You’ve got everything now
By John Atkinson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright 2010 John Atkinson
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You’ve got everything now
The old man with white hair sat behind his desk. He sighed as he leafed through countless sheets of paper and punched numbers into a huge, ancient calculator. Over the last five years this had become a monthly ritual, trying to find enough money for two to survive on the income of one.
He paused for a moment as he heard the girl running and giggling up the stairs in the rear of the house. There was no carpet on the stairs and the sound of bare feet slapping against the boards echoed through the entire house. She must have been playing with one of her imaginary friends; Jenny, or perhaps Ryan.
The old man turned back to the papers, glad of the respite the young girl’s noise had offered.
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The young girl with the green eyes never made it easy. It seemed that every morning over breakfast she would ask for something new and expensive. Every time the old man denied her she wouldn’t cry or moan or argue, she would just cast her eyes down and finish her breakfast in silence. In truth she knew she couldn’t have the things she dreamed of, but she longed that, just by asking, she might somehow attain them.
After breakfast the girl would play hide and seek with Ryan and Jenny, the three of them running around the house screaming and laughing as only eight-year-olds can. She never thought to ask the old man why her two friends couldn’t join them at meals and he never asked her about the games she played with them. She never wondered why they always hid in the back bedroom, or why they would go wide-eyed and stand in the hall when she entered the master bedroom that the old man occupied.
After she had tired herself out, and the old man had returned from work, he would take her to the room that was once a study and read to her. Her read her English and French, he taught her mathematics and science and, most of all, he taught her the Bible. Inevitably, when the lessons turned to religion, the girl would ask why God, who the old man said loved her very much, would take away her mummy and daddy who she loved very much. The old man would tell her that he too had loved her mummy and daddy, and that God had a plan for us all. Maybe, he would say, maybe God needed your mummy and daddy in heaven more than you needed them on earth, maybe they have everything they ever wanted up in heaven. And the girl would agree that they must be having a wonderful time in heaven with everything they ever wanted and she would promise not to ask about them again. But she always did.
At night, when the old man was asleep, the young girl would often lie awake, talking to Lucy. Lucy was not like Ryan or Jenny, she was older. Not as old as the old man, but much older than her other two friends. Lucy would sit at the end of the young girl’s bed, in the room at the front of the house, and whisper to her. She would whisper than she was a good girl and that she should be allowed anything she wanted. She whispered that if the girl was her daughter then she would want for nothing. All the young girl had to do was leave the old man and come with Lucy and she could have everything she ever wanted. Sometimes the young girl would talk to Lucy, but sometimes she made her afraid. The girl would tell Lucy things that she wanted and Lucy would suggest things that the girl could ask the old man for. And every morning, over breakfast, the girl would ask the old man, but she never mentioned Lucy and the old man never asked her why she wanted the things she requested.
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After they had lived together for many years the old man awoke one morning, not to the sound of the young girl running up and down the stairs, but to the sound of silence. The old house was never really silent; it was always creaking and groaning. This morning however there was not a sound.
The old man made his way along the silent corridor to the young girl’s room. He tried to hurry, but the dread that suddenly seemed to grip his heart slowed him greatly. And then he was opening the door.
In the centre of the room lay the young girl’s bed, and on it lay the girl. Three drawings were placed neatly around her. The first showed a young boy dressed in the dark grey suit of a Victorian era. The second was a girl, all in blue, with the ruff and piled hair that spoke of the earlier Elizabethan time. Both were rendered with a child’s skill.
The final picture was, for a pencil and crayon drawing, a masterpiece. A tall lady stood at the foot of the bed that the young girl occupied. She was so pale she seemed to shine ethereally and her clothes were so black they further accentuated the whiteness of her pallor. The old man was drawn to her face, her eyes were much too large and much too black, and her mouth was similarly grotesque. There was a hint of dark wings sprouting from her back, but that could have just been the shadows of the room playing with his eyes.
She had won another one. He didn’t have much to offer anymore, and faith was always hard to bestow in one so young. He sat on the bed and cradled the head of the girl in his arms; he stroked her hair and whispered to her, “its okay.” The tears began to run down his cheeks. “You’ve got everything now.”
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About the author:
John Atkinson is an avid reader of both horror and fantasy. The only thing he enjoys more than staying up late to read a story is staying up late to write one. Influenced mainly by the works of Stephen King and H. P. Lovecraft he seeks to create an atmosphere of dread and intrigue in his stories. Rather new to the trade he hopes to establish himself in the business and hope you enjoy his stories! Work has appeared in anthologies such as ‘Night of the Wolf’ and ‘Rebel Moon’.
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http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JohnAtkinson