting and glass flying through the air, I caught grandma’s eyes as she peered out of the cellar door, believing this was the last time I would see her I shouted ‘ Grandma, what was it you wanted us to know!?’ Holding on for dear life to the leg of the dining table.
Grandma didn’t reply and the howling was now suffocating, the roof blew off with such force leaving us fully exposed and vulnerable, a loud static noise pierced our ears and everything seemed to go in slow motion, I saw my siblings heads tilt back with abruptly as if someone had a yanked them back and a bright yellow beam shot from their eyes into the night sky, terrified, I caught a final glimpse from grandma who mouthed the words ‘you only have each other’ before my head flung back and my eyes blinded by a yellow light.
As my head was forcefully yanked back, a sharp jolt of panic shot through me, my muscles tensing involuntarily. The night air rushed past my ears, mingling with the sound of my own rapid breaths. The blinding yellow light flooded my vision, searing through my eyelids even as I squeezed them shut, leaving behind an eerie glow that danced behind my closed eyes, like a haunting afterimage.
With my eyes clamped shut, I gasp for breath as my body convulses violently. A soothing warmth caresses my skin, contrasting with the chaos engulfing me, as if a gentle hand tries to comfort amidst a tempest. Amidst the swirling debris, I feel weightless, untethered from the relentless pull of gravity.
My limbs twist and contort in the air, a dance of agony amidst the swirling fragments that gnaw at my flesh like voracious beasts. Each bite sends a surge of pain coursing through me, painting the scene with hues of torment. Amid the chaos, a faint light flickers in the distance, drawing my gaze through the haze of pain. Each shimmering pulse seems to beckon, promising respite from the relentless assault.
With what strength remains, I muster a weary crawl towards it, driven by the hope of sanctuary. The fragments’ sharp edges carve symbols of survival into my skin, marking each inch gained towards salvation. The light shines through the glass panel of a door, an ordinary office door, and pours out from the gap that surrounds it. I reach my hand out, my knees a bloody mess—cut to ribbons—but I shuffle on. One, two, one, two, almost there, I can nearly reach it. My heart pounds in my throat. One, two, one two. Fingers millimeters from making contact with solid familiarity, there’s a clunk and everything goes black.
The darkness is almost thick enough to cut with a knife. There are no more hints of light in front of me at all. Where do I go from here? I reach out frantically, looking for a handle or something to pull myself up with. Nothing tangible appears to my seeking hands. Despite the pain in my bloody knees, I move forward, my hands still seeking something, anything, to pull myself up.
The darkness is now silent, and I have no idea if one person or numerous people are surrounding me. I pause and listen for a sound to guide me in the darkness. Still, nothing makes itself known. I move forward again. I touch something solid, and my hands roam the surface, trying to recognize what is blocking my way. Suddenly there is a loud scream and I know that I am not alone in this place. I turn toward the sound.
Nothing. There’s nothing there. But I know I have to go to where the noise is. Somehow I drag my body along the floor, still crawling, even on raw knees. I should try to stand but it’s too much.My hands need to search my path, contact with the floor feels safer somehow. Silence. Silence is louder than a scream.
I run into something solid. As I run my hands up the object I get a splinter in my finger. The item is wood and feels like a table or chair leg. I use my arms to pull myself up to a standing position. Wobbling, I stand there and try to see what’s in front of me. My vision is slowly returning, but it is still blurry and I cannot see more than a few feet in front of me. From where I stand, I am alone, but I hear noises in the room so I know I am not completely alone. Someone is here with me. I am out of breath from crawling along the floor from the other side of the room. My knees are stinging and I strain to see as my vision is starting to clear a bit more. “Help me,” I say to whoever is in the room with me, but there is no answer.
I strain to make out their silhouette in the dimness, my heart pounding louder than my words. After a tense moment that stretches into eternity, they step forward cautiously, their footsteps echoing softly on the floorboards.
Their voice, when it finally comes, is barely a whisper. “What happened to you?”
I struggle to explain, the words catching in my throat. “I… I don’t know. I was… I was attacked. I need… I need help.”
They hesitate, uncertainty flickering across their face. But then, with a decisive nod, they reach out a hand. “Come on,” they say gently, “let’s get you out of here.”
I’m perplexed and my vision is blurry. I’m trying to fathom the order of events to somehow make sense of what has happened. I’m almost blindly following this gentle hand, at least I feel like it was gentle, caring, someone to trust, I’ve lost my senses but I believe in my instincts right now. I guess that’s all I have. There are little dots on the edges of my field of vision, and the centre is a giant smudge. I know it was a hand that gestured towards me, even if I couldn’t see it. There is a deep trust is my gut, I can’t place it, a similar familiarity, almost like I had felt when I first saw that amber hair in the shop that day.
I trip over something, something solid, but warm, what on earth was that. Did the storm breakthrough the walls? What was that wind that rushed past my face and the light? Was that a tornado? Is this some kind of animal beneath my feet, or, or, was it one of us in that room?
“Don’t worry dear, you’re alright,” she guides me to move forward. I feel hair brush against my face, in the slight breeze, is that a door she opened, is that where the air came from? I can see the outline of her silhouette, slim, round shoulders, petite, so familiar. I try and focus my eyes on to the waives of her hair, long deep red hair, just like Mum used to have. I quiver ever so slightly and slow my step. “Mum, is that you.”
“You know it is”, the voice replies, warmly, but firmly. I slowly shift my gaze down from her hair to her eyes, and sure enough, she is my mother.
Her eyes… like mine. It is only then that I allow myself to believe. She is saying something, but I have crumpled into her, eyes closed and motionless. Hers is not the only voice I here as I drift away. My questions would have to wait.
More hands are touching me, picking up limbs. I can’t help them to move me. I am like a toddler who has dropped to the floor, floppy, and resisting being picked up. But I want to go with them. More hands now on my boneless arms and legs, then under my back. Powerless, I am removed.
I had never felt so unsafe, but I needed to trust in these people, whoever they were.