Day 188 – Look into My Eyes

Just to note…. not making any point, just telling a story. And quite a good one, if I might add.

Word count: 1048

“Dammit, what is it child? What do you want?”

The white ghostly child soon draped in a long white and muddy shirt at the end of the garden. Rain slashed faces and sliced through the thicket of trees and hedgerows where they stood. It was a grey day; bleak and a meandering coldness that seeped through the skin to form a steady growth of gentle sadness. Up in the sky, the clouds were embossed with black.

November in a little country village just twenty miles from Oxford; Mary lived with her husband and two teenage daughters. This afternoon she was alone, running the errands and scrubbing the dishes; loading the washing machine and escorting the dust from the shelves. It was another day in her every day dull life of looking after her family. Some days she enjoyed it, but as the miserable winters and long nights settled in her friends were less and less inclined to meet up for a glass of wine on the patio and drink the afternoons away. In the run up to Christmas, her husband Harry was working all the hours and her two girls were at that difficult age. Lonely would perhaps be too theatrical, but Mary did not at all feel entirely comfortable by herself.

Mary was drying the dishes when she first noticed the figure from the out of the corner of her eye. At first she passed it off as a strange tweak of light, but as the longer the figure remained on her retina, the more she convinced herself that it was not of her imagination or some trick of nature. In that same second she became simultaneously quite annoyed and quite threatened that someone had wandered into her garden. Setting the tea-towel down, she opened the back door and shouted for the figure to leave. When it refused to follow her instructions by standing quite still, she ventured out into the sodden garden and marched with ill intent towards the figure.

As she drew nearer, she realised that this figure was in fact a child; or at least child-like in height. Its back was turned away from her and it did not look round as she approached. Time and time again she asked the child to move, but it did not take heed. With its long, shaggy and unkempt hair, it appeared to not even hear the words she was saying. From what she could see, its skin was pale and it had scratches all the way across its forearms – most likely caused by climbing the wooden fence into the garden.

“I’m going to have to call the police if you don’t move,” she stammered out her threat, beginning to feel quite uneasy as the child’s creepiness swarmed the atmosphere.

The rain plummeted down further and the sun’s last rays seemed to be blackened out by the ominous clouds above. Mary’s feet, still in just her slippers, were soaked right through and a chill was shocking down her spine.

“I mean it, if you don’t turn around and explain yourself…” Mary found her speech faltering as she reached out a hand to grab the child.
Her jaw dropped when her hand could reach no further, but was still inches away from the child’s body. An invisible force was forcing her hand away from the child and then, shimmering into her head and through the clashing of the rain drops on the leaves and branches above them, a high pitched, husking voice.

“You cannot touch me,” it said.

Mary heard the words so intensely it felt as if they were being spoken directly to her brain.

“You cannot touch me, you cannot harm me. You do not have the right.”

Mary edged backwards as the child began to slowly turn around on the spot. Again and again the voice repeated in her head as the child slowly revealed itself to her. Centimetre by centimetre its face was unveiled, but no features were there to be seen. It was as if the face had been erased, wiped out or never created. Where the mouth and nose were there was nothing but skin: white, pure and pale skin with light blue veins etching across it like a labyrinth of streams. The eyes, however, were strikingly present. They were deep pools of hollowness, swallowing Mary’s gaze and inhaling her soul as if it were oxygen.

“No, no, no… no!” Mary screamed, unable to move and fear rifling through her body.

Its long, bedraggled hair falling over its face, the child crooked its neck to the side, “Do you remember me now?”

Mary shook her head.

“No, no you would not. You never knew me. You never knew me at all,” the child’s voice swam inside her head like a shark.

“Wh-who are you?”

“You did something bad; you did something that you regretted. So you got rid of it.”

Mary’s face whitened to that of the child’s, “No, no – it can’t?”

“Yes, yesss I am.”

Mary put her hand to her mouth and gasped for air, “No – I didn’t – I was young, I was young!”

“It’s me. Look. It’s your son. Look into my eyes. Look.”
Their hollowness encapsulated her, enwrapped her in a burning hatred and anger. She could not look away, she could not take her eyes from these black holes of pain and agony. The eyes she could not see, the mouth that had not form, the nose that had not the chance to grow…..

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know I couldn’t!”

“You knew. You lied. You lied.”

“I wasn’t sure of the dates – the doctor’s said it was alright!”

“Liar.”

“It can’t be you, it can’t be!”

“……………….murderer.”

“P-p-please,” she collapsed to her knees and begged for him to stop, “F-f-orgive me…”

“………………… Forgive you mother? Never.”
The boy melted into a blackness and swept around her like a cyclone. Circling her numerous times, it changed course and headed straight to the open back door. The door slammed in its wake and seconds later Mary was horrified by the sight she saw. In every window and looking right back out at her she saw him: the exact same pose, the exact same face; and those cold, bleak, black torrents of nothingness staring right back at her.

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~ by S.G. Mark on April 12, 2012.

One Response to “Day 188 – Look into My Eyes”

  1. agreed… quite good (whew). It’s important to look into a child’s eyes.

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