If anyone is reading this, reviews would be much appreciated. I shall worship the very feet of anyone who cares to review my humble fanfic, even if you just want to shout because I have crappy grammar, spelling, or whatever else. I just want to know if anyone is actually reading this. Pretty please with Lemon-Drops? This is my first story I've actually published, and I'd like to know what people think of it.


"Now, all you little orphans should take heed from little Jimmy's- his unfortunate demise." Pete raised his voice threateningly, but it was cracking with lack of sleep and sorrow. Not, of course, sorrow for Jimmy, but sorrow for the fact that his being there was wasting precious time he could be spending with his wife.

He flicked a hand at two ten-year-old boys, who automatically knew what to do. Whenever a boy was summoned at a burial, it came as a shock. They always shook, afraid of slipping and being punished, but it was always known what they had to do. The boys picked up the two spades lying next to the graves, and shovelled the earth back on top of the damp and wrinkled body of Jimmy Hooler.

He waited until the boys had scuttled back to the crowd. "None of you should ever play in bath tubs full of water, lest you meet the same fate as Jimmy. Now, let's all pray for his soul." He eyed the children as they knelt before the graves. He led them in prayer, picking out with his mind the ones murmuring the nursery rhyme instead of praying.

"One in fire, two in blood-" The words rang in Pete's head, and he raised his voice to block it out. "Three in storm and four in flood." It was just a childish rhyme, that was all. "Five in anger, six in hate," He always punished those he caught singing it. It chilled him to the bone. "Seven Fear and evil eight." He shook his head, unsure of whether the voices were in his head. "Nine in Sorrow, Ten in Pain." His momentary thought of madness was gone, he was sure the children were singing the rhyme instead of the prayer. "Eleven death, Twelve life again."

"Silence!" All of the murmuring stopped. There wasn't a sound for what felt like years, the clearing was blanketed in frosty silence. An owl hooted, and he snapped back into action. "When we are praying, you must all pray. Understood?" The children nodded at him. "No foolish rhymes. This is serious, an orphan killing himself in play. It is not to be made fun of, or ridiculed." All of the children watching him pace and spit, spit and pace, all knowing. His voice rose, trying to block out the final, lethal words.

Thirteen Steps to the Dark Man's Door; Won't be Turning Back no more.


Finally, once the orphans had been put to bed, Pete could leave. He had wanted to go home all day, but as soon as he stepped through the door, the oppressive atmosphere made him want to be somewhere else, anywhere other than the hellhole he called home.

"Daddy?" A face appeared at the top of the stairs, and, to Pete's dismay, it took him a while to recognise her. "Why are you home so late? Mother- she has not been well. In the head, I mean. The nurse wanted to speak to you, but she had to leave, she went over an hour ago."

It was his daughter. Lovely little Bessie. She had her mother's blonde hair, slim build and neat features, but her fathers chocolate brown eyes, soft and innocent. She was only eight, and so impressionable. It wasn't fair for her to have to go through this. She was sweet and kind. What did she ever do to deserve the death of her mother?

Maybe she didn't do anything. Maybe her pain is your punishment.

Pete pushed away the thought. He smiled at his daughter, his eyes filled with melancholy.

"Daddy? Are you alright?" Bessie ran down the stairs to him, her eyes full of concern. "Daddy?" The worry rose in her voice.

"Yes. I- I am fine."

"I think you should go see Mother. I have not left her side since the nurse left. Was I good, Daddy? Did I do good?"

"Yes, Bessie. You did good." He let out a prolonged and tired breath. He put his coat on the stand, and trudged up the stairs. "Bessie?"

"Yes?"

"I think you should go to bed now. It is very late."

"Okay Daddy." He stood aside and let her pass through to her room before he entered his own.

What had filled the atmosphere in the rest of the house was ten times worse in the bedroom. Heat, sweat, and delusional thoughts swirled in the air around the bed. A bucketful of water and flannels was placed beside a stool, giving false hope. Annabel, his wife, lay on the bed. He could hear her rasping breaths from the other side of the room, clawing at her lungs.

His eyes brimmed with tears. She had once been so beautiful, so mesmerising. Now, caught in her final moments, she was greasy with sweat, caked in blood and vomit, and her eyes, in the few times he saw them open, were red and bleary.

He took a step forwards, despite wanting only to run, to run and never return. Her skin had turned a green tinge. He took another step, suppressing the need to throw up. Her nails were blackened and broken. He took a third step. Bruises covered all of her visible skin. He took the final step, and collapsed onto his knees. Her blonde hair was turning brown with dirt and grime.

"Oh, Annabel!" Pete sobbed into one of her calloused hands. "Why did I let this happen?"

"John?" A thin warbling voice escaped her lips. It didn't sound at all like the woman it came from was supposed to speak.

"It's me, Pete. Your husband." He had been warned that she would turn out like this, but had never thought it could really happen to her, his beautiful wife. She was now delusional, and stuck in the past, but she had once been loud, proud, and absolutely wonderful.

John had been her best friend as a child. He died when she was just eighteen. He had proposed, and gone off to Africa to fight. He never came back.

"John is my husband. At least, he will be. He was such a hero, going off to fight. He did not know. No one found out." She turned to face him, eyes wide. It wasn't her eyes that he gazed into. They were blank, dolls eyes compared to the lively blue diamonds they had once been.

"Found out what?"

"I was pregnant."

This was news to Pete. "Pregnant? What happened to the child?"

"I killed it!" She was in hysterics, thrashing and cursing. "Ma said I had to marry. You shan't wait for a man forever! You must settle down now." She paused as she spoke, her voice low, imitating her Mother. "She didn't know. No one did. I didn't want to kill it. I wanted to wait for my John. Look John, our baby. But John never came home, and I got married."

"Who did you marry?"

"A horrible old man called Pete. I chose him because Ma hated him. But Pete died, and I'm all alone, waiting for my John. He'll forgive me for everything, I know he will. He loves me, my Johnny." She sat up in bed, counting her fingers and singing the nursery rhyme, slowly, mournfully, and under her breath.

"How did Pete die?" She continued to sing. "How did Pete die?" He shook her, and she sang louder than before. "Annabel, how did Pete die?" He tried a softer tone, gently rubbing her back."

She turned to face him, her eyes full of terror. "I cannot say."

"Why not? Don't you know?"

"Yes, of course I know. That would be silly, if I didn't know. But I just cannot say." She lost her playful tone on the last sentence.

"So why can't you say? Are you afraid?" She nodded. "Who of?"

She leant towards him, her words low in a whisper. "Everyone."

Not the best chapter I've ever written, I wanted to write a little more, but I think that that little bit fits it nicely. Well, if you have read it, please review! You can just say 'Hi' or tell me you read it, and I'd be satisfied! Come on, I'm desperate here! Free cookies and milk to anyone who reviews! Or, if you're not that kind of person, I offer you a thousand jewels, as big and bright as stars, all the colours of the rainbow! No? Urm... I'm kind of running out of ideas here. How about... Oh, just please, review! I'd love you forever!