The Twisted Tales Of Mike Rouse-Deane

X Marks The Spot Bronwyn was nine years old and lived with her mother and father deep within the city limits. She had a huge dolls collection, all of which had names and all displayed on her wall and bed. On sunny days she would play with her friends outside and on days that poured with rain she stayed indoors and hid. Bronwyn loved to hide. She could keep her mother wondering where she was for days, weeks even if she put her mind to it. In all honesty Bronwyn knew all the hiding spots in the house. Today she was hiding. Her mother and father had told her they were to play a game. She had rushed from her bed after being woken up and rushed around the house whilst her parents counted in her room. Making little to no noise she crept downstairs towards a small cupboard. Her parents rarely found her in there, empty of everything, no china, nothing, just able to fit one body. They had told her to be very special and not make one sound no matter what she heard. Not one sound and she wouldn't. Waiting softly she hummed to herself in the dark, softly, almost like a whisper, waiting for her parent's steps but they had yet to come downstairs. Maybe they were trying to lure her out or maybe they were being clever and checking each room upstairs before they moved down to startle her. She waited. A loud slam scared her almost as the front door seemed to be forced open. Marching boots moved in as she adjusted herself to look through the small crack where the door closed. Only slightly open, but just enough, to see something. Men in green clothes moved in, passing the cupboard, walking in unison. She didn't move, she didn't make a sound. She heard footsteps going up the stairs, one by one, they marched up. Was her parent's playing a trick, trying to lure her out because it wouldn't work, she wanted the treat, the treat they had promised of a new doll, the one that Polly Prince had, the doll that was the most expensive in the shop and her parents had always said they couldn't afford. She really truly deeply wanted that doll and as her parent's had told her - under no circumstances had she to move from the place she hid, not for no one, not for any sound. Her mother's screams echoed from the rooms upstairs, her father's voice mumbling as the men screamed loudly, thudding and objects being thrown about. She was slightly curious as to what was happening but her parent's had said to and so she stayed. Every time she blinked a loud bang came from upstairs, every time. Was she making the noise? She blinked again but silence, not even her mother or father were talking now, they were probably making their way downstairs, sneaking down. Large pounding footsteps marched down just as before she peered out, the men one by one moving out of the house and into the cold street, snow falling on this cold winter's morning. As she looked out one man remained, definitely not her father, eyeing the contents of the house, looking for something. Had her father told him about her? Was he looking for her? For a moment their eyes locked and she stayed perfectly still, perfectly still and silent. He peered for the longest time before turning around and moving out, closing the door behind and shutting the cold draft out as well. It felt like someone was knocking on the door, three large bangs, then three more, then another, then another. Someone was knocking but nobody was answering, not even father or mother. She stayed, spying out at the empty room. It was silent for a second before rainfall seemed to hit the windows all at once, like it was raining buckets full of water, each one splashing on the glass and the wooden exterior. A window smashed upstairs and then one in the far room, just past her eye line something was glowing, something bright and sparkling. She couldn't go and take a look she knew it was a trick. Her father was famous for tricking her from hiding places with food or just totally ignoring her. Not this time, she wanted that doll, whatever the cost. Still there was no movement from upstairs. Had they forgotten or was this a trick as well? The light in the other room was getting stronger and shining more bright, reds and yellows danced on the walls twinkling and sparkling for her to just about see. It was getting hotter, even in winter she was getting warm, almost like being in an oven or bent near a fire warming her hands, her entire body was warming up like her parent's had turned on some heating to draw her out. The black smoke made her worry. The other room was filling fast with not only red and yellow flickers of light but a black cloud was drifting along and rising up to the ceiling. In some cases it was streaming along the floor and moving straight through the small crack in the cupboard to her. It tickled her throat and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't stop coughing out loud. More black smoke moved in and again she coughed even more. It was worse than, when her Grandad would visit and he smoked cigars. Someone was smoking and as her mother said, smoking was bad. She was coughing every second almost, something wasn't right. As she opened up the cupboard the entire room was filled with smoke and fire, flickering near the windows, blurring the images outside. She called out but nobody responded. She didn't care about the doll any more she just wanted her mother and father. She called again but nothing. The flames were now on the stairs. Had her parent's left forgetting her? They couldn’t be trapped up there, they would have found a way out and where outside figuring a way to get her. She screamed at them, for them, grabbing the door handle, trying to get out but it was stuck. Four black spikes poked in from outside across the door as she kept tugging, pulling with all her might for the door to open. After trying she pounded at the door screaming for all, the world to hear, to be saved, to be rescued, banging hard. This was the only way out and she couldn't open it. She tugged again, pulling ever so hard, trying. The door edged slightly. She pulled again, each time the door loosening. She grabbed, pulled, tugged, did whatever she could before the door swung open, a large white cross smeared over the top. Rushing out to the line of men, the snow trickling down as her house behind her blazed and flamed. She screamed for her parents, tears streaming down her face, still moving, still looking for a familiar face from the line of men with green uniforms on each holding a black stick. Each stick flashed and then flashed again, like a camera taking her picture in that moment, snapping her face from every angle. She stopped, her body went numb, just like she had been pricked with so many pins she couldn't count them all. She tried staying up, she tried moving towards the men for help, to find her family but she couldn't. She fell backwards landing in the inch of snow which had settled onto the path and looked at the sky. Opening her mouth she uttered no words, it was as if she was breathless, the ground getting wetter, damper, as she lay there in her bed clothes. She looked for a second at the snow softly falling down but she couldn't keep her eyes focused and slowly but surely they gently closed. She'd have a nap, just a small nap and search for her parent's later. Yes, that's what she would do, search for them in the morning.