Chapter 2
Ashden inspected the wound on his arm before sinking back, elbows on bent knees, head slumped. He sighed and ran his fingers through his brown hair before staring hard at his hands, closing and opening them.
“What just happened to you?” Elanora asked from a safe distance.
Ashden flinched and squinted sideways at her from under his fringe.
“I mean, I saw you...rubbed out and then I saw you come back,” she persisted, clasping her hands together. Shifting her weight left then right.
His lips parted and he flicked the hair from his eyes.
“And I know Oscar didn’t give you that cut.”
Ashden clamped his jaw shut and covered his bleeding arm with his hand.
“And your toys. Your toys changed. Why didn’t anyone else see it?” Her arms were now folded across her chest.
His face reddened and he bit his bottom lip. Stealing a glance back at the fig, he fastened the flap of his backpack, leapt to his feet and hurried, head down, right past her.
“Don’t go!” she called, knotting her fingers in her hair. Should she follow? Who would really notice if she skipped class? No one was ever surprised when Ashden left. He was bullied so often that teachers had given up trying to find a solution and turned a blind eye to his random exits, figuring it was easier to ignore a problem when it wasn’t there. After all, his mother didn’t care so why should they? Reluctantly, she disentangled her fingers and returned to class.
The bell finally rang and all the students of Scrubstone pressed through the front gates. Laughter volleyed around the group as everyone gave their version of the “naptime” incident and it wasn’t long before the stories flowed as robust as Chinese whispers. Elanora slipped between them, listening.
“Remember that time we saw him sitting up on the oval having his lunch with his best friends?” yelled Damo.
“Yeah, his stuffed friends!” roared Scotty, casting an eye on Oscar who nodded as he continued, “Two teddies and some weird red thing! I think he was having a Teddy Bear’s Picnic.”
“And remember we chucked rocks at him and he acted like we were shooting bullets at his precious babies? That was so funny,” Mark held his belly. “And then ‘e took ‘em to the doctors! It’s true, me dad saw ‘im.”
“For their shots!” added Fipsie in Oscar’s direction.
“And what about when Alfie saw him at old Foly’s garage sale? He was huggin’ all these mangy lookin’ toys like he was in love. There were actual tears in his eyes!”
“Oh yeah, he was bawlin’ like a baby, that kid. And Jenny Snell was there and she said he didn’t stop talking to them and patting them all the way home. ‘Oh my babies, I love you, I love you’!” hooted Damo throwing his head back. Oscar gave him an approving flick on the ear.
“Plus, he’s a wimp. You can’t say anything to him without him goin’ off for a massive sulk.”
“I s’pose that’s what you get when you’ve got a cabbage for a mother!” Mark sneered.
“Reckon he started going psycho when his Dad left,” suggested Fipsie, scooting over to Oscar.
“Well, my dad racked off and that didn’t make me some namby-pamby-cuddly-toy-loving-psycho-freak! And if anyone brings in a stupid fluffy toy on Monday I’m gonna rip its head off and flush it down the toilet, after I’ve flushed Jaybanks,” finished Oscar giving Fipsie an encouraging clip over the head. And the group, still relieved that he’d found a target who wasn’t them, continued home accusing Ashden of all sorts of freakishness and swearing that they personally, most definitely, did not own any fluffy toys.
Elanora stood outside Ashden’s place peering up the driveway between spaces in the paling fence. The yard was a feisty mass of olive trees and assorted shrubs blocking a clear view of the house which gleamed lighthouse white and blue. On the front porch sat Ashden’s mother, framed by a draping vine. She stared vacantly in the direction of school, a forgotten tea cup wrapped in her hands. A tousle of mahogany curls was piled on her head and her wrist showed several rows of silver bangles. It was difficult to be sure from that distance but Elanora thought she saw a black tattoo on her arm. Her dress may have been colourful and her skin as warm as summer sun but her face was cheerless.
Elanora shifted her gaze to the front fly screen as it squeaked open. Ashden appeared carrying a fresh cup that he exchanged for the one his mother held so absentmindedly. He smiled at her, saying something Elanora couldn’t hear. Out of his three-times-too-big-for-him school uniform, and from a distance, he actually looked quite normal. Not the toy hugging social outcast or the pathetic school yard victim everyone else saw him as. He looked, if he grew up just a bit more, even fairly good looking. Elanora took a breath and repositioned for a better view between a honeysuckle and a magnolia branch, just in time to see Ashden pass a small toy to his mother before returning inside.
Breaking the silence, a low growl drifted from the side fence where two sets of eyes, camouflaged by dappled light, bore into her. Elanora’s limbs tingled as she cast her eyes into the leafy darkness. A musky smell wafted on the air. The throb of growls thickened, similar to cats perhaps, but more human in their throatiness. Her scalp crawled as if The Strangler’s branches dragged their skeletal tips through her hair. She looked up at Ashden’s mother, alone, staring.
With her heart in her throat, she heaved her bag into the shadows. It thudded against something solid before slumping onto the other side of the palings. The growls ended with a shriek and a skittering in the foliage. Elanora strained to hear their fading footsteps.
Her heart continued to race as she slipped through the gate into the Jaybanks' garden to retrieve her bag. With so many plants Elanora was confident she wouldn’t be seen, until a glance upwards showed Ashden’s mother standing, staring directly at her, toy in one hand, cup dripping over the patio in the other. Her face eerily blank.
“Oh, hi Mrs Jaybanks. Sorry, just had to get my bag. See you!” and before Ashden had a chance to find her disturbing his crazy mum, Elanora rushed away thinking how surprising it was to have been noticed, especially by a woman who seemed not to notice anything at all, and how curious those sounds had been especially in light of Ashden’s magical disappearance. She touched her face and closed her eyes. Why had her skin been so drawn to the fig? What was it about that old spectre of a tree?