Archie
Archie sat on his bed and stuffed a T-shirt in his mouth so no one would hear him crying. Granted, the noise coming from downstairs made that unlikely. Yet he couldn’t take the risk that his father, or even his mother, would hear him. Maybe then his father, or even his mother, would storm up and hit him for making such a fuss. So his mother might not hit him, but if he didn’t stop, she might, in her terror and her desire not to enrage his father any more. Every night, it seemed, his mother’s weakness and incompetence angered his father, especially if the two of them had been to the pub. But Archie felt safe here, as long as he didn’t remind them of his existence. Eventually, the noise would die away, to be replaced by other, stranger, noises, as his parents wove their way upstairs, arms entwined, lips locked together. Right now, he just had to absent himself, to be a nothing, a blank, until it was safe for him to exist again.
Not so easy as it seemed. Desperately, Archie focussed his eyes on the cracked mirror in the corner. Reflected back he could see his own grubby face and dark eyes. Sometimes, he thought there were other faces behind him in the indistinct dark that swirled there, blurred by his tears. Stern but kindly faces, he thought, both men’s and women’s, regarding him with a calm interest, and perhaps, sympathy. You could almost feel their kindness, he thought, and absentmindedly wiped the last of his tears away. Yearningly, he leant forward and reached his hand toward the surface of the mirror.
Ripples of shock raced through him as his fingers penetrated the surface, as if it were jelly-like material. Long fingers grasped his wrist and he was pulled, half-eagerly, half-resisting, through the silver cloud and into a candle-lit room. Men and women stood there, in long strange garments, their hair dark and flowing.
“Greetings and welcome!” said the one who held his wrist.
“Thanks,” Archie said, trying not to sound as bewildered as he felt.
“Thanks are due to you, young man,” the man said, bowing from the waist.”
There are few with the sight to see us, and the bravery to act when they do.”
“Oh, I wasn’t being brave,” Archie said, trying to explain that he had only reached out in curiosity.
“You don’t think you’re brave, to sit there in the dark, night after night, with just the street lamp for company, keeping quiet?”
This was a woman speaking, with a low clear voice that soothed and brought comfort.
“The fact is that by your actions, whether brave or not, you have made the link between your world and ours,” said the first man, who seemed to be taking the lead.
“Desiring as we do, to help you – and so many others – we can yet do nothing until you make the first move.”
Evidently, this was a dream and he had fallen asleep without realising it. This meant it didn’t matter what he said, what secrets he revealed – it was all unreal.
“Look here, he said, “how do you know about what happens in my house – and why should it matter to you?”
“Undoubtedly, Archie,” the woman who had spoken earlier said “it matters to us greatly. You see, we were appointed to look after you, but we had no way of breaking through. How often have we watched and shared your suffering and sorrow. We have others whom we guard, many with more success than you. Unlikely as it may seem, in certain circumstances we can work in your world, but in your case, you were so isolated, we had to wait for you to reach out.”
“Thea, do not try to explain – he is only a young lad after all,” the man who seemed to be the leader interrupted.
“Do you wish to change the way you live?” he said to Archie, in a kindly interested way.
“You know I do, if you’ve been watching”, said Archie, half-annoyed.
“Don’t be angry – we have to confirm it, as your true desire: only then can we act.” The man’s voice seemed to be fading.
“Go to sleep now”. With that, the voice of the woman, Thea, echoed round in Archie’s head, and he found himself curling up under the thin duvet, as sleep took him.
…………………………………..
Morning. Getting up in good time to make his breakfast, and get himself off to school, Archie barely gave a thought to the strange visions of the night before. Every time they flicked through his mind, he shrugged, and muttered “Stupid dreams!”
So he was surprised to see his mother sitting at the breakfast bar, dressed, with her hair neatly tied back, and a cup of coffee clasped in her hand.
“Don’t look so surprised, love,” she said, pouring milk on a bowl of cereal, which she pushed toward him. “Mind you, I know it’s been a long time since you saw me around at this hour – I don’t usually get up till midday! You’ve been a good, uncomplaining lad, but I woke in the middle of last night, for some reason, and I realised we couldn’t go on like this. So I’ve been doing some thinking. Get those Coco-Pops down you quickly – I’d like us to be out of here before your dad wakes up.”
“Pardon?” Archie stuttered, not making any sense of it. This wasn’t the mother he knew.
“We’ll go to the Social, and see if they can help us. So long as we can go where your dad doesn’t find us, I’ll make an effort to stop drinking – to dry out. That’s the trouble you see – I drink too much. He – your dad – doesn’t help: either I drink to keep him company, or I don’t and get beaten up. Perhaps they’ll find someone for you to stay with, if I have to go away to do it…but quick, let’s go now! We’ll pick up the cases I’ve put in the hall and be off!”
Forty minutes later, they were sitting in a social worker’s office. Every moment of that morning had been so surprising that Archie wasn’t too surprised to feel that he recognised the man across the desk. Keeping his impossible thoughts to himself, he shook the man’s hand, politely.
“You’re Archie, aren’t you? said the social worker. “Relax – you’re in safe hands and life will be better from today on. Now you’ve contacted us, we’ll be able to help. Pleased to meet you both – we’ve been waiting for something like this to happen!”
Now he was sure. Every word the man said could be taken two ways, and what the words said to Archie were not what they said to his mother. Realisation flooded through him. Mr Lawrenson, the social worker, was the man from the mirror, and somehow the Guardians in the mirror-world had got his mother to take action at last. They had known that if she did, their man would somehow be here, in this office, able to help.
“Please fill in these forms”, he was saying, “and then I’ll find someone to take you to the Woman’s Refuge.”
“Excuse me,” said Archie, “what’s one of those things?”
“Somewhere where no men are allowed, where we’ll be safe from your dad, where you can be looked after, if I have to…go away,” his mother said.
Dreamily, Archie followed his mother up the path to the large, untidy house. Everything was going to be better from now on. Nothing could surprise him, he thought. Then the door opened, and, standing there, welcoming there, was the woman, Thea.
“Archie, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, bending to hug him, and then ushering them in. Never again would he live a daily nightmare, he thought, as, behind him, like a solid defensive wall, the heavy door closed.
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The Challenge? To start every sentence with the letter that finished the one before? Did you notice? It certainly stops you being sloppy about starting every sentence with the! But the difficulty is to make it read naturally!
I didn't notice, though I did wonder if 'yearningly' was a word you had to include as that was the one word that jarred slightly.
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