Home After Dark

‘Make sure you get home before Dark,’ Archie’s mum reminded him as she zipped up his hoodie.

“I will, mum.’ he said happily, opening the front door. His mum put her hand on the door and looked down at Archie, with that serious look on her face.

‘Promise?’ she asked.

‘Promise.’ he nodded.

Archie’s mum smiled. He gave her a hug and headed outside.

Now he was eight, Archie’s mum let him go to the park without her, but always on one condition. Like clockwork, every day, she made him promise to be home before Dark. Archie didn’t understand why it was so important, but when he asked, his mum told him that if he didn’t, he would never be the same. Archie wasn’t sure what she meant, but he loved his mum and trusted her. So, every day without fail, he set off home in plenty of time.

When Archie got to the park that day, his friends Marco and Sophia were already there, playing catch. Archie rode his bike up to them and parked it on the playground, before joining in their game. The three children spent hours playing ball games on the green, climbing around the jungle gym, and playing make believe, until eventually, the sun began to set. They all knew they had to be home before Dark, so they started getting their things.

‘I wish we didn’t have to leave so early,’ Archie picked up his bike as they all headed for the exit.

‘Yeah, but we gotta be home before Dark,’ said Marco.

‘I don’t get why it’s so bad,’ Sophia shrugged, putting up her hood as it began to lightly rain.

‘Mrs. June said her son didn’t get home before Dark once. And now she says she’s never gotten him back,’ Marco pointed out, adding,

‘I don’t wanna risk that,’

Sophia shook her head and closed the park gate behind them.

‘Old Mrs. June? She’s crazy, I see her son with her all the time.’

The next day, Archie couldn’t get what Marco said about old Mrs. June out of his head. On his way to the park, curiosity got the better of him. He turned his bike around and took a different route, making a diversion past Mrs. June’s house. As he biked past, he peered in through the windows. He could see Mrs. June putting breakfast on the table. And there was her son, sitting right beside her at the table. Sophia must have been right, thought Archie. Her son’s still there; maybe Mrs. June just isn’t very well. Content, Archie kept pedalling to the park.

What Archie couldn’t see through the window, was the way Mrs. June’s hands trembled with nerves. Or the blank expression on her son’s face. Or that his eyes, once baby blue and full of life, were now as black as onyx; flooded with Dark.

As summer continued, Archie spent most days at the park with Sophia and Marco. Every day his mum warned,

‘Make sure you get home before Dark,’ and every day he played from morning until sunset, when he speedily made his way home. But, as the months flew by, the sun began setting sooner and sooner. One day, just as they were leaving, Sophia realised she couldn’t find her football.

‘Just get it tomorrow,’ said Archie, tugging on her sleeve. Sophia shook her head and continued to search.

‘You guys go, I’ll find it,’ she insisted.

‘You won’t make it home before Dark, Sophia,’ Archie frowned as the sun got lower in the sky.

‘Don’t worry, that’s all silly anyway,’ Sophia said happily. She hugged Marco and Archie goodbye, and after a moment the boys set off home, and Sophia continued to look for her ball.

The next day, they all met as usual. But Sophia seemed different. She didn’t smile. She didn’t laugh. She barely spoke. And her eyes, usually bright brown, were Dark; completely black, like her pupils had spread across her entire eyeballs. Archie and Marco asked if she wanted to play, but instead she sat alone on the wall, next to Archie’s bike. While Archie wasn’t looking, she picked up a sharp pebble, and poked a hole in the tyre.

When it was time to leave, Sophia still didn’t say a word. They all left their separate ways.

Archie hopped astride his bike and started to pedal, but the bike didn’t move. Frowning, he looked down to see what was wrong. When he saw the flat tyre, his heart sank. The sun was slowly sinking deeper and deeper in the sky, and it would soon be Dark.

Archie quickly leapt off his bike and started wheeling it beside him, going as fast as he could. He forced his little legs to move quickly, but the flat tyre dragged and dragged, making it impossible to pick up speed.

By the time Archie reached his street, the sunlight had almost completely gone. His heart beat faster and faster as he panted and desperately tried to drag his bike home in time. He looked to the hills and saw the last part of the sun shining dimly above the landscape. Panicking, Archie dropped his bike on the pavement and began to run, as fast as his legs could carry him, breathing heavier and heavier. As he drew closer to his house, the last peek of sun disappeared. All in a moment, Darkness flooded the street. Archie felt a cold shiver. The only light now came from the dim, flickering street lamps. Archie found his feet rooted to the spot. He was paralysed, unable to move.

Out from behind the house beside him, he saw a shadowy figure emerge. His heart flipped as he watched it slither across the garden towards him. Before he knew it, the grim, tall, jet black figure stood before him; like a storm of bad feeling. Its raspy voice rang around Archie’s ears.

‘Didn’t your mother tell you to get home before me?’

Isabella Clark is a media graduate who pursued her love for storytelling through creative writing at Goldsmiths. Having written from a young age and being particularly interested in horror, she has a passion for penning subversive children’s stories which mix a fairy-tale style of writing with dark and eerie plots. Now working with primary school children, she hopes to nurture imagination and inspire future generations of storytellers.

The Soldier's Wife

Caught somewhere in between a fragile sleep and somnolent wakefulness, she feels her fingers entwined perfectly with her loved one. In her transitory phase, occurs a beautifully painful sleep paralysis. Her body, as calm as still water and her mind as calm as the raging sea, she feels engulfed by a paradoxical whirlpool of emotion.

Today’s the day, that’s haunted her for weeks. Today’s the day she wants to forget but something inside urges to remind her. Today’s the day she’s armoured for, ever since her acceptance. It’s the day she needs to let him go.

Trudging towards consciousness, she breaks the surface tension, and opens her eyes. She feels a sudden relief from her insecurity and fear of ultimate loss. Her gratefulness and sense of privilege overcomes all other feelings at first sight. She confidently blushes on impact. Laying wide awake in front of her, her beloved adores her as if for the very first time - the way he does, every time he looks at her. In a fractional gaze, the two have exchanged a thousand words. Their love, old fashioned. Timeless and eternal. They’re a five page love letter, in a world full of status updates.

They cut through time to stop and stare, wistfully, painfully, but alluringly. Her mind salvages each glance, each nuance, and gradation, etching it into the deepest corners of her soul. She memorises the minute lines on his face, the fall of his hair, the iris of his dangerously brown eyes. She imbibes each moment, and stockpiles them to get through the tough times awaiting. This, he knows. He purses his lips and tightens his grip on her fingers, doing the very same. Revering her serenity, he plants a kiss on the back of her hand, injecting her with much needed strength. She feels heavenly, but knows that she is soon to trespass through hell.

Afflicted by a sense of time, she courageously sighs and momentarily caresses his hair whilst getting up. She slips into her sandals and scurries to the door. She sneaks a peak through the corner of her eye just before exiting the room and he’s just as pensively quiet and breathing motionlessly.

She washes up and heads to the kitchen. Her aim is to work briskly and elaborately. She tries to draw her absolute focus to the most unnecessary tasks. Anything to distract her from the desolation brewing within. She assiduously slices pieces of bread, assembles the diced vegetables in the most perfect manner, and mechanically goes about her other tasks. Fully well knowing that this her battle strategy. Her way to hush the aching heart.

She walks to the sink to rinse her hands. Pausing her routine she stops to at a vague figure in the mirror. She instructs and commands the reflection to keep it together. The reflection winces. She further sternly intimidates the reflection, reminding it to keep up the shield but experiences a rigid barrier. She pierces harder. The reflection lets out a solitary victorious tear, and sniffs with finality. Order received. She shakes her head, wipes her cheek and walks out of the wash room as if nothing ever happened.

She wraps the ultra-carefully made breakfast in brown paper, and puts it in the front pocket of his backpack along which she slips in a long letter and a photograph. She zips up the bag and places her palm on it. Tracing the edges of the badges and dog tags organised beside it, she is struck by a sense of patriotic pride. Though she glows with pain, she smiles through it with reserved optimism and hope.

She walks to the front porch, as the first beam of sunlight traces her face. Staring at the luminous, golden strip of cement which is scheduled to carry him away, an uneasy panic sets in inside her titanium heart. She feels cogwheels choking down her emotions. One may also call it, ‘acceptance’. She feels, as if though she’s staring into oblivion.

Breaking the deafening silence, he walks out the door, and onto the front porch. He’s in uniform, and is wearing his heavy duty duffle bag on his back. No words said once again, the two just have a beautifully painful telepathic conversation. One of the million ways they profess their undying love.

He walks towards her, and gently places his hand on the nape of her neck. He traces her skin with his fingers, and stares into her crystalline eyes. ‘It’s time’ something tells them. She feels those cogwheels rotating. She feels a feeble urge to defy the laws of space and time. Her heart ebbs and throbs with sorrow. And the same cogwheels force her to smile. After all, a warrior’s strength is abstinence from conceding. And she is one hell of a warrior.

She hides her tears with all her might. Not because she wants to, but because she has to. Not because she’s afraid to cry, but because she’s afraid he might. He sees through her as if she’s glass. As if her walls are mere holograms. He embraces her in his arms. She stands on her toes and clings on his tall neck, knowing fully well that she will never hold something so dearly again, till the day he returns.

The bus honks from slightly far away.

Startled, she subconsciously tightens her grip. She looks down, intensely. He inhales, and slowly lifts her chin up while whispering in her ear, “I love you, angel”

The two kiss each other farewell, making the universe evanesce for a few brief seconds.

He fixes his cap, and moves ahead to board the bus. She stands there, illuminated, counting his footsteps. She stands there, watching herself crumble and reforming, oscillating from love and pride to pain and courage. She sees the bus transcend into a blurry distance along the ribbon like road. It gets smaller and smaller, diminishes to a tiny speck and slowly, disappears.

She exhales, for her battle has just begun. She walks into the house, all guns blazing.

by Vedika (Veda) Maheshwari

It's Not Me, It's It

PAGE 1

Alice was five years old in dance class when It first started talking to her. Pink dress stretched over its lumpy body, hollow eyes staring: an ugly version of her in her ballet outfit. It whispered that she shouldn’t do her performance that weekend; she would embarrass herself in front of everyone. Alice tried to protest, saying that it would be fine, but It started shouting at her and wouldn’t stop.

‘Mum. I need to quit ballet.’

‘Why?’

It hunched in the shadows in the corner of the room, long toenails poking into the lino. Alice thought about telling on It. But It shook its head slowly, threatening.

‘I just don’t want to dance anymore.’

PAGE 2

Alice grew used to It’s company, whispering to her, stale breath making her retch. It told her to be especially careful to make sure that bad things didn’t happen to her and the people around her. So Alice was extra careful. Everywhere she went, It would always be lurking. It followed her around, grabbing her wrist with its icy fingers when she was invited to go to a sleepover because it warned her that bad things might happen there, that her parents might be gone when she comes back. She became scared to leave the house in case it was telling the truth. She begged It to let her go but, no matter what, It wouldn’t stop.

When her mum did manage to drag her outside eventually, she offered to buy Alice ice cream, and Alice burst into tears because It told her that she would get food poisoning if she ate it. Alice wanted to have the ice cream and a nice day with her mum so badly, but she couldn’t make It be quiet. Alice’s mum looked at her as if she was crazy.

‘Alice, I don’t understand. This is getting silly now.’

Alice wanted to scream that it wasn’t her fault, it was It, but her mum wouldn’t believe her. She couldn’t see It.

PAGE 3

It got more threatening. Everytime Alice went to eat It would grip her throat and she couldn’t swallow. It would tell her how disgusting the food looked until she felt sick and couldn’t face eating, and she started to get thinner. She became exhausted from staying up every night doing school work because It told her that she was going to fail. Alice became unrecognisable. People were asking her what was wrong, but when she tried to tell them what was happening, It shoved its bony hand over her mouth to muffle her voice, silencing her cries for help.

When Alice tried to sleep It sat on her chest with its full weight and she couldn’t breathe, her heart would race until she would scream. Still, no amount of pleading or reasoning could make it get off. Tears would spring from her eyes but It was unmovable, like a mountain.

Alice felt exhausted, and she didn’t know how much longer she could put up with Its threats.

PAGE 4

Alice met Lucy in school, and to her surprise, Lucy had a creature too. Lucy’s looked different to hers, It trailed behind her, distracting from her work. Lucy told Alice that it made her miss school some days because it would perch on the end of the bed and mutter that Lucy was not good enough to do anything, that no one liked her, that she had no future. Sometimes, It would even hurt her, tell her that she would be better off dead.

She said ‘it makes me feel so horrid some days I feel like there’s no point doing anything.’

Alice understood.

PAGE 5

Lucy said that she had told her parents about the creature and they believed her. She told Alice that her It was quieter after telling and her parents were trying to help her get rid of the creature. Alice couldn’t believe it. As they were talking, Alice looked over at the creatures standing together. They stamped their feet and waved their fists, but it was as though they were behind a glass screen, unable to interrupt when Alice and Lucy were talking about them.

The girls began to spend more and more time together, relishing the time with the creatures behind the screen. Alice felt less alone knowing that someone else had a creature that no one else could see, that said mean things. She felt relieved that her and Lucy could face them together, forever.

Laura Brampton is an MA Gender, Media and Culture student who writes in her spare time and specialised in Creative Writing in her undergraduate degree. She likes to write about uniquely female experiences and the relationships formed between women that can help them in overcoming their obstacles.