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.”
