Christopher Ransom - The Birthing House

When he woke later he had no idea if it was the same night or the next night, but it was still very much night. The room was pitch-black. Nadia was sitting up in bed, staring at the wall. She was speaking to someone. Repeating something.

'. . . a young girl's heart', he heard her say.

Conrad turned on a lamp. 'What? Nadia?'

Nothing in her expression had changed, but her eyes were different. Flat. Dead. And when she spoke, her voice came out the same way, as if under someone or something else's influence. The voice was jilted, old and sore.

'Thread through a needle cannot mend a young girl's heart.'

30

Conrad moved around the bed to be in front of her, to see if she could see him. She stared right through him. She was flesh and bones - alive, but not aware.

'What does that mean, Nadia?'

'Thread through a needle cannot mend a young girl's heart.'

She had not blinked. Her eyes were watery, their pupils big as nickels.

'Nadia, can you hear me?'

She did not respond.

'What happened? Is there someone here in the house?'

Nothing.

'Is there something in the house?'

He moved from the bed to the chair, afraid to be close to her.

'Nadia, what thread through a needle? What's that?'

Her head rotated slowly, stiffly, her chin tucked and her eyes averted. It was not her voice that answered. Her words came awkwardly, her sentences strung out.

'Try take ohmma bay-bay way.'

'Who?' He went rigid in his chair. 'Who took all your baby away?'

'Man.'

'Man? What man?' He heard Roddy's voice in his head, the reference to 'the good doctor'. 'Do you mean the doctor? The doctor who lived here?'

'Was no docca no mine what he say.'

'Who was he?'

'First he take all-ma mothers and women runsaway. Then she growed up and he took the insides away. Then he bury'm others and took 'em behbee away.'

Conrad saw sketches of the house, the unsmiling women on the porch. His scalp began to crawl. He sat up straight and seriously considered bolting from the room, the house. But he couldn't just leave her here.

'Who are you? Where's Nadia?'

'Runsaway.'

'Nadia ran away?'

'Nah-dee run . . . away.'

'I don't understand. Nadia, are you Nadia, or are you telling Nadia to run away?'

'All-ma.'

'All ma? All mothers? Are you someone's mother?'

'All-ma not runsaway. All-ma stay .'

Then he understood. Not all-ma. Alma. A name. Someone named Alma was speaking through Nadia. Where had he heard this before? Something from the past week. Then he knew. The woman in the room. She had been rocking her arms. Ohhmma take care of behbee . . .

Oh. Holy. Fuck. This was not right.

'You are Alma? Alma, what about Nadia?'

'Nah-dee not fit. Nah-dee betray.'

'What? Why - how did Nadia betray Alma?'

'All-mommas give a life . . . if she wan haff a life.'

'Why?'

'To haff a life she must gif a life. Life . . . circle begins and end on-on-on same ssss-sphere. In betwee the juuur-nee from one side t'other, circle provides. For we each owes a life.'

'No.' He did not like the sound of that, or any of it. She sounded like Greer Laski, like an idiot child. 'Nadia must stay. Alma cannot stay.'

'Once long time house full of womans and behbees. But long time now circle . . . circle of this houses belong only t'Alma.'

'This house belongs to me,' he said. 'And I don't want you to stay, Alma. I want Nadia to stay.' But he was too shaken to say this with any real force or conviction.

'Alma not runsaway.' Her lips were trembling, sneering. 'Alma stay.'

'Why?'

'Alma tur . . .'

'What?'

'Alma turn.'

'Alma turn for what?'

Alma - Nadia - looked up at him, her lips pulled back in a sickening and false grin. 'Docca no! Alma behbee no take away,' she said. 'Docca never never never taken Alma behbee away!'

Her eyes were black, murderous. Her hand lifted slowly from her side and hovered in the air between them. He leaned back. She reached out until her fingertips began to tickle his throat.

Conrad slapped her face. It had been building inside and then his hand just moved. Immediately Nadia and the thing inside her recoiled, started blinking and coughing, and then she was crying. Softly, then louder, then softly.

'Nadia? Nadia, wake up. Wake up, wake up--'

'Chessie behbee mine,' the girl croaked in Alma's voice. Then her voice changed through her next words, reverting to Nadia's softer tone. 'No one, no, I won't let them take my baby away.'

'I know, it's okay, Nadia, we're okay,' he said. Nadia was back, shivering all over, cold when he put his hands on her arms. Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe she had been talking in her sleep. But he didn't believe that. He had an idea who Alma was. He'd seen her before. Touched her . . .

He held her until her breathing slowed and she slumped over, going limp in his arms. He rested her back on the pillows. He was too stunned to think through their situation, and eventually he gave up the fight and fell asleep.

It was not restful or lasting.

'Conrad. Conrad, wake up!' She was hissing like an old woman.

'Uhn . . . hm.'

'Someone's here.'

'Uh-uh.' He had been so far down, where there are no dreams at all. He just wanted to sleep forever. 'Is jus' Steve . . . took care him.'

She shook him hard. 'Conrad! Someone was here.'

He came around again. 'At the door?'

'No.' Nadia clutched the skin over his ribs, pinching into him. 'She was here. Not sixty seconds ago. In the room. Standing at the foot of the bed.'

'Nadia, don't.' Now he was awake. He sat up and faced her in the dark and saw the whites of her eyes. She made a tiny whining sound, like Alice when she was waiting to be let out into the backyard. 'You were dreaming. I didn't hear anything.'

'No. Conrad, no.' He could feel the dry heat of her breath on his ear. 'Same as the one in the window. She was tall, with dark black hair. She was wearing black clothes and her skin was white. When she moved - oh, God. She just stood there staring at me. I could - oh, Jesus, I heard her neck cracking in the dark.'

Conrad swallowed. 'How long?'

'She was there when I opened my eyes. I've been frozen waiting for her to leave for almost an hour.'

'Did you see her leave?'

'Yes.'

'Did you hear her leave?'

'No.'

'If you didn't hear her . . . her footsteps . . . she's not real, is she?'

Nadia pointed to the foot of the bed. 'There.'

He could not see past the frame where their feet had piled up the blankets, kicking them off in the heat. He sat forward on his knees, one hand lingering on the girl as he focused on the shape. A low, guttural sound rose from the end of the bed, followed by two, then three faint clicks on the wood floor.

'No--' Conrad lunged forward. 'Leave us alone!'

Nadia turned the switch on the lamp and screamed.

The dark shape lunged up, then scrabbled back, growling. Conrad fell on to his stomach. Alice barked at the two of them, as startled as they were. Nadia scrambled out of bed and fell to the floor. Alice panicked and fled the room.

'Stop it!' Conrad said. 'It's just Alice.' The adrenaline washed away, leaving a tired anger behind. 'Fuck.'

'I can't take this.' Her knees were tucked into her chest, one leg sideways. Sitting in the corner, she appeared at that moment like an ugly, misbehaving child and he barely suppressed the urge to smack her again for scaring him.

'God damn it, Nadia.'

'I saw her.'

'You had a bad dream.' He forced himself to lower his voice, lest he raise Steve Bartholomew again. 'You thought you saw something, and you did. My dog, Alice, who is now scared shit-less on top of being cut to hell. So please. Before the police decide to lock us both up.'