Haley Thistle
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The Veils: Childhood 1 (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2021-06-08 20:00:03 +0000 UTCWhen I was little, I was sent to live with a distant relative. There had been an accident that took my parents, although I can’t really recall it. Aside from photographs, I can’t really recall much of my family before then. The first thing I could ever clearly bring up is that house on the hill. It was old then, paint peeling off the sides, the columns cracked and chipping. But it was the rolling sea of grass behind it I remember the most. It faded on and on into the distance, green as far as the eye could see. It waved and rolled in the wind, moving in a way that seemed very unlike grass.
My aunt, at least that’s what I called her, took me in without hesitation. She was a kind woman, doting with extremely curly hair. Aunt Fifi had bought the house in hopes of renovating it, making it a grand home full of rooms so she could take in kids as a foster parent. She already had one kid staying with her at the time, a boy around my age named Atticus who was my first friend. Although, he left the house long ago.
I stayed with Aunt Fifi and, bit by bit, we slowly restored some of the old house. I even made what I learned from this my career and small business. Other kids passed through, coming and going throughout my life. But none were like Atticus.
After Aunt Fifi passed away, I kept working on repairing the house. I wanted to finish what she started, to see the house complete. After that, I have no clue what I’ll do. I’ve always been here, maybe I always will be.
I was packing up Aunt Fifi’s belongings. It had been months now, and her room had remained the only one untouched since she got it. The floors were bare and worn away. The wallpaper was peeling away from the walls, ripped away in some places. I thought that by making her room as beautiful as possible, it would serve as a loving tribute to her. I kept what I wanted of her things and boxed up the rest. I thought about donating it, but then I had been seeing lots of the kids she had fostered and I decided to keep it all in case any of them wanted a memory of her.
For now I could keep the boxes in the attic. The last I could remember there wasn’t much up there to begin with. I pulled down the ladder and hauled up my first box, tossing it inside. I then peeked around and was struck hard by nostalgia. I finished climbing up the stairs and stood there in the attic. The window let in light that was filled with dust I just kicked up. Under the window was a small table and chairs. The table had candles in tins upon it, along with several worn notebooks.
This was where Atticus and I used to play. We would sit at this table and pretend to be great and highly respected thinkers. We’d write down our thoughts, our stories, in those notebooks. We stole old candles that Aunt Fifi would throw away, although we never lit them as we weren’t allowed matches. I sat down at the table, smoothing my hand over the top where I saw names carved into the surface; ‘Atticus + Daisy’. Daisy? I don’t remember a Daisy being here. My name is Margaret.
My memory had never been very good, but this seemed like such a sad thing to forget. This is where my childhood was made, where I spent most of my time with Atticus. And if Atticus held affections for a girl named Daisy, I surely would have remembered that. As I thought about it, I realized that even though I remembered him fondly, I could barely bring up his face. I thought about him often, especially since Aunt Fifi passed away. But I could not bring up things in my mind that were once so important to me.
I took a notebook and opened it up; dust had collected along the cover and slipped against my fingers. The pages inside were crisp, warped by heavy handed writing and the many, many words upon them.
“Daisy sits across from me, she’s talking about poetry. She thinks I’m writing it down, but I won’t. Instead I’ll write this and that. I think her eyes are pretty. I think that big freckle on the tip of her nose is cute. She still can’t remember that her birthday is coming up, but I’ll remind her. Like always, I’m the brain between us!”
I smoothed my hand over the passage. I guess, even back then, I had been having some lapses in memory. I then saw a line written in faded yellow colored pencil. I moved closer to the window in order to read it.
“Daisy hates the ocean. I hate the bathtub. We both drowned and now we’re here.”
A cold chill ran up my spine then crashed back down into my gut where it sunk like a stone. I never drowned. I don’t hate the ocean! I’ve never even been. How could I say for sure? I closed the notebook and laid it back on the table in the space where there was no dust.
I went to finish taking up the rest of Aunt Fifi’s things into the attic. My pulse was racing and, when I went to pick up a box, my hands were trembling. I dropped a box and her things spilled out. It was mostly scarves, though, luckily. I scooped them back into the box and hurried it up the stairs. I looked back towards the table then quickly left again.
A few days later, a young woman who had been fostered by Aunt Fifi came by to pay her respects. I offered her something of Aunt Fifi’s and she happily accepted, so I made my way into the attic. I found the box of scarves and one was already sticking out. I went to grab it when I saw a shadow at the corner of the room. It moved just out of the corner of my eye and then stood there. I tried to follow it but, when I tried to look at it directly, it vanished. I gave the woman the scarf and we sat and talked for a long time.
“There was a boy here once,” she said thoughtfully. “He reminded me of that book, Harriet the Spy? Remember him? Always carried around a notebook. Always was watching people and listening to them. You two were joined at the hip, though.” She chuckled thoughtfully. “I can’t remember his name.”
I can’t quite remember, I think Atticus was long gone before she arrived. “I don’t recall that,” I said.
“You don’t?” She seemed so surprised. “I guess you saw a lot of kids come through here,” she then sighed. “They must all get muddled together.”
I looked outside the window at the sea of grass, and it looked like there was a kid playing outside. I furrowed my brow and moved closer to the window. “Do you have any kids?” I asked.
“Just one, a boy,” she replied. “I left him at home with his dad, though.”
The child outside dipped under the grass and appeared elsewhere, moving between the tufts and blades like it was water. My body went into chills and I stepped away from the window. “How old is he?” I asked.
“Five,” she said with a smile. “Never expected myself to have any and then bam, I’m in the delivery room.” Her laugh was so welcome to hear. The house had been devoid of it since Aunt Fifi passed.
After she left, I went to go and work on Aunt Fifi’s bedroom. I was taking down all the old wallpaper and it was messy, nasty work. I had torn down what I could, but then I had to steam what remained, hoping it would peel up from the walls. It smelled so disgusting, so I put on a face mask with some lavender inside to help cover it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking the wallpaper off the wall so I can-” I stopped mid sentence and turned around to see a little girl standing in the doorway. “What are...who are…” I lowered the steamer and turned towards her.
“What color are you going to paint it?” She asked me, walking up to the wall and looking around.
“Green, maybe, I-” The little girl looked familiar. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she had small lizard clips at the side. She had freckles all over her face and her eyes were dark brown. “Where did you come from, sweetie? Do you need me to call your mom?”
The little girl evaded my question as she hopped around the room then stooped over to pick up a piece of wallpaper from the floor. “How come you’re doing this?”
“To make it look nice.” I took off the face mask and went after her. “Come here, tell me your name. You know you’re not supposed to go into strangers’ houses.”
“Why do you wanna make it look nice?” She asked me, tilting her head to the side. “Are you hoping someone will move in?”
I took the dirty wallpaper from her and laid it aside. “Young lady, I asked you a question first. It’s polite to answer somebody when they ask you a question. Not only that, you broke into my house.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Oh! So you live here? Alone?”
“I’m not sure I should answer that.” I stood up and ushered the girl from the room. “Come along. I’ll call your parents.” I took her to the kitchen and made her sit down at the table. “Do you know your phone number?”
She shook her head. “No.”
I huffed. “Okay then, what’s your family’s name? I’ll look it up in the phone book.”
“What’s your name?” She asked.
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve not answered a single question I’ve asked.”
The girl frowned at me. “Yes, I have. I told you I didn’t know my phone number.”
I glared at her and she just smiled back at me brightly. “Look, Usually I appreciate a smart mouthed child to an extent. But not when they’ve broken into my house. I need you to tell me how I can find your parents.”
“You can’t,” she said simply.
“I know I can’t, I don’t have anything to go off of besides the fact you don’t know your own number! Do you at least know where you live?” I tried to go about it another way.
“Sure, I do.” The little girl reached for the salt and pepper shakers on the table. She started playing with them like they were dancing together.
I came to her at the table and sat down. “Is it near here?”
She nodded. “You sure do ask a lot of questions. Don’t you know anything?”
“I know plenty of things.”
She looked across the kitchen where the fridge was covered in magnet calendars, lists, notes, and phone numbers. “What’s all that for?”
“My memory isn’t that great. So I make lots and lots of notes.”
The little girl goes back to playing with the salt and pepper shakers. “Why can’t you remember?”
I instantly felt wary. My stomach churned and my hands clenched tight into balls. “You should go home,” I said abruptly. “Can you walk there from here?” I took the salt and pepper shakers away from her and led her towards the door.
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. She stood on the front porch then looked up at me. “Why do you want me to go, though?”
“Because you’re trespassing.” I closed the door on her, locking it so she wouldn’t get in again. I scoffed, “kids these days.” And I went back to work in Aunt Fifi’s room.
The next day I was taking trash out to the end of the driveway. As I was heading back, I saw that same little girl sitting on the front porch. I huffed, preparing myself to try and direct her home again.
“Young lady,” I said sternly to her. She was kicking her feet off the side of the porch, making a chain of dandelions. “Young lady,” I said sternly again. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a nice day.” The girl answered.
“Do you enjoy trespassing on people’s property? Is that a hobby kids do these days?” I walked up to her at the porch, watching her as she made her chain.
“I’ve seen lots of people here, though.”
I sat down beside her. “That’s because my aunt just died.”
She sat the chain down in her lap and looked up at me. “Do you miss her?”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this kid. It was strange she kept coming here, but maybe she was told to play and had nowhere else to go. Maybe my house was just the easiest to wander to. Maybe I just looked less like a witch than some of the other places around here.
“Yes, of course,” I answered her. “She raised me.”
“Why?” The girl asked.
I wanted to know why her questions bothered me so much. “Because she was the only relative I had who would.”
“What happened to your parents?” She asked. “Or can you not remember?”
I opened my mouth to say something but the sound of the garbage truck frightened me. I turned to watch the trash man toss the contents of the trash can into the truck then hop back on the back. I sighed heavily.
“Okay, sweetie, you can stay on my porch, but you can’t keep breaking into my house.” I stood up as she continued to make her dandelion chain. “There’s a hose at the side if you get thirsty.”
“Okay,” she said simply as I went back inside.
I turned on the small television in the kitchen as I set to washing some of Aunt Fifi’s things. Some of the frames and knick knacks had been sitting in there for ages. Never dusted, barely touched, and they had a dirty film over them I wanted to wash off so they’d be pretty and new when I displayed them in the finished room.
“In a landmark lawsuit, posed by the civil rights group, Verge, they are contesting the recent studies being conducted on Veils-affected humans. They say they are unconstitutional and barbaric and are suing for the rights of those currently under study, as well as seeking damages for those affected in the past. This, along with the current ‘sea free’ seafood bill, has been causing a lot of uproar about the Veils and their motives for humanity.”
I looked at the screen, seeing the pretty news anchor posed in front of one of the walls blocking off the beach. I could see the water just behind the wall and it made my skin crawl.
“What are you watching?”
“Shit!” I exclaimed loudly and turned the TV off. “Kid! You scared me.”
The girl stood there with the dandelion chain in hand. “I made this for you.” She held the chain up to me.
I exhaled slowly and approached her. “Thank you. But you can’t keep breaking into my house.” I took the chain and she smiled, watching as it sat on my head like a crown.
“What do you do here?” The girl asked.
“I live here,” I answered.
The girl rocked on the heels of her feet. “Yeah, but isn’t it boring alone? Even if you have TV?”
“And why do you want to be here?” I threw back at her.
She shrugged then went across the room to look at my cluttered and information-loaded fridge door. “Aren’t you married?”
“How old are you? The nerve!” I went back to washing a knick knack in the sink.
“But don’t you wanna be married?” She said dreamily. “You must have someone you like, don’t you?”
“That’s none of your business,” I scoffed.
The girl kept looking, kept sticking her nose into my business. “Who’s Atticus?”
I jerked from the sink, sloshing water on myself in the process. I stormed over to her, pulling her back from the fridge to see she was holding an addressed letter. I snatched it from her and placed it back on the fridge where I had it.
“Has no one taught you manners?”
She shrugged.
I marched her back to the door. “You can play in my yard and on my porch. But if you come into my house once more, I will call the cops.”
“That seems excessive, I’m a kid,” she scoffed at me.
“You won’t tell me who your parents are, then the cops will.” I closed the door on her and went back to the kitchen. The letter for Atticus was hanging out front and center, unearthed from all the notes and bills I kept tacked to the fridge door. The address was handwritten by Aunt Fifi, found amongst her things to be dealt with after she died. I hid it again behind the papers. I would get to it eventually, I told myself.
I took a frame apart so I could wash the glass. Inside I found two pictures. The one of my graduation photos, and behind it another. The picture was old and grainy, it was of a boat with people on board. I heard screaming as I looked at the picture. My vision became blurry and my stomach churned. I raced to the back door, bending over the railing and heaving my guts out. Once I was empty, I sat there on the back porch, sobbing. But by the time I was done, I had forgotten why. I don’t know why it caused such a violent and instant reaction in me. It was just a picture that came with the frame, surely.
I went to the hardware store the next day, going over paint swatches until my eyes were strained. I picked up some supplies, put in an order for the paint, and made my way home. I noticed the red flag on the mailbox was up when I got home, but I don’t recall having mailed anything. I stopped to check, but only the new mail had arrived. I lowered the red flag, thinking it must have just been a mistake by the postal worker.
I carried the supplies I bought to Aunt Fifi’s room, taking out the wood cleaner to start scrubbing the floors. I was pouring a bucket of water when I heard the sound of running upstairs.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I turned off the water and set the bucket on the floor. “If it’s that damn kid again-” I grumbled and rumbled under my breath as I stormed upstairs. I saw right away that the attic was open and I could hear her footsteps above me.
I crawled up the ladder and looked inside. “I know you’re here!” I snapped. “I told you what would happen if you sneaked in again. I don’t care that you’re a little girl.” I saw that a chair had been moved at the table under the window. There was also a notebook there I had never seen before.
“Hello?” I barked again when the girl didn’t reveal herself. I went over to the table, pushing the chair back where it went. The journal had Atticus’ name written on the front, along with ‘DO NOT OPEN’ scribbled in thick, indelible marker.
I picked it up, seeing it was warped and fluffed out from so much use. Inside some pages were taped together along the edges. Others were scribbled out completely with black marker. All of these were supposed ‘spy tricks’ he had learned from a book he got at the library when we were young.
“This is a book of secrets,” the first page started out. “This is not meant to be read by the faint of heart. Everything contained in here is true and as seen by me! This is all meant to serve as a record one day, just in case anything should happen. I want to protect this house and the people who are in it. It is my job as the only man here to see to it.”
“I’ll start by saying that I am not the real Atticus xxxx.” His last name was scribbled out so much, the page was ripped. “The real Atticus died in a bathtub five years ago. Which is why I am here now. I was taken from that home and placed in a safe one. I don’t use bathtubs anymore. I’m not scared of them because Atticus died. I am scared because I almost did.”
I stared at the page, almost laughing because this seemed like such a little boy thing to do. And yet it was terrifying. Something about it was familiar, I could almost remember Atticus talking about it once. But it felt like such a silly childhood thing. Everyone created fantasy stories like that. Everyone used water as a sort of magical gateway to their fairy tales.
“I can’t explain it. I don’t even know if I could. I know I am me and yet I am not me. Everyone thinks I am Atticus, but I do not remember that. I remember being afraid and seeing a strange, bright light. I felt lost, even when I opened my eyes. I was given to Aunt Fifi, so she never knew before. She knew me now, even if I was Atticus. I wasn’t the real Atticus.”
“Daisy seems to understand. She told me that, after the boat accident, she didn’t know who she was. She said it was as if her body wasn’t her own, more like something she had to wear. I understand that feeling. I walk around and try to remind myself I am me. In my head, at least. In my head, everything makes sense. I’m okay there. I’m safe. But outside, everything is so big, so scary. I don’t know how to move sometimes. At least I have Daisy to talk to, someone who understands me.”
Who is Daisy? I can’t remember her at all and it’s starting to get to me. I left the notebook alone, leaving it where I found it. I forgot about the little girl. I left the notebook there and went back downstairs. I continued to clean the floor in Aunt Fifi’s room.
In the kitchen the following morning, I found I had not cleaned up my mess. The glass I was cleaning was still in the dingy, cold water. The frame had fallen to the floor. The two pictures I had been looking at had scattered as well and I could only find my graduation photo. I hung it on the fridge until I could get the glass dried.
I put the coffee pot on and I looked out the window at the sea of grass. Atticus and I used to run out there and play. We would hide in the high stalks, snaking through them and playing all sorts of games. Sometimes we were tigers, other times we were soldiers. We played hide and seek, chasing each other more than any other game. We had once ran a path in the grass that became permanent after a while. I wondered if that path still existed. I wish my memory worked better, or at least in a way I could sort. I can remember these things, but I can’t even recall Atticus’ face right now even if I tried.
I went outside with my coffee mug, searching along the borders between the house and the sea of grass. The mornings lately were crisp, but held that new, fresh spring smell I loved so much. I found a worn section in the dirt, and parting the grass, I saw there was still a worn, hard earthed trail winding through the tall grass.
I stepped onto the path, following it as far as I could. The hill dipped down, creating a slope between the high ground and the low. I sat down, slipping over the edge to touch the low ground. There was an overhang so that it created a long corridor between grass and earth. We used to hide here and make it our base of operations. I stooped down to look and, when I did, I saw the little girl again, sitting there huddled and sobbing.
“Sweetie,” I tried to coax. “What are you doing here?”
She just continued to cry.
“Are you hurt?” I asked gently. I set my coffee cup aside. “Talk to me, okay? Let me help you. Are you lost?”
“No,” she wept, rubbing her eyes and sniffling. She smeared dirt across her freckles.
“Then what’s wrong? Why do you keep coming here?” I held my hand out to her. “I can cook you a hot breakfast if you want.”
“I’m not hungry.” She scooted away from me. “I’ll never be hungry again!” She pouted.
“Then will you at least come out?” I asked.
She turned away from me.
“For goodness sake!” I sat down on the ground before her. “You’ve been pushing my buttons for over a week now! Why do you keep coming here and why are you crying? If you’re in danger, I insist you tell me.”
“They took him away,” she wept.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. “Took who away, sweetie?”
“My best friend,” she huffed.
“Oh, I see.” Now it was all clear as day. “You’re upset because your friend is gone. Is that why you’ve been bothering me?”
“Maybe,” she pouted.
“I know what it's like to lose a friend,” I begin to tell her.
“You don’t even have any friends!” She snapped at me. “You keep yourself alone here. What do you know about friends?”
I frowned at her and snapped. “Hey now, that’s not nice. I lost my best friend when I was your age. He used to live here, but he got adopted. It was really hard without him too. So I understand why you’re so upset your friend went away.”
Behind me, I heard a car door slam shut. “Hello? Daisy, are you there?” A man called out.
I sighed with relief. “Oh, good, it must be your father.” I reached for my coffee cup. “Wait a second. Your name is Daisy?” She darted off before I could catch her. “Wait a second!” I chased after her, following her through the waving field of green.
“Daisy! Hello? The door is open!” The man called out.
I lost sight of the little girl, so I walked out where I went in. The man was standing there, looking confused but he had a big smile on his face. “I’m so sorry, she got away from me.” I wiped at my brow. I then chucked my coffee out as it was cold and full of grass.
“Who got away?” He laughed. There was something about his smile, the way it was crooked and his front teeth seemed too perfect but a little too big.
“Daisy,” I pant. “I was talking to her and then she just darted off.”
His brow pinched together and he laughed. “Well, if there’s no Daisy, then who might I be talking to?”
“Margaret,” I chuckled.
He tilted his head to the side. “Margaret? Sounds awful grown up, doesn’t it?”
I had to laugh too. “Oh yeah, then what’s your name?”
He looked concerned again. “It’s me. Don’t you-” he took a pause as his blue eyes looked me over and then he laughed. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve been without your brain all these years. I’m sorry. Let me start over. It’s Atticus.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh!” I was flabbergasted and I could barely breathe. I broke into a grin and managed to huff out a laugh. “Atticus! Oh my god!” I ran to him, throwing myself into his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I got the letter!” He announced brightly. “The one from Aunt Fifi. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know she passed away.”
“Letter?” I murmured as we pulled from the hug. “What letter?”
Atticus reached into his back pocket and pulled out the letter. It was the one that had been hanging on the fridge. “She asked me to come here and take care of you. She was afraid you’d be alone.”
I shook my head. “But I hadn’t-” I ran my fingers through my hair.
“You still got missing marbles?” Atticus asked. “Do you still keep a memo pad with you?”
“Yeah, I mean-” I take a step back. “Wait a second, wait a second. Aunt Fifi asked you to move here?”
“She asked, but I figured I’d stop by and see you before that happened. Let’s go inside and talk.” He lead me back inside.
“Oh, wow, this place looks different.” He washes out my coffee mug then refills it for me. “The same but different.” His eyes wandered about the kitchen in awe. “This shelf used to be there. And the table used to be by that window.” He sounded excited as he pieced it all back together.
“We’ve been working on the house every day since then,” I replied. I took my new cup of coffee into my hand.
“What all have you done?” Atticus looked out the window, probably trying to find that Daisy.
“Oh, you just have to look around and see. I can’t even remember all the work we’ve done on the place since you left. Hell, I even made it a business for myself, that’s how good I got at it.”
“No kidding?” Atticus turned away from the window. “You can keep track of all that?”
“I’m not helpless!” I laughed. “What about you? What are you doing?”
Atticus finally took a seat at the table. “Good question! Very good question.” He sat down and looked directly at me, a smile on his face. “I’m one of the head lawyers for Verge.”
Static went off in my brain. “That Veils rights group?”
“The Veils rights group,” he chuckled.
“You just issued that huge lawsuit last week,” I murmured. “The civil rights one.”
He nodded. “I did. I’m the one who wrote it.”
“That’s amazing!” I gasped. “I never would picture you as a lawyer! How did you get involved with the Veils movement?”
Atticus’ smile went faint, his gaze serious. “I’m a Veil.”
All air was sucked from the room. “No,” I wanted to bust out laughing. “You can’t be serious? When? How?” I then realized the severity of what this meant. “Did Atticus...Did he die?”
He shrugged and made a face. “It’s a long story. I mean, yes, at one point, the original Atticus did die but...that was before I even knew you. I’ve been a Veil since I was five. Or since this body was five. I don’t know my real age.”
“You’ve been a Veil all this time?” I whispered.
“Well, yeah, it certainly explained a lot. The family that adopted me did so because they suspected I was. They were Veils too. Remember? They wanted to adopt you too because you drowned and were-”
I stood up in a bolt, knocking over the chair I was sitting in, the coffee mug that was in my hand. I started breathing hard and shaking my head.
“Easy now, easy!” Atticus stood and approached me but I shook him off. “Calm down, it’s okay.”
I heard the little girl screaming outside. I raced away from Atticus, going out the back door.
“Wait! Come back here! What’s wrong?” Atticus chased after me.
I heard her scream again in the grass. I raced out there with Atticus trailing behind me. The grass whipped against my skin, left a few scratches. I forgot about the high ground meeting the low ground and I tripped and fell, hitting the ground hard. My vision blurred as I gazed up at the sky, everything was spinning.
“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Atticus hopped down and helped me up. “What the hell happened?”
“She was screaming, I thought-” I felt nauseous.
“What screaming?” Atticus brushed my hair away from my forehead.
“Daisy,” I grumbled. “The girl.”
“What girl?” He looked all around us. It was quiet except for the sound of the wind rustling all around us. “And Daisy? What do you mean, you’re Daisy!”
“No...that’s not-” I shook my head. “Lay me back down. I want to lay down.”
