Short Story

So... I wrote a short story this evening for the blog. Think it'll probably be an ongoing series of short stories but it'd be great if you had a read and gave me some - constructive - feedback. Cheers all!

EG xx

*

I hate it in Here: it smells, it’s dark and everyone’s so miserable. Seriously, they walk around with faces so long they may as well tuck them in to their socks.

    The first day I arrived Here I was barefoot, having discarded those awful, thick clunky shoes as soon as I could, my clothes were still as brown and dreary as ever and I was absolutely famished.

   I’d gone on a hunger strike almost forty-eight hours before so by the time Sam paid me a visit, I was practically delirious with starvation and fatigue. They’d introduced the Cat and Mouse Act the year before and so now none of us could be forced to eat a scrap. Then, when we became so weak, we were released. If we then died outside of the prison, well, who was responsible but ourselves?

   There was a guard at the prison called Garner who used to enjoy chucking freezing cold water over me whenever I started to drop off – and that was at lights out. He really was a nasty piece of work; delighted in eating his lunch in front of me, all the while knowing that I hadn’t allowed food to pass my lips for what felt like days. Sometimes he’d offer me a slice of bread here, a cut of cheese there. Most of the time I refused, but there was one occasion when I simply couldn’t stand it any longer. I remember extending my hand and the food being snatched out of reach as quickly as it had been put there. Then he laughed at me. It was a cruel laugh – hard and fast like the sound a gun makes.

   The night Sam came, I was curled up like a foetus in the corner of my cell, the floor icy and hard beneath me. I had made a pact with myself that I would never let anyone in that place see me cry and I was true to my word. The five other women who were in there with me were fast asleep, using one another as a pillow so that they resembled one giant heap of laundry.

   So there I was: to all intents and purposes, completely emotionless, lying there like a corpse when I heard small footsteps running down the passageway that lined the cells. They were not the footsteps of an adult, more of a child. They were light and quick, not heavy and formidable like Garner. I sat up and scanned my surroundings. There was nothing out of the usual. A couple of lamps lit up the passageway, albeit dimly; the faint sound of the wind blowing in through the various cracks and crevices in the walls could just be heard and the woman a few cells away was performing her nightly ritual of crying for her children. Through the wailing, despite having been incarcerated for little over a month, I still hadn’t been able to decipher the names of said children.

   “Alithea…” My head whipped around so quickly it was like the name had struck me on the head.

   The voice was definitely coming from the passageway, its echoes bouncing off the stone wall.

   “Hello?” I whispered back in to the dimness. “Who’s out there?”

   A sharp, high-pitched giggle pierced the air as if in response to my question. It unnerved me and I shrank back in to the corner, hugging my knees to my chest as if somehow that would protect me.

   “Alithea!” My name was called out this time in a singsong way. If the whispering unnerved me, this frightened me.
   “Whoever’s there,” I hissed, “you need to leave. How did you get in here?”

   Another giggle answered me and that’s when I saw him. He was short, about four feet tall with jet-black hair that hung just below his shoulders. Dressed in a three-piece black suit and carrying a bright red umbrella, he waggled his fingers cheekily at me.

   “Good evening Alithea.”

   “Good evening,” I replied uncertainly.

   “Are you well?”

   “Not very.”

   “No? What’s the matter with you?”

   “I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m tired and above all, I’m in prison.”

   Who this impertinent man-child was, was anyone’s guess but he was tiresome with his questions and I found myself being more than a tad irritable in my answers.

   “So sorry I asked,” he said, holding his hands up, hanging the handle of his umbrella in the crook of his arm as he did so. “Come closer.”

   For the moment I remained where I was, rooted to my spot in the corner. My hands were placed either side of me, fingers splayed over the floor in an attempt to find something tangible to keep me focused. This thing, whatever it was, alarmed me and made me feel unsafe. An emotion I was used to feeling, in all honesty, but now it was different.

   “Am I going to have to come in there?” he asked, inspecting his nails, which were longer than any I’d ever seen on a man, if that was indeed what he was.

   “How do you propose to do that?” I scoffed, which looking back now, seems like a rather foolish thing to have done.   
   “Close your eyes.”

   “I’d prefer not to.”

   “Close your eyes!” The sudden raising of the man’s voice was so unexpected I gave an involuntary yelp. My cellmates stirred but thankfully remained rooted to their slumber.

   I did as I was told, my heart hammering in my chest so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
   “Open.” There was that singsong voice again. With goosebumps springing up all over my body, I opened my eyes.

   The man was standing inches away from me.

   “How did you get in?” I spluttered. “There’s four locks on that door and the bars are far too close together for you to squeeze through!”

   He tapped his nose with his index finger and winked at me, something that made me balk.

   “Don’t you wink at me!”

   It was only then I noticed that he was exactly the same height as me, except I was sitting down.

   “Why are you here?”

   “I could ask the same of you.”

   “I’m a Suffragette.”

   “That’s not a reason.” He settled himself on a small lump of straw next to me.

   I paused before answering. “We vandalised a golf course.”

   “Is that all?”

   “It was no mean feat if that’s what you’re suggesting!” I was insulted at the tone of this man’s voice. He seemed to be mocking myself and the others for our efforts to get women the vote. Then again, I don’t know why I expected a man to understand.

   “Not for one second, my dear.” He put his hand on his heart and bent his upper body slightly.

   “What is it you want? How do you know my name?”

   “I’m Sam.”

   Relieved to have extracted one answer to a question out of him, I relaxed slightly.

   “How long have you been in here for?”

   “A little over a month.”

   “I don’t know how you do it.”

   “Self-belief and tenacity has something to do with it I expect,” I sniffed, picking an imaginary piece of lint off my skirts.
   “I’m here to make you an offer.”

   I looked slowly up at him, this strange little man. 

   “What sort of an offer?”

   “An offer that would get you out of here like that.” He clicked his fingers and the door to the cell swung slightly open. As I was staring at this, my mouth agog, Sam leaned in to my vision so that my focus shifted to him. “Interested?”

   I managed to pull myself together to put on my ‘business’ face. “It depends on the offer itself, obviously.”

   “Take a walk with me.”

   “A walk?” I repeated, an image of Garner springing instantly to mind, his foot coming down thick and hard in to the pit of my stomach as punishment for trying to get away.

   As if he’d read my mind Sam said, “If you decide to take me up on this offer then you needn’t come back here and no one will ever find you; though if you feel it isn’t for you, I will return you to this place and nobody will be any the wiser. Now how does that sound?”

   I had to admit, even though I was a staunch believer in our mission, I knew that I would almost certainly die if I stayed much longer. I’d suffered a miscarriage the year before on learning my husband had run off with another woman and now my body was much less resilient than it once was.

   “Very well,” I said, getting slowly to my feet. “Just a walk.”

   “Indeed.” Sam grinned, his white teeth glinting in the window’s moonlight. He started towards the door.

   “Just one thing.”

   He stopped and turned just his head towards me.
   “Who are you? Don’t say Sam.”

   He studied me for a long time as if weighing me up. 

   Finally, he spoke. “I’m the Devil.”