IP: 90.255.77.140
Posted on January 8, 2017 at 01:07:01 AM by Carrie
Warning - swearing and upsetting themes referenced (including child slavery, imprisonment and rape).
There was a nervous tap on the door. Carrie twisted around in time to see Drew, an anxious 18 year-old who had been here since he was six, poke his head around.
“She wants you.” He said simply, his voice quiet with its usual pinch of uncertainty.
Carrie kicked a chair over and hopped off the windowsill on which she’d been sitting. It was impossible to predict what the old crone wanted. Sometimes she’d send her on harmless flower-picking missions; other times she wanted things of a more sinister nature, which made Carrie’s skin crawl just listening to the requests. Sometimes she didn’t seem to want anything at all except to rock in her chair and mutter under her breath, ignoring Carrie entirely in spite of the summons.
One more year. Then she’d be out of here. One more year and she’d be free.
Drew’s face was long, mournful, as though he could guess what Carrie was thinking about. Their captor, the thief who stole children’s souls, offered two types of contracts to the desperate and the greedy who knocked on her door. Carrie was lucky, a member of the privileged children whose contract expired when she turned sixteen. Drew wasn’t so lucky. His contract had no expiration date, so he would only be free when Esther tore the contract up or when he died. Whichever came first.
The pair of them walked down the dark, narrow corridors in companionable silence. Carrie didn’t mind Drew. He didn’t talk much, but that was okay. Sometimes it was okay to have a few minutes of peaceable quiet in a house which never seemed to stop sobbing.
Carrie shared a room with two pre-teen girls up in the tower, so it took an age to traverse the four staircases down to the ground floor where Esther-May was waiting for them. The little old lady never seemed to move from one room in the house: a cosy chamber warmed by an ever-roaring fireplace. A pot of something or other always boiled over the open fire and the potion ingredients, which the children collected, were always stacked up on the workbenches. Carrie grimaced as she pushed the door open, catching a waft of today’s aroma: frog guts and fresh grass clippings.
Esther herself was hunched in her rocking chair, knitting something unidentifiable. With her hunched back, watery grey eyes and trembling, wrinkled hands, she looked just like a harmless old lady. Carrie pursed her lips.
“What do you want?” She asked shortly.
Esther-May didn’t answer immediately. Her clacking knitting needles off-set the squeak of her chair and the rumbling fire.
“Carrie Chapman.” She mused in her creaky old voice. Some of the braver kids joked that she needed oiling. “Sold your own soul to save your sister’s life. I’ll be interested to see this.”
“See what?”
Esther tilted her head towards the door. “Premonition.”
As if whoever was on the other side of the door had been waiting for this moment, there was a timid knock. Drew glanced nervously at Esther before lumbering across the room to open it. Carrie’s heart stopped.
“No.” She gasped.
The little girl who stood in the doorway couldn’t be older than about ten. Her golden-blonde hair was wet and plastered to her hair and shoulders, and her clothes dripped. She stepped out of the rain and into the room, her eyes darting between the three other people present. When she saw Carrie, she squeaked.
“Carrie!”
“Lucy,” Carrie crossed the space between them in a flash and grabbed her sister’s arm, “go, now. Get out of here.”
Lucy stared at her, paralysed for a moment. Esther broke the silence with a sinister clucking.
“Your brother this time, eh? Not much luck, your family.”
Carrie felt like someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it. Lucy tugged her arm out of her sister’s grasp, her blue eyes wide and tearful.
“Ben’s sick.” The little girl’s voice shook as she addressed the old crone. “He has what I had. You fixed me. Can you fix him?”
“Luce, no.” Carrie grabbed her sister’s shoulder and pulled her back. “You’re not selling your soul. There has to be another way.”
“Another way, Carrie Chapman?” The old lady cackled. Carrie felt like punching her. “You know the price. Whose soul would you sell, if not your sister’s? Your brother’s?”
Carrie stood, frozen. Lucy’s mouth hung open in agony while Esther considered the two of them.
“What about the soul of your firstborn child, Carrie Chapman?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Carrie stared deep into those hateful grey eyes, imagining all the things she’d do to this woman if she had the power of the gods. After a moment, she nodded slowly, making a silent promise to herself that she would never have children. Never. Not for as long as she lived.
“Well that’s settled then.” Esther said with satisfaction. She plucked a vial from her mantelpiece and handed it to Lucy, who clutched it as tightly as if it were made of solid gold. “Goodbye, dear. I hope to see you again soon.”
The sun had set by the time Carrie made it back to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. She lay on her back, facing the ceiling, seething. One more year. One more year.
There was another knock at her bedroom door and Drew slipped inside. His hands shook as he shut it behind him with a soft click.
“That bitch.” Carrie swore, gripping her bed covers between her fists.
Drew took a few shaky breaths. He seemed even more nervous than usual, if that was possible. Carrie waited patiently, having learned from long experience that pushing him wouldn’t make him spit out what he had to say any faster.
“She said…” His voice wavered, but came back stronger, more sure of itself. “She said to make sure you didn’t try and get out of the contract.”
“What the hell does she mean by that?” Carrie exclaimed, sitting up on the bed. Her eyes locked onto his and she understood, instantly, what Esther had told him to do. “Drew. No. No.”
“Carrie,” his big brown eyes were filled with tears. “I’m sorry. She offered me my freedom, in exchange for this.”
He reached behind him, gently pressing in the door lock.
“She wants you.” He said simply, his voice quiet with its usual pinch of uncertainty.
Carrie kicked a chair over and hopped off the windowsill on which she’d been sitting. It was impossible to predict what the old crone wanted. Sometimes she’d send her on harmless flower-picking missions; other times she wanted things of a more sinister nature, which made Carrie’s skin crawl just listening to the requests. Sometimes she didn’t seem to want anything at all except to rock in her chair and mutter under her breath, ignoring Carrie entirely in spite of the summons.
One more year. Then she’d be out of here. One more year and she’d be free.
Drew’s face was long, mournful, as though he could guess what Carrie was thinking about. Their captor, the thief who stole children’s souls, offered two types of contracts to the desperate and the greedy who knocked on her door. Carrie was lucky, a member of the privileged children whose contract expired when she turned sixteen. Drew wasn’t so lucky. His contract had no expiration date, so he would only be free when Esther tore the contract up or when he died. Whichever came first.
The pair of them walked down the dark, narrow corridors in companionable silence. Carrie didn’t mind Drew. He didn’t talk much, but that was okay. Sometimes it was okay to have a few minutes of peaceable quiet in a house which never seemed to stop sobbing.
Carrie shared a room with two pre-teen girls up in the tower, so it took an age to traverse the four staircases down to the ground floor where Esther-May was waiting for them. The little old lady never seemed to move from one room in the house: a cosy chamber warmed by an ever-roaring fireplace. A pot of something or other always boiled over the open fire and the potion ingredients, which the children collected, were always stacked up on the workbenches. Carrie grimaced as she pushed the door open, catching a waft of today’s aroma: frog guts and fresh grass clippings.
Esther herself was hunched in her rocking chair, knitting something unidentifiable. With her hunched back, watery grey eyes and trembling, wrinkled hands, she looked just like a harmless old lady. Carrie pursed her lips.
“What do you want?” She asked shortly.
Esther-May didn’t answer immediately. Her clacking knitting needles off-set the squeak of her chair and the rumbling fire.
“Carrie Chapman.” She mused in her creaky old voice. Some of the braver kids joked that she needed oiling. “Sold your own soul to save your sister’s life. I’ll be interested to see this.”
“See what?”
Esther tilted her head towards the door. “Premonition.”
As if whoever was on the other side of the door had been waiting for this moment, there was a timid knock. Drew glanced nervously at Esther before lumbering across the room to open it. Carrie’s heart stopped.
“No.” She gasped.
The little girl who stood in the doorway couldn’t be older than about ten. Her golden-blonde hair was wet and plastered to her hair and shoulders, and her clothes dripped. She stepped out of the rain and into the room, her eyes darting between the three other people present. When she saw Carrie, she squeaked.
“Carrie!”
“Lucy,” Carrie crossed the space between them in a flash and grabbed her sister’s arm, “go, now. Get out of here.”
Lucy stared at her, paralysed for a moment. Esther broke the silence with a sinister clucking.
“Your brother this time, eh? Not much luck, your family.”
Carrie felt like someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it. Lucy tugged her arm out of her sister’s grasp, her blue eyes wide and tearful.
“Ben’s sick.” The little girl’s voice shook as she addressed the old crone. “He has what I had. You fixed me. Can you fix him?”
“Luce, no.” Carrie grabbed her sister’s shoulder and pulled her back. “You’re not selling your soul. There has to be another way.”
“Another way, Carrie Chapman?” The old lady cackled. Carrie felt like punching her. “You know the price. Whose soul would you sell, if not your sister’s? Your brother’s?”
Carrie stood, frozen. Lucy’s mouth hung open in agony while Esther considered the two of them.
“What about the soul of your firstborn child, Carrie Chapman?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Carrie stared deep into those hateful grey eyes, imagining all the things she’d do to this woman if she had the power of the gods. After a moment, she nodded slowly, making a silent promise to herself that she would never have children. Never. Not for as long as she lived.
“Well that’s settled then.” Esther said with satisfaction. She plucked a vial from her mantelpiece and handed it to Lucy, who clutched it as tightly as if it were made of solid gold. “Goodbye, dear. I hope to see you again soon.”
The sun had set by the time Carrie made it back to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. She lay on her back, facing the ceiling, seething. One more year. One more year.
There was another knock at her bedroom door and Drew slipped inside. His hands shook as he shut it behind him with a soft click.
“That bitch.” Carrie swore, gripping her bed covers between her fists.
Drew took a few shaky breaths. He seemed even more nervous than usual, if that was possible. Carrie waited patiently, having learned from long experience that pushing him wouldn’t make him spit out what he had to say any faster.
“She said…” His voice wavered, but came back stronger, more sure of itself. “She said to make sure you didn’t try and get out of the contract.”
“What the hell does she mean by that?” Carrie exclaimed, sitting up on the bed. Her eyes locked onto his and she understood, instantly, what Esther had told him to do. “Drew. No. No.”
“Carrie,” his big brown eyes were filled with tears. “I’m sorry. She offered me my freedom, in exchange for this.”
He reached behind him, gently pressing in the door lock.
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