Free What They Wanted by Donna Morrissey

of leaves and grass, then covered my face with the scrap of flannel and shut my eyes against the diffused blue of the sky coming through. For the next while we both lay there, perfectly still.
    With the sea smashing upon the rocks and the wind rustling the trees and swishing through the tall timothy grass overgrowing the graveyard, neither of us saw or heard Mother coming through the gate and making her way to kneel beside her three little dears. Nor had she seen us. When I, hearing a sound, popped up from my grave, and Chris sat up from his, the cloth falling from our faces, dead leaves falling from our heads and shoulders, Mother’s eyes constricted in fright. Her face went pale, paler than the dead grandmother’s. She clenched her fists before her face and let out a ragged scream, shaking so hard it appeared she was falling over.
    Frightened of a wrongdoing, I clambered to my feet, yelling at Chris to come, and flew out of the cemetery. Chris made to follow but Mother called after him in a sharp, tinny voice. She called after us both, but I kept running, past Gran’s and down amongst the abandoned houses. I pushed open the door to one of them, Uncle Jake’s, where Father sometimes stored his nets, and crept over to a partially boarded-up window, looking back towards the graveyard. Mother was still sitting there, holding Chris in her arms and kissing the top of his head and rocking him like a baby. She looked up once and, afraid of being seen, I crept away, hiding inside an emptied, darkish closet near the porch.
    I’d often hidden there with Chris, hoping to see or hear one of the ghosts in the walls. Sometimes I came without Chris, crouching in the dusky light, pretending to be one of the ghosts. Once, I became so intently fixed on the silence singing through the house that I felt myself becoming lightheaded, and it started to feel like I was fading, drifting, fusing into the singing somehow, and a quiver of pure joyousness shot through me. So strong was that feeling, so strong the sense of losing myself, that I was immediately gripped by a shiver of fright and snapped open my eyes, grasping hold of the walls. Scrabbling out of the closet, I raced off to Gran’s with a terrified heart and a need to be seen.
    It was the fear of a youngster having done wrong that I was feeling on this day, crouching in the closet, hiding from Mother. A prickling went down my back and I felt my heartbeat quicken. It started beating faster in that cramped corner, and suddenly I could hear it— thump thump thump . My stomach was cramping with fear and I thought to flee. But then something creaked somewhere, and I froze. The walls started up with their singing. My breathing grew raspy and I wanted to scream. Another creak sounded, and blood sluiced like cold brook water through my veins. Then the sound of Mother’s voice uttering a curse as her foot must’ve gone through a rotted step.
    “Sylvie, Sylvie, where you hiding—Sylvie.”
    I pressed both hands to my mouth. The door pushed open, letting in a stream of silver light across the greyish room.
    “Sylvie!”
    My name echoed through the emptied house. Through a partial opening in the closet doorway I watched Mother stepping inside. I watched her treading cautiously past the closet into the dimly lit room. I watched her standing still for a moment, then moving her hand to her heart as though she, too, heard the singing. Quietly, she moved towards the window, her hands clutched before her as if frightened of touching the walls. It was my moment. She’d left the door open and it stood just a few steps away. Sucking in a good breath, I took a stealthy step outside the closet, cringing from the rustling of my clothes. I hesitated, then lifted my foot for another step. Mother was peering out through the window. Bursting to breathe, I crept forward another step. The floor creaked and then my lungs caved, making a dreadful hissing sound. Mother spun about, her hand flying to her heart as