Paper Princess Page 10

  Monica smiled, and dropped a hand to her waist. She suited the cat outfit she was wearing. A dark mask covered her eyes and whiskers drawn on with eyeliner were strewn across her cheeks. A long fabric tail jutted out from a pair of leather hot pants. Even though she was meant to be scary she still managed to look sexy.

  ‘The man who killed that little girl.’ Behind her mask, Monica’s eyes became bright with mischief.

  ‘You’re lying,’ Tilly pouted.

  ‘I’m not.’ Monica purred and playfully spun her tail in her hand. ‘Why do you think Mum and Dad are so twitchy about you going out trick or treating with Josephine?’

  It was true that her parents were nervous, but they always had been. They didn’t live in the securest of neighbourhoods.

  ‘Monica, stop fibbing, you’re just trying to scare me.’ Tilly defiantly folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘Fine, suit yourself.’ Her sister shrugged as she began slinking her way out of the kitchen. She paused at the door, her purple lips drawn into a wicked smile.

  ‘Apparently you can still hear her screams coming out of the woods.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  Monica was laughing as she left. Tilly was trembling. She didn’t go out trick or treating that night – she talked Josephine into staying in and watching Hocus Pocus instead.

  Tilly’s heart was almost in her throat when the headlights ahead swiftly changed direction and the car pulled down a street. She felt her muscles become slack with relief.

  ‘That was close,’ she muttered to herself. She cast a fearful look down the road, hoping Thomas was still there. But he was gone, the path behind her completely bare.

  Tilly knew she had to get away from the roads. That car hadn’t gone past but she might not be so lucky with the next one. If she kept walking she’d soon reach the park. The darkness in there would be almost impenetrable away from street lights but Tilly would be safe from prying eyes.

  She thought of the little girl who had gone missing and fear sliced up her spine like an ice pick.

  ‘You can do this,’ Tilly told herself sternly. ‘Just grow up.’

  Because that was what growing up was about, wasn’t it? Facing your fears? Tilly moved as if on auto-pilot. Her limbs knew the way towards the park, towards the broken down carousel which lay at its centre. It was a route Tilly had walked countless times.

  She remembered it most fondly when she skipped along in the sunshine, a hand securely held in her mother’s grip. As soon as they reached the edge of the park she could hear the distant chimes of the carousel, and butterflies would dart around in her belly.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, can I ride? Please!’ Tilly would jump up and down with excitement.

  ‘Of course, sweetheart,’ Ivy would reply, her words bathed in warmth. She’d reach in her purse and slip a shiny twenty pence piece into Tilly’s tiny outstretched palm. That was all it cost to ride the carousel then, a mere twenty pence. But at six years old, twenty pence felt like a million pounds. Clutching the coin like a rare jewel, Tilly left her mother’s side and eagerly ran deep into the park.

  A line of children snaked away from a nearby ice cream van. People giggled as they kicked their legs on the swings or bounced on the see-saw. But Tilly only had eyes for the carousel. The sun gleamed off its golden surface as the ornate horses and carriages slowly spun around, accompanied by magical music.

  ‘Will you ride?’ a man with leathery skin in a red pinstripe shirt asked. Tilly nodded as she handed him her coin.

  ‘Yes, please, Burt.’

  ‘Right this way.’ Burt unlocked a small golden gate and allowed Tilly to join the eager queue of children waiting for their turn.

  ‘Afternoon Mrs Johnson,’ Tilly heard Burt greet her mother, who arrived a few moments later.

  ‘Afternoon, Burt. Has it been busy?’

  ‘So-so.’

  Tilly’s mother continued chatting to Burt. Apparently he used to work with her father. But for Tilly, their conversation was drowned out by the mesmerising dance of the carousel horses. They were frozen in a gallop, their rainbow-coloured manes pushed back against an invisible wind.

  Tilly always favoured the pink horses although, as they were one of the most popular, the brilliant shade of their reigns had been worn away in places.

  The music stopped and the carousel stilled. Tilly began to lift her weight from foot to foot in an attempt to manage her growing impatience.

  ‘Oh, excuse me.’ Behind her, Burt excused himself from her mother so he could let on the new riders. Tilly hurried on after the others, her movements as direct as a missile. She was aiming for the pink horse at the back, the one reared up that looked like it was smiling.

  Her hands hungrily grabbed it, claiming it as hers for the next three minutes. Then came the difficult task of climbing up. Tilly was shorter than other children her age. She could easily have been mistaken for four. Luckily, Burt was swiftly on hand to help.

  ‘Up you get.’ His hands reached underneath her armpits as she floor disappeared beneath her feet. Then she was atop her beloved horse, stretching her legs to full extent so she was able to place her feet in the stirrups.

  ‘There you go.’ Burt gave her a friendly wink as he moved on to aid someone else.

  ‘I’m back,’ Tilly whispered to her horse as she stroked its ceramic mane. Leaning forward, she held onto the golden spine which bound the animal to the carousel. And then the music started and the park began to spin. Tilly was now out on the open plains of her beloved Kingdom, riding her favourite horse. Together, they powered across the lands, not caring as the wind pushed their hair and pinked Tilly’s cheeks. They were free and the world was their own.

  Yet all too soon the spell was broken. The carousel slowed and Tilly gave a reluctant wave to her mother, praying she had another twenty pence piece in her purse.

  After wandering in the darkness for ten minutes, Tilly arrived at the carousel. Time had performed a devastating dance with the ride. The mirrors at the centre were cracked, casting hideous reflections of the broken horses gathered around it. Only one or two horses remained erect on their spires. The others had come crashing down and were missing legs or had enormous holes which revealed their dark, hollow interior. Weeds had sprouted all over the carousel floor and hungrily weaved their way around the horses and into the three carriages. The ornate roof was broken in several places, letting moonlight filter on the sad scene.

  Tilly blinked as she looked at the carousel, wishing there was some way she could wave a magic wand and restore it to its former glory. Now more than ever she needed to hear its soothing music and allow it to transport her to another world.

  ‘No one goes on it anymore,’ Maria had once scoffed when Tilly asked why the carousel was abandoned.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the creepy old man who ran it disappeared.’

  ‘Burt isn’t creepy.’ Tilly declared angrily. Burt was kind and a friend of their late grandfather.

  ‘He still disappeared,’ Maria shrugged.

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘Jeez, squirt.’ Maria rolled her eyes. ‘If people knew that they wouldn’t say he disappeared!’

  Unlike Olivia White, no one really cared when Burt disappeared. They ignored the carousel so it became dilapidated and a shadow of its former self.

  ‘One day you’ll sparkle again,’ Tilly promised the ride. In the darkness it didn’t look inviting. It looked downright foreboding. Dense shadows dwelled where there once had been golden spires and colourful horses.

  Tilly inhaled sharply and stepped onto the carousel. The floor creaked angrily in protest as somewhere deep inside the ride she heard metal screech. It was obviously unsafe but she’d seen students draped inside it smoking so she was confident it would hold her weight.

  It was hard to pick her footsteps without a light. There was debris all over the base of the carousel. Twigs, splintered glass, and cigarette ends all crunched beneath Tilly’s boots as she carefully navi
gated her way to the far side. She knew where she was headed: to the carriage beside her favourite horse. The carriage she used to dream she’d one day ride in when she got married.

  Tilly used to fantasise about the day she found her prince. Together they would ride the carousel and it would be adorned with wild flowers as the tinny music, that always played when it spun, twanged out the wedding march. But as Tilly shoved aside a fallen part of a broken horse she realised her dream would never come true. The carousel from her memory was gone and in its place stood a carcass which nature was hungrily feeding upon.

  Her hand reached out and found the carriage. It had once been white with gold trimmings. Delicate pink flowers curled up the sides and inside there was one long seat carved to look like it was made of something soft. Taking off her backpack, Tilly tossed it into the carriage. The structure shook precariously as it landed but made no other sound. Tilly half expected to find a family of rats residing inside but it appeared to be empty. Gripping the sides of the carriage Tilly clamoured inside. In the darkness it was difficult to tell how it had fared over the years compared to the rest of the carousel. But Tilly was there and that was all that mattered. It was where she belonged.

  Squashing up her backpack to the far side, she leaned against it and gazed at the stars were exposed through a break in the roof. The moonlight that filtered in showed Tilly some of the images that had managed to survive around her. She could make out some of the cherubs painted on the underside of the roof, the decorated panel beside a cracked mirror which showed a beautiful castle atop a hill of green.

  She shivered as the cool of the night began to seep through her clothes. Even though she was dressed warmly her skin was starting to prickle. At least it wasn’t raining. Tilly doubted the carousel would provide ample shelter in a storm. She pressed herself against her backpack, using it as a makeshift pillow. She had no idea what the following day would bring, where she would go. She just knew she had been drawn to her beloved carousel. Perhaps she had hoped, that by some miracle, it would work again and spirit her away to a distant, magical world. But as the metal around her contracted and creaked it was a painful reminder that there would be no miracle. No happy ending. Tilly’s carousel was very much broken and that was how it would remain.

  Tilly awoke with a start, her heart pounding like a jack hammer. For a few precious seconds she thought she was back home, safe and warm in her bed. But as the cold pressed against her she remembered where she was. Glancing around at her bleak surroundings, Tilly tried to figure out what had woken her so suddenly. As her eyes scanned the shadows she became certain that she was very much alone.

  A scream. Tilly winced as the sound echoed in her mind. She’d heard someone screaming. But had Tilly heard it or dreamt it?

  ‘On a clear night you can still hear her screams coming out of the woods.’

  Monica’s declaration bubbled up from Tilly’s memories.

  ‘No.’ Tilly shook her head and clamped her hands over her ears. ‘I dreamt it. It’s not real.’

  Tilly drew her legs up to her chest, making herself into a tight, impenetrable ball. She’d thought she’d feel safe in her carriage but she was afraid. Fear held her heart in an icy vice, making each breath pained.

  ‘Why did I come here?’ Tilly asked herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She could be sleeping soundly in bed instead of scared and alone in a broken down carousel. Hot tears wormed their way down her frozen cheeks.

  ‘I don’t want to grow up,’ Tilly admitted as her shoulders began to shake, both from sorrow and the cold. Growing up meant she had to accept that magic couldn’t endure. In her memories, the carousel glittered as though Midas himself had touched it. But now it was a death trap, something the people of Dullerton would rather tear down than restore. Why would Burt ever leave it? It was his pride and joy.

  The shrill cry of a fox echoed through the park and Tilly held her breath. It sounded like a baby crying. It was brutal and terrifying and made her not dare to open her eyes. She knew it was a fox, she’d heard them before. But what if it was actually the ghost of Olivia White? What if she really could be heard on clear nights?

  Tilly buried her head in her heads and tucked herself against her backpack. She was a veritable lost child with nowhere to go and no star to guide her home. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen – in the pages of fairy tales she’d be rescued by a boy who wouldn’t grow up or fairies who would take her in and make her one of their own. No one came.

  Tilly eventually fell asleep and the shadows gathered in the carousel receded as dawn crept over the horizon, bleeding out across the sky.

  Seaweed is Always Greener

  Sunlight burned Tilly’s eyes. Stretching, she wearily rubbed them. As the fog of sleep began to dissolve she realised how much her body ached. Her bones throbbed and her muscles burned. She felt like a spring that had been left too long in its box and desperately needed to extend. Straightening, Tilly sat up and stretched her arms high above her head, which alleviated some of her discomfort. But no matter how much she massaged her neck there was no removing the stiffness from it.

  Glancing around, she saw more of the carousel in the tentative new light of day. Dark circles of rust chewed away at the still-standing horses, small pools of rain water gathered in crevices on the floor. Luckily, the sky exposed in the break in the roof looked to be clear and blue.

  Rubbing her eyes and yawning, Tilly wondered what time it was. The chill in the air told her it was still early. Dew clung to some of the weeds scattered throughout the carousel. Were her family even up? Did they know that she was missing?

  Tilly imagined the bedlam that would ensue in the household when it was discovered that she was gone. There would be raised voices and tense questions. Would her father feel guilty?

  Tilly sagged against the hard side of the carriage, suddenly weighed down with guilt. Her family would be beside themselves with worry. They’d call the police. Tilly strained to listen for the tell-tale screech of a siren patrolling the streets of Dullerton to find her. Glancing up, Tilly half expected to see a helicopter pass across the open patch of sky. But instead the morning was still and peaceful.

  ‘Maybe they won’t care,’ Tilly mumbled as she stood up to stretch her legs. She didn’t even know if she wanted to be found. If she went back, her parents would be mad. She already feared having to face her father again. Besides, he wouldn’t want her to come home. One night spent sleeping beneath the stars hadn’t made Tilly grow up. And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? –For her to grow up.

  Tilly blinked back tears as she thought of what would be happening in her home on a typical Sunday morning. The house would smell like cooked bacon. Monica and Maria would sit with their fried sandwiches on their laps watching television, chatting about the night before. Tilly would prop herself up on a nearby chair, eagerly dipping soldiers into a runny egg. Everything always felt peaceful on Sunday mornings, with the whole family settling into a temporary sense of harmony.

  By the afternoon the bacon scent would be replaced by the smell of roasted meat, either beef or chicken. Pans would be bubbling as they boiled vegetables and in the oven Yorkshire puddings would be rising. Tilly’s stomach growled at the thought.

  ‘Oww.’ Tilly placed a hand to her tummy. She was starving.

  Reaching round, she grabbed and unzipped her backpack. After a quick rummage, she found the packet of crisps she’d been searching for. It was hardly a bacon sandwich or boiled egg but it was all she had. As Tilly crunched on the salted crisps she wondered what the day held for her. Would she stay in the park or would she dare to venture further away from Dullerton? She wasn’t even sure she knew the way out of town.

  The carousel creaked wearily as the morning sunlight warmed its rusted frame. Tilly ran a hand along the side of the carriage. She wanted to stay in it forever. It felt safe despite its level of dilapidation. Beyond the carousel the world was vast and unfamiliar. Tilly didn’t want to spend the rest of her life aimle
ssly wandering around but what choice did she have?

  Still the morning was quiet and tranquil. Where were the helicopters? The sirens? Why was no one searching for Tilly? Her breath caught in her throat, causing her to almost choke on a crisp. What if they weren’t looking for her? What if upon finding her empty bed and open window her family had just shrugged and accepted that she was gone? What if they didn’t want her back?

  Tilly pushed her empty crisp packet into her backpack and drew her knees up to her chest. She felt completely alone. She didn’t even have a mobile so she could call Josephine. Even though her best friend had changed, she was still Tilly’s best friend. Just to hear her voice would be a comfort. Instead, Tilly had the fractured carousel horses for company. Their empty black eyes gazed at her with indifference, their chipped ears and rusted sides a painful reminder of how easily something loved and cherished could be forgotten.

  ‘They’re not coming,’ Tilly deduced to herself. She re-opened her backpack and pulled out a small stuffed unicorn which she clutched fiercely to her chest. As she nuzzled against it she realised it smelt of home. She hadn’t even realised her home had a smell but it did. It smelt of vanilla, cooked meats, and polish. A lifetime of memories condensed in to one unmistakeable odour. Salty tears fell against her unicorn. Why was no one coming for her? Was she destined to forever be alone?

  ‘There you are!’

  Tilly jolted as she heard footsteps. The uneven floor was cracking angrily in protest as someone picked their way towards her. Tentatively, Tilly turned in the direction of the sound.

  ‘Jeez, what are you doing?’ Monica was carefully picking her way through the debris, followed closely by Maria. Tilly felt her heart squeeze. Why were they there? Had they happened upon her by chance?

  ‘Ugh, God, this thing is a death trap,’ Monica exclaimed as she pushed back a strand of hair. She was wearing tight jeans and a grey bomber jacket. Behind her, Maria was also in jeans but in a thick green sweater. Both girls were without their usual mask of makeup.