Magenta Monster

Jessy and her mother opened the door of The Old Bakery and crunched their way through the foot or so of snow. They went up the steps to the Lawn behind the Mill and began to collect the snow to make a snowman. Jessy was excitedly instructing were the snowman should go but her mother was struggling, she didn’t really like the lawn bit of the garden. It gave her the ‘willies’ at the best of times but the snows blinding half light made things worse, with the sound of the waterfall whispering around her.

If she dwelt to much on that then her imagination would spark and that was not a good thing in a property as old as this one. She’d been the one drawn here though collecting its history – the lawn had been the Mill pond.

Jessy was calling to her, obviously her attention had wandered, she assembled the snowman in Jessy’s exact spot. The four year old was most adamant that the snowman had to be there and got upset that it was too tall so being the mum she was it got shortened.

They dug out some stones from under a bench and used a long dead feather lilac flower for the nose. Jessy’s mum looked at it and shuddered. It was awful, scary as hell but Jessy was bouncing about it. ‘You like your snowman do you?’

‘Snow-girl mummy!’ she insisted.

Jessy’s mum felt very cold, ‘lets go get hot chocolate.’ she said ushering the two of them in away from the snowman.

Later Jessy’s dad shrugged at the snowman, ‘looks freaky.’

‘She doesn’t!’ said Jessy upset, ‘she’s my friend!’ the parents looked at each other.

Then when they were putting her to sleep Jessy asked them when the snow-girl would come alive and come into the house. Thinking of the snowman story, they pandered. ‘Maybe tonight,’ shivered Jessy’s mum.

Later on when they themselves where in bed they really wished they hadn’t, there was a rattle and a thump – dressing rapidly they scrambled onto the landing expecting burglars. Jessy was stirring in her bed. They got to the stairs; the snowman’s miss-matched eyes looked up at them.

Where Jessy’s mum had made a groove for its mouth it split and tried to talk, but the language sounded brittle and like Shakespeare. They understood the gist of it, scared Jessy’s mum began down the stairs, ‘Elizabeth no!’ her husband shouted.

‘But Daddy’ Jess said from his side, ‘Catherine just wants to come home and be with her mummy.’

Jessy’s mum stood and looked at the snowman with its misshapen head, ‘would.. would you like to sit by the fire?’ she asked swallowing hard. It nodded, she lead it to the living room. It seemed confused but settled down. Jessie’s daddy closed the door and stared.

Jessy got some toys out and to her parents surprise begin to play with the monster.

The parents watched as the snowman slowly became a puddle socking their little girl who held a mostly one sided conversation with the thing. Finally it was too much for Jessy’s mother, ‘Jessy tell your friend goodnight and go get some dry pyjamas on!’ Reluctantly the child left. The snowman stared at Elizabeth forlornly. ‘G.. goodnight Catherine’ she stammered and to her own surprise covered it up with the throw from the settee, ‘that should warm you up’ she said.

On their way up the stairs Jessy’s mum began to cry, ‘its been so cold and alone’ she whispered. The door banged open once more and the two parents turned in dread, the smell of fresh baked bread wafted over them and a timber voice hovered in the air, the same Shakespearean tongue but they understood what it meant, ‘I told you she’d find her way home mum,’ and then the breeze was gone and the door closed firmly behind it.

…..

The New Bakery languished in the snow drift as the young man of 15 made his way with hand cart through the wall of snow, there was bread to deliver and later there would be provisions to bring back for the Bakers and Millers across the way. The set up worked well on the water from the stream, he snorted, if the ice lingered much longer the river would freeze and they’d be reliant on the stored flour. He huffed up the hill, ‘Thomas! wait for me!’ came the high little voice of his sister.

‘Go home Catherine its too cold out.’

‘I can make it! I can be helpful! Please?’ she begged, her eyes on him, large with hope.

‘No back to the Bake House!’ he demanded. He heard the resignation in her voice and stop to check, she would be safe back in the house soon and he wouldn’t have to worry about were a miserable 8 year old was.

Catherine skipped in the snow, powdery clouds bloomed around her and her thick skirts made a strange trail behind her she seemed to like the snow.

He sighed and continued his cold boring journey at least there was a tavern in the village and another on the high road that lead to the cities.

It was getting dark by the time he returned, brushing the snow off his boots he could smell the bread baking, the door opened, ‘Yes Catherine I’ll tell you all about it!’ he said almost crossly but mostly amused.

‘Is she not with you?’ came his mothers voice, tight and frightening, Thomas looked up from his boots and straightened shaking his head, his stomach leaping.

His mother yelled and his dad stomped down the stairs and Dudley came out of the bellows house. They were all focusing on Tom. ‘I… I told her to go back at the end of the lane this morning.’ His mothers paleness told him everything. ‘I’ll go to the Millers! She’ll be back probably just playing’ he said turning back into the snow.

Posted: Friday, January 8th, 2010 @ 11:23 pm
Categories: Uncategorized.
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