Girls’ Brigade was about what you’d expect.  Natalie had two points taken off because she wasn’t wearing the shirt that went with her uniform (Mum had forgotten to put it in the wash yesterday, but the one she was wearing looked almost exactly the same).  They had marching practice, where they had to bring their knees up to their stomachs, which no-one could actually do for more than three or four steps, which made Natalie suspect that it was all just a practical joke the adults were playing on them.  They sat in a circle, singing the songs from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, because they were going to put on a production of it sometime before Christmas.  And the whole time, the whole two hours in that little, echoey church hall, Natalie got more and more nervous.  That walk home was looming in the future, moving closer and closer.  The walk home without any adults, with only Andrea to protect them, outside where Mr Miacca could pounce on them at any moment.  Even if Andrea was old enough not to get eaten herself, was she old enough to keep him away?  Natalie just didn’t know.  And as the seconds ticked by, she just got sicker and sicker.

Finally, it was all over.  The songs had all been sung, the Bible stories had all been told, and a small group of parents had started to gather in between the door and the front table.  Time for Natalie to find her sisters and face whatever was going to happen next.

It took her a few minutes to find Stephanie, who’d crawled under a stack of chairs just to see what she could find.  “Come on out, Steph,” said Natalie, poking her back with her plimsole, “Andrea’s taking us home tonight, remember.  We need to go and find her.”

Steph backed up enough to smile at her.  “There’s loads of chewing gum under there!”

“There’s always loads of chewing gum under chairs.”  Natalie had never actually seen anyone chewing gum at Girl’s Brigade, but someone probably did.  Just very quietly.

Stephanie wriggled out, and Natalie spotted Andrea over by the door, talking to her friend Carla.  She took Stephanie’s hand and led her over.  “Hi Andrea!” said Natalie, “We’re ready to go!”

Andrea turned to look at Natalie over her shoulder.  “We.  Are.  Talking,” she snapped, and turned back to Carla.  Natalie shrugged and settled in for a bit of a wait.  Andrea and Carla couldn’t talk forever.  She glanced at the sign on the wall, the stony, bluish-grey thing that looked like it was supposed to be one of Moses’ tablets.  I promise to do my duty to God and the Queen.  Natalie had never understood that.  How were you supposed to do your duty to the Queen at a Girl’s Brigade meeting?  It wasn’t as if she ever showed up or anything.  Besides, the Captain and Lieutenant had never even mentioned her.  They were pretty clear about how you did your duty to God- be honest, help people in need, and sing a hymn now and then—but the Queen was a complete mystery.  If she ever came to check up on them, they’d be in big trouble.

Andrea and Carla began to wander towards the door, so Natalie took Stephanie’s hand and followed them.  They went out of the building, up the path, and along the pavement up to the traffic lights, and throughout it all, Andrea never once looked back.  For all she knew, Natalie and Steph might not even have been following her.  For all she knew, they might have snuck round the other side of the church to look for ghosts in the graveyard.

It was getting dark, but it wasn’t completely dark yet.  Natalie didn’t think that would make much of a difference to Mr Miacca, though.  By the sound of him, he could come along and capture you even if it was broad daylight.  Natalie glanced up and down the street.  It looked empty, apart from the four of them.  But maybe streets always looked empty, until it was too late.

They crossed the road and went up the next street.  Natalie didn’t recognise this route, but she wasn’t worried about that.  She was willing to trust Andrea.  Right up until Andrea turned right and headed up a garden path towards an unfamiliar house.

“What are we doing here?” asked Natalie.

Andrea glanced back at them.  “This is our friend Marina’s house,” she mumbled, then turned back to Carla.  “Do you think she’s got The Mask?”

“Dunno.  We’ll have to ask her.”

Natalie tried to calm herself down.  Andrea probably didn’t mean that they were going to go in and watch a whole film.  She probably just wanted to borrow the video and take it home.  And even if she did want to watch a film, at least that meant they’d be inside for the next hour or two, where Mr Miacca couldn’t get them.  By the time they finished watching it, Mum would probably be finished with her work thing, and she could pick them up after all.  Natalie didn’t like the idea of going into a strange house where she didn’t know anyone, but if it was what they had to do to stay out of Mr Miacca’s way, then she could put up with it.

Andrea’s friend Marina answered the door.  Natalie took a step sideways to get a look at her, but it was practically impossible.  She was wearing a hat and a jumper that were both too big for her, so all Natalie could see was wool and hair.  “Alright?” she said in a sleepy voice, “What do you want?”

“Andrea’s here,” said Carla, with a wicked little smile as if she was making a joke, “Are we going to watch The Mask?”

Marina scratched the side of her face.  She strained her neck, spotting Natalie and Steph behind Andrea and Carla.   “Who are these?” she asked.

Andrea glanced behind her.  “They can play in your living room while we’re watching it, right?”

Marina shook her head.  “Mum’s doing repairs in the living room.  She’d never let me have little kids in there.  Too dangerous.”

The three older girls went quiet and thoughtful.  From what Natalie could see, one of two things was about to happen.  Either Andrea would give up and take her and Steph home, or Marina would think of another room to abandon them in.  Silently, Natalie crossed her fingers and hoped for the first one.

After a moment or two, Marina shrugged her shoulders.  “Well, they can just play out here while we watch the film, right?”

Andrea looked worried.  “Well…”

Carla turned back towards Natalie and Steph.  “You can play out here for a bit, OK?  We won’t be long.”

Steph, unable to think of anything to say to that, gave Natalie a confused look.  “What?” said Natalie, “You’re just going to leave us out here?”

Andrea looked up and down the street.  “Look…  Look, it’s perfectly safe out here, alright?  You’re not stupid.  You know not to talk to strangers.  We won’t be long.”

“But you were supposed to take us home!”

“We.  Won’t.  Be.  Long.”  Andrea turned her back and went into the house.

Carla followed her in.  “Try not to play in the road!” she yelled with a laugh, before slamming the door behind her.

Natalie stared at the closed door, willing the older girls to open it and announce that it had all been a joke and of course they could come in.  But it didn’t happen.  The door stayed closed, and they stayed outside.  They were sitting ducks.

Stephanie gave her a worried look.  She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to- that was a What are we going to do? look if Natalie had ever seen one.  Natalie looked at the door again, and tried to think.

They could wait out here until Andrea and her friends finished watching the film… but the film was probably going to be more than an hour long.  Mr Miacca could have picked them off ten times over before Andrea came out.  And what if she didn’t come out at all?  What if they put on another video, and another, and left them out there all night?  Even if Mr Miacca didn’t come along, what would happen when they had to sleep, or go to the toilet?

They couldn’t stay out here and wait.  So what could they do?

Natalie looked from one end of the street to the other.  They were on a long, dark road, and anything- anything– could appear in the distance.  But it would probably get them a lot faster if they stayed still.

Alright, she didn’t know where Mr Miacca was.  Maybe if they went somewhere else, they’d run right into him.  But maybe if they were quick…

Natalie looked at Steph, and tried to swallow down the cold, tight feeling in her throat.  If Steph thought Natalie was scared, then she’d get scared too.  “Looks like we’re going to have to walk home by ourselves,” she said, taking her sister’s hand, “Come on.”

(To Be Continued)

(Note:  “Mr Miacca” is a genuine creepy folktale as told by genuine creepy folk.)

October 1995

Natalie only had herself to blame.  The book had a picture on the front cover of a giant old man eating children in pies and burgers.  That should have been a good enough warning that, well, the book was going to have a story in it about a man who ate children.  But that story, ‘Mr Miacca’, had really bothered her.

The worst thing was that the story never called Mr Miacca a giant, or a troll, or a monster.  He was always just “Mr Miacca,” as if he was a normal person who everyone knew ate children.  The other worst thing was that the only thing you had to do for him to catch you was go round the corner from where you lived.  That was all the boy in the story had done.  His mother had told him not to go too far from home, and he’d only just got round the corner.  How did he even manage to go to school, if those were the rules?  Was it different if an adult was with you, or was he trapped on the same street for every moment of his life?  How old did you have to be before you didn’t count as a child anymore and Mr Miacca wouldn’t eat you?  Had anyone ever tried to stop him?  What had happened to them when they did?

Natalie was still thinking about it the following day, when her mother took her and her sisters shopping in Glamis Road after school.  She must have been to Glamis Road a thousand times, but this time she eyed it suspiciously from the car window.  Everywhere she looked, she could see places where Mr Miacca might hide, ready to jump out and capture you if you took one step too far away from your parents.

The boy in the story had been caught just past the corner of the road where he lived, and, oddly enough, the corner of the road where Natalie lived was exactly as far as she was allowed to ride her bike on her own.  That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Natalie?” asked Mum, at the parking-ticket machine, “Are you with us?”

“Yeah,” said Natalie.  She was with them, alright.  She was going to stick to her mum and sisters like glue.

“You looked lost in your own little world for a minute,” said Mum with a laugh.  She got the ticket out of the machine, and handed it and the keys to Natalie’s older sister.  “Andrea, do me a favour and lock up the car for me, alright?”

Natalie watched Andrea all the way to the car and back.  It was probably OK.  She was still in Mum’s sight.  Besides, Andrea was going to be thirteen in a few months- for all Natalie knew, she might already be past Mr Miacca’s age limit.  Still…

Andrea came back, and Natalie relaxed.  She’d probably un-relax in a few minutes, when Andrea insisted on going into a different shop to the rest of them like she always did, but things were OK for now.

“Are you still alright for tomorrow, Andrea?” asked Mum, leading them all out of the car park.  From here, Natalie could hear the sounds of pigeons cooing.  When she was Stephanie’s age, Natalie had heard that mournful “oo-oo-oo” sound and wondered if it was wolves, howling in the distance, waiting for their chance to come down from the hills and feast on unsuspecting townsfolk.  Stephanie herself didn’t seem too worried, though.  She was just trotting along, smiling up at Mum, all curly hair and chubby cheeks, like she didn’t have a care in the world.  Steph wouldn’t last five minutes against Mr Miacca.

Andrea shrugged.  “I guess.”

Mum turned to Natalie and Steph.  “I’m going to be late home from work tomorrow, so I thought Andrea could walk you two home from Girls’ Brigade.”

Natalie didn’t like the sound of that.  Even if Andrea was above the age limit, walking home with her couldn’t be as safe as walking home with an adult, could it?  Yeah, she’d babysat them a couple of times, but they’d all been in the house then, not out on the street.

The other worst thing about the story was that, at the end of it, Mr Miacca was still around.  The boy who was the main character managed to outwit him and get away (twice, actually), but Mr Miacca didn’t die or lose his powers or anything.  He just didn’t get to eat that particular boy.

Mum turned to Natalie and Stephanie.  “Now, do you promise to be good for Andrea?  Do exactly as she says?  Just like you would for me?”

Steph nodded.

“Yeah,” said Natalie.  In the story, the boy’s mother warned him in the first line not to go any further than the corner of their street.  Not listening to her had been his first mistake.

“Good,” said Mum, “She won’t be telling you to do things just to be mean, you know.  It will be because she wants to keep you safe.”

“I know,” said Steph happily, and she carried on skipping.  If Mr Miacca came along right now, she wouldn’t know what hit her.  Natalie shivered.

“Just do as she says, and you’ll all be fine,” said Mum with a smile.  But even then, even before everything that happened, Natalie was pretty sure that wasn’t true.

(To Be Continued)

(Note- The alternative wager mentioned in the RE lesson is sometimes attributed to Marcus Aurelius, but as far as I can tell, that’s not accurate.  So I just left it anonymous.)

Mum couldn’t actually stop them from going to Dad’s without triggering another round of drawn-out court proceedings, so the following weekend, they were back.  Rosalyn and Oliver sat in Dad and Sally’s dining room, unenthusiastically poking their casserole with their forks, listening to Sally worry about a woman from her church who’d phoned earlier.

“I just wonder if she’s making the right choice,” said Sally, for the sixth or seventh time.

Dad swallowed what he was eating.  “Well, you said yourself, he was gambling away her kids’ university funds.  She’s just trying to protect them.”

“I know, I know.”  Sally fidgeted with her fork.  “I just wonder if… if we give up too easily these days. He’s hardly likely to get better now that she’s left him on his own, is he?”

“It didn’t sound as though he was getting any better with her and the kids around, either.”

“But there was always hope.  That’s what she doesn’t understand.  If you keep trying…”  Sally broke off and sighed, and Rosalyn was filled with a sudden certainty that she’d be saying more-or-less the same things if her friend’s husband had been beating her and her children black and blue every night.  There’s always hope.  If you keep trying…  Yeah, and Sally would never be satisfied that they’d tried enough until the psycho finally killed one of them.  And even then she’d probably criticise the survivors for not visiting him in jail.  “She goes to the same church I do.  She knows that God still loves Frank.  So why can’t she?”

“It wasn’t God’s money he was gambling with,” said Dad, fork halfway to his mouth.

Sally sighed again.  “I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s not really Frank she’s fighting with.  It’s God.  I can’t shake the feeling that if she forgave Frank, God would forgive her.”

Oliver looked up.  “Forgive her for what?”

Original Sin or something, thought Rosalyn wearily, but that wasn’t what Sally said.  Instead, she tapped her knife and fork lightly against her plate, as if calling everyone to attention, and said, with some irritation, “Look, at the end of the day, they swore to love each other for better and for worse.”  She underlined it with one of her gay marriage shrugs.  Her that-settles-it shrugs.

Oliver nodded.  “So, by that logic, should Dad still be married to Mum instead of you?”

And if looks could kill, Oliver would have been going home in a body bag.

*

That Wednesday in RE, Mrs Nightingale brought up Pascal’s Wager again.  “There’s actually an alternative wager,” she explained, “It’s similar to Pascal’s but…  Well, let’s just say that it comes at it from a different angle.”

This wager said that you should always try your best to be a good person.  If God was just, he’d be pleased with you for doing it.  If God was unjust, you were probably never going to make him happy anyway.  And if there wasn’t a God, then at least you’d have done some good while you were here.

Needless to say, Sally would not have approved.  She’d have said that humans didn’t get to decide whether God was just or unjust; he’d created the universe, so he got to define what justice was.  She’d have said that it was unbelievably arrogant to assume that you’d have a better idea of how to live a good life than God did.

Rosalyn didn’t know about God, but she was pretty sure she had a better idea than Sally did, at least.

*

That Friday, Oliver put on Radio One in Dad’s car, and Sally was still going on about it half an hour later.

“I think I’m allowed to set standards in my own house,” she snarled at Dad, her arms crossed.

“Technically speaking, the car’s not…” said Oliver.

“Don’t be cheeky,” said Dad, “And yes, Sally, if you don’t want to listen to something, you’re allowed to say so.  And Oliver should respect your wishes.”  He gave Oliver a dirty look.

“But I don’t see why he has to listen to that kind of music at all!” Sally spluttered, “If it’s wrong here, then it’s just as wrong at his mother’s house!”  She glanced up at Oliver, made a disgusted sound, and turned back to Dad.  “He’s sixteen now- he should be working out the correct way to live his life!  And we should be helping him!”

Oliver scratched his nose.  “So, the correct way to live my life specifically involves no Franz Ferdinand whatsoever?  Is that what you’re telling me?”

Rosalyn, who’d sat in the corner pretending to do homework so she could stay out of this argument, felt her heart sink.  She used to smile a bit when Oliver made fun of Sally, but now it just didn’t seem worth the effort.  Sally would have a reply, and that reply would keep Rosalyn up all night.  That was how it always went.

Sally took a few steps towards Oliver so that she could loom over him properly.  “It’s no laughing matter.  You should hear what my friend Faye told me about that kind of music.  Then you’d see what it really is.”

Oliver shrugged, and Rosalyn put her hands over her ears and tried to think about something else.  It never worked, but she always tried it anyway.

“Faye’s husband Peter did some missionary work in Africa before they were married, and he took along his Elvis Presley records.  Well, one day one of the local tribal elders came by and heard him playing them.  He looked really scared, and he said it was because of the drumbeats in the music.  He said that before they’d been Saved, his tribe used those exact drumbeats to summon demons.  So you see, it’s not as harmless as…”

“That’s not true,” said Rosalyn.  She’d felt the words building up inside her the whole time Sally had been speaking.

Sally turned around, and looked at Rosalyn as if she was a cockroach she’d just spotted on the kitchen floor.  “It is true, Rosalyn.  Peter told me that himse…”

“Elvis Presley was inspired by black Americans who’d lived through the Jim Crow era!”  Rosalyn hadn’t expected her voice to sound that loud, or for everything to come out as fast as it did.  It was as if the words were jostling each other to get out.  “If they were such wanton demon-summoners, why didn’t they get one to wipe out the Ku Klux Klan?  Or why didn’t their ancestors get one to kill all the people trying to take them into slavery?”

Sally smiled knowingly.  “Ah, well, people always think demons can…”

“Do you have any idea how racist you’d have to be to assume that all African tribes just go round summoning demons?”  It came out as a shout.  Rosalyn hadn’t meant it to, but she wasn’t sorry it had.

Something- probably either the raised voice or the word ‘racist’- seemed to have knocked Sally off-kilter.  The smile had disappeared, anyway.  “Can I ask you a question, Rosalyn?  You laugh at the idea of demons existing, but when you look at, at what’s happening in the world today, can you honestly tell me you don’t think evil is real?”

“Oh, it’s real, alright!” snapped Rosalyn, giving Sally a pointed glare.

Sally decided not to reply to that directly.  “I just don’t understand how people can…”

“I don’t know whether demons exist or not.  But I do know you can’t summon them with a Franz Ferdinand CD!”

Sally sighed.  “But how do you kn…”

“This is how you see the world, isn’t it, Sally?”  Rosalyn could hear the blood pounding in her ears, like a drumbeat urging her to keep up the pace.  “Anyone different from you?  Going to Hell!  Anything you don’t understand?  Fucking demons!  That way you never have to think at all!”  She took a couple of deep breaths.  “You never bother to wonder whether something’s actually true or not!  It’s all just an excuse for you to look down your nose at everyone else!  You talk so much about other people not making time for God, but you’ve only ever worshipped your own fucking ego!”

Dad stood up.  “Don’t you talk to Sally like…”

“And you’re just as bad!  At least she actually believes in this stuff!  You just let her bang on about it so you can tell yourself that you’re deep!”

“Rosalyn, you’re being hysterical…”

“You were about to let her ruin something Oliver likes!”  Her voice caught.  “Something that makes him happy!  Because of some stupid stories about African tribes and demons!”

Sally looked about to burst into tears.  “Oh, ‘stupid stories.’  ‘Stupid stories,’ you say.  If they’re so stupid, why do they upset you so much?”

“Sally, I’ll handle this,” said Dad, practically in a bark.  He took a deep breath, calming himself down, and turned back to Rosalyn.  “Rosy, I think Oliver can survive not being allowed to listen to Franz Ferdinand for one weekend.”

Rosalyn raised an eyebrow.  “‘One weekend’?”

“‘One weekend’?” repeated Sally, giving Dad daggers.  His expression changed, and he seemed to shrink in front of them.

Oliver, who’d been watching the whole thing with a look of horrified fascination, took advantage of the awkward silence.  “It’s OK, Rosy.  I just tune her out, most of the time.”

Rosalyn nodded.  “Well, I can’t.”  The speed and the volume had gone out of her voice.  The drumbeat had left her ears.  All the energy from the last few minutes seemed to have disappeared.  “And I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay over this weekend.”

She turned around and left the room.  Behind her, she heard her dad’s voice.  “Oh, Rosalyn, there’s no need to…  Rosalyn!”

Her bag was by the front door, where she could pick it up and turn the doorknob in more-or-less a single movement.  Some of her other things- her toothbrush, her pyjamas and so on- were still upstairs, but she wasn’t going to go and fetch them.  She wasn’t going to stay in this house for one more minute.

She heard footsteps behind her, and Dad’s voice said, “Rosalyn, just listen, will you…”

“I’ll text you when I get home,” said Rosalyn, not turning around, “So you know I got there safely.”

“At least let me drive you, for God’s sake.”

She did glance back at him now.  There was still a little anger in his face- probably just frustration, to be fair- but there was also concern.  Just enough for Rosalyn to know that it was a genuine offer.  “No, I’ll walk,” she told him, “I need some fresh air.”

And he didn’t say anything else, so she left.

*

The streets were quiet.  Rosalyn could hear car engines off in the distance, but only two or three cars had actually passed her since she’d set off.  Here in the backstreets, the only real sounds were the birds up in the trees.

Rosalyn wandered along, setting her own pace, and felt as if her muscles had loosened up.  That tight feeling in her chest, in her throat, in her limbs, in her head… all gone. Rosalyn knew that you couldn’t burn off all that terror with just a few minutes of anger, but just for now, she felt more content than she had in months.

It would have been quicker to go by the main road, but Rosalyn had had visions of Sally deciding that her outburst was a sign that she was ripe for conversion, and badgering Dad into starting up the car and going to find her.  Besides, Rosalyn liked the peace and quiet.  It gave her a chance to think.

It was still light out.  The sky faded from blue to white and back again, the sun glowing around the edges of the clouds and turning to gold.  And maybe somewhere behind that sky, there was someone who liked humans and basically wanted them to be happy.  Give Rosalyn a month or two away from Sally, and she might really start to believe it.

Rosalyn walked on, beginning to smile.  She was going to get home and explain to Mum why she was back so early, and then she was going to make herself a big bowl of pasta and watch whatever was on TV.  After that, she planned to go to bed and sleep until morning. Maybe the fear would creep back in tomorrow, and maybe it wouldn’t, but right now, just for tonight, she felt completely calm.

The End