Page 23 of Fragile Wicked Things

Eleven

W hen I was five years of age, I witnessed my mother's murder.

We avoided the workhouses, instead staying in a one-room apartment where the kitchen's flame sat near our bed, and we had to worry about fire, not just in our room but from those around us.

There wasn't much food, and most days, we had to be content with dry bread that we dipped in unclean water.

My mother worked as a laundress, and customers didn't always pay; other times, they couldn't spend more than a shilling for her hard labor.

We fell on hard times often, but my mother managed to put something on the table for us to eat.

Sometimes we didn't have enough firewood to keep warm.

It became worse, much worse when we were evicted from our room and pushed out onto the street to beg.

Although I was a child at the time, people still didn't take pity on me and would respond in a gruff manner to my mother.

Winter approached, and for the first time, I saw fear in my mother's eyes and sorrow because she couldn't care for me.

We knocked on many doors looking for work, my mother begging to do any menial task as long as it would provide for us and we didn't require much. On good days, people took pity on us and gave us something, anything, but most of our days were filled with hunger and cold and weariness.

We walked along the River Thames, past a chapel and houses that leaned close together, so close that they allowed for hidden nooks and crannies.

We would stay there until a homeowner found us and threatened us, throwing rocks our way.

One night, the wind whistled past us as we cowered in a doorway of an abandoned building.

We couldn't find our way in, which would have eased our situation. The cold ate away at my toes.

People shuffled up and down the alleyway, either on their way home or trying to find shelter. As time passed, fewer people were about. Those who had a home to go to knew better than to stay on the streets at night.

"Stamp yer feet to keep warm," my mother said.

I made such a noise tapping in the cold of that alleyway, the sound of which traveled down towards an unwelcome evil.

"There you be!" A man jumped out of the darkness at us. I screamed.

"Leave us," my mother said.

He stood there and I heard another voice call out to him, asking him what he'd found.

Then there were two men upon us. The first man had no front teeth, and above was a large, broken nose, no doubt due to a brawl or two.

The second man had all his teeth, but they were blackened, his clothes unwashed, and his fingernails sooty; he probably had some work recently shoveling coal.

My mother didn't like the way they looked at us and hid me behind her.

"Please, we are poor and 'ave nothin."

"Knows what kind hides in alleys," the coal man said, smiling.

"We seekin' shelter is all," my mother said.

The men laughed. I had begun to cry.

"Stop yer snivelin'. Where's yer purse at?"

"I 'ave no money. Can't yer see us starvin'?"

The first man grabbed at my mother's small purse wrapped around her wrist, but she wouldn't let go.

Finally, the man pulled at it until the string ripped.

He peered inside, disappointed to find a sixpence.

In anger, he grabbed my mother, and asked her where she'd hidden her money while his hands roamed over her body, and in her struggle, she kicked and scratched him.

He jumped back, touched his hand to the wound above his eye and stared at the blood on his fingers.

"You li’l wench!"

The coal man stood behind her and put his dirty hand over her mouth. She sunk her teeth into his fingers until he screamed and let go.

"Yer a bad 'un," the coal man said.

He had a look in his eye—one of rage, of desire, of resolve—and I remained so focused on his eyes that I paid little attention to the glint he held in his hand until he brought it towards my mother and sliced open her throat.

She reached up with both hands to close the great wound to her neck, but the blood gushed out, and she fell to her knees, producing gurgling sounds as she hit the ground with a thump.

"Mama," I cried.

The men turned my way, descending on me as I stepped back into the shadows, pressing myself against the building so I could disappear into it.

The murderous fiend held the bloodied knife up, and his smile widened.

The other grabbed me, and knocked my head against the brick wall, rendering me semi-conscious as I dropped to the ground.

By all accounts, I should not have survived that night.

My eyes opened and shut, fighting against the loss of consciousness.

When I opened them again, struggling, I saw the men standing near me, bent over, reaching out to me to do harm.

Behind them, a figure rose out from the steamy alleyway, and one of the men disappeared, ripped right out from where he had been standing.

His nails dug into the ground as he was dragged away, his cries piercing the night.

Whatever took him growled and tore at the man as he screamed out vile things to the creature.

The coal man picked up a copper pipe and swung it over his head to strike at the beast, but when he swung his arm, it stopped firm in mid-air by the creature.

The coal man was then lifted high in the air and thrown across the way; the animal pounced on him.

I closed my eyes. In the distance, I heard the screams of the man being torn to shreds.

My mother hadn't screamed. My mother. Where could she be?

I opened my eyes in search of her, but my head hurt when I tried to move it.

I shifted a bit until I found her figure slumped over on the ground.

I wanted to call out, but couldn't do that either.

Where did the animal go and would it come for me next?

The attackers were dead, and the creature now approached me from the darkness.

It stood over me and something dropped on me, landing on my forehead, and when I wiped it away, I stared at the blood smeared on my hand.

Blackness overshadowed me. The creature bent over and scooped me up in its arms. Something handled me, lifting me up to safety, gently, in a most tender fashion.

In the darkness, I could not see the creature's face.

It bounced me up and down as it walked the rest of the alleyway and put me into a carriage.

Someone else there helped it, then shut the door.

I heard footsteps climb onto the driver's bench seat to steer the horses and we were off.

The carriage hurried down the streets of London, jostling me to alertness.

The windows were covered in heavy, black fabric, so I could not see out.

I swayed against the creature's chest, its arm still around me to keep me close and support me in a sitting position.

I placed the palm of my hand against its chest and waited for the rise and fall of its breath.

The wait was long, and I closed my eyes, giving in to exhaustion.

* * *

I awoke with a start from a frightful nightmare and, with my throat sore, could not call out to my mother.

Twisting the blanket tight in my hands, I curled up on the sofa.

I didn't know where I was. The room was large with pointed arches, a two-story high fan-vaulted ceiling and a fireplace near me shaped like a tomb.

Light from several gas lamps illuminated the faces of noblemen and noblewomen in paintings, the flames flickered, inflicting a distortion on their faces, making them out to look like creatures.

Each time I turned to another painting, I stared at another horrific image and gasped.

My head ached and when I tried to lift myself up, the room spun and my head fell back onto a pillow.

A door opened and slammed shut in another room, followed by voices in the corridor just outside the room where I lay in.

A man and woman argued. Her voice was harsh and the coldness to her sound filled me with terror, while his words revealed his exasperation.

They moved into the room and she was so engrossed in the argument, that she didn't notice me.

She had brought a coldness into the room that sent a shiver through my body when only moments before the temperature had been warm.

Now I could see my breath. The woman held a riding stick in her left hand, tore her hat from atop her red hair, tossed it on a chair, and brought her hand high in the air and whipped the stick down hard on the hat.

The wood whizzed through the air several times and she didn't stop until the hat lay there crumpled.

Overcome by fear, I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep.

"What do you have there, Edward?" Her voice had calmed down, a hint of intrigue in her question and her satin gown rustled as she approached me. "Is she for me?"

"The poor girl just lost her mother," said the man she had called Edward.

"She's alone then? No one's going to miss you.

" She sang the last bit to me. There was a breeze near me as she bent over, and then a coldness came over my body when the blanket lifted from my tiny frame.

Despite her closeness, I couldn't detect her breath, and on my cheek, felt the flicker of her tongue.

Her dress rustled some more, and she let out a wail as she was yanked away from me, no doubt at the hands of Edward.

"No harm is to come to her," he said.

The red-haired woman laughed. "My, my, my, such a heroic gesture.

Or does Edward want the little plaything all to himself?

What is it you want, love? Another child like when you were one of them?

" The sweetness in her voice disappeared, replaced by a deep hunger when she said, "She smells delicious. "