Abomination Page 7

  ‘Relax. As far as your mum’s concerned I was just another customer.’ I looked at her. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  She shook her head, slotting the board in place. ‘I don’t know, Scott. She must’ve been getting them for somebody – a neighbour, perhaps.’ She stood up, smoothing her skirt. ‘I think you’d better go now. I’m scared in case Father finishes early.’

  ‘OK.’ I stood up and followed her out of the poky room and down the stairs. In the hallway she put a hand on my sleeve. ‘Are we still friends, now that you’ve seen my place?’

  ‘’Course we are, you plank. I told you – I don’t care about the house. See you at school, eh?’

  She opened the door, glanced up and down the road. ‘Yes. Take care, Scott. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She watched from the step as I set off down the hill. I turned once to wave and she waved back, but when I turned a second time the door was closed.

  36. Martha

  Talk about a narrow squeak. He’d not been out of the house fifteen seconds when Abomination set up a howl. The cellar door’s right there in the hallway. What the heck could I have said if he’d heard?

  I had to see to the creature straight away or I think I’d have collapsed. It wasn’t till I’d finished that the narrowness of my escape hit me and my legs went rubbery. I could hardly get up the cellar steps. I staggered into the front room, flopped in an armchair and sat shivering in spite of the evening sunlight streaming through the window.

  ’Course we are, you plank. Well, yes, but you don’t know what we’ve got in our cellar, do you Scott? I showed you my secret stuff, but not ours. Not the family secret.

  When I was little I used to have nightmares about the monster in the cellar. I thought it was Mary. Don’t laugh, Scott. Please don’t laugh, because it isn’t funny. There’d been noises in the night, see. Lights. Muffled footsteps. In the morning there was no Mary but we had this thing in the cellar, this Abomination nobody must know about. I thought Mary had changed in the night, that she’d somehow become this creature. Well, I was only six. And that’s when the nightmares started. I’d wake screaming, but my room was at the top of the house so nobody heard. Nobody came.

  Try to imagine, Scott. I thought people changed. That I might fall asleep a little girl and wake up as something they’d have to keep in the cellar. It had happened to my sister so why not me?

  I realized eventually, of course. When the postcards started coming. That’s why I had to save the postcards. They drove away the nightmare. Kept it away. Mary was somewhere else but she was still Mary. She’d been in this town and that, so she couldn’t be in the cellar. They saved me from going mad, those cards.

  Trouble is, I’ve started to wonder lately whether the truth isn’t every bit as ghastly as the nightmare.

  37. Scott

  I was in bed by nine but I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts chased one another round and round the inside of my skull like bikers on a wall of death. Pictures, too. Bits of Martha’s house. Her face when she saw me on the step. The awful room she’d be in right now, thinking about me or trying to transmit a message to her sister with her mind. Martha calling Mary. Come in, Mary. Are you receiving me? Over.

  She’s crazy about her sister, that’s for sure. Those dumb postcards. She’s been everywhere. D’you want to look? I should’ve said yes. Probably hurt her feelings, saying not just now. I’ll make a point of asking to see them next time, if there is a next time. ’Course there’ll be a next time. Just ’cause she went in and shut the door before you’d finished waving doesn’t mean . . .

  That’s how it was going. Round and round. No wonder I couldn’t sleep. It was ten past eleven when I had the idea. Brilliant idea. Something I could try for Martha that she couldn’t try herself.

  The Internet. What if I managed to contact Mary on the Internet? A long shot, I admit, but better than telepathy. I got out of bed, switched on the computer and selected AOL. There’s a site called TRAVEL that has a message-board. Martha says her sister travels, so maybe she checks out the message-board. Maybe. I typed in this message:

  Martha Dewhurst would like to hear from her sister Mary, somewhere in England. Contact SCOXON 881@AOL.COM

  I’d just posted this when my door opened and Dad looked in. ‘Do you know what time it is, young man?’

  ‘Sure, Dad, it’s on-screen. Eleven seventeen.’

  ‘Exactly, and you have school tomorrow. Switch off now and get into bed.’

  ‘OK, Dad.’ I signed off and shut down, thankful that my message hadn’t been on-screen when he stuck his head round the door. I suspect that, if he’d read it, he’d have accused me of rushing in where angels fear to tread.

  38. Martha

  There’s one thing in my hidey-hole I didn’t let him see. It’s nothing much. Just a clipping from the newspaper with CHILD HELPLINE and a number. I keep it in case a day comes when I can’t stand it any more. One evening, a few months ago, I thought that day had come so I called the number. I meant to let it all out, including Abomination, and have done with it once and for all. I’d no idea what would happen, but I felt sure that whatever it was couldn’t possibly be worse than the way things are:

  A woman answered. Hello, caller. You’re through to Child Helpline. My name’s Doris and I want to help you. Won’t you tell me what’s the matter? She sounded sort of old and really kind, but when it came to it I couldn’t do it. My voice wouldn’t work. I stood with the phone to my ear and she said, There’s no need to be afraid, caller. You can say anything you want to, and nobody will ever know you called. Please talk to me so I can start to make it better. I couldn’t though. I hung up and collapsed in the chair, crying.

  I know she’s there though, Doris. There’s a picture of her in my mind. Big and cuddly with strong arms and soft eyes, and I can call her anytime. Count your blessings is one of Mother’s sayings and I do, lying in bed. One, Scott. Two, Mary. Three, Doris. Mother wouldn’t see these as blessings of course but there’s a saying: One man’s blessing is another man’s abomination. That’s from the Book of Martha.

  39. Scott

  I was specially nice with her, Tuesday. Told her I’d enjoyed seeing her place. Even remembered to mention the postcards – said I’d love to see ’em next time. I didn’t mention the Internet though. Well – it was such a long shot. I mean, not all that many people are on the Net, and the chances of Mary being one of them seemed pretty slim. Also I felt uneasy, like I’d butted in on a family conversation or something. She was nice back, but said we better not fix to meet up. Not tonight. I didn’t argue, but I thought maybe I’d just show up on her step again and I did, and that’s how I found out the truth.

  The truth. Yes. You remember I said if you get to really know a weird person you’ll find there’s a reason why they’re the way they are? Well, listen up and tell me if I was right.

  I got to her place around seven fifteen. I was standing on the step thinking, I hope she’s not going to be mad at me, when I heard this noise, this sort of howling. It was muffled, like it might be coming from a distant part of the house and my first thought was, it’s her. They’re beating her. That’s why she wouldn’t fix to meet me – she knew her folks weren’t working tonight and they’re not. They’re in there belting the daylights out of my girl. I actually called her that inside my head – my girl – and before I knew what I was doing I was hammering on the door with both fists. What the heck I’d have done if old man Dewhurst had opened it I don’t know because I wasn’t feeling like a knight in shining armour. I was scared spitless if you must know, but anyway it didn’t happen. Nobody came. When I stopped pounding everything was quiet for a second then the howling started again, except howling’s not quite right. It wasn’t howling. Not exactly. It was a mixture of hoots and screeches, and between these a sort of bubbling drone that made my skin crawl.

  I wanted to leave but I couldn’t. Not without trying one more time. I waited for a break in the noise then knocked again, this time more urgently. Al
l this did was to start whatever was in there screeching again. I turned and hurried along the path feeling sick. I was halfway down Taylor Hill when I saw Martha coming up.

  40. Martha

  When I spotted him coming down towards me I was glad and mad at the same time. Glad to see him, mad because he’d obviously been up to my place. Glad and mad had a quick wrestling match inside my head and glad won. I decided I’d be nice to him.

  As soon as I saw the expression on his face I knew something was wrong, and I’d a fair idea what it was. No chance of a happy half hour now, and no point acting mad either. Ye shall know the truth, I thought, and the truth shall make you free. John, chapter eight, verse thirty-two; another of Mother’s favourites. She wouldn’t be all that thrilled at my revealing this particular bit of the truth but blast it, I’d had enough. It was time to talk to someone.

  He didn’t mess around either. ‘What the heck you got in that house of yours – a vampire?’ Dead tactful. I shook my head and he said, ‘What, then?’

  ‘Abomination. I expect you heard Abomination, Scott. Somebody was bound to, eventually. His voice is getting stronger, you see.’

  He looked at me. ‘Abomination? What is that – some sort of name? Is it a dog, or what?’

  I shook my head. ‘No Scott, it isn’t a dog. Look – if I tell you, you mustn’t tell anyone else, not even your mum. D’you promise?’

  ‘I . . . I dunno.’ He shook his head. ‘Depends what it is, Martha. I can’t promise to keep quiet about something when I don’t know what it’s going to be, can I?’

  I didn’t answer straight away. A struggle was going on inside me because this wasn’t really about me. It was their secret, not mine. Can you give something away that’s not yours? Scott put his hand on my arm. ‘Listen,’ he murmured, ‘if it’s something private – something that’s nobody else’s business, I won’t tell.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s private all right. A family thing, only . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Only I’m not sure it ought to be, Scott. I’ve thought loads of times about telling someone: a teacher or a woman called Doris or even the police, only I couldn’t stand it if Mother and Father got into trouble. They think it’s the right thing, you see. They wouldn’t do it otherwise. They’ll have prayed about it. Listened for the still, small voice. Oh I know they’re weird, Scott, but they’re good people. Good people. They do what they think’s best. What they believe God wants.’ I broke off, shaking my head.

  He squeezed my arm. ‘Share it, Martha. Tell me, then we can both decide. It might be easier, two thinking about it instead of one.’

  I looked down, biting my lip. It was so hard after all this time to let the words out. If Scott and I had been on the phone I think I’d have hung up. I stared at the pavement. Cars swished by. After a while I took a deep breath and murmured, ‘Abomination’s a boy, Scott. A little boy. He lives in the cellar, in a cage.’ I looked up, my tears making a blur of his shocked face. ‘I’m his auntie,’ I choked.

  41. Scott

  I didn’t say anything, just stood there waiting for it to sink in. Martha was crying into a tissue I handed her. People were passing but nobody took any notice. If you don’t look, you don’t have to get involved. After a bit she looked up and said, ‘Say something, like what you think. I don’t care.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what to say, Martha. It’s too much. A shock.’ I think she sort of laughed but she was blowing her nose at the same time so it was hard to tell.

  ‘A shock. Yes. You won’t want to be my friend now, I bet.’

  ‘Yes, course I will, but that’s not what matters, is it?’

  ‘What does matter, Scott? I need somebody to tell me because I’m sick of keeping it to myself. What am I supposed to do ?’

  I pulled a face. ‘God, Martha, don’t ask me. It needs someone older. An adult. We have to talk to somebody.’

  ‘Not the police!’ Her voice was suddenly shrill. ‘You promised, Scott. Father and Mother mustn’t get in trouble, I told you that.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’

  ‘You promised.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, Martha. Only if it was nobody else’s business.’

  ‘Well it isn’t anyone else’s business. It’s family. My family. I shouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘Yes, you should. I mean, you were right to tell, only I don’t know how to help. This kid – who’s his mum?’

  She laughed. No doubt this time. ‘Who d’you think, if I’m his auntie?’

  ‘Mary? He’s Mary’s ?’

  ‘Yes, of course, you plank.’

  ‘But you said . . . I thought Mary was – you know – nice.’

  ‘She is. She’s terrific. She’s the best sister in the world.’

  ‘And she lets her kid live in a cage ? I wouldn’t call that being nice, Martha. I’d call that . . .’

  ‘SHE DOESN’T KNOW!’ That got people looking, I can tell you. Her shout. I never knew Martha had a shout like that.

  ‘Ssssh!’ I hissed. ‘Everybody’s staring.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She looked furious. ‘How could you think Mary’d let somebody live in a cage? Her own kid? She thinks they had it adopted when it was a few days old. They told her they would but they didn’t, because of the Righteous.’

  ‘The Righteous?’ I stared at her. ‘You’ve lost me, Martha. What have the Righteous got to do with it?’

  She sighed, shook her head. ‘You don’t understand, Scott. You’d have to be a member to understand. We can’t just . . . babies are for married people, see, and Mary wasn’t married, and if my parents had . . . look, we can’t stand here talking about this.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Come home with me and I’ll try to explain, but you mustn’t do anything.’ She gazed at me. ‘You mustn’t do anything, Scott, like – like try to take the kid or something. D’you promise?’

  ‘Well . . . yeah.’ I nodded. What the heck would I do with a kid anyway? Nothing was further from my mind. We set off up the hill.

  42. Martha

  I told him, sitting on the bed in my room. Got out the postcards. Showed him Mary’s references to the kid in the ones she wrote to Mother and Father – those oblique references I hadn’t understood for the first three years or so. I left him reading through the cards while I went down to see to Abomination. When I got back he’d finished and was staring at the floor. ‘Well?’ I asked, with one eye on the time. All I needed now was for one of my parents to walk in and find him.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you’ve kept quiet all this time, Martha. It’s an awful thing your folks have done. Awful. Normal people just don’t do stuff like that.’ His voice was unsteady, his face dead white. ‘It explains the Pampers though. Can’t have nappies out on the line, can you? Dead giveaway that’d be.’

  I gazed at him. ‘I didn’t realize, Scott. You don’t, when you’re little. You think everybody’s home’s like yours. You assume other kids’ parents are like your own. I was eight when I realized other mothers buy their children’s clothes, they don’t sew them. Before that I didn’t understand why kids laughed at me. And I was nine before I worked out the truth about Mary. First I thought Abomination was Mary – that she’d changed in some horrible way overnight. Then for a long time I believed he must be my little brother, though I couldn’t work out why he had to be a secret. I suppose I was ten when it dawned on me he was Mary’s. I’d discovered you don’t have to be married to start a baby, you see. It all fell into place after that, but by then I was used to the situation. I mean it didn’t feel right, but it didn’t seem strange, as it must to you. I wasn’t shocked into action. It’s always seemed important to me to protect my parents. Guard their secret . . .’

  ‘Yes, but what about the kid ?’ He stood up. ‘Living like a chicken in a cage with a name like Abomination. Still in nappies at six. We can’t . . . just leave it, Martha. We can’t. We’ve got to tell somebody. Listen.’ He grabbed both my arms. ‘What about Mary? What
d’you think she’d do if she knew?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, Scott, but she isn’t going to know because I don’t have her address.’

  ‘What if I knew of a way to contact her? Would you let me?’

  ‘I . . . I suppose so, as long as my parents didn’t find out, but how could you possibly . . .?’

  ‘The Internet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Internet. You know what that is, don’t you? You’ve heard kids at school talking about it.’

  ‘Yes, sort of, but you need special stuff, don’t you? On your computer. The ones at school haven’t got a . . . whatsit.’

  ‘Modem. No, but mine at home has. I could post a message, hope she sees it.’

  ‘But she’d have to have a . . . a modem too, wouldn’t she? I can’t imagine – brought up here, like me. We don’t even have TV. I can’t see Mary with a modem.’

  ‘It needn’t be Mary herself, Martha. Someone she knows would do. Someone who knows her. They’d pass on a message, I’m sure. Shall we give it a whirl?’

  ‘I dunno, Scott. It’s such a big thing. I can’t think. Not now. Look, it’s coming up to nine. You’d better go. I’ll have a think and let you know in the morning. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose. I mean, the kid’s lived like that all his life, one more night won’t make much difference. But we’ll have to do something, Martha, and pretty quick too.’

  It was five to nine before I got him out of the house. When he’d gone I ran upstairs and threw up, I was so tense. I went to bed so I needn’t see my parents, but I didn’t sleep. I was sending messages all night. Your baby’s here, Mary, waiting for you. Such a long wait. Come in, Mary. Over . . .