CHAPTER THREE: LONG NIGHT
As the household of eight (if you included the dog) began to settle down for the night, none were privy to the series of events that would occur that night, leaving a trail of foreshadowing breadcrumbs from family member to family member that would take years for them to connect. It wasn't that they were ignorant, but this night would not compare to what would follow later on in both urgency and memory. But we get ahead of ourselves.
On that cold winter night, a little girl was sent promptly to bed at nine o' clock. Her siblings joined her an hour later. A quarter after ten their grandmother fell asleep with the family dog at the foot of her bed. By eleven an old bachelor fell asleep on the couch with the television on, the only light source in the house at that hour. At half past eleven a father quietly crept downstairs into the kitchen to grab some leftover bread and soup. Meanwhile a tired mother slumped over her bed upstairs, piles of envelopes and notices littering her comforter and irritating her sleepy eyes.
At midnight the entire house awoke to a bloodcurdling scream.
Angie 9:32pm
She always got sent to bed early. There wasn't even any school tomorrow and she still can't stay up as late as Jacob and Moira. It wasn't fair, cause she's not even tired! Mummy told her to count sheep when she couldn't sleep, but that just made Angie think about the time the family visited her uncle Marty's farm outside of Oxford and she got to pet a baby lamb. Why a grownup would have you count sheep was just silly to her.
She huffed at the injustice of it all. Kicking off the covers she crossed her arms over her chest and stared accusingly at the ceiling. When that proved too constraining she spread out her limbs and kicked into her mattress, her legs now restless. It wasn't fair! Now she was too mad to be sleepy, and it was all because Mummy had to be mean and make her go to bed. She even threatened her with a bath tonight if she didn't. Angie pouted more at that thought; Friday was supposed to be a night off from bath time.
Muffy was next to her, lying prone and pathetic against the wall her bed was shoved against. Right now Muffy was Angie's only friend. Angie pretended that she was a banished princess laying wait in her tower until she was rescued by a knight. Muffy would be her loyal companion until the day came she would be freed, or until she finally conked out. It was an old game her and Mummy used to play when she had trouble going to sleep after a nightmare; they would pretend she was a damsel in distress locked away somewhere. Sometimes she would be guarded by a dragon or an evil queen, and once she even imagined a giant octopus keeping her in an undersea cave.
She would have so much fun coming up with a way for her to escape, because Mummy said she couldn't always wait for someone to come rescue her. That sometimes you had to be really brave and be the one to save the day. Angie could swear that Mummy must have at some point been in a sword fight, or ridden a dragon because she was never afraid of anything.
Except for today. She could have sworn she almost saw her mummy cry because the bad people made a mess. Imagine crying over a messy house! Even Angie was braver than that.
Which is the only reason she hadn't gone screaming for help when she saw there was a lightning bug in her room. Since lying down in bed it had flickered from various spots around the walls, drawing her eyes to it and keeping her awake and alert. Normally she hated bugs but fireflies weren't bad bugs like bumbles, but more like butterflies. As she saw a flash of soft like streak across the corner of the ceiling for the umpteenth time Angie had decided that enough was enough.
She slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed toward the window. Opening it a crack she shivered as she felt the cold air travel in. If there was a way to get the lightening bug out of her room she could only think to chase it out the window.
Footsteps coming down the hall made her freeze in place, still clutching the window sill. When she heard them get closer she sprinted back to her bed and hid under the covers, feigning sleep. The footsteps paused outside her door for a moment before moving on. Angie opened her eyes a crack when she heard the sink running in the bathroom down the hall. If it was Jacob she would wait until he left and either went to his room or back downstairs. If it was Moira there was a chance that she would be coming to bed and the firefly would be her problem. She closed her eyes and listened.
Over the sound of the sink something else caught Angie's ear. A small tinkling sound, like little bells, was coming from somewhere in the room. Oh great, thought Angie, not only is the firefly keeping me up with its light, now it's decided to practice a jingle. She heard them again and Angie lifted her head off her pillow with the full intent to tell the firefly to be quiet, but the sound of her doorknob turning sent her back to 'sleep'. Before shutting her eyes she saw a trail of light dash to hide behind Moira's bed. That's right, you better hide.
Moira 9:56pm
Deciding to turn in early was the only thing Moira could think to do to escape the total boredom that had befallen downstairs. I mean really, only her family would be so shaken over a break-in just hours earlier and then quietly separate to knit or watch TV. Even drawing in her sketchpad seemed droll at the moment, and she chose to close it and make her way upstairs. She said goodnight to Tootles on the couch and goodnight to Gram, Mum and Daddy on the 2nd floor. Jacob had made it up to his room earlier and hadn't been heard from since.
After brushing her teeth she went across the hall to the bedroom she shared with Angie, she turned the handle quietly, hoping not to wake her sister. Entering the dark bedroom she tiptoed toward her bed and retrieved the nightgown under her pillow. She left the door open a tad so the soft light from the hallway could help her see. Wriggling out of her shirt and pants she slipped her nighty over her head and marveled at how cold the bedroom had suddenly become.
Glancing at the window she saw the latch was undone and the window open, letting the frigid air inside and causing goose bumps to form on her skin. She cast a glance at the sleeping Angie, whom she figured must have opened it all the way at some point. What was she thinking? Honestly, did her sister even think? Based on her forgetfulness, probably not.
Going to the window with the full intent to close it, she stopped when her bare feet made contact with a crunching noise. Looking down, Moira saw she had stepped on what appeared to be one of several skeleton leaves on the floor just outside the window sill. She picked one up and examined it, trying to hold it up to better lighting. How on Earth had this gotten in here?
Without really having to, Moira leaned out the window to confirm her suspicions. No wind, not a single whisper or gust to blow a leaf this far. Despite that there was hardly a tree this tall anywhere in this neighborhood short of Kensington Gardens quite a few streets away, she had never seen a leaf like this grow anywhere before. The leaves themselves looked somewhat tropical in nature.
Closing the window quickly, she decided she was not that sleepy as of yet. Sweeping the leaves off the floor she stuffed them into the pages of her sketchbook that she'd abandoned on the bed. Next she fished inside the drawer of her night table for the few crayons she had lying around. The small project she had in mind required more light, and decided to go back downstairs rather than turn her lamp on and wake Angie up.
Back outside the hallway, she paused near Jacob's room to hear if he was asleep like the adults had thought. He pretended to be too much of a goody goody sometimes.
Instead the soft sound of a tiny wind instrument met her ears. Ugh! Of course he would be practicing his music now. But wherever in the world he got pan pipes was beyond her. He seemed in love with his guitar, which she knew he names Marilyn after Marilyn Monroe, and he still had custody of a harmonica he had 'borrowed' from her and had yet to give back. She had the mind to barge in and annoy him into finding it in that mess of a cave he called his bedroom, but decided to be nice tonight. It's not like the music was loud, barely being able to hear it through the door herself.
She knocked once, muttered goodnight, and went to brush her teeth, noting the pipes abruptly stopped as soon as she knocked.
Making her way downstairs she decided the kitchen table would do for now. Tootle's spotted her walking past the doorway from the couch in the TV lounge, "Thought you were going to bed."
"In a minute, just need the light." Walking right past him she dumped her book on the kitchen table. "And maybe a glass of water."
Opening to a blank page, she slid the leaves behind it and pressed down. Grabbing a dark blue crayon, Moira began peeling the wrappings of the brand off until it was a naked stick. Pressing the entire body of the crayon down she began to etch the outline and image of the leaves onto the paper. She wanted to have a permanent image of what they looked like so she'd have a reference if she ever found what tree they'd come from. Who knows how long they'd last until they rotted away. Just as it occurred to her that leaves in this condition usually didn't survive the winter, a small voice piped up from the doorway.
"What are you doing?" Angie asked.
Closing the sketchbook shut, Moira put on an air of ignorance concerning her investigation into the mysterious leaves. "Why are you up?"
"The firefly in our room won't stop singing. Can I have some milk?"
She shrugged, "All right."
Fetching the milk jug out of fridge, Moira was in no way perturbed by Angie's reason for avoiding sleep. A singing firefly was keeping Angie up and she herself was making imprints of leaves she found fascinating. All hopes that she was adopted had officially been trumped with how similar the sisters were concerning what caught their attention. She probably just heard Jacob in his room.
Pouring the glass halfway full, she handed it off to Angie who sipped it timidly. Moira sighed at Angie's habit of eating like a bird, "Hurry up and drink. Mum'll flip if she catches you out this late."
Taking another sip, Angie wiped her mouth on her sleeve before reaching out for the sketchbook. Her small fingers had barely touched the edge of the binding before Moira snatched it from across the table. Angie slumped against the back of the chair and whined, "Why can't I see your drawings?"
"Because they're not finished," holding the book against her chest in a protective manner. In reality she didn't want Angie to see the leaves just yet. If Angie ever saw them she'd hoped it would be after Moira had found an explanation for them being that high and landing in their window. Knowing Angie she'd just get scared knowing that anything could be able to get inside from that high up. That thought kept her on the edge as well. "Finish your milk; I want to go to bed."
Gulping the last few drops from the glass, Angie licked her lips and cheekily retorted, "Finish your drawings, I want to see them."
Tootles' voice traveled from the TV lounge, "Both of you finish up, I want to watch the telly in peace."
Taking that as their cue to leave, Moira pushed in her chair while Angie put her cup in the sink. Walking up the stairs turned into a small race as both girls lightly elbowed each other to get the lead. Eventually they couldn't keep the hushed giggles from escaping them as they made it to their floor, Angie deliberately trying to hinder Moira's lead by holding her around the middle. By the time they reached their door Angie had slid down and attempted to lock her arms around Moira's legs.
She did stumble for a moment, giving Angie the diversion she needed to scramble up and be the first to touch the doorknob. Racing inside to her bed, Angie heard Moira call her a dirty cheat before she closed the door behind the both of them. Neither of them slowed down until they had covered themselves in their blankets on opposite sides of their room. Their quiet laughter had not died down the entire time, with the girls shushing each other but in the end had only made them laugh harder.
Eventually they did settle down and both girls felt their eyes begin to droop, finally succumbing to the effects of a long day. Just before sleep took her away, Angie whispered, "Moira?"
"Mhhhmm," Moira tiredly responded.
"Can anything hurt us after we close our eyes?"
A moment passed in which Moira's brain slowly tried to form a proper response to what Angie had just asked, as well as come up with several reasons as to what brought that question on. She wondered if she'd even heard her correctly, Angie had whispered it so softly. Finally she settled on, "Not if I have anything to say about it."
She took the silence as a sign that Angie found that promise acceptable, or had just fallen asleep. Either way Moira felt glad that Angie found it comforting to ask her these types of questions. Usually Mum would be the one to do those sorts of things, but lately she'd been so stressed over money and something else that Moira couldn't put her finger on, that Angie had been seeking Moira out more often for small comforts.
Falling asleep just minutes after her sister, Moira had all but forgotten to check under the bed, a secret ritual she made sure Angie never saw. Good news for her was that no monster resided underneath on this night. Instead she may have been startled to find a small ball of light hovering underneath, but she would never see it as it dashed out from under as soon as both girls were asleep. It flew towards the door and hovered near the small opening at the bottom before slipping underneath and disappearing into the center of the house.
Jacob 10:07pm
Awaking with a start, Jacob realized he'd fallen asleep reading again. Someone had just knocked on his door, jolting him out if his slumber. He paused before shifting to get up and answer until a muffled, "g'night" reached his ears.
Someone woke him up to say goodnight. He tiredly rubbed his eyes at the irony.
Realizing he'd fallen asleep in his day clothes, he went to unbutton his shirt and kick off his jeans. Putting on an oversized shirt of his dad's and some pajama pants, he didn't realize the entire time he'd been humming a tune he'd never heard before. Mum had told him that she'd heard him hum in his sleep before, especially if he fell asleep next to the record player when it was on. Though it belonged to the entire family, the portable record player pretty much called his room home.
He quickly checked it to make sure he hadn't left it on again before he went to brush his teeth. Even with his mouth covered in paste and the brush still hanging from his mouth, Jacob found himself humming the unfamiliar tune. When he caught himself doing it again, he realized that it was stuck in his head. This had happened before, getting ideas for songs, and his music teacher always told him to write them down as best he could into lyrics or notes.
A tune had never come to him like this before, in his sleep no less. He did his best to remember exactly how the song went. It was rather giddy if you had to dance to it, but at the same time approached the world softly. Frankly it reminded him of the children's songs they used to sing in the car for long trips.
He grabbed his guitar from the corner of his room, which itself was home to piles of dirty clothes and other odd knick knacks. Digging it out, he sat Indian style on the bed and tuned it before strumming a few cords. Trying to keep as quiet as possible, his fingers lightly tried to duplicate the song he had on his mind. He thought about using his pick but realized the sharp strums may get too loud if he wasn't careful. Trying to match the sound in his head with their proper cords proved difficult however, because he had a feeling that the guitar wasn't the right instrument for the job.
Try and try as he might his beloved guitar, Marilyn, just wasn't working for him today—err—
tonight. He let out a tired sigh and slumped back against his pillows, letting his eyes close. Where in the world had he heard this song? With his eyes closed he was actually able to remember more of it, the funny tune becoming clearer without the distraction of seeing anything. If he didn't know any better he'd say that he'd actually dreamed the song up just now, before he was rudely awakened by—was it Moira?
Speaking of the devil he thought he heard her coming up the stairs just now. The smaller steps, clearly not adult, were the first clue. The insistent giggling was just an annoying confirmation. It sounded like Angie might be out there as well when heard extra pitter patter, before the sound of a door closing silenced them.
All was quiet again and Jacob was left alone in his thoughts. Slipping his guitar on the floor next to his bed, he decided to bury himself under his covers, finding comfort in the warmth. His room was average size, just big enough to allow good floor space for play and his single bed and draws. The walls were covered in posters of motorbikes, his favorite bands, and postcards.
Usually these posters served as a comfort to him on nights when he couldn't sleep, but clicking his lamp off he found that in the dark they didn't serve much good. In fact, the darkness just made them appear like dark holes of abyss, their edges blurring and giving them a ghostly appearance. He could have sworn that his The Who poster, just across the room and directly in his line of vision, was growing larger in a slow but terrifying pace. Quickly turning his lamp on he reached under his bed, beaming with triumph when he felt the handle of his cricket ball bat. Giving his room one more look through to make sure nothing was hiding in the corner, he got back into bed and turned the light off.
Contrary to popular belief, it is not easy getting comfortable with a hard bat as you bunk buddy. After finally settling on his side with the bat gripped in his hands, he felt safe enough to try and sleep.
Emphasis on try. It seemed every sound the old house made jolted him enough to open his eyes, grip his bat and scan the room. For over an hour it worked itself out like an exhausting rinse cycle: jolt, grip, scan. Repeat. Jolt, grip, scan. Repeat.
By what had to be the sixth time, Jacob was sure he was tired enough to just sleep through any other imaginary creak or thump he could have sworn was someone trying to jimmy open the window. Not that anyone could get in any way since he'd locked it shut.
The knob on his door twisting nearly stopped his heart. How had he forgotten something as simple as locking the door? He'd been so caught up in making sure that all the little details were taken care of that he'd overlooked the obvious way to get inside. The door opened with a series of tiny creaks, and he found himself shrinking underneath the covers, fighting the natural reflex to throw them over his head and hide.
Just as he regained the grip on his bat, not knowing if he planned to swing or make a break for the hall, the familiar outline of his father's head peered from behind the door. "You still awake?"
Letting out the breathe he didn't know he'd been holding, Jacob let himself relax for the first time all night. He noticed his knuckles had turned white from the constant grip he had on the bat, which he immediately hid under the covers so not alert his father.
He nodded, and his dad quietly approached him. Feeling the mattress dip, Jacob rolled onto his back to gaze up at the dark outline his father made. He could make out his pointy chin and saw the disheveled mop of hair adorn his head like a halo, making Jacob wonder if his dad had just gotten out of bed.
"Couldn't sleep?" His dad asked. Not sure if his voice would fail him or not, Jacob just nodded again. He felt his dad shift and then pause, not needing the light to know that he'd felt the bat under the covers. He removed it, examining it with his hands before holding it up, imploring Jacob to explain.
"I thought I might need it," he was glad his dad couldn't see him that well, so he wouldn't see the shame in Jacob's eyes. "In case they came back."
"Who?" It took a moment for his dad to catch on. "Oh, the robbers! Well I don't think you have to worry about them coming back. After the way your mum was yelling earlier I think they'd be too scared."
A sliver of a smile formed at the corner of Jacob's mouth. His dad was such a goofball, always able to make him laugh when he was sad or sick. Now he guessed it worked even when he was scared, plus Mum could be pretty scary when she was mad.
With his eyes now adjusted to the dark, he saw that his father's eyes looked glassier, as if he were sad all of a sudden. Jacob didn't want him to be sad, especially just because he was feeling scared about what happened today. Father and son did not move for several minutes, but implored to one another that they needn't feel negatively about the events earlier that day.
It was his father who finally broke the silence, "You were really brave today. I didn't' get a chance to tell you earlier, but not everyone would do what you were able to." His father absolutely beamed at him, and Jacob found himself mirroring it. "Calling the police and running to make sure Moira didn't come home to that circus."
Jacob recalled with bitterness the hoard of neighbors that probably sensed something was wrong but hadn't called anything in. At least none of them had come forward and admitted to trying. "Yeah, what was up with that, anyway?"
His dad shrugged. "Nosy neighbors. But hey, at least we got some free food out of it, so it all works out in the end."
Jacob felt the covers being tucked around him and under his chin, trapping him in warmth. Leave it up to Dad to find the silver lining in this rubbish heap of a dark cloud, he thought. His dad smoothed the hair away from his forehead, but it didn't distract him from seeing him put the bat under his bed and out of his reach. Seeing that he was caught his dad shook his head, "You won't need it, trust me on that."
He got up and made his way back to the door, opening it a tad before turning back to him. "Tomorrow I was going to touch up the pipes so they don't freeze again this year. Wanna help? You know I'll need someone to pass me the screwdrivers."
Jacob nodded eagerly; fixing things around the house was closest he and his dad ever got to being alone. His dad smiled back, "Okay, see you bright and early. Goodnight."
"Night, Dad."
When the door closed and he was alone yet again, Jacob couldn't help but feel lighter than he had all day. The smile was still on his face as he started to drift off, thinking about how his dad had called him brave…and they would spend the whole morning together….working on the pipes…..and the song in his head…..that might perform with pipes….pan pipes…..that he should look into buying when he had spare money.
Jack 11:47pm
Speaking of free food, Jack thought. His rumbling stomach reminded him of his original reason for descending downstairs. He had left his wife in their bedroom on the top floor, and just like their son was in a similar state of unrest. He thought he should give her a little space to cool off before their disagreement turned into a full out fight. Why Jane insisted on going over bills at this hour was beyond him and after she'd already worked herself into overdrive with the cleaning and the cooking.
Passing through the entrance to the lounge, he saw the television was still on but emitted only white noise and static. The soft snores coming from the couch confirmed that Tootles had fallen asleep in front of it again. Once in the kitchen he made a beeline for the loaf of bread in the pantry and cut himself a nice thick slice. After the soup heated up some, he poured it into a bowl and dipped the bread into it.
He decided that if Tootles insisted the TV be on, then he could at least change it to a program that was on at this hour. Slurping the soup straight from the bowl he managed to change the channel at the same time until a cowboy program came on. Better than nothing.
Standing behind the couch, he had half a mind to shove Tootles off so he could sit on one of the cushions. He envied the man sometimes, being able to sleep soundly while others were trying to lower the tension with their spouses, or in his son's case snuggling with a cricket bat. At least his daughters were able to fall asleep without incident, as far as he knew.
Jack smiled as he recalled how last summer he'd caught Jacob and Moira downstairs after bed time, watching a horror flick that they'd been denied permission to stay up and watch. They'd thrown a blanket over themselves as they'd huddled on the couch, petrified during a scene where the monster was about to emerge from its lake domain and grab a young woman. They hadn't heard him come downstairs, thinking they'd been quiet and clever enough to avoid being caught.
He still loved reminding them how their screaming could be heard all the way down their street, when he'd snuck his hands under the couch just as the creature on the screen grabbed his victim and he'd taken a hold of an ankle each and tugged. That was the only time they'd ever called him mean and then asked if they could sleep with him that night in the same sentence.
He wasn't paying attention to the cowboy program anymore, and most of his soup bread was gone. Getting ready to head back upstairs, he hoped that Jane had exhausted herself and finally admitted that it was time to turn in. Then just as he clicked off the TV, he heard a rattling noise come from outside the house.
It sounded like something had knocked into the trash cans that sat in the alley on the side of the house. On any other night he'd take it that some rats had gotten into it and not thought of it again, but tonight he was taking no chances. That alley led to the back gate, and past that was their back door which could easily be forced open by someone strong enough. He wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't check to make sure that the noise was caused by anything but alley cats.
Tootles hadn't been disturbed, and as far as could tell no one else was stirring from their beds. He quietly put his empty bowl into the sink, and then pocketed one of the carving knives into the pocket of his robe. Just a precaution, nothing more.
Wincing as the back door squeaked open, which he reminded himself to grease later so it didn't rust this winter, he shivered against the cold. Clasping the folds of the robe tighter around his neck, he prayed his slippers didn't get too wet.
Another clatter made him pause for a moment, only a moment mind you, because he quickly dashed to the back gate and unlocked it. He arrived in the alley just in time to see the lid of one of their trash cans stop vibrating after hitting the ground, now resting silently.
"Is someone out here?" Jack asked quietly. No point in scaring his family or the neighbors by yelling at something that might not be there. A few small items of trash had scattered on the ground, but he'd seen the cats do worse. He decided he would wait until morning to pick them up with gloves, but went ahead and put the lid back on the trash can, turning around to go back inside.
He had only made it a few steps when the silence of the alley was shattered by metal hitting stone ground. Jack whirled around, now brandishing the knife out in front of him, to see that the entire trash can had toppled over, and most of its contents now littered the alley floor. But he had yet to see a single animal scurry away after being frightened of the noise or his human presence. No rat jumped on the smorgasbord and began to feast and no alley cat or dog scurried out of its hiding place. He was all alone.
At least that's what he'd hoped.
"If someone's out here," Jack's snarled, "They had better get the hell out of here now. I won't call the cops but I'm tired of this shit." He'd hoped that if anyone were watching him right now that they didn't notice the knife shaking in his hands.
"I'll give you until the count of three."
"One." He started stepping backwards towards the back fence.
"Two." He reached behind him to hold onto the top of the fence for support.
"Three?" To his surprise his hand met the gate door, which was now closed and bolted shut from the inside, something he most definitely did not do before charging into the alley. Someone had attempted to lock him out of the yard!
When Jane's horrified screaming pierced the air not a moment later, he all but broke the gate door down in his attempt to rush back inside.
Jane 11:59pm
Dropping headfirst into the comforter seemed like a good idea a moment ago. What Jane had not considered, or had completely disregarded, was the ocean of papers she'd spread all over the bed. Any movement her facial muscles made resulted in the crinkling of paper, and when she huffed in annoyance the electricity bill suddenly found itself on the floor.
Her husband, who'd managed to escape to get a midnight snack downstairs, couldn't understand why she wanted to go over bills now. It's not like she really wanted to at this moment, but someone had to act like an adult around here. The money she made at work did not measure up as much as he made, but really he could act like he paid most of the bills around here!
But no, she had gone and chased him away. Jane had to remind herself that he'd only gone downstairs for a break, but this small seedling had begun to grow within her mind that she would eventually drive him away for good. After spending almost 4 years without her father during the war, not knowing if any day now they would receive a telegraph stating he was missing or dead, she promised that she would never deprive her children of their father.
Of course she was battling the will to deprive him of their bed tonight, glancing at the bills that accompanied her instead of her husband. Why go over them now, he had asked? Why not? In the state she was in sleep was constantly escaping her, so she might as well confirm what they could and couldn't pay this month.
She had only gotten through last month's electricity when tiredness and frustration overcame her and she collapsed head first into the duvet. Stretching out her limbs she heard joints in her neck crack, clearly telling her to move this show to a desk and chair next time. Rolling to her side to get off the bed, she crumpled several notices beneath her. Making her way to the window sill, she sat up with her legs stretching out completely in front of her and across the pane of the window. She hadn't been able to lie down on it completely in years.
Before her abduction, she often lay across the window and looked up at the stars, but when her stars became falling bombs she avoided it. The first time she returned from Neverland she awoke at the window before jumping off and running to her mother full of joy in finally learning to fly. That window had become her beacon, where she would watch for Peter to come back and take her away again.
And come back he did.
The second time she was able to bring Danny with her, not that Peter would have in any way objected to another boy joining the ranks. She had lost count of the days they had stayed in the warm island sun, which she swore had a face that smiled at them when they waved. And during the nights the stars, the younger ones at least, winked at them as they passed. She was sure months had passed when for the first time in forever she thought of Mother and immediately found Peter and demanded he take them home. Following that was an awkward talk between her and Danny in which she had to remind him she was not in fact his real mother.
After a quick goodbye to the boys with a promise to come back soon, they arrived home expecting their faces to be on posters and their mother frantic with worry. Trying not to wake anybody up they had snuck into bed, hoping to surprise their parents that they were back and avoid a firm spanking.
She awoke to yelling, but just their father hollering that breakfast was ready and to come get it before school started. They had cautiously made their way downstairs to see if their parents acted out of the ordinary or more agitated than usually. All caution was thrown out the window when Danny ran to their mother and almost knocked her clear over, crying that he had missed her so much. A puzzled Wendy had returned the hug, and looked to Jane for an explanation. But she was too preoccupied with stealing away the paper from her father to check the date.
The months she thought she had spent away from home without a care in the world had turned out to be one night. Lowering the paper in a daze, Jane could hardly breathe as her mind raced. Had they really only been gone one night? Her father slowly took the paper away from her, "Daddy needs to finish checking his football scores."
The third time she'd gone to Neverland she could have sworn she'd asked Peter about it, but for some reason she could never remember if he'd given her an answer. She couldn't remember much about that final adventure at all really. Whenever she tried to think about it her body started trembling and for some reason tears came to her eyes. When Peter brought her back that final time it had started off great, knowing she and Danny could stay as long as they wanted and didn't have to worry about their parents.
She'd carried a locket with their picture inside so she wouldn't be quick to forget about them this time. Neverland made you forget, and if she wasn't careful she would truly become lost forever, much like this memory that refused to show itself to her.
From her physical reaction she could only conclude that something so horrible had happened on that final visit to Neverland that her mind had chosen to repress it. Little clues she'd picked up over the years hinted that Hook had something to do with it. When she closed her eyes really hard and tried to think on it, all she got were flashes: a man with a snow white face, the icy touch of steel tracing her hairline, and the smell of blood. Lots of blood. Sinister laughing of horrible men filled her ears but she was in the dark, trapped. Her fingers ached from scratching at a surface, trying desperately to get out of something because she was running out of air, she couldn't breathe.
Jane leant her forehead against the glass of the window, relishing the cool surface against her hot face. Over twenty years later and she still couldn't grow up and face it. Now she practically lived her life following stupid superstitions she'd made up for herself. She could never be in small crowded spaces without shaking uncontrollably. The smell and sight of blood made her sick. The first time Jack had leant in to kiss her he had stroked her face and she flinched.
Oh, Jack. Her sweet and patient husband. When or if he decided to come back upstairs she would try and make it up to him for all she put him through. Of course the last time she decided to be 'nice' to her husband she then had to reveal to him the result of her kindness was what was making her emotions bleed all over the place.
Pulling her legs up to her chest, she rested her arms on her knees and gazed at the sky. Her life seemed to revolve around windows. First falling asleep at them waiting for Peter to come back and play; always open to invite him in. As she got older they provided her with an escape, thanks to a rope made out of sheets, for when she would sneak out and meet friends at the park. When her parents thought her and Jack were studying, they were really sitting at the open window sill and trying cigarettes that Jack had stolen from his older brother. On the morning after school graduation she had almost caused Jack to break his leg after shoving him outside the window to climb down the drain pipe, her mother knocking at her door and asking why it was locked. When she brought her babies over to visit for the first time, she took them to the highest window so they could see all of London.
Getting up she made her way over to the bed and picked up all the papers, stuffing them in the drawer to be dealt with in the morning. What was she thinking, wanting to go over bills this late anyway? She went to take off her dressing gown and hung it up in her closet, then turned the lights off before pulling the covers off her side of the bed.
She didn't hear the window handles squeaking as the latch slowly turned clockwise. Nor the creak the window panes made as they were cautiously pushed open. But when the room grew colder and she heard the rustling of the curtains as the wind came through, that was when Jane froze. Fighting every nerve in her body to scream, she slowly turned her head back to window. In the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure take up the window frame, filling it up with a shadowy presence that Jane didn't know how to react to. It cocked its head to the side. "Wendy?"
But when she saw the glimmer of steel in the figure's hand, that was when Jane let go and screamed.
12:03am
The figure watched as the woman began screaming her head off at him. He quickly jolted backwards and out the window, wondering what he had done to frighten her. He was so taken aback that he dropped the shadow he had been clutching in his right hand and it slithered away from him—and into the open air!
As the lights in the house began to flicker on, he scrambled to see where the shadow had gone, knowing that it could be anywhere if it had gotten loose outside. He saw it scamper down the brick wall, past a window that revealed a young boy running down the hall and wielding some sort of bat. The dog, absent from its doghouse, was barking up a storm from somewhere in the house. Voices began yelling from top to bottom and the thundering of footsteps told him he had to hurry. He saw the shadow slither across the snow covered yard and take refuge in the shadows of the bushes. It would take forever to find now!
How had this gotten so out of control? All he wanted to do was get his shadow and find Wendy so she could sew it back on like she did before. He thought he'd found her in the top room, but that crazy woman obviously wasn't Wendy. Since when had she ever been afraid of him?
A ball of light he'd recognize from anywhere quickly dashed over and pulled him by the collar away from the wall of the house and towards the roof. "Tink?"
The fairy frantically pointed toward the ground and Peter saw she'd pulled him away just as a man burst through the fence door, leaving it hanging off its hinges. Peter thought locking the door would keep him out longer than that, he didn't look that strong.
"Jane!" The man frantically ran to the back door and threw it open, letting the lights downstairs spill out into the yard.
Jane? All worries that the lost girl had moved quickly vanished from the eternal youth. It had been a long time since he'd brought Jane back and he, with some urging by the lost boys, thought that it was time she come back and play. After dropping her at home last time she had requested that he not come back for a long time, to give her time to sort through things.
He figured he'd waited long enough and was so excited at the prospect of bringing her back that he'd left earlier than anticipated, so early in fact that it was daytime in London. He was used to flying under the cover of darkness, when not so many people were out and he could do tricks and explore with ease.
No one was home so he thought he'd let himself into one of the windows that looked like Jane's room. It certainly screamed girl, with stuffed animals and dolls lying about, so he assumed it was hers. The two beds confounded him for a moment before he decided to explore the rest of the house: it occurred to him he'd never actually taken a tour.
He'd floated lazily from floor to floor, with Tink buzzing about saying she thought it was a bad idea being here. She had begged him not to go, never much taking to the girls he brought back to be mothers, but insisted on accompanying him since he wouldn't change his mind.
On the walls of the stairs and hallways he stopped to look at pictures. Some were of people he recognized, others he didn't. Tink dodged in and out of any drawer and crevice she could find, exploring and manhandling any small bauble she could fit into her tiny hands.
He wondered where everyone was this time of day. Vaguely he could recall Wendy telling him that he would be sent to school and eventually an office one day if he decided to come back with her the first time she left Neverland. The thought disgusted him as much now as it did then. It was a beautiful day outside, despite its nippy air, and he couldn't imagine being cooped up in a room during the sunniest parts of the day with his nose stuck in a book. Not that he'd be taking in much from books since he didn't read.
Various objects in the room confused him. In front of the couch was a large box with glass covering the front, and little knobs peppered the right side. On top were two protruding metal sticks that looked like rabbit ears. He tilted his head to the side. "What do you suppose this is, Tink?" He began tapping the glass surface.
The fairy orbited the box while he fiddled around with it, finally beginning to fiddle with the knobs. Suddenly the glass lit up with sound and light, and Peter jumped backward clutching his heart. A small black and white man was inside the box and talking! Peter slowly approached the man in the box as he talked to Peter about a man named Capote and his party of the century. Peter turned to Tink, who had come to sit on his shoulder. "Did you hear that, Tink? This man's talking about a party, maybe we'll get invited."
Suddenly the man disappeared and instead showed pictures of the so-called party, consisting of a short man dancing with tall blonde women. "Don't save the date yet," Tink huffed. "The party's already happened; let's go find something else to do."
"I don't know Tink, that small man inside the box looks about your size." Peter laughed. "Maybe he'll want to dance with you."
She huffed and kicked his ear muttering, "You silly ass." Then she flew to the talking box and fiddled with some switches to make the glass go dark again and the little man disappeared. Peter giggled before floating back up and laying on his back, relaxing his arms behind his head. He kicked he way through the air, taking in grey ceiling that quickly became a grainy white as he passed a doorframe.
He circled what looked like a kitchen, the drawers he rummaged through containing utensils similar to the ones he and the boys made from sticks and shells. He opened a large white box and was surprised to feel winter air inside. Calling Tink to come take a look, he was taken aback by the sound of barking outside.
Shutting the door he raised a few feet to peer out the window, now only taking notice of the dog. The creature had observed someone inside the home no doubt and was making the stranger aware that she did not approve of him. Peter had the full mind to walk outside and tell the creature exactly what he thought on approval when he tripped.
Landing on his knees, he looked back and saw his shadow had tugged him to the floor. He followed his silhouette and saw that his twin's head was trapped in the door of the winter box. Looking back he should have just sauntered over to the door and opened it, releasing his shadow as well as Tink (unknowingly trapped inside). Instead he pulled his leg forward in a hasty effort to stand up, and with a painless tearing noise the shadow came loose.
It immediately began flailing about, sensing it was trapped but no longer attached to its host. Peter opened the fridge in an attempt to calm it down and was instead attacked by a frozen fireball. Tink was yelling at him and trying to berate him with her small fists, but the frozen state of her wings started to cause her descent. The shadow decided at that moment to make its escape.
It dove under the couch, Peter scrambling over it in an attempt to ambush the shadow. It caught on and retreated back under but not before Peter had grabbed one of its appendages. Peter underestimated his shadow's strength however when it hauled him entirely under the couch, the motion and his kicking legs causing the entire couch to topple backwards.
The shadow had dragged him halfway across the floor before he finally yelled for Tink to help him. The fairy struggled to fly with half frozen wings, only to find herself flung across the room by the shadow and landing hard inside a vase.
Peter meanwhile had struggled to get the upper hand, but was able to drag his shadow near the stairs and had pinned down its arms and legs. "Oh, no you don't!" He smirked as it tried to get away.
Then it suddenly stopped moving all together, lying passively under its dominant twin. Peter paused and waited for it to wiggle, wink, or wave at him but it lay there as if sleeping. Or dead. That thought had never struck Peter before and wondered if he had in fact killed his shadow. "Are you alright?" Overcome with a sudden wave of panic he relaxed his upper body, which he'd used to pin his shadow down, and sat up as a reflex to let it 'breathe'.
Bad idea.
As soon as it felt Peter's weight shift, the shadow lunged its upper body up the stairs with such force that Peter flipped backwards like a rug had been pulled out from under him. His legs shot over his head and hit a nearby table with such force that it completely knocked the vase that had been sitting atop it off. It shattered on the floor and amongst the glass sat a disoriented Tinkerbell, finally released from her porcelain prison.
She tried to catch up with Peter as he chased his shadow upstairs, crashing into the wall twice causing a picture frame to fall. They had chased it back into the girly room when they heard the front door creak open downstairs. Peter and Tink froze, the shadow slithered away and was forgotten. Peter held his breathe and listened, hopelessly wishing that whoever came downstairs didn't notice the mess they'd made. When he heard the footsteps coming upstairs he knew they had to fly away and come back for the shadow later.
And how wonderfully that turned out, Peter sneered to himself. Perched on a roof top with a now very awake household was not how this was supposed to turn out. If that woman, whoever she was, hadn't started screaming he could have at least still had his shadow and taken it back home with him, sewn on or not. But now he didn't even have that. Who was that woman anyway and why was she so scared of him?
His thoughts were interrupted by Tink, who landed on his knee and looked appeared at eye level. "What now, smarty pants?" She asked sarcastically.
Peter prided himself on planning out battles, and fool proofing schemes until he knew they would work. Neverland was his playground and he was its king. But this wasn't Neverland and he had no idea what the playing field was like here. Quitting, however, was not an option.
Looking up at the sky and seeing the golden arrows beckon him back home, he stood up to take flight. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Hey everyone, I hope you all are enjoying my story so far. I'm trying to update at least once a month (my chapters are long) and so far I'm right on schedule. And yes, I realize we are in chapter 3 but still we are not in Neverland yet. Don't worry, we are so close I can already feel the tropical sun on my face as I write chapter 4. Peter and Moira will finally meet in the next chapter (will be very interesting) and I'm hoping to finally get them on their journey.
Also, in my character descriptions I am purposely keeping some pysical details omit so you can visualize these characters anyway you see physically fit. I'm trying to keep it basic, but for those who want to see how I picture them, I'm providing the following links:
.com/photos/10766894N00/6219047549/in/photostream The Woodham children in 1966
.com/photos/10766894N00/6306329033/in/photostream The Darling Girls starting from Wendy and ending with Moira
