Page 3 of Fragile Wicked Things

Two

N ight fell. We journeyed past a landscape of maple and birch trees bordering a winding, isolated road; a blast of chilly air blew in through the cracked window behind me.

Looking up, I sought out the Man on the Moon and found him, smile stretched from side to side.

Could it be an omen that good things would happen going forward?

Or he may have been laughing at me. Soon, his smile became obscured; the clouds hung low and heavy in the sky.

Rain was imminent, but it came sooner than I had anticipated.

We drove into a storm. The heavy rain pounded the windshield.

The headlights illuminated only a few yards ahead, and with the car windows becoming misty, Mr. Brocklehurst slowed down.

He leaned forward, wiping the windshield in large circles with his hands, then flicked the wetness from his fingers.

I turned to the window beside me, lifted my hand and wrote my name.

"Stop that," he said as I finished writing the 'N'.

A sign, 'Lowood Institute for Girls,' came into view, but I was to go to a home, not an institution.

The driveway that led to the property was bumpy, and twice the car fell hard into a deep hole, splashing muddy water up against the sides.

Mr. Brocklehurst parked, and I stepped onto an unkempt walkway, weeds protruding from the cracks.

The large two-story building stood in darkness and was not like a home at all; it looked dreary and ominous, its front door desperately needed paint, the grey brick dirty from years of neglect, and in the attic were three gabled windows.

Someone pulled a curtain back, startling me.

I sensed their eyes on me and I had listened to enough frightening stories to know ghosts can move inanimate objects.

I had yet to set foot inside and, already unnerved, muttered a prayer under my breath.

Mr. Brocklehurst handed me my bag and told me to go in. I tried the door handle.

"It sticks. Give it a good, hard shove."

I tried again, putting more strength into it, and the door gave way, almost throwing me in. The entrance may have been grand and inviting once, but now the staircase banister appeared nicked, and a musty odor lay heavy on me. The silence that filled the home seemed full of despair and heartache.

I followed Mr. Brocklehurst into a small, wood-paneled library off the entrance.

Most of the bookshelves lay empty. The roaring fire welcomed me on this cold, wet night.

Placing my bag on the floor near me, I held out my chilled fingers to its warmth, staring at them until my eyes tricked me into thinking they had caught fire.

"You can thank Mrs. Temple for that fire. She had it ready for my arrival. Mrs. Temple is the girls' caregiver. In all, we have seventy-four fine young ladies, or at least they will be fine young ladies once we've finished with them. Of course, some do get adopted."

"I won't get adopted."

"Are you that disagreeable, child?"

"My father won't leave me here."

Mr. Brocklehurst ignored my last statement, scratched the inside of his ear, and then thumped his dirty finger on a book sitting on his desk.

"Reverend Reed said you're a bright girl. What have you read?"

" The Secret Garden. Anne of Green Gables ."

"And you read these as part of your school curriculum? They seem too advanced."

"No, sir, by myself at home."

He huffed a little at my response that I didn't dare mention I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

"You'll discover soon enough that you must conform to the teachings at Lowood and don't take it upon yourself to look beyond what is acceptable."

I wanted to ask, "Acceptable to whom?" but a knock on the library door interrupted me. A slender woman entered, her hair pulled back in a bun, her clothes a uniform of a brown skirt and white-buttoned shirt. She seemed plainer than I had been, and I felt an immediate affinity for her.

"Ah, there you are, Mrs. Temple. Jane, you will be taken up to your room. Dismissed."

Belongings in hand, I followed Mrs. Temple out the door and up the stairs.

Along the staircase were photos of many girls lined up four rows deep with arms limp at their sides, not a smile between them, and eyes devoid of happiness.

On either side stood older women, their teachers, some not that much older than the eldest girls themselves.

The first photo was taken in 1921, and the number of girls grew with each year.

Mrs. Temple led me down a corridor at the top of the stairs, past several doors until she opened one at the end.

About twenty girls, ages seven to seventeen, were snuggled in their beds, their heads following me as I walked past. Four wards housed the building's two upper floors.

In the middle of the room stood a table where three older girls were seated, textbooks open in front of them, pencils in hand.

"It's late girls. Put your books away and off to bed," Mrs. Temple said.

A girl with dark, straggly hair slammed her book closed and walked past me, eyeing me as she got into bed. One by one, the bedside lamps were extinguished down the long row of beds, the older girls being the last to turn theirs off.

Mrs. Temple stopped and put her hand to her forehead.

"Silly me. Jane, would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry," I lied.

She guided me to the end of the row, to the bed closest to the window, and then turned the blanket down. As I approached her, she smiled at me.

"From now on, you'll be responsible for making your bed. Tomorrow, I'll have one of the older girls explain what is required of you. For tonight, just get some sleep."

When I retired into the lumpy bed, Mrs. Temple turned off the lamp beside me. I could see her silhouette in the moon's light as she walked down the aisle between the rows of beds and shushed a girl before closing the door behind her. I counted sheep to help me fall asleep. I got to ninety-two.

Odd dreams entered my head, understandable as I had buried my mother earlier that day and then found myself in a new place, sharing a bedroom with strangers.

My mind, furious at me for exhausting it, retaliated with unusual, dark dreams, placing me in a library I didn't recognize.

I took furtive steps towards a door cracked ajar.

A flickering light from a lamp streamed through the opening, and I set my palm on the cold wood.

My breath abated, my heart raced, and when I finally pushed aside the door, a demon came at me, fangs clamped on my neck, sinking deeper into my flesh.

I awoke in terror, panting and sweating.

Someone leaned over one of the girls a few beds over, and I stared, waiting for my eyes to adjust in the darkness.

The creature! He had followed me out of my nightmare.

I sat up, lifted the blanket and swung my feet over the side of the bed.

The creature did not see me as I edged towards it and remained hunched over the blond girl, mouth on her neck.

Still, I reached out with my hand to touch it, to see if it was real when suddenly it turned to me.

I awoke with a startle. The clanging sound of a morning bell followed.

The girls began to rustle, pulled back their bedspreads and whispered to one another.

No one looked at me except for the straggly-haired one, and I turned away.

I walked to a wardrobe beside me that bared my name, Jane E.

, on a piece of paper held up by tape, pulled out a charcoal uniform too big for my tiny frame, and hid behind the open door to dress.

Next, I carried my toiletry bag into the bathroom and waited for a free sink, which took some time.

I brushed my teeth and stared into the sink, never looking at the girls around me who still hadn't spoken a word to the invisible girl.

"Hurry girls. Jane, you're late. It's time for breakfast." Mrs. Temple stood at the entrance to the bathroom.

Famished, I ran into the ward, tossed my toiletry bag on my bed and caught up to the other girls.

Downstairs, next to the kitchen, we ate in a dark and gloomy room where plastic covered many windows, and I couldn't tell the time of day.

There were five communal tables, one table for each ward and another, a little smaller, for the teachers and caretakers.

Mrs. Temple hushed some of the older girls.

Other women entered. One was short, round and congenial looking, and I would later learn her name, Miss Smith.

The second woman, tall with hair dark like a raven, had puffy eyes as though she had been crying all night.

That was Miss Miller. Miss Smith stood and led the girls in a hymn I did not know but pretended to mouth the words anyway.

My head tilted down so no one would notice.

“Samantha, lead us in prayer." Miss Smith said.

The older girl with the scraggly hair stood.

"Bless us, Father, for this food we are about to eat, the beds provided, the clothes we wear, and the shelter over our heads.

Amen." Samantha sat down, but when Miss Smith cleared her throat, she stood again.

"And for the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Brocklehurst." The last bit didn't sound sincere to me, and I wondered, since God could tell too, would He still honor the prayer?

Two servants entered carrying trays of toast, eggs, and tea for the teachers.

I hoped for buttered bread as it would have been a luxury I didn't have at home, but when the servants were finished with the teachers, they came out with bowls for the girls, placing them at one end of the table for us to pass along.

"The porridge is burnt. Again," said the blond girl sitting opposite me. I remembered her from the night before when the creature in my dream hunched over her.