"Henry! Henry!" Ernest Robertson, Olive's grandfather was knocking on the door for what seemed like the millionth time. It had been two years since the fateful day when Olive was shut out from the world forever, and isolated in her room. Of course she would be allowed out to certain places, but her father had a very strict time limit. When he was in a good mood, at weekends she could go outside for around twenty minutes.
For bedtime, Olive had her old wooden bed changed to one of metal and she was not allowed to have the sheets anywhere further than her waist up. Her father also was her wear a fire-proof fabric all of the time, and had more wrapped all the way up her arms so tightly that in the morning she would have horrible sores from where they had torn into her pale, delicate skin. Her father hadn't even tried to make the fabric into anything wearable or comfortable such as gloves, and the material was constantly itching her skin.
Rap! Olive's grandfather was getting increasingly impatient, as Olive could clearly hear from the confines of her room. It wouldn't be long before the front door came falling down.
"I know you're in there Henry! Answer this damn door now, before I smash it down!"
Quickly, Olive's father speedily paced to the door, unlocked five or so latches and opened the door, which had been dented slightly from the constant banging of Olive's grandfather.
"What is it now, Mr Robertson?" He asked wearily.
"I demand to see my granddaughter!"
Her father looked nervous for a moment, pausing, then going, "She's out, playing with her friend. You know...ummm...Barbara! Remember her?"
Olive's grandfather reddened. "I've know the names of every person in this town for all seventy one years of my life. Every birth, every death, every marriage. Henry Elephanta, you're lying! I've had it with you!" He whacked his cane against the carpet, which now had a fine array of burns and holes.
"No, really...She doesn't live far away-"
"For two years I have barely seen Olive. You have refused me so many times, as have you refused everyone else. I can barely remember what she looks like!" He stamped his foot in frustration. Where could Olive be? What was her father hiding? His eyes then fell to the many burns littering the carpet.
"How long have these been here? Have you now taken to ruining the house I gave to my Jane? Are you going out of your way to ruin people's lives?"
Olive's father tensed, and stood up straight. For a moment it looked as if he was going to strike the man he had hidden from for all this time. Then his hand dropped by his side.
"Get out of my house," he declared, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
"Excuse me?" Olive's grandfather retorted. "This is technically my house. You have no right to boss me around. In fact, I have a feeling that you started the fire."
"If only you knew."
And those were the last things that Ernest Robertson heard before he was shoved out of the house and into the thorns, which ripped and shredded his clothes, whilst cutting into him and causing terrible pain. Little did he know that this would be the very last time that he would ever see this house, the very last time that he would see the ghastly Henry Elephanta, the very last time he would attempt to go back to see Olive.
Later on that week, the news spread quickly of the scene that had unfolded. Olive father watched her like a hawk, and would rarely leave the house. This resulted in him taking most of the food, only giving anything stale or rotten to Olive, unless he was feeling kind hearted. But this only actually meant that she would get a fresher portion that was still minuscule. What came from this was that Olive was becoming dreadfully thin, and at times, ill.
Did her father even care? The answer was always no. Olive had tried to speak to him, to scream out. Unfortunately, in return he would strike her and shout at her so loud that she would curl up into a ball and start crying, rocking herself in a catatonic state. She barely got to see the ouside world anymore; her room became a prison, her father the jailer.
Soon Christmas came, and the spirits seemed to lift slightly. Olive woke up at three o'clock in the morning, in even more pain than usual, due to her father binding the fire-proof fabric even tighter, leaving marks as deep as a knife wound.
She heard the key turn in the lock, and in stepped her father, smiling from ear-to-ear.
"Merry Christmas!"
He handed Olive a large present. "This is from me, Olive. I hope that you always keep this close to your heart."
She unwrapped the present, which took her quite a bit of time, considering that her hands looked as if they were mummified. After the paper was removedd, Olive found herself staring at several books.
"I don't know if I ever told you Olive, but I love writing. So much, in fact that I have these diaries which are written from when I was around ten to around the time when you were born. You should find them an interesting read."
Olive was very puzzled. Why would her father, who had abused her and isolated for two and a quarter years, give her his secret diaries? Maybe this was all a trick, as she could barely open the front cover with this horrible cloth wound up around her hands. Yes, if she tried to remove it her father would definitely scream at her, maybe even stop her food for the next several days.
"Thank you daddy," she whispered, speaking for the first time in ages. Her father stood up, beckoning her to come with him.
"There are some more presents in the living room. Do you want me to show you?" He asked, in the gentle voice that Olive had not heard for ages. She found herself standing up and following him into the living room, which she had not set foot into for at least three or so months. Inside, the room was piled with mounds of presents, saved from the last two or so years. These also seemed to include birthday presents.
"Wow..." Olive exclaimed, breathless. Was all of her pain and despair gone?
Her father reached out for a large present. He had an uneasy look on his face.
"Olive, this present is from your grandmother. Would you like me to unwrap it for you?"
"Yes please."
Quickly, he tore the wrapping paper and handed her the box. It was quite big, and rattled when Olive shook it. Instantly she knew it was something that had once belonged to her mother. But right now, something else was also on her mind.
"Daddy? What about grandfather?"
Her father went chalk white, and he seemed to become smaller, like a young boy who had been caught stealing. "I don't know how to say this Olive, but your grandfather...died."
Olive fell down with a thud. She could hardly believe her ears. "I'm sorry daddy, but I don't think I heard you very well."
Her father went on, ignoring her previous comment, "He fell ill on his way back from visiting you. I tried to warn him about what was happening at the house, but he just wouldn't listen to me."
"What was happening daddy?"
For some reason, Olive's father seemed to smirk at her in a cruel way. Instantly, she knew exactly the reason why her father had asked her grandfather to leave. Olive crumpled, felling even more lost in this world. She had hit rock bottom. She had not only killed her mother, but managed to kill her grandfather, as well.
"It's me daddy."
His eyes became cold towards her, his horrible smile becoming even wider.
"You think I don't know about these things," her father said, shaking, both in voice and movement. "But I know very well. I am related to someone like you, my half-brother, of all people. He had powers as well, but instead of fire coming from his hands, it was ice. I was the only person in my family who didn't die," he said, sounding so unstable, Olive felt as if he was going to erupt any second with his fiery temper.
"I was thirteen. An orphan. Oh, he tried to control these 'powers', but all that resulted in was everybody in the house being frozen to death. I couldn't stop him, but I will certainly stop you. And who could've believed that my own daughter was cursed with powers created by the devil himself as well."
Olive knew where this would end up. She would be in her bedroom, on the hard floor, crying a flood of tears, will her father drank as much gin as possible until he passed out. She slowly stood up, and started to back away from her father.
"And you'll think that I'm hurting you, when really, all I'm doing is protecting you. If I exposed you to all of the village, you be running from infuriated mobs, their fire on your fire. Or you'll be sold to some stupid circus, as the main act: The girl who creates fire. I am your only hope in the world."
With that, her father picked Olive up and stormed into her bedroom. "I'm coming back with more of that fabric stuff," he said harshly, dropping her onto the bed. He began to leave the room, and stopped in the hallway, his face illuminated by the dim light of the newly risen sun, making him look like a skeleton. "Olive, if you try and escape, the punishment...well, it'll be beyond your imagination."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Olive in more fright than ever before. It was hard to believe that her father had a relative like her, this was probably the reason that she had never met her other set of grandparents before. But surely her father would have told her mother-or didn't he?
Maybe that's why he hated the cold so much, always complaining and starting unnecessary arguements and discussions with people about the winter, and how much he hated snow. But what about the warmth? Surely he would hate the fire now, because of her.
She could her his footsteps coming back, the one sound that could be heard at least a hundred miles away. Then the squeaky sound of the key in the door. At last, her father's face was seen around the door, followed by a body. From her father's hand came a long belt, a venomous snake, but instead of venom, cuts and bruises would be the result.
"Olive. I have some more of the fabric outside, in the box underneath the window. I want you to climb out here and fetch it for me."
She hesitated, wondering what devious scheme he had cooked up now. With a key he had brandished from his pocket, Olive's father began to unlock a series of mechanisms keeping the window shut. He then made an effort to open it, as it had been shut for such a long amount of time. Olive climbed out, taking great care that the 'bandages' were intact and would not catch on anything. She jumped, falling into a patch of dock leaves, just narrowly missing the foxgloves that her father had planted outside, should she ever attempt to escape.
Shakily standing up, Olive glanced around, looking for the fabric. Then she saw a big box, midnight black, with a thick lock on it. She decided to call up to the window, which was to high to reach, "Daddy? Can I have the key to the box please?"
Instead of her father, the only answer that she heard was a hammer, that seemed to be coming from inside. She would have to try and open the box herself. Or maybe she could just lift the box?
Planting her feet on the ground, Olive grabbed hold of the lock (there was no handle), and with some effort heaved the box off of the ground, whilst still checking that she wasn't going to light anything on fire either.
Then it hit her. She couldn't reach the window, let alone climb it! She ran round to the door, and crashed the box down, it didn't even sound like there was any of that horrid stuff inside, binding her to her father. Slowly, Olive reached forward and rapped on the door. After around a minute or so, she could hear her father groaning in anger, and stomping down the hallway. She then heard him fiddling with the many locks in the door.
Creaking, the antique door opened, unveiling the livid fury on her father's face. "Get inside," he hissed, grabbing hold of Olive's shoulder and shoving her inside, slamming the door so hard that a nail came out of the hinges.
"Well, thank you for managing to take the box to the front door," he snarled into her face. "Get into your room now."
And with that, Olive found herself being marched into her room, which now had a set of iron bars on the windows to add to the never-ending list of locks and latches. Her father snatched the box from her, and got a key from inside his patched brown waistcoat. Olive stood by her bed, carefully watching him unlocking the box.
As he was opening the lid, Olive saw a wide array of weapons inside, as well as a bundle of ropes, some of that dreaded fire-proof fabric. He father selected a rather sharp knife, with edges like jagged teeth. He held up at Olive, looking as if he was about to take it through her heart. Was she going to be killed?
Then something surprised her. Her father took the knife straight through the horrible, itching fabric, tearing it down the middle. He did the same with Olive's other arm, then left. In shock, Olive fell to the ground, extremely confused as to what was happening. Was she finally free? From everything?
Soon, her father came back, with a large bucket of ice cold water. "Put your arms inside the bucket, and leave them there for the next five minutes," he instructed. Olive did as she was told, afraid that he would do something terrible if she protested.
The bucket was also made of metal, which was rusted slightly. Dipping her hands in, Olive felt barely anything; she was actually heating the water up- the exact opposite of what her father was intending to happen.
After a few minutes, Olive's father spoke, "That should be it then."
Olive removed her arms from the bucket of water- but a more appropriate description would be a bucket of evaporated water. Her father reached into the box and brought out what looked like some very sharp teeth.
"Daddy? What is that?" She asked timidly.
"Let's end this once and for all."
With great effort, he tried to pry open the contraption. It sprang open, making Olive jump. Her father held it towards Olive's left hand.
"Daddy!"
He laughing cruelly, scaring Olive even more. "This is a trap that my father used when he went away to hunt bears and wolves around the world. It certainly put them out of their misery, and it will take away mine."
He attempted to get her hand into the trap.
"Don't you want to be free of this? To stop feeling like the murderer that you are!" He spat.
"No, daddy. No!"
"Don't you ever talk to me like that, you little wench!"
Before he could use that satanic mechanism, Olive accidentally touched her bedsheets, instantly igniting them. The fire that she had not seen for a few years returned angrier and more vengeful than ever. Then her father's waistcoat caught on fire.
There was a scream in the room, which Olive soon realised came from her own mouth. Was she killing her father?
"You are the spawn of devil. WITCH!" He screeched into her face, Olive feeling as if her eardrums were about to burst.
"Put it out!" He wailed, sounding like the cat that she had witnessed being drowned by a horrible boy in the village. Just as she was then, there was nothing she could do.
Her father threw himself on the floor, and rolled around. Despite the horrible situation that was unfolding, the actions of her father seemed rather comical, and Olive had to stifle explosive laughter.
Once the flames were put out, her father, whose neck was raw with burns. He got the belt that he had brandished earlier from on top of Olive's chest of drawers, and gathered some of the fire-proof fabric.
He furled it up as tightly as it would go, letting it pierce into Olive's skin, where there were already raw marks and rashes. The pain stung so terribly that Olive felt tears spring to her eyes.
After her father had finished that, he got the belt. He looked at it for a second, then put it back into the box, and swapping it for two pieces of lethal looking rope. He then tied Olive's wrapped up hands to the two bedposts at the head of the bed.
"If you don't want to be a normal person again, stay as this twisted freak forever more," And left her at that.
