Crocodile Queen, Page 2

  There was an unusually strong rotting smell, permeating the air and circulating within his bedroom, it reminded him of food that had gone bad while festering in an unattended fridge. His mouth felt extremely dry, so Dan licked his cracked lips. Dan’s nightmares were getting more realistic each night, they were starting to really upset him. Dan couldn't face the possibility of losing Ally, he knew that nightmares he was suffering through reflected his subconscious mind, it was a manifestation of his worst fear. It was always the same dream, and he was always placed in a situation where he couldn’t help Ally, but last night Dan had suffered through the nightmare three repetitive times, each time he would wake violently, in a panic, and drenched in sweat.

  After much deliberation, Dan had decided that he would not tell his Mum about these dreams, he knew she would only make a fuss, jump to the wrong conclusion and probably force him to go see a psychologist, he wasn't going to do that! Dan decided to put on his bravest face, and despite feeling exhausted and weak, he bounded into the kitchen, faking a cheery morning disposition.

  * * * * *

  Today was Saturday, Ally had finally managed to get a restful night’s sleep, she’d decided to rise early, change into her running gear, and had jogged along the quiet river bank for over an hour. Feeling refreshed, she decided to seize the rest of the day, she’d showered, eaten a healthy breakfast, and arranged to go to the library. Ally's Mum was now in a more positive place, she’d turned her life completely around over the last year, and because of that, things were looking rosier for Ally. Ally was pleased that her Mum had finally tamed her alcohol addiction that she'd used as a crutch to help her through a difficult messy divorce, this was followed by a long confidence-draining period of unemployment. Over the last year Ally’s Mum had managed to stop drinking, landed a top job at a successful accounting firm, invested in regaining her health, and spent more time on her appearance. She was as an attractive woman with clear blue eyes, and a bright hopeful smile. It didn't take long for the local men to notice her change, and she’d started to see someone, he worked as a professional accountant that she’d met through her workplace. He was a gentle tall man named Derek. Ally had met him briefly, several times, and he seemed nice. Ally really wanted her Mum to be happy, she deserved a man like Derek, he gave her the motivation to stay sober, and to take pride in her appearance. The money she earned from her new job meant she could afford to buy Ally new clothes again. When times were very tough Ally had not complained but she had started to look like a street urchin from a Victorian novel. Ally had quit her part time job, and used the time to focus on school, studying for her assignments and upcoming exams.

  Ally had an unexplainable fascination for history; she was drawn inexplicably to the stories and the resilience displayed by the human spirit when faced with all sorts of adversity. Her history teacher, Mrs. Henderson, was so inspiring, passionate, and knowledgeable, she'd won local teaching awards and always seemed to get the best out of her students while keeping them engaged through interesting classes. Today's assignment involved working on a topic that Ally had personally selected. The class was challenged to select a well-known female archetype and study a historical event that centered around that role. Because Ally's Mum had managed to pay off her debts, and regained her financial footing, she'd told Ally that she would buy her a new laptop at the end of the month. Ally was hoping to get a cell phone too, but she hadn’t devised a strategy on how to break this to her Mum yet. The laptop excited Ally, the thought of having that level of convenience, but for now, without having a laptop, the local library would have to suffice as the place to conduct her research. Once Ally had pushed through her desire to be lazy, she recognized that the library, which contained a collection of older books, would give her access to unique stories, reference materials, and facts, that weren't necessarily indexed by Google. Ally was keenly aware that many of her classmates would source the same information through the internet, using an old-school method of accessing information through the library would give her assignment paper a unique edge, gained through verified, older, uncategorized information, not found online.

  Ally washed her breakfast bowl, letting her mind wander to her assignment. She intended to get an ‘A’ on this one and felt her competitive spirit kick in. Once she’d cleaned everything away she said goodbye to her Mum and walked briskly towards the library, intending to get an early start on her research. The female archetype that Ally had carefully selected was a subject she'd always been fascinated by and drawn towards with an unexplainable curiosity - the Witch.

  When Ally arrived at the library they had just opened their doors to the public, it was empty. The library was a large yellow and brown colored stone building streaked with the dirt and grime of decades of pollution and inclement weather. Ally raced up the well-worn stone staircase before pushing the large oak doors open to gain entry to the third floor. Should she activate an old clunky Internet enabled computer terminal? or should she start by browsing the books? She decided to head for the bookshelves, and throw her fortune into the hands of fate, letting chance dictate her path. Ally selected a couple of books from the shelves, she flicked through the pages scanning their content studiously, she would pause occasionally to inspect the pictures or illustrations contained within. A number of the books recounted the events and hangings of the witch trials of Salem, Massachusetts, in the early1690's. Ally knew this was the result of heightened paranoia, she knew that any fellow class member who selected a witch as their archetype would likely present this material. Ally wanted to be different, she wanted to present a story that was more unique, she was more interested in a story that she was unfamiliar with.

  Ally browsed the shelves selecting three additional books; she carried them back to the reading table. She leafed through the stiff pages where her eyes scanned for anything of interest; a feeling of unquenched anticipation, coupled with rising disappointment loomed in the pit of her stomach as she set aside the first book. Perhaps this was not going to be as easy as she first thought, it looked like it was going to be a long morning. The second book she has selected offered little hope, until she saw an illustration that caught her immediate attention. The illustration was from an English painting, it depicted the scene of a witch trial that occurred in Pendle Hill, Lancashire, England. Set in 1612, the story described a time when some people made a decent living by claiming to be a witch that possessed spiritual powers with the ability to cast spells, create potions, and to heal the sick. Pendle Hill was situated in the county of Lancashire, located in the North West of England. In August 1612, twelve people were detained by local authorities and accused of witchcraft, they originated from two families, each accusing the other as they tried to establish their dominance. They were all charged with the murders of ten people and accused of using the dark art of witchcraft.

  Of the eleven people who went to trial, consisting of nine women and two men, ten were found guilty and were hung for their crimes. The allegations against the ten individuals were exaggerated and spiteful, the Demdike family and the Chattox family were significant contributors to the evidence presented in the trail, which sealed their own fate. As Ally continued to read through the details of this sordid affair, she seemed to identify with the scared and bullied eight-year-old girl named Jennet Device, who was forced to give evidence against her own delirious mother, and her cruel, spiteful, brother and sister. When she gave evidence, her mother Elizabeth Demdike, had to be forcibly removed from the proceedings when her demeanor turned foul. She would curse loudly in a dramatically deep voice, and forcefully assert that the brave little girl was not one of them, not her daughter. The observers could only imagine how hurtful this must have been, her own mother denying her existence; the trail had turned ugly for this brave little girl.

  The more Ally researched the factual accounts of the actual events, the more captivated by the story she became. The witch trial at Pendle Hill became the most comprehensively documented witch trial in English history
, occurring in the 17th century. Ally suddenly made her mind up, she would select this story as the subject for her essay assignment. The rest of the morning was spent researching online, at the library terminal, to establish the facts of the dispute, trying to sort out the facts from the fabricated accusations offered by each family, in the hope that it would incriminate the other family. Were there real elements of witchcraft involved here, or was this simply a family feud that escalated and horribly backfired in the most fatal way?

  As the day progressed and evening was drawing to a close, Ally and Dan had failed to connect, each kept busy with household chores, homework assignments, or errands. They’d arranged to meet on Sunday, at the park where they always seemed to meet. The old inoperable drinking fountain could be seen throughout the park and was approximately half way between their respective homes, this served as an ideal rendezvous point. On Saturday evening, Dan was getting tired, but he tried to stay awake, he forced himself to keep busy and procrastinated about going to sleep. Fearful of the nightmares ahead, he eventually dragged his weary body into bed, hoping for at least one peaceful night ahead.

  Ally felt satisfied with the accomplishments of her day, she seemed pleased with her research progress where she had gathered vast amounts of small details that would enrich her story and differentiate her school essay on the Pendle Hill witches. She felt confident that she could recreate the feud, the mood at the time, the trial, and vividly describe the victim's fates. She knew with her creative flair, she could write a paper that would not just be a simple generic piece but hers would stand up well against anything her classmates would produce.

  Ally settled in for her night's rest, turning off her bedroom light at 10.30pm, she felt tired but fulfilled, knowing her day had been productive. It wasn't long before she fell asleep and started to dream. White fog blanketed the ground swirling around like an eighties music video, Ally could see herself staring across the bleak Lancashire moors, patterned with old weathered dry-stone walls that bordered green fields stretched across the rolling grass hills. She was standing ankle deep in the fog, a narrow dirt path was barely visible as it stretched out in front of her lined with high, dark, drystone walls. It reminded her of the corn maze she'd once visited last summer, except these were walls made of stone. In the distance a shape appeared, its details obscured by the thick fog. The figure drew closer as it walked slowly through the fog. Her first instinct was to run, but her feet seemed heavy and anchored to the muddy ground. The small figure of a child emerged from the fog, it was a girl, about eight years old, wearing a gold dress accented with white lace cuffs. She wore her dark hair parted in the middle with two long pigtails flowing over the sides of her small head. She had a pretty face, but her demeanor was solemn as black crows screeched their disapproval overhead, she didn't smile as she approached.

  "I don't have much time, and you’ll need to listen to me carefully," she said, appearing to hover above the ground floating above the dense ground fog, "I have so much to tell you, but this is not the place, it's far too dangerous. I need you to trust your instincts, your woman’s intuition; this is not simply a dream. I'm using this place that sits between your world and mine, to deliver a vitally important message to you. You must trust your instincts about this message, I want to meet with you when you wake, let’s arrange to meet at 10.30am, in the park at the drinking fountain. Make up any excuse you can to free up your time but come alone."

  The girl in the gold dress approached closer, her brown eyes were merely inches away from Ally's, "You have no idea how important this is," Ally felt a sharp pinching pain shoot through her right bicep. She glanced downwards to see the little girl nipping at her flesh with her small fingers, "Meet me in the park tomorrow, or you’ll regret this for the rest of your life."

  The pretty girl, and the pain in Ally’s right arm soon disappeared in an instant, leaving behind a cloud of damp Lancashire ground fog. Ally stood alone, deserted on a wet dirt road, high upon the Lancashire moors. Her dream ended in a flash of light, Ally wouldn't dream again that night as she fell into a deep trance-like sleep, only waking once the sun had started to encroach upon her room. When Ally did wake she lay within her bed trying to recall every small detail, every word spoken, and the feeling of that damp fog within her dream, she could hear the distant sound of the black crows, the dark harsh textures of the stone walls, and those captivating piercing brown eyes of the mysterious little girl. Ally rolled over onto her side, she felt a sharp pain shoot up her right arm. She examined her bicep and upper arm; Ally could see the outline of small purple bruises clearly made from the pressure exerted by dream girl’s child-sized fingers!

  Ally stared at the purple bruises in disbelief, she recalled her vivid dream, it didn’t resemble any other dream she’d ever experienced. She remembered everything, every little detail. The bruises on her arm confused her; did she do this to herself unconsciously? She raised her left hand to her right arm; her fingers were much larger than the impressions left on her arm. Did she manifest these bruises subconsciously using her brain, where she thought the dream was real? She'd read about deeply religious people manifesting wounds like the ones inflicted upon Christ as validation of their deep-seated faith. She tried to rationalize away the bruises, but always came to one simple consistent conclusion, her dream must have been real. She knew it was a dream, for she didn’t have the ability to magically travel to the north of England overnight, but the little girl had deliberately left these bruises upon her arm for a reason. There was no other rational explanation for why this little girl had grabbed her arm so violently than to prove her experience was real and needed to be taken seriously. The pattering of rain drops tapped lightly upon Ally’s bedroom window, as the sun beat a hasty retreat giving way to ominous black storm clouds that swept through the area. The wind intensified, lashing the house and the entire neighborhood, with much needed rain, "It's good for the plants," she heard her mother's voice echoing through her mind. She smiled before focusing upon her vivid dream once more, what should she do? What felt right? She knew the answer to her own questions, but she couldn’t help but feel a little silly admitting it to herself.

  She sighed heavily catching her reflection in her dressing table mirror, Ally scooted over to the mirror pushing her face close to her reflection, she wanted to see herself say the most ridiculous statement, "So, Ally - what are you going to do?" she teased herself, as she addressed her weary reflection. "Should we be practical and brush this off as a silly dream because I pinched my own arm seeking attention? Perhaps the pain from these bruises made their way into my dream, into my subconscious, and I dreamed that this little girl had squeezed me, so my mind could reconcile all of this. Yes - that's exactly what happened. That means, I get to spend the entire day in the park, drenched in this romantic rain, with the guy I love, listening to him moaning on about how wet he is and failing to comment on how beautiful my eyes are."

  Ally crinkled her nose and pulled a face, she knew that’s exactly what would happen, “Alternatively, you could trust your female intuition, listen to the persuasive little girl that sent you a sign, don't tell anyone about this and simply call Dan to cancel the park by saying you don't feel too good, and its foul weather." Ally noticed a wry smile crossing the face of the young woman staring back at her in the mirror. "Yes, he'll be happy as a little toad to avoid this damp cold windy rain. You don't have to tell Mum, just leave the house and go to meet the little girl at 10.30am in the park, at the drinking fountain as she instructed. What's the worst that can happen Ally?"

  Ally paused, realizing how ridiculous it was talking to herself in the mirror like she was being interviewed, "I have a question for your reflection, what if she doesn't show up?" Ally rubbed her tired face before answering her own question, "You go home wet and feeling silly. I have a better question." She paused, and stared at her own tired eyes, "What if she does show up?" she noticed how serious her reflection had suddenly become, "am I going crazy?" She looked at the purple bru
ises on her arm in the reflection from the mirror and touched them gingerly with her left hand, "I'm going to have to hide these, or my Mum's going to freak out."