Free Nieve by Terry Griggs Page B

whatever it was!
    But she didn’t outrun it, nor did the pounding of her feet on the road drown out the whispering in her ear . . . Nieve, Nieve.
    She stopped again, fists clenched. She didn’t turn on the light this time, no point. That voice . . . it reminded her all too well of how she’d been taunted by Alicia and her pals when she’d first started school. Nievy , Nievy , nick-nack , they’d chanted over and over as they formed a tightening circle around her. Closing in, they’d started to shove her from one to the other, Nievy, Nievy, nick-nack, Nievy Nievy, nick-nack!
    Nieve didn’t cave, didn’t give them what they wanted: outrage, or tears. She didn’t even fight back. Or not in the way they might have been expecting. She simply stared them down, calmly, if intently, one after the other. The taunts died in their mouths, their arms dropped limp as ropes to their sides, and they turned away, startled and speechless. She’d given them a good blue-eyed “blasting” as Gran called it, and they’d never bothered her since.
    But on this road, in the dark, there was no one she could see to blast.
    Instead, frustrated, she said, “Whisht!” She didn’t know why she said it, why it came to mind, but it felt good. So she said it again, louder, “WHISHT!!”
    And weirdly . . . it worked. The voice ceased; the rustling sound, too. “Whisht,” she repeated, softly, to herself. Silence. Complete silence, except for the distant sound of a dog barking, but once only, a short, clipped report.
    Cautiously, Nieve started to move forward. Thinking about that word, Gran’s word, it struck her: Gran is home . She was sure of it, positive. Gran had come by the house that morning when Nieve was out, but her dad had forgotten as usual, or what had become usual. Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? The book Nieve had picked up and flipped through while sitting on the couch hadn’t been there yesterday and must have been a present from Gran. She paused, undecided about what to do. Retrace her steps and try to find her way up the lane to Gran’s? Her preference, definitely, but she had to be nearing Twisden’s place by now, and the less time spent wandering around in the dark the better.
    Switching on the flashlight briefly to get her bearings, Nieve saw Ferrets’ massive fieldstone gateposts only a short distance ahead. She decided to keep on, get a ride home with her parents, and visit Gran first thing in the morning. There was a ton of news to tell her. Most of it disturbing, but the thought of sharing it with someone sympathetic and smart lifted her spirits. A “cunning woman” Dr. Morys had once called her, which didn’t seem an altogether nice thing to say, although Gran had been pleased.
    Urn-shaped lamps sat atop the gateposts but hadn’t been turned on, or weren’t working. Nieve wondered how many guests had missed the turnoff and had gone wandering into the night. Cheery, welcoming lights might not be appropriate for such a sad occasion, though they sure would have been useful. The wrought iron gates stood open in any event, and, starting down the drive that led to the house, she did see a light glimmering in the distance.
    When she was about halfway down, she heard a car turn in off the main road. She heard it, but couldn’t see it, because its lights were turned off. She scrambled to get out of the way and groped around on the side of the lane for something to hide behind. Mainly, she didn’t want to get run over, but she also didn’t want to be seen. Not by anyone who drove a car without lights, yet had no problem navigating in the dark. The strangeness of this vehicle was only heightened as it neared. It seemed to be muttering to itself as it cruised along . . . closer, closer. Nieve ran her hand over the rough grainy surface of a large rock and slipped behind it as the car glided smoothly past,