Vengeance

• Madalyn Bayliss, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2009

One, two, we’re coming for you…
The words echo around me, along with a chilling, haunting sound. The ghostly laugh of children playing. I see a movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn to catch whoever it is out, but see nothing except the swing set swaying in the breeze that I could not feel. The see-saw thumps behind me, and I twist around and around, trying to find the source of the laughter, but it eluded me. The rush of the river near the park reaches my ears. The voices keep on singing.
One, two, we’re coming for you…
A ghostly hand touches my cheek. I shriek soundlessly and jerk away from it, but another reaches. I can not see them, only feel. And hear the sounds that haunt me. I turn to flee and…
…jolt upright in my bed, pale, shivering and drenched with sweat. I grope around my bedside table for a light, and sigh with relief as I see my familiar room. A nightmare. Only a nightmare.
I lie down, but do not turn the light out. There is no way that I can sleep now, even with the comforting sound of my father snoring in the room behind my head. I pick up the book that had fallen beside the bed earlier, but even though I try, I can not concentrate on the words. Others are pulling my focus away, lingering unwanted in my head.
One, two, we’re coming for you…
I shudder. I try to convince myself that it was just a dream, but I can’t lie to myself. I curl up under the covers, staring at the alarm clock that reads 1:17am. I stay this way until the morning.

I travel through school the next day in a daze, speaking to no-one unless they speak to me, which doesn’t happen too often. Even the teachers have given up on me. Bree the dreamer is the kindest way of putting it. Or, as some of the girls say, Bree the freak or Oh vacant one. Even the boys – who, at the start of the year, thought that I was pretty, with my long blond hair, distant blue eyes and especially the awkward curves which I developed – steer clear of me now. I have alienated myself – even though I am only thirteen.
I think not about that, but about the dream I simply can not forget. The words still creep through my thoughts, no matter how hard I concentrate on other things.
One, two, we’re coming for you…

At dinner that night, Mum tries to talk to me, but I am a stranger even to my family. She stops after a few awkward attempts, before turning on to my brother. He claims the attention, which I am grateful of. I mumble some excuse, and go back to my room. I scatter my things and try to read, but I can’t concentrate. I am too tired. Though I dread to, I go to my bed and sleep.

One, two, we’re coming for you…
The voices are back. I am in the park, with a river rushing beside me. The unseen children – ghosts of children – are pulling me, laughing. They are playing, but I don’t want to. Come, come, they chant, but I resist. The chilling words return, but they are different.
Three, four, lock the door…
I tug away from the ghosts, but they are strong, and many. I can see a few of them now, and I gasp in recognition.
Jenny! Marissa! Toni! I cry out. But you died!
The eight-year-old girls only grin at me, their long hair dripping wet, as though they had been swimming in the river. Their eyes gleamed.
Five, six, grab your crucifix…
No! I tell them. I am dreaming! But even as I say that, the scene becomes more real. I wake…but I am not in my bedroom. I am standing by the river near my home. On the other side is a park, where a rusted set of swings and a see-saw creaks in the wind. There are no ghosts near me, but I am very afraid. They should be dead. I killed them.
My breath comes in desperate gasps. They are dead, I tell myself. Dead! I shiver, though the air is warm. I race back to the house, not three hundred meters from the river, but the remanets of the dream come back to me.
Three, four, lock your door…
I pant loudly, and I think that I can hear…something…pursuing me. But I keep on going until I reach the house. I slam the door shut and quickly lock it behind me.
Five, six, grab your crucifix…
I race up the stairs to my room, amazed that no-one had woken. When I get there, I shut my door and lock it as well. I feel a cool breeze behind me, and when I spin around, I see that the window facing the river is open, the curtains fluttering in the waft of air coming through. There is a puddle of water on the floor. I scream.
I expect someone to come in and see what is wrong, but I am alone as I hurry to close the window. As I do, I hear voices flutter in a haunting, sing-song way.
Seven, eight, stay up late…
I bolt the window shut and move, trembling, to my bed. I flop down on it. I do not bother to pray. God does not listen to murderers.
I do not sleep. I know what will happen if I do. Instead I remember that day. I remember so clearly.

*FLASHBACK*

It was a lovely day. The sun was shining beautifully. We were all playing at the park, my friends and I. Our parents were at my house, talking to my mum. All of us – Marissa, Jenny, Tony, Maude, Sarah and I – where playing tiggy, and I was it. I knew that they only played because their parents told them to – my mother was an important woman, and they wanted to impress her – but I didn’t think they would be so mean. We were only seven and eight at the time, but they still were stuck up snobs. I ran after them, giggling, trying to catch one of them. But I was not a fast runner, and they all teased me.
Come on, fatso, Toni called, and Marissa laughed.
Yeah, chubby, hurry up! She called.
Leave her alone. Maude, a shy but nice girl, was not playing, but reading a book. She hated bullies. Sarah and Jenny said nothing.
I tried harder and harder to get them, but they kept eluding me. Finally, I sat down and started crying.
Come on, cry-baby, Marissa said. You are pathetic. She came up and started poking me. Get up.
I couldn’t take any more. They had pushed me to a limit. I stood and picked up Marissa and threw her into the river. She called for help, and when Toni and Jenny came to the bank to see what they could do, I pushed them in.
Good on you, Bree, Sarah said. They deserve some of their own medicine. I was pleased with myself. I didn’t realize that they had drowned until they no longer poked their heads up.
Oh, God, what did you do? Maude asked. I shrugged.
I didn’t do anything, I said, They fell in.
That’s right, Sarah agreed. And you better not say anything else.
Maude was shocked, and then I fully realised what had happened.
Oh my God! I said. I was horrified. How could I have killed them?
When we raced in – Sarah, Maude and I – we told the adults that they fell. When we all rushed to the river, I saw Sarah push Maude in, so she wouldn’t tell. All of them died. Because of me.

*END FLASHBACK*

A few months ago, Sarah was found in that river. Dead. I knew then that they would come for me.
I’m sorry, I think to the girls insincerely. So sorry. I know that I deserve to die – but I don’t want to. I want to live.
But I am going to die. I know that. I can do nothing about it. I pray – even though no-one will answer. Then I close my eyes. Before I sleep, I hear five voices.
Nine, ten, never wake again…