The Wishing Box Read online

  It reached a hand out for Steven.

  Steven crawled back, his own screams resounding in the cottage. Something was moving on what was left of Peter’s face. Steven was transfixed by the horror, watching helplessly as worms came vomiting out of the creature’s mouth, no sooner spilling on the floor then they were back on the monster’s flesh, writhing over it, inside it, devouring it with speed. Within minutes the tsunami of bugs, worms, and maggots ate away any sign of the creature.

  The box clattered to the floor, the sound reminiscent of chattering teeth in the cold. Steven stood in his home, his eyes glazed, watching the exodus of the multitude of crawling insects to the back garden and to the rotted pumpkin patch. He was curiously numb. His vision began to blur, and he gladly gave himself to the darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Diana stirred.

  She felt light. Her limbs didn’t ache as they did every morning, nor was there a heaviness in her head that would develop into a full-blown headache by midafternoon. She felt like a young girl waking up from refreshing sleep.

  Stretching her arms, she opened her eyes.

  The world around her was a swirling grey mist.

  Did I fall asleep in my garden? She sat up but there was no ground below her.

  She scrambled to her feet, tripped, then stood on unsteady feet.

  Heart beating in her throat she wondered at her surroundings. There was no concrete surface of any sort. She stomped a toe down gingerly. It hit nothing, but she didn’t fall through the mist.

  What is this place? Muffled noises reached her ears, but they were so distorted and subdued that she couldn’t make out what they were or where they were coming from. It felt like she was standing on the top of a mountain trying to hear the sounds in the village far below.

  Diana looked down at her hands. They were as grey as the mist. She pulled her hair to look at the strands.

  Grey.

  Grey.

  Grey.

  Diana rubbed her eyes. Panic fluttered in her breast like a thousand butterflies taking wing.

  “Bonnie day, aye?”

  Diana started so bad she cricked her neck. Then she saw an old woman behind her dressed in a neat black skirt embroidered with large, gay flowers, a shawl in every color of the rainbow, and heard the tinkling of silver bangles. The Gypsy woman was in full color in this world drained of all hues.

  Memories of what had happened came in bursts and flashes and the old woman’s face, haggard, dirty, and foul loomed before her.

  “You?” Diana screeched. Her own voice was like a slow wind. “You’re the woman who gave me the box!”

  “Aye,” the gypsy smiled. “But you made your own destiny, as did I.”

  “My son!” Diana clawed at her throat as the enormity of what had happened came to her. “My poor, sweet boy. You killed him!” She pointed an accusing finger at the old hag. “It was you.”

  “No point blaming me. It won’t wash the blood off of your hands. You killed your son, dearie. Your greed killed him. I did not ask you to wish in the box, did I?”

  Diana could not deny that. A burning rage was boiling in her gut. She wanted to place her hands around the hag’s thin neck and snap it in two. She inched a little closer to the woman.

  “Where are we?” she asked, trying to get some answers while she distracted the hag from her true intention. “How come you’re in color and I am like this?”

  “Don’t you know yet?” The gypsy laughed. “You’re in the Seam.”

  “The Seam?”

  “Aye, the spaces in between worlds. It’ll be a hard time for you to get beyond.”

  “Beyond? What do you mean, evil witch? Speak clearly!”

  “You realize you’re dead, right?”

  Diana stopped her inching and shuffling.

  Could this be true? Part of her understood that she wasn’t in the world anymore. She could see nothing in the mist, could hear very little, and there were no physical markers or terrain. But dead?

  The gypsy cackled. The mist stirred.

  Diana stared at the small hole opened in the mist.

  She heard a sort of muffled scream coming from it. She stood there, in the middle of nowhere, looking down, and then she saw her colorless home through the small hole, and Steven. He was screaming. She could tell by the unhinged jaw and the staring eyes, but she could hear almost nothing. She rubbed her ears and stepped forward to comfort him, but her feet felt nothing.

  She saw her own dead body. She stood for an eternity, or maybe it was only minutes, she couldn’t be sure. Time had no meaning where she was. She bent down and came face to face with herself. Blood was pooling underneath the head. She clawed at her throat and felt nothing. Her nails grazed nothing, her fingers touched nothing. Her senses had abandoned her.

  She was dead.

  Cold shivers trailed up and down her spine. She shook till her teeth chattered in her head. It was so final. She was dead.

  Stuck in this grey limbo, the only light she saw was that Peter wasn’t here. She thanked the Lord that her poor, sweet son had made it to heaven.

  The mist shifted, and her lifeless face was obscured.

  “Is this hell?” Diana whimpered.

  “Not quite. But there is a way out. I hear them calling, the merry crowd. They say all is well on the other side. That’s why I did it, you know.” The gypsy sighed. Her edges were suddenly soft, as if someone had smudged them with a finger. “I know you blame me for your tragedies, but my hands were tied, lass. The only way to get out of this grey hell was to find another to take the box.”

  “You really think I’d stoop so low and endanger some hapless stranger?” Diana spat.

  “Can’t see how you will.” The gypsy shrugged as if she didn’t care what happened. “I had all my limbs when I came to you to give you the box. You died too recently to be able to make yourself visible to the next owner of the box. That will come in time. Lots of time. At the moment, you have other means to contact the owner. Remember, you’re nothing but a whisper in the wind.”

  The woman cackled and turned into the mist. The mist shrouded her.

  “What crowd? Where are they?” Diana lunged forward to grab the woman but caught only wisps of mist.

  A whisper in the wind…. Diana stood stalk still. She had heard whispers, oh yes, soft caressing endearments coming on tiptoes in her mind with thoughts of the box and all its wonders.

  The mist swirled. There were whispers and muffled noises. Was she in her home? If the mist had parted to show her dead body, then there is where she must be.

  They must have come to investigate. Diana cocked her ears, but she could only hear snatches of noise. She clicked her tongue, annoyed by the lack of auditory and ocular senses.

  Everything was grey. Motes of grey light filtered across her vision. After a time, the scene changed. The mist swirled. Colors were bleached from the world. People walked inside the house. Diana knew these people. She had lived with them back when the world had color, food, water, desire…

  She tried to touch their feet, pull on their clothes, but her fingers were like the mist around her, permeable. The people milled in her house till men in uniforms came in and put Steven in handcuffs and paramedics took her body away. He struggled, and Diana tried to stop them, but she was as helpless as a babe in arms. She wished fervently that Steven would be safe. She clapped her hands on her mouth then slapped herself for letting a wish slip through her panicked mind.

  Something tugged at her navel. The box. She let herself be carried away to the corner where it lay hidden under the sofa. There was a noise in the silence like a pin had been pricked into a vacuum allowing in the tiniest sound.

  All went grey again.

  What’s happening? Why am I still here?

  The box opened, and she felt a great hunger extending its jaws beneath her. It threatened to devour her. A thrill of fear ran through her. She shuddered as the mist shifted in great swirls revealing flashes of darkness.

 
; Voices, crystal clear voices were coming from the direction of the box. She could hear laughter and a snatch of song. It sounded like a merry gathering that Diana desperately wanted to join.

  A boy emerged from the mist. He was small, about Tim’s age and wore a ridiculously ruffled shirt. He darted back into the mist as if playing hide and seek.

  “Wait!” Diana called. “Don’t go!”

  The boy returned, suddenly shy. His cheeks were bright pink like freshly picked apples. A woman’s hand was on his shoulder and presently she emerged from the mist. Her hair was raven-black, and her skin was alabaster snow. She smiled in greeting.

  “You must be Diana.” The woman had a melodious voice. “Why are you still here?”

  “I can’t leave!” Diana sobbed. The sight of friendly faces, though strangers, after the gnawing fear of the box was so welcome she was faint with relief.

  “But you do,” the boy mumbled, giving Diana a shy smile. “Granny Zora told you how.”

  “Hush, Brian. Let her decide for herself.” The woman smiled again. “We’ll keep a look out for you. Come, Brian. You don’t want to miss all the fun.”

  The boy ran in the mist and disappeared. The woman lingered.

  “Try not to tarry.” The woman looked around at the swirling mist. “No one should stay in the grey hell for too long.”

  Then, she too was gone.

  Their words resounded in Diana’s head as she wandered in the mist. Her head ached, and her eyes smarted with no colors to distinguish the landscape. Misery licked at her marrow and she felt the beginnings of insanity. Without realizing what she was doing, Diana began to search for the pockets of mist that allowed her to view the world she had left behind.

  ***

  “I saw him yesterday,” Ian told Dougal Baird. “Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Aye, but he lost his son and wife in the span of hours. Who can blame him?”

  They stood outside the McCullough yard, watching the orderlies guide a docile Steven McCullough into an ambulance. His face was as vacant as an empty home, but he kept insisting to the nurse, “They ate him, the snails, and maggots. They ate my boy! He was on the floor of my house and they ate him!”

  Ian shook his head. Only madness could conjure up hallucinations of watching your son get devoured by maggots.

  “Such a tragedy.” Hetty Smith sniffed into her handkerchief. “They were finally going to see some peace, son all grown up and employed. Och, how the Lord gives, and taketh away.”

  “It’s just as well,” Dougal said. “I heard they’ve lost the body. Police investigating and all, but it would have driven ‘em both mad to hear that.”

  “Aye.” Ian scuffed the toe of his boot into the soft soil. His own worries were eating away at him. What was he to do about Lily now that Steven had gone mad and couldn’t pay back his debt?

  “Best get going.” Dougal said, placing his cap back on his head. The van carrying the body of Diana McCullough had already left. The neighbors watched the van carrying Steven depart, then started to disperse. Ian knew the McCullough tragedy would be the talk of town for decades to come. It was a sad end, and Ian had never wished it for his friend.

  When most of the crowd had gone, Ian looked surreptitiously around and walked towards the front door. He needed to see if there was some money lying around. It wouldn’t be stealing, if he was just taking what was owed him.

  ***

  Footsteps. Diana could hear distant and muffled footsteps. Guided by the weak sound, she found the hole in the mist. She watched as Ian walked inside her colorless house, his eyes darting about, his long fingers gliding over shelves and dusty surfaces. The hunger beneath her grew stronger and she knew what she had to do to avoid being devoured.

  ***

  It’s here.

  Ian stood stalk still, head cocked. A sudden drowsy flash made his eyelids flutter. A sweet numbness clouded his mind as the voice whispered in his ear.

  On the kitchen table.

  Peter headed towards the kitchen where he saw an envelope on the table. Opening it he found a thousand pounds. Ian’s heart raced in his ribs, and he licked his dry lips. This was more money than he had ever seen.

  Ian pocketed the envelope, resolving to only keep the five hundred owed him, and using the rest on a funeral service for Peter and Diana.

  There’s more where that came from. Your heart’s desire is beneath the sofa. Sofa!

  Ian stopped and eyed the sofa in the living room.

  A small shadow sat under it, dark and brooding.

  Ian fished it out. It was a small wooden box that fit in the palm of his hand. It had nice carvings of birds and flowers with the simple command ‘Make a Wish’ carved in the center.

  Make a wish, Ian. Make a wish and it will come true.

  Ian grinned. “A wish is it? All right, I wish Lily wasn’t pregnant. I’d sleep better at night once that’s over.”

  Pulling his hat low on his eyes, Ian walked out into the cold evening. The box was clutched in his large, calloused hand.

  There was a faint click as the box adjusted in his pocket with some loose change.

  ***

  It was over. Ian had the box now. Diana had found a new owner. Diana’s eyes darted around the hateful mist. Nothing stirred. Grinding her teeth at the endless nothingness of this hell, she screamed.

  The old gypsy had lied to her again. She had made a fool of Diana for the last time.

  “Get me out!” Diana screamed. “I can’t take this anymore!”

  Chapter Six

  Bray Cottage, Marywell Village

  10th October 1976

  “Clara!” Ian called. “Where’s Lily? I told her to be ready by breakfast. It’s a long ride to Arbroath.”

  He sat at the breakfast table sipping his tea while reading the paper. He checked the time on his watch then looked across the kitchen at the box he had found yesterday. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the damned thing. Maybe it was because that’s where he’d put Steven’s money.

  Ian shrugged.

  “Clara!”

  “All right, all right.” Footsteps thundered down the hall. Clara walked in the room with an armful of washing. “You need your shirts washed or not? Stop hollering at me.”

  “Where’s Lily? I asked that girl to be ready by breakfast.” Ian folded the paper. “That girl has landed us in hot soup, and I won’t have her moping about refusing to have that bastard removed,”

  Clara stared at him with her washed out brown eyes. The bags underneath only accentuated her shock.

  “What are you blabbering on about?” She dropped the shirts on to the breakfast table and felt his forehead. Ian clicked his tongue and slapped her hand away. “Are you running a fever?”

  “Damn it, woman! Would you bring the girl out?” Ian slapped his fist on the table.

  “What girl?” Clara cried exasperated. “Have you been keeping a mistress behind my back?”

  “Are you daft, woman?” Ian thundered. “Calling our daughter something like that. She’s made a mistake, no doubt about that, but there’s no need for that kind of talk.”

  Clara sat heavily in a chair.

  “What daughter Ian?” Clara placed a rough hand on Ian’s.

  “What do you mean what daughter? Our daughter Lily, of course.”

  Tears pooled in Clara’s eyes and she began to cry. “Twenty years it’s been since we married, and I never thought you’d throw this in my face.”

  “What in blue hell are you talking about?”

  “We don’t have a daughter, you cruel bastard. Isn’t it enough that your mum never lets up about me being barren, now you have to pretend you have some fictional daughter to rub it in? To hell with the lot of you!”

  Clara picked up the laundry and left the house by the backdoor. Ian stared after her. What a crazy thing to say. “If you didn’t want to call her down, you just had to say so. Didn’t have to make such a damned scene out of it.”

  Ian got up and went down the hall t
o the two rooms at the front of the house. Lily had objected to the abortion from the start, the stupid girl was convinced once the babe was born Seamus would come around and marry her. Clara had been no help either, women being sentimental about babies and all.

  “Lily!” Ian knocked on her bedroom door. “No use moping. It has to be done.”

  He opened the door and walked inside.

  Grain sacks lined one corner of the room, the center was crowded with boxes and two large wooden trunks. There were cobwebs along the ceiling and dust covered every surface. Ian stared. Where was his daughter’s room? Where was her bed with the flowered quilt? Where were the pictures of Jodie Foster and Olivia Newton John?

  The mother and daughter couldn’t have gone to such elaborate lengths to avoid an abortion.

  “Lily!” Ian shouted into the room and then left when the echoes became too eerie for his strained nerves. He rushed out of the house, his throat suddenly very dry, the muscles on his back twisted into tight knots. He passed a group of young girls he recognized as Lily’s friends. “Hey! Wait! Have you girls seen Lily anywhere?”

  They looked up at him strangely, the same expression of confusion in their eyes.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Bray, we don’t know of any Lily.”

  “Why you little!” Ian raised his hand but let it fall when the girls screamed and jumped back from him. Had they all conspired with his daughter to pretend she never existed?

  “What’s going on here?” Dougald Baird came striding up the path. “What are you saying to these girls, Ian?”

  “I was just asking them where Lily was. They won’t give me a damned answer,” Ian fumed.

  “Lily? Who’s Lily?” Dougald asked.

  Ian clenched his fists. “My daughter, of course!”

  Pity flooded Dougald’s face. Ian wanted to punch him.

  “It’s the strain of his best mate being a murderer.” Dougald nodded his head in understating. “Poor man thinks he had a daughter. Come along girls. Don’t vex him further.”