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 Posted: Thu Apr 28, 2011 7:50 pm
There were some things you learned about Roberta Walker: She liked wearing her hair in pigtails. She ate her cupcakes cake first, frosting later. She would punch you in the face if you bullied her sister.
She hated saying she was sorry.
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She ran, tripping and stumbling, out of the forest and into the tall weeds. Her dress was messy, torn in places. Her cheeks were muddy, to cover up the tears, but you couldn't hear her sniffles through the wind in the weeds, or the faraway sound of someone calling Robbie.. Robbie, come back. As far as Roberta Walker was concerned, there was no going back. Onwards she pressed, not thinking about where she was going. Maybe she'd run straight off a cliff. Maybe they'd be sorry then. Maybe they'd never find her broken body, and the monsters would take her.
It took exactly four hundred and seventy-seven steps for the fear to set in- not that she'd been counting. In the sudden stillness she crouched, hopelessly lost, half-wishing the wind would come back.. but instead, she heard the unmistakable sounds of monster: heavy footsteps and sinister laughter. In moments like this, one was all too aware of death; of being spirited away, of things like loss and regret and not being mean to your sister. "I'm sorry, Petra," she whispered, as if it were a prayer. She knelt, arranging her dress neatly, clasping her hands together and bowing her head.
It didn't work. Something lunged at her, and she cringed, opening one eye to peek.. at a boy, staring curiously at her. She looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. She was even a just a tiny bit disappointed. They looked at each other, neither saying a single word, until it became a staring contest.
She blinked first.
He laughed at her.
She punched him in the face, and when he didn't hit her back, she figured he could be trusted. Out of the danger zone, she was suddenly mad at Petra again; and now she knew the perfect way to get her sister back.
"Come with me," she demanded, picking herself up and dusting her skirt off. "I'll show you the best place in the world."
It was the twins' secret place, but there was no way he could have known that then; she took his hand and dragged him along, and after an hour of finding their way out of the weeds (It's this way, he said helpfully, but she ignored him) and another hour of following the secret-super-special-secret route, they spent the night huddled under a brown tarp, watching the fireflies. They talked for hours and hours, about ghosts and scary things, and fairies and unicorns. They heard the voices of their parents, but they ignored them; just a while more, she thought. Be scared a while more. Be sorry a while more. You'll want to take back the words you said.
The lights came and went, the familiar voices calling out their names. It was long past dinnertime (judging by the growling of her stomach) and by now, the spite had worn off. Tired, she let herself snuggle against him.
"Pet," she whimpered mournfully, and he misunderstood, patting her on the head, but her heart wasn't in it anymore. Suddenly, the darkness seemed darker, more terrible, and the old fear came back again. Did Petra miss her? Was she still mad? Was she never ever ever going to talk to her again?
The lights came closer, and cries of 'They're there!' She was only vaguely aware of being held close by her mother, and it was only then that she let herself cry again. A hot bath and a fluffy towel later, she wormed her way under the sheets of Petra's bed, wrapping her arms around her sister.
I missed you, she mumbled sleepily. I'm sorry.
If Roberta Walker had one weakness, it was her older sister.
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Posted: Thu Apr 28, 2011 7:52 pm
He came for her every day, peeking his head into the kitchen where she sat shelling peas. Some days there was pie in the house, and her mother served them all a huge slice; he devoured it, swinging his legs as he sat on the chair, talking excitedly as he chewed. It was Petra who offered him tissue to clean his face with (it was inevitably stained with berry juice, he ate like.. like a savage), and Petra who asked if he'd like one more slice.
But it was Roberta he kept his eyes on, and Roberta who followed him out the door later. Sometimes she crouched down with him as he tied his shoelaces, whispering in his ear, and Petra would catch her name. She always slunk off into some other part of the house, calling out a wavery BYE ROBBIE SEE YOU LATER, and Roberta would look back at her, biting her lip, until Robert pulled at her arm, dragging her out the door while announcing that they were going to see dragons today.
They spent their afternoons jumping into piles of crackly golden leaves, seeing which one hid a monster. They ran through the forest shrieking and yelling to keep the ghosts from getting them, they looked into old squirrel-holes for fairies. Today they were pirates, but land pirates stranded on a mysterious island, on an expedition in search of water and magical turtles. Robert shoved a map in her face- a raggedy, torn thing (he showed where his mom had helped him burn it in spots so it looked real) that really only had an X on it. He consulted it every few steps, telling her: Five steps to the right no, my right, not yours... now fifteen steps... to the left YES, that left! and finally after they'd braved land sharks and a kraken (land-kraken) he yelled WATER AHOYYYYY in her ear, and made a mad dash for the creek.
"Race you," she challenged, and she did; smaller and lighter than him, she won by just a little, and he called her out on not saying it was a race, even though he'd started first. Without a word he dove into the water, and started splashing at her, but she just lay belly-down on the pier, watching him.
"What's wrong, 'Berta?" He looked at her, worried; had she taken the race thing personally?
"Why don't we ever play with Petra?" It came out like an accusation, and now she'd begun it was hard to stop. "You know she's my sister, you know she's important to me. I love Pet to bits. Don't you see how sad she is when she doesn't come with us? I don't care," she said, glaring at him. "She's gonna play with us every day. We're twins, you gotta deal with both of us."
He stared at her, mouth open, and suddenly she was angrier at him. Picking up a small stone, she threw it at him; he barely managed to duck it.
"I'm done with you," she yelled, and she was out of sight by the time he'd scrabbled onto the shore again. What had she said all that for? He just wanted to spend more time with her every day. Wasn't that what best friends did?
Roberta flung herself into her sister's arms the minute she got home. "I missed you," she said, but then Petra just asked what Robert had done and what he'd said and as Roberta answered those questions she heard her voice growing smaller and smaller, until she finally trailed off. Petra stared at her, asking what was wrong, asking her to finish the story, but she couldn't. She stared straight at Petra, feeling suddenly cold, with the realisation that Petra wasn't sad because she didn't get to play with her and Robert.
She was sad because she wanted to play with her and Robert.
"I'm tired," she said, her voice mechanical. She didn't talk to Petra the rest of the night, but after they'd been tucked in Petra started talking again, about Robert and wanting to play with them (him, she thought bitterly), and Roberta refused to look at her sister or talk to her.
"Robbie, c'mon."
It was more than she could bear- the thought of losing her sister to her best friend. Seething, she sat up in bed, and looked straight at the older girl.
"He doesn't even like you," she snarled, "Stay away from him." And when Petra wouldn't shut up about stupid Robert, she did the only thing she could think of: dare Petra to do something she definitely wouldn't.
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They never spoke again about what happened that night- or even just what they'd seen, and Petra never again asked to play with Robert again. For that matter, Petra never again asked to play with her, and it was only Robert coming to find her every day, still, that kept her from moping around the house. She told him everything- how there had been something (or some things) there, great shadowy beasts with red eyes and sharp teeth and claws that didn't tear through your body, but your very soul.
And he was the only one that believed her.
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"It's time you girls learned to help out at the farm," their father said gruffly, pointedly looking at her over the dinner table. "No more stupid playing pretend and traipsing all over the land and taking up with bad company, you hear me? Old Saldean never had to put up with this nonsense from his kid, she's such a sensible one, asking what she can do to help. Been taking the sheep out since she was ten! Why I wound up with the likes of you... I owe someone something in my last life, or what?"
She glared at him, seething. "They're real. They're really out there! It's not stupid playing pretend, you just don't know anything!" And then he'd storm over and hit her; she didn't even know why. She kicked and struggled, but that meant nothing against arms strong from working on a farm for years; he'd slap her senseless, until she couldn't argue anymore, a sad, cowering mess on the cold wooden floor.
They're real, she thought, the tears coursing down her cheeks. Through swollen eyes she could see Petra in the corner, and she wondered why she never said anything. They'd seen the same things that night- real monsters, out in the field. Monsters that had known their names, had almost gotten them. This, to her, was the greatest betrayal: for all the times she'd stuck up for Petra, she hadn't come through at this most crucial time. Her mother was the one who washed her face, dabbed alcohol on her wounds and bandaged them up and held her close, begging her to please just be quiet and not talk back to him- but what didn't kill you made you stronger, and she found herself picking fights that she always lost, if just to see whether Petra reacted.
She never did.
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Posted: Thu Apr 28, 2011 7:52 pm
Things grew worse and worse, from that day on. Every night was a new fight, until their father started staying away from home. He'd come back at three in the morning, smelling like alcohol and shouting unintelligible things before collapsing on the floor. They both had their own ways of 'escaping'- Roberta into her imagination and the time she spent playing with Robert; Daddy into his drunken stupors and fits of rage.
There was only so much a person could take before they snapped.
We're leaving, her mother said one afternoon, when Petra and their father were at the market. She didn't say much else, and even Roberta didn't dare ask questions as she watched her pack- just a small 'Forever?'
There was a long pause before her mother answered: Yes. They didn't bring anything much- just two backpacks worth of.. some stuff her mom packed, and Roberta grabbed one of the kittens from the barn. It was a gray tabby, with white socks, and it mewled happily at her and snuggled into the crook of her arm. Outside, a car she'd never seen before was waiting for them, and she clambered in after her mother.
"Hey, there," said the driver, a lady with short hair and sunglasses- her Aunt Sophie, apparently. "You ready for the trip of your life?"
Roberta liked her immediately. She got to say goodbye to Robert, and then they were driving halfway across the country, making pit stops here and there. Surprisingly, it didn't mean much to her to leave Petra, or their dad; they were just a thought at the back of her mind, a little bit of guilt she tried to push away. Not so much their dad, even, but Petra left behind with him.
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It didn't take her too long to fit into her new life in Arizona. New school, new friends; but more than anything, family. She learned to crochet, from her grandmother, and also about what her mother was like as a girl. About how she'd been rebellious, as a teenager, how she'd run away so many times. How she'd announced she was leaving to find herself, to explore the world, only to end up married to a horse farmer halfway across the country. They'd never understand her, her grandmother chuckled, but they loved her anyway. And all they wanted was to see her happy.
They let Roberta run wild, too- or at least, her imagination did. She joined the occult club at school, and also photography; they'd go out to haunted houses and snap pictures of things that lurked in the darkness. Sometimes she thought she voices call out to her; it was the same sort of voice she'd heard out in the cornfields so many years ago. Sometimes it sounded like Petra and guilt. Sometimes it was almost comforting. In the summer, she went back to visit Robert, only to learn that the horse farm was almost completely ruined by her father's alcoholism, but also that Petra had managed to get a scholarship to a boarding school.
She felt proud, then, of the sister she didn't know any more. Proud that she was getting along in life, fending for herself. Each summer for two years she went back to visit, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Petra. Each summer Robert made her promise to go see him, but in the year the twins graduated, when she knew for sure that Petra would be back, she broke that promise.
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Roberta Walker had broken many, many things in her life, and some nights they came back to haunt her. There were ghosts- and then there were the ghosts of things you did, the ones you couldn't destroy no matter what.
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Posted: Thu Apr 28, 2011 7:53 pm
"And how are you today, Roberta Walker?"
"I never quite figured out how you know my name. Or why."
"I've known you forever, Roberta Walker."
She laughed, and leaned back into the chair. "That's true." This was a voice she'd known since that night on the cornfields- and it belonged to a man who, as he liked to say, spent his time stalking. Funny joke. Stalk? Corn?
Roberta didn't get it, either. He'd appeared to her for the first time (I forgot my puff of smoke, sorry) a week ago, after that traumatic incident with Robert at her apartment. She'd gone out for a walk to clear her thoughts, and he came over to sit beside her on a park bench. As she remembered it, he'd patted her on the shoulder coldly, then launched into a rant about darkness and hunters and whatnot.
"You're not very good at this," she told him, but he laughed.
"I am, actually. You're listening to me."
She had to give him that.
"So," he said, beaming at her. "Are you ready for this?"
She thought about everything that had ever happened. About how she'd ruined so many lives by being selfish, about Petra and what Robert had done that night and why. To take him up on his offer would mean taking the easy way out of everything... but also all she had ever dreamed of. For as long as she could remember, she'd been chasing the darkness and trying to find out its secrets. This was her chance.
"Yes."
He beamed at her, put an arm over her shoulder.
"Any last words?"
She didn't answer.
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