A random Monday …


The key clinked in the lock with its usual finality. Mamma was going out again. Her voice came from the other side of the door. “Finish your grammar lesson and the next chapter of your reading book while I’m gone, Alice. I’ll be back soon.” The clack of her heels retreated and clattered down the stairs. Soon the taxi would pull up at the door and I’d be alone in the house once again. I stepped to the window, clasping the bars and glaring out at the barren fields behind the house. Nothing moved, not a bird, not a blade of grass. Just the same dull view I’d been staring at for years.

I paced the bare floorboards, going corner to corner, from my grimy mattress in one corner to my ancient school desk opposite, from the doorless built-in closet to the far corner with its chamber pot and roll of toilet paper and can of lavender spray. I paced fast and furious, until my muscles ached and sweat chilled on my forehead.

It took less than an hour to finish the grammar and the chapter, and soon I was back at the window again. I picked at the wood around the metal that kept the window firmly nailed closed. I stopped when I broke a nail. Mamma might miss what I’d been doing to the window, but she wouldn’t fail to notice bloody fingers. I hid the jagged fingernail under my mattress and lay down, carefully nibbling to smooth the broken nail.

I went back to my book. It was about a girl like me, my Mamma had said. Soon to be a teenager, with no father, and living in the country. That’s where the similarities ended. The girl went to school and was popular, had annoying brothers and a sweet little sister. She enjoyed numerous adventures and was never locked in her bedroom. She was kind. She’d be my friend, I think. It was an old-fashioned book. She attended a one-room schoolhouse and was the schoolmarm’s favorite and helped her with the younger children. The book was so old, the girl would be dead by now if she was a real person. I lay on my mattress, inserting myself into the story. She invited me to sit next to her at school and became best friends. We went climbing trees and jumping streams together. I met her naughty puppy and her kindhearted mother. I woke to Mamma unlocking the door and hurriedly took the woolen blanket out of my mouth before she noticed, wiping my mouth to remove any tell-tale strands before she got the door open. I told myself I wasn’t hungry.

*     *     *
An endless Tuesday …

Mamma lay on her couch near the fire, reading her book, playing with a strand of her greying hair. I sprawled on the other couch—the one in front of the bay window—pretending to work on equations. Through a tiny chink in the voluminous drapes, the girl from the opposite house would whizz by on her cherry-red bike, then disappear for long minutes before appearing again, speeding by in the opposite direction. It was cold outside, and she wore a puffy yellow jacket and, over her russet curls, a bright blue wooly hat. I watched her, a split second at a time, a blur of color imprinting itself on my brain like a photograph. Mamma had panicked when the girl and her mother had moved in, and it had taken everything I had to persuade her it wasn’t necessary to nail the drapes closed. I promised not to spy on them. Why would anyone move to this sad little cul-de-sac of three houses, one old (theirs), one older (ours), and one falling down (no-one’s), a quarter of a mile down a pot-holed road, no bus service to the town? Just the beautiful big, yellow school bus that picked her up and dropped her off during the week. I’d only seen it twice. Mamma had put me in my room—morning and afternoon—after the first day. There had been a couple of other children on the bus, and though I’d tried not to stare at them longingly, something about my face as I’d looked at them had scared her. She’d closed the drapes with a panicked flourish and kept them that way ever since. I squinted down at my unfinished equations and counted the seconds until I could look up and see the girl go by on her bike. “Time to do your chores,” Mamma said, not lifting her eyes from her book.

I swept and mopped the entire downstairs, then Mamma put me in my room while she fixed dinner. I worked on the nails in the window. I’d never get through the bars, but at least I might be able to crack the window and breathe in a bit of the outside world. Dinner was a pile of half-cooked meat, grey vegetables, and stale bread. As it always was. “An early night?” Mamma suggested afterwards. I accompanied her as she checked the locks on the refrigerator and the food cupboards, the windows and doors. She kissed me goodnight on my forehead, her lips soft and kind. The key turned in the lock, and she left me alone in the cold dark once again. I listened as she locked her own door and to the sound of her bustling around as she got ready for bed. I didn’t need light to pace. So, I did, keeping my steps silent, so I wouldn’t worry Mamma. I paced until the first light of day broke over the uncaring fields. And then I waited for the sound of the school bus turning around in the cul-de-sac and imagined the little girl getting on, tossing her hair as the other children greeted her. I chewed on my hair, being careful not to make it slimy. Because Mamma would notice. She noticed nearly everything.

*     *     *
A weird Wednesday …

Poor Mamma wasn’t feeling well. She said her head hurt and her body ached and she kept sneezing and coughing. I quite enjoyed playing nurse. I’d read a book ages ago about a girl who was a nurse during wartime, and so I knew what to do. I carefully wiped her hot head with a cold rag and fetched her cups of water and pretended I knew how to take her pulse. She smiled weakly and thanked me for all my attentions, but she was scared and I could tell. She locked me in my room when the meat delivery arrived and then never came back up to let me out. I paced and worried about her for hours.

When she came up to bed that night she brought me a flashlight, a pile of books, and some food. “I’m sorry, Alice,” she said. “I know it’s a lot of time in your room, but I was having a hard time staying awake. I couldn’t keep an eye on you.” I wanted to complain, but she looked so sick and tired and worried. I remembered she’d looked like this before. Long ago, when we lived in the house in the woods. Something terrible had happened to poor Mamma and we’d had to move. She had cried and it scared me. She’d never cried before or since. But now she looked close to tears. I smiled reassuringly and thanked her for the books, told her I wasn’t really hungry. That worked. She relaxed a little, stroked my cheek, told me I was a good girl. She locked the door, and I devoured the food she’d brought me. I was still hungry afterwards.

*     *     *
A desperate Thursday …

She left me in my room all day and all night. I don’t think she even got out of bed. I knocked on the wall and called to her, but there was no response. I worried that she had died in her sleep. Or, maybe, was she just sick and sleeping so heavily she couldn’t hear me? I pressed my ear to the wall and listened. Nothing. Not a snore or a cough or anything. By the end of the day my chamber pot was overflowing and I was out of toilet paper. I was so hungry, so thirsty. So lonely. And so worried about Mamma. It was with relief that I finally heard a sudden coughing fit from her room. But she still didn’t respond when I tapped on the wall and called to her. I chewed on my hair and blanket. I scraped my fingers bloody on the nails in the window sill. I stared at the full moon as I clasped the bars.

It was so unfair! I tried to be good all the time. I never really complained. Mamma only wanted to keep me safe, I understood that. But I was hungry, so hungry. And lonely. I just wanted a friend. One friend! I just wanted to be able to go outside occasionally to breathe some fresh air. Why did Mamma have to be obsessed with safety? I was so hungry that my stomach cramped. Why must everything be locked all the time? Why, when I asked, on the rare occasion I got up the courage, did she just reply that it wasn’t safe?

*     *     *
Friday …

She left me in my room all day, the stench of the chamber pot and my aching belly making me feel ill. I finished the books she’d brought me about good little girls that did what their mothers told them. No wonder they found being good so easy. Their mothers didn’t lock them in their bedrooms for days on end. I ate some of my blanket, not even caring that Mamma would be upset. I peed in the corner of my room like an animal. I thought of the ring of keys my Mamma kept constantly on her. She jingled when she walked. But now there was only silence and locked doors and hunger pangs. I thought of Mamma’s grey, tired face. Was she dead? Would I die, too, alone in this stinking room with its barred window and locked door?

*     *     *
Saturday …

“Don’t be angry, Alice,” Mamma said through the door. She unlocked it slowly, as if she might change her mind. She opened the door slightly and her pale face appeared. She looked terrible. I swallowed the saliva in my mouth and sat up onto the edge of my mattress.

“Are you feeling better, Mamma? I was worried about you.”

She gave a tight little smile and eyed me nervously. “Not quite a hundred percent, but able to get out of bed, at least.” I stood up and she flinched backwards.

“You look very tired, Mamma. Perhaps you should lay on the couch with a blanket and I’ll take care of you.”

Mamma smiled properly this time. “You’re such a good girl.” We left the room and started going downstairs, with Mamma clinging to the banister. Her legs seemed a little wobbly. I helped her down and onto the couch and fetched her a blanket. I wiped her sweaty forehead and brought her a cup of water. She stroked my hair and told me I was behind on my work, that I should study the geography chapter and do the quiz while she rested. “I’ll make you some food soon. Just need a little rest first.”

My stomach ached as I watched her, as I waited. She only managed a few pages of her book before her eyelids fluttered closed. I stood over her, resisting the urge to stroke her face. Even in sleep she looked tired and worried. My own dear, crazy Mamma. I pulled her blanket down gently and carefully extracted the keys from her pocket, holding them tight in my fist so they wouldn’t jangle.

*     *     *
It was early, but she was already outside on her pretty red bike. She stared at me as I crossed the road towards her. She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was looking at. “Nice bike!” I said.

“Thanks,” she replied, her eyes round and excited.

“I’m visiting my aunt, but she’s still sleeping.” I gave her a shrug and a quick smile, ignoring the hunger pangs. This was so much more important. I took a huge breath of the cold air and enjoyed the feeling of the frosty sun on my face. “I’m Alice. Wanna play?”

“My mom is still sleeping, too.” She grinned and got off her bike. “Wanna go into the fields and see if we can find rabbits? I see them sometimes.”

I nodded and followed her into the field. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and I stared at the back of her neck. Her skin was so pale, but I could almost feel her body heat. My stomach cramped as she turned towards me. She was saying something, but all I noticed was her pale skin and the throbbing heat of her blood, the smell of fresh, raw meat, and the sound of her pounding heart. My mouth watered. I caught up with her and then the last I remember were her startled eyes. No, I mustn’t lie. Mamma wouldn’t like it. I remember the first sink of my teeth into her flesh, the spurt of salty blood into my mouth, the first shock of savagery as I ripped her throat out … and then nothing. Until Mamma. Dragging me away, her sobbing, me growling, from the girl’s butchered body as the delicious flesh filled me. Mamma hitting me as she threw me into a cold shower, cursing herself, cursing me, scrubbing the sweetly-scented blood from my rejoicing body. Mamma, breaking down, crying bitterly, when we heard the agonized scream of a mother finding her daughter’s half-eaten body.

“It’s not safe for you to go outside, Alice. How many times must I tell you? It’s not safe!” She pushed me down, wrapped only in a towel, into the basement.

“I’m sorry, Mamma,” I said. “I don’t know why I did that ... to the girl.”

“You always do it,” she shrieked. “No matter how hard I try. You just wait and wait—” She opened a large trunk. “The police will come. Get in here. I’ll let you out when it’s safe.”

It was dark and cold in there, but my belly was full at least. Mamma locked the trunk and I started to cry, but I quickly forced myself to stop. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and poor Mamma was just trying to keep me safe. I heard her pile things on top of the trunk, hiding me, loving me. My own dear, sweet Mamma. She’d let me out eventually. I knew she would. I’m sure she will. After some time. When it’s safe.