‘Oh, so you saw that, did you?’ I laugh. ‘I’m convinced she likes you better than me. I’m surprised she didn’t go to you first for help.’
Rye smiles playfully, his blue eyes glinting in a way that catches my heart a little off guard. ‘Well, it’s because she didn’t know I was here, you see…’
‘Oh, of course.’
Something moves in the distance, just down the road. A dark disfigured entity. The playful banter falls to silence. My breath catches. Rye’s stare lingers, watching. He already knows my situation and knows that it will pass. I look away from him. I don’t want to meet his eyes but I don’t want to meet the eyes of the creature either. My breath stays held as the creature sprints down the road, right past me. Afraid. It’s afraid.
I can feel my whole body trembling. What is it afraid of? Something in that direction…
‘Siara, I was wondering–’
Is Rye talking? I can’t hear; I can’t focus. Something isn’t right. What is this feeling?
The creature was large, its smell rancid, scrambling over its numerous legs to get away. Away from the very direction we are heading now. But I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I need to keep walking. Keep up the charade. I don’t know anything. I’m just like everyone else. The anxious fog in my mind clears but a bubbling of excitement brews just under the surface. What’s going on?
‘Siara?’
‘What?’ I say, maybe a little too curtly. Rye flinches.
‘If you wanted to see, like, a mov–’
His voice drains out once again as a bellowing voice thunders through the street. Both of us turn to look. Good, at least this time it’s not inside my head.
‘The blue moon has risen! Horrid night, the cold one is here.’ Mr Valentine stumbles out from inside his van. Passers-by look at each other uncomfortably, keeping their distance from the hunched old man.
A cold chill rushes down the street, lighting my senses on fire. I stare down in wonder as goosebumps consume my arms.
‘You know, he’s actually really nice when he’s not yelling about our doom,’ I say frankly, looking back to Rye.
The stunned boy arches an eyebrow in response. ‘Should we, uh, get someone?’ he murmurs. I shrug. I have too many of my own problems to be worrying about others.
‘Usually his niece is around. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon.’
The rambling man locks eyes with my own, caught in a fierce glare.
‘You see them too, don’t you, child? You know what I’m talking about. You can feel it.’ His wrinkled finger points to the sky. ‘Look.’
My eyes follow and I see it. In the sky, out above the ocean, in amongst the black clouds, like a second sun – a round blue ripple. I squeeze my eyes shut, opening them once more in disbelief. He’s right. Doesn’t anyone else see this? I look around, my heart sinking deeper into my stomach. They don’t. Of course they don’t. And neither should I.
‘You see it, don’t you?’ The old man steps closer, my own feet stepping back. I can’t answer; instead, my mouth hangs ajar.
‘Uncle!’ Footsteps dance down from the hill behind me. ‘Why are you out here in the pouring rain? You’ll get sick. Let’s get you back inside.’ Mr Valentine’s niece places a hand on his shoulder, leading him away. Rain? She shoots an apologetic grimace back over her shoulder. ‘Sorry about that.’
I can barely hear her voice; it’s muted. I wave her apology away politely. ‘Oh no, it’s fine.’
Mr Valentine looks back at me, mouthing a word over and over. What is it? What is he saying?
Run.
Rye grabs hold of my arm, causing my whole body to jump. ‘Siara – hey! We need to get out of this rain.’
‘Rain?’ And as if the rain itself heard me, its thundering sound reaches my ears, snapping me back into reality. How did I not notice before? It’s pouring. It has been pouring this whole time. I’m drenched.
It’s cold and hard as it thunders down over the empty camp park, people have already fled indoors, huddled together in the corners of the toilet block. Rye’s hand hits my arm, gaining my attention and gesturing to the large tree. We scurry under its protection.
Turning back to him, I start to open my mouth to speak but shut it and avert my gaze. Objectively speaking, Rye has always been an attractive individual, at least that’s what I’ve been told by my friends, but at this moment in particular, with his drenched t-shirt sticking to his sculpted chest and his blonde hair damp and messy, I’m reluctantly feeling inclined to agree. Rye gives me a quizzical look.
‘It’s so loud!’ I yell, covering my awkwardness. He nods in agreement before his cheery expression suddenly loses its shine.
‘Argh, the chairs.’ He groans. ‘Sorry, I’ll be back.’
I can barely nod before he sprints off down the road, lost in the haze of rain. I breathe in a deep cold breath, pouring the now cold water out from the pail onto the grass. Guess I’ll do the dishes later.
After running back to the van, I jump up the steps and pull the metal door closed behind me with a thud. Letting out a sigh of relief, I throw myself on the padded seating.
It’s wet. Groaning, I pull myself up and look at the ceiling. The small roof vent is slightly open, something Mum does to give some airflow to the van. My gaze diverts to the other windows, each open, and each trickling a small river of water down to the lino floor. Springing to my feet, I close the vent and subsequent windows, finding myself struggling with the last. It jams. I push the winding knob harder and it breaks. Snatching my hoodie with audible frustration, I once again brave the elements. The wind howls as it hits my face, slamming the door loudly behind me. Something in me churns. I try the handle. It’s locked. Of course it is.
An unpleasant sound makes its way through the rain.
A pack of sniggering boys sit grouped together under the cover of a nearby barbeque shelter. Wonderful, I have an audience. Gifting them a cold glare, I trudge around the back of the van to the window. With a small nudge of my shoulder, it eventually retracts back, closing manually.
The electricity catches me off guard, pulsing through every vein in my body and for a moment I believe I’ve smacked my head. My heart is pounding like I’ve just run a marathon, my senses more alive than ever. But there is only silence. The rain has stopped.
A deep chill creeps across the hills, my breath fogging out in clouds. I turn to the now-silent group of boys, but they sit strangely, awkward and unmoving. The tree tops bend in an unnatural fashion, like a wind has pushed them one way and they have failed to sway back.
Time has stopped.
Beautiful and intricate icy designs replace the streams of raindrops on the window. I gaze at them in a mix of fascination and horror.
