Sincerely, Jennifer x

It had rained so much that I thought the island might disappear. 

Such a quiet place. Remote, and picturesque. I had heard old friends talk of its beauty. Some even in their last moments, remembering her shores with such longing that it seemed a paradise. I set out to visit, just for a moment, really, a little while, but as I got to know the place, I decided that I would stay. 

Oh, it was the perfect playground for me. It was the kind of place that I could truly toy with. Oh so beautiful, and oh… oh… OH, so full of blood that begged for me.

I would stay, and it would be mine. I hoped and wished for it so quickly that my devotion alarmed me, but there was just one thing standing in my way, one guardian of the population that was determined to keep me from my dream. 

Allyfan. 

Fifty three, and shambolic. Singing his songs, in his loud shirts. 

He was a leader. Pillar of the community. Determined to stand between me and my desires for the damned of the island, no matter how much his legs shook at the thought of me. 

As I watched Allyfan approach the cinema, I deeply enjoyed how his worries seemed to sit on his shoulders with such force. He could tell, I’m sure, that something was afoot, but what on Earth could he do? What can be done, when you are walking fate’s path and fate has taken a shine to you? 

He moved with an anxious energy, baby steps and then quick dashes, his keys jangling faintly as he unlocked the door to the cinema. Allyfan, with his big eyes, had been watching me for a spell. I was new to the island, you see, something new, fresh and ever so excitable. Allyfan didn’t seem excited though. Not a smile to be found on his miserable face, as if he had figured me out already. 

He had told the children that I was a dance of the shadows, or a bad dream that could be escaped with just a little more sleep. The children had seen me too, of course, but he would summon a smile and tell them that there was no need to be afraid. His voice shook as he spoke, our eyes locked every time he lied to the little ones, and that night, as I watched him walk towards the cinema, I grinned so widely that I suspected my face might falter, because the old man was lying again. 

He looked down as I lingered across the street, half-shrouded in the yellow spill of the streetlight. He knew I was there. I could tell by the slight hesitation in his step, the way his shoulders tensed for a heartbeat before he went back to his path. It was thrilling, that subtle acknowledgment. Like a deer catching the scent of the hunter but choosing not to run. 

Oh, silly old man, why didn’t you run? 

Of course. Of course. What good could it do? Never to be a young man again. All of those wasted days in the Spring of his life had made the Autumn twice as bitter. 

He was no match for me. No man had ever been, be they young or ancient, well built or constructed with twigs. 

Perhaps he understood. It had been a long time since I had been understood, and I’m not sure how much good it would have done him to see me for what I really was. Everything was to be as it was, eventually and inevitably. 

He slowed as he pushed open the heavy glass door, his eyes flicking briefly to the reflection in its surface—a large gulp going down his throat as my stare swallowed him.

I waited until he disappeared inside before stepping closer, my boots crunching on the loose gravel by the curb. I had no need to rush, and it was such a beautiful, miserable night. The air had a bitter edge to it, the kind that promised a storm, like we’d never seen.

The rain ran down into the gutters and the grass, and he turned to me, watching from behind the glass as he locked the door. 

A locked door. I laughed, deep and hearty as he stood beyond the threshold, silhouetted in the dim glow of the lobby lights. He was waiting. Resigned. Locking the door, but still looking, with weary eyes, unable to summon much of a fight against the inevitable. 

He had heard of me, I could tell. It was so clear in the cries at night, as he tossed and turned in his bed, swamped and surrounded by nightmares of the truths he could not face. I would watch from the window, counting each bead of sweat slip down his frightened forehead as his subconscious bellowed reminders of all the stories he’d been told as a child. 

One must be good, or Lucy will take you. 

Oh, and he had always tried to be good. Trying to pretend that he was just a good man, and that the parables of his youth were not on his mind, but I had always known, and I could always tell. 

I trailed him, with my tattered skirt and petticoat, a ton in each hand, and mischief on my mind, and he could do nothing but watch. 

I am destined. Bound to be wherever I will be, and never more bound to the bonnie blue prisons that priests had picked out for me. It could never last long, the peace and quiet. They wanted it. Oh, dear God, they wanted it, but as I learned, many moons ago, none of us is really going to get what we want. 

It all comes down to choice, really. Do you choose to make the best of things, as I have, or do you choose to push back against the road that life is pushing you down? 

I was born to be a menace, to put ice in the veins of every man who crossed my path, and now, I am at peace with how their curious stares are cursed to become silenced screams of terror. I tried to be young, and pretty, once upon a time. I used to dance, hypnotising whole halls as we all drunk deep, and I wore lovely dresses, snaring a suitor. 

I was so beautiful, but they couldn’t see. Mocking and jeering as I fell from grace, lace around my thick, sturdy ankles. I would dance, and they’d watch in awe, but it could never last, because I was fated to be the subject of ridicule, for a simple mistake, so that I may find my way onto a path to something greater. 

They watched me dance, until my beauty bored them. They drank my milk, until their minds told them it was sour. They loved me, until they didn’t, just like my no good husband, and everyone I’d ever met. 

I drank, just to be free, twirling and traipsing around every night, until the party was over. There I was, on the floor, watching the light escape me, with no prayer, and no remorse, because I knew that the good life still waited for me. 

It’s still waiting, and maybe I will find it here, on Skelling Michael. I have been reborn, more times than I’ve had hot meals, and every day, I awake in this realm, roaring from the night’s shadows and raring to live the life I had always been denied. 

There’s just one problem. 

This place is perfect, and it will be mine, but he is in my way. 

Allyfan. 

Fifty three, and shambolic. Singing his songs, in his loud shirts. 

Shaking like an elderly dog at the thought of me, his head so full of old wive’s tales and warnings about the old witch of Baylough. 

Never more to be confined, she has found a little place for herself, and he knows that he is nowhere near a match. The sweetest moment of all is here. Last night, when I watched the old man go about his business, I could see my shadow surrounding him. 

Soon, he will fall, and I will be free. Free to dance, and to damn the people of this place for all eternity. They will be mine, as surely as the heavens send rain, and the sea rushes to shore. 

It isn’t the chase that thrills me most. 

It’s the moment when they stop pretending that they can escape.