Nine

 

After Charles, Edna moved along to the next face. “Walter”, she nodded, smiling. At the next, she grinned as she stood, before gleefully blurting out “Gordon!” and continuing along the line, clapping her hands. “Luke” was the next name she uttered and then, she came to Edward.

Edward seemed to confuse her. Whereas with the other men, Edna had seemed pleased to identify them, Ed got the distinct impression that his face was not so welcome. After a few awkward seconds, Edna patted Ed formally on the shoulder, and moved on to the women.

“The girls!” she declared, as she bobbed about on the spot excitedly. “My girls!” The old lady suddenly lost her prickliness, and bustled to the place in the line where the two women visitors stood, nervously edging together for support, feeling united in this strange circumstance, despite never having met before.

“Loveday.” The name, unusual as it was, glided off Edna’s tongue with ease, yet fell harshly on the ears of the woman in receipt of it. Loveday was not the name this woman went by.

“Er, no, sorry, er, Mrs…. Er,. That’s not my name”. The woman began.

“It most certainly is,” was the retort, as Edna’s prickliness returned now her guest dared to contradict her. “Loveday is the name I gave you. Loveday is your name.”

“Er, no. My name is Daisy.” Meekly but stoically came the response.

Edna’s face contorted with disgust. “Daisy? What are you? Are cow? Pah!” Edna turned and returned to her chair, sat down and steamed for a bit. She was visibly cross and upset. Soon, though, she regained her composure and returned to Daisy, who was now trembling.

The old lady struggled for a moment to get her words out – it seemed she felt bad about being so harsh just then. She sucked her tongue a few times, licked her lips and hovered sheepishly in front of Daisy, unsure how she should proceed. Eventually, Edna tentatively reached out an arm, and awkwardly patted Daisy on the shoulder.

“Please excuse me,” she began. “I am just so pleased to see you – all of you” she gestured at the line-up. “But you must realise – all these years, I have known you as I left you. Names and all. “Edna stood as straight as her crooked back would allow, and shut her eyes.

Edward.

Walter.

Charles.

Luke.

Gordon.

Loveday.

Hope.

The seven people in the room shivered in unison as the old lady spoke their names. By calling them out, one by one, it was almost as if a direct electrical connection had been made. All at once, years of absence, hurt, confusion, longing and mystery surged into the room, buried deep for decades. Edna, however, seemed to gain nothing but strength from this encounter, and appeared to stand taller by the second. When she opened her eyes, her green piercing eyes, she saw a challenge in each and every matching set that gazed back at her. Tell us, the eyes said. Tell us why we are here.

So she did.

Eight

Old Edna had stood stock still for a while now. Her seven guests were just beginning to fidget when she gave a loud sniff, smiled as she did so, and then opened her eyes.

The crooked old lady that had stooped before them seemed more alive now, than before. Someting – a memory, perhaps, had rejuvenated her slightly, and her eyes were alive with excitement. She cocked her head up at her audience, and surveyed them all in a line.

What happened next resembled a patrol inspection. Edna walked up and down the line, peering intently at each and every face there, scrutisining, appraising and assessing. Sometimes, she apperaed pleased. At other times, she was displeased. Her mouth puckered and she sucked in her breath on several occasions, but when she grunted – that appeared to mean she was satisfied.

Then, she homed in on one of the faces, and approached it with meaning.

“Charles.” Edna nodded as she approached the man on the end of the line. The one who, until now, had tried to stay well under the radar. Charles shifted uncomfortably as she came, but couldn’t take his eyes from her. They were familiar. He couldn’t decided if he was scared or not.

Edna, on the other hand, knew how she felt. It was clear to everyone there too. She was elated. Her mean old face had taken on a look of something else entirely – it looked like pure joy. As the old lady approached Charles, she reached out her hand – more softly this time, and stoked his cheek. “Charles, she repeated, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Seven

Seven

The man’s name was James. But he wanted Edna to call him Jimmy. Or Jim. But definitely not James.
After he had introduced himself, whilst they both dangled their legs over the side of Ventnor pier, Edna felt a glorious rush of some unfamiliar feeling. She was trembling, her heart was pounding. A huge smile wouldn’t leave her face, and her skin – her young, smooth, tanned skin, felt like a warm, silk sheet holding her organs together. The summer breeze coming up off the sea tingled, and her body was more alive than it had ever been. She’d never forget the way this felt for the rest of her days.

Jimmy held Edna’s hand firmly. Edna wasn’t sure if this was to stop her from falling, of from fleeing. But he needn’t have worried. She wasn’t going anywhere without him. So, when he started counting down from ten, Edna knew there was only one way off this pier.

He fell. She fell. They hit the water hard, and the current made surfacing difficult. That blissful feeling of indestructibility had given way to fear, panic and regret for a moment,when Edna thought her foolishness may just have cost her her life, until a hand held her up, and she was able to breathe again.

Once they were back on the beach, Jimmy’s eyes erased all that fear. He was proud of her, he said. How many other lasses would have jumped like that? And little Edna, for that is what she was, swelled with pride, and would have done it all again, if he’d asked her to.
But he didn’t. Instead, he bent down and kissed her.
Edna was so surprised that she didn’t kiss him back – she didn’t know how. But as he walked away from her that day, leaving her where she stood, dripping on the beach, Edna didn’t want him to go.

Edna was infatuated. She’d had her first taste of romance, and from that point on, she’d do anything for more.
Anything at all.

 

 

 

 

 

6

6

Young Edna couldn’t take her eyes off the man who was sitting precariously on the pier wall, dangling his legs over and swinging them to an inaudible beat. As soon as she’d spied him, his nonchalance and his worry-free demeanor had her hooked – even from a distance.
As she walked along the promenade, the dog at her heels, she couldn’t remove her gaze from him and the way his blond hair ruffled in the wind, framing his tanned face and especially his confident, gleaming smile. Good teeth were a novelty in her family.
Then, with no warning, the man fell! It seemed to take an age for him to hit the water below the pier, and when he did, he disappeared from view for more minutes than Edna could bear. She waited for him to resurface. He didn’t, so she made a dash down the steps to the beach, where she looked for him again. The dog, who hadn’t left her side, was wondering what was going on.
Just when Edna thought she might have to go in after him, a head bobbed up, soaked hair flicked a halo of drops in an arc, and the smile reappeared as the man strode out of the water and up the pebbled beach towards her, clearly unharmed.
Edna wondered if it was obvious that she’d been worried about this stranger – her panic now seemed like an over reaction. Especially when the man began to laugh at her.
“Looking for something, love?” he asked, unable to hide his mirth. “Do you need to throw someone a life buoy?”
Edna was unable to look the man in the eye, faced, as she was, by his fully clothed, wet self. He unnerved her. She couldn’t answer him, either, and remained quiet.
“Lost your tongue?” teased the man, but not unkindly. “Seriously now, if you were worried about me, there was no need. I’m just having fun, that’s all.” He smiled at her, as her eyes met his for the first time. “Wanna join me?”
Edna didn’t. Not really. And yet, she did. Because, now she’d looked into his mesmeric blue eyes, and been up close to him, she was bewitched. As much as she knew that jumping off Ventnor pier and into the sea was a silly thing to do, Edna found herself nodding, and, when he reached out a hand for her, she took it.
Together, they walked back up to the prom and onto the pier, with the dog following at a wary distance behind them.

5

5

A fifteenth birthday shouldn’t be spent like this. Surely, such a grand age should warrant some kind of dance? Plenty of singing, and a jazzy cake at the very least. But Edna’s birthday was not going the way she’d dreamed, and for that, she blamed Mama.

How selfish she was. How thoughtless! Why now, after fifteen years, did the silly woman decide to go and have another baby? Mama was so old, it was ridiculous. And how on Earth was Edna supposed to get along with a new sibling who was so much her junior? The child had already messed things up by arriving today -of all days, leaving Edna, the birthday girl, all alone at home with nothing but the dog for company.

Yes, Edna felt thoroughly miserable, and was sulking.

Hang it all, she said to herself. Grabbing her shawl, she whistled for the dog and left the house. Edna wasn’t going to sit around and waste the day – her day. She was off to the fun fair.

It was August, and the seaside town’s fun fair was always busy on Edna’s birthday. Every year, Mama and Papa would accompany Edna on a trip down to the prom to eat candy floss. Then they’d ride on the bumper cars, and ever since she could remember, Papa would buy Edna a special little gift from the man on the penny stall.

Who would buy her that gift today?

Papa was dead. Mama was otherwise engaged. And for Edna? Life had lost its sparkle.

She was unsettled. She was looking for something.

As fortune would have it, that something was just about to materialise.

4

4

Edna knew who they all were, of course. She’d known each of them, very well indeed, once upon a time.

Seven times, she’d fallen in love. Seven times, her heart had broken.

It was a strange feeling, being near these people again. Especially as they were all here together, in the same place. This had never happened before.

Surveying the assembled group, her eyes devoured every inch of every one of them quickly as she moved along the line, shuffling on one slippered foot to the next, and grunting slightly as she acknowledged their features. Her wispy, silver hairs danced as she moved, and with her hooked nose, the little old lady sniffed impolitely at her guests.
It intrigued her to see how alike they all were, despite their varied upbringings and their assorted gene pools. But it was the eyes that pleased her the most – they each had her eyes. Bright green apertures that nobody could ever forget.

There was a time when people commented on Edna’s eyes. They called them rare, exquisite – mesmerising, even. Men had been drawn in by her eyes, and this was often their undoing.
But now, few people ever got close to Edna, living as she did in isolation on the cliff side. There had been no visitors to for years. Until today.

So, what had prompted Edna Fossell to lure her seven estranged children to Purgatory? What indeed.
And what had ensured that they would all obey the summons? Perhaps therein lies the greater mystery.

 

3 The Curious Metamorphosis of Edna Fossell

3

It seemed to take forever to reach the doorway to the room that was glowing. With every step, the procession grew less sure of itself.
Ed remained at the front, propelled forwards by the slow momentum from those behind him. Considering they had only just met, this posse had become very intimate, very quickly.
Reaching the doorway, Ed put the brakes on. He wanted to see what was inside the room, and where the light was coming from. All that was visible from where the group stood was the back of a red velvet armchair, and a pair of slippers.
This was clearly a sitting room. There were occasional tables, vases, books and trinkets. The room was orderly and presentable, but a little eerie at the same time. The red armchair was the only seat.
Pressure began to mount behind Ed once more, and he found himself moving forward again. Before he knew it, he and the six other green-eyed visitors were over the threshold, and the procession broke apart. Now they stood in a line, looking around them, and wondering what came next.
One of the seven – Number Three, who was a woman in her forties, couldn’t take her eyes off the back of the armchair. As she stared, she suddenly realised that, just visible above the headrest were silver white threads, wisps that danced slowly in a jerky rhythm, the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Looking at the slippers next, Number Three saw them move slightly, too, and realised they were occupied. Nestled in that armchair, largely hidden from view, was a person.
“Look!” whispered Number Three excitedly. “There’s someone here.”
This shouldn’t have come as a surprise to the visitors. They had been invited here. This was someone’s house. But the abstract nature of the situation had rendered them all rather nervous.

Remembering his manners, and that he was a fully-grown man with an expensive education and many letters to his name, Ed decided to “man up”. He walked around to the front of the armchair. His comrades sidled along in his wake. The closer they got, the more they saw of the chair’s occupant. It was an old lady. Small and frail, with hair of pure silver, tied up messily on top of her head. Her posture was poor, and even sitting, the visitors could make out the hump on her back. With a slightly hooked nose and wrinkled skin, this old lady couldn’t have looked more witchlike. She was mesmerising.
“Hello?” Ed thought he should instigate the formalities. “Er, hello? Excuse me, madam, but we, er…”
Before he could finish, Ed and the others found themselves taking a big step back. The lady in the chair began to move. Her feet twitched, and her fingers grasped at the air. She took a deep breath, and the intake of oxygen seemed to rejuvenate her. Her back straightened, her head rose up off her chest and then, when she was facing her visitors, she opened her eyes.
She did not smile at her guests. Neither did she shriek at the sudden appearance of seven strangers. Instead, the old lady surveyed them, one by one, and seemed to miss nothing. Her eyes devoured every detail about them, and her fingers twitched excitedly at her lap. But her mouth remained set in a line, even when she leaned forward to study Visitor Five’s shoes.
There would be no pleasantries.
“Madam,” said Ed, unnerved but also frustrated by this woman. “We hope we’re in the right place. We were asked here, you see.”
The old lady’s eyes darted to Ed. She focused on him, and seemed entertained, although no smile touched her mouth. With great effort, she stood, then came forward until she could reach out and hold Ed’s face. This she did, studying it now with touch, to his great discomfort. But his manners were stoic.
“Yes,” she croaked, when she’d finished. “I know.” Then she turned to face them all, piercing them all with her authoritative green-eyed stare. “I know who you all are.”
Ed didn’t like her manner, and that, added to the unwelcome physical contact she’d just inflicted on him, meant he was about ready to leave. This mystery wasn’t worth it. But just as he was about to bolt for the door, the old woman spoke again.
“I asked you here,” she said. “I am Edna.”

2 The Curious Metamorphosis of Edna Fossell

2

For twenty three minutes, the rain lashed down upon the small crowd, huddled defencelessly on Purgatory’s doorstep. Nobody moved, apart from a few slight shuffles closer together, rather like penguins in the Arctic, as the individuals at the back tried to reach the relative protection of the small, recessed porch.
It was pointless, of course. By now they were all as wet as any clothed human could be.

On the twenty-fourth minute, the wind stopped. The silence that resulted was deafening in its purity. The rain, too, ceased its assault, and slowly, the huddled mass began to unfurl, like a dark, exotic flower, with steam rising from its parts.

As the strangers’ raincoats peeled asunder, normal conduct was resumed. Embarrassed coughs, sniffs and jerks shook off the memory of the proximity they had all just been forced to share.
And then, as if to detract from the awkwardness, nature provided a spectacular, psychedelic display as a rainbow shone down through the haze, above the bluey green expanse of seascape before them, and all seven visitors simply stopped in a bedraggled line and stared out to sea, agog.
As the sun emerged, vapours exuded from the now sweaty macs, and the rainbow disintegrated into the blue sky.
It was time to get back to the matter in hand.

Visitor Number One returned to the front door, and knocked again.
The other six strangers waited expectantly for something to happen. But still, the door remained unanswered. So, Visitor One rejoined the group, and an informal circle was formed. Maybe, together, they could come up with a plan.

Whilst facing each other in this uncomfortable pow-wow, a realisation hit the seven strangers as they looked at each other properly for the first time. They were no longer simply blurs in the rain. Despite their different clothes and varying ages, there was no escaping the fact that there was an uncanny likeness between each of them. They had the same dark, smooth hair, with or without a hint of grey. Their eyes were green, all fourteen of them, with pupils so well-lined in a thick, sharp, black circle that they almost looked alight. None of the seven visitors had ever seen such eyes before, except in a mirror.
Nobody spoke, as confusion struck the small crowd dumb, until a thick, grey, loaded cloud swung into position above, and forced the stalemate to end.
“Who are we?” asked Visitor Number One urgently, to nobody in particular and everyone at the same time.
Everybody shook their head. Not one of them could answer.      “OK,” continued Number One, sighing. “I know who I am. Let’s start with that.” He nodded, resolving to work this out. “My name is Edmund – Ed. I’m a solicitor from London. I received a letter last week, instructing me to come here. It was from somebody called E. Fossell.”
At this declaration, all of the others in the circle started rummaging in their pockets, and began digging out similar, sodden bits of paper, all riddled with the same intricate copperplate handwriting.
Visitor Number Seven, after brandishing his letter, also produced a key from his pocket, and held it aloft. “Do you think this is relevant?” he asked the group, aware that the grey cloud was now an ominous shade of black.
Ed stepped forward and took the key. As he studied it closely, he could just about make out an engraving on its side.
Yes, this was indeed the key to Purgatory.

Nobody quite knew what to do next. After the presentation of the key, who would have the courage to try it in the lock? Ed held it, and looked uncertainly around him. He wanted someone else to step up. Why did this always happen? His companions were all looking to him for their next move.
Sighing, Ed glared at the six faces in his midst, and gritted his teeth. He’d have to be the one to open the door.
Checking his letter once again, he made sure this was the right place – there could be only one “House on the Cliff” at this postcode. Then armed with the letter’s permission, he went to open up.
The key turned smoothly in the lock, and, somewhat surprisingly, the door didn’t creak as it opened.

The darkness within was palpable compared to the blinding bright seascape outside, and Ed’s instincts were telling him to flee. But, as he wasn’t alone, and intrigue had grabbed him, he decided to see this through.
Stepping inside, the first thing to strike Ed, plus the six others that followed closely behind him, was the sound of a clock. If there had been any doubt as to whether this house was occupied, somehow the clock’s heartbeat confirmed that it was. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, the visitors began to make out the furniture, the rug – all incongruous, and not what you’d expect to find, this close to the sea, in the middle of open fields.
It felt big in here, bigger than any of them had expected. The house was neat, the furniture mostly modern.  The visitors found themselves in a long hallway, and the clock – of the grandfather variety, was at the far end. Almost instinctively, the little chain of people crept towards the clock, and to a dim light that glowed from a room at the end of the hall. Ed was in front, but for the first time, he was grateful for the strangers behind him. This would not have been much fun alone.

1 The Curious Metamorphosis of Edna Fossell

1

Prologue

It wasn’t a very nice evening for waiting on a doorstep for someone to answer.

The visitor, who had huddled himself as far into the small recess of the porch as he could, knocked hard, then quickly returned his hand to where it had been – clutching firmly to his rain mac to stop it blowing away. He faced the pebble-dashed wall, and tried to avoid getting water in his eyes.

Had it been a fine evening, this particular visitor might not still have been on the doorstep to even try knocking. The doorbell had failed to produce a response, and the knock was a last-ditch attempt.  But whatever it was that awaited him inside the house was, at this moment, a preferable option to venturing back out into the open. He didn’t have a change of clothes, and the mac was thin.

So, as he waited with his eyes closed, facing the wall, he was contemplating why anyone would want to live in a place like this. This house must surely be uninsurable, perched as it was this near to the cliff edge. The wind and the rain were so forcible here, as they swept directly off the sea. The gutters were not coping, and the roof tiles threatened to fly off at any moment.

Processing his situation, whilst trapped there on the porch, the first visitor did not hear the coming of the second. But, given the elements, it wasn’t long before they were sharing the tiny sheltered space without any introductions or pleasantries.

Considering the location of this house, where the visitors were now huddled, it was surprising that anyone would be visiting at all, let alone two people. This was the only dwelling in sight. There was sea to the south, and fields in all other directions. The track that led to the property was barely passable. But, despite this, through the weather, came two more visitors, one slightly ahead of the other.

The pattern continued as the weather grew worse, until seven people, of indeterminate sex and age had gathered together on and around the porch of this wild and unwelcoming residence. They could neither hear nor see each other as they were being drenched and buffeted so strongly. Conversation was futile.

The last person to arrive, finding himself at the back of the huddle, was able to catch a glimpse of the house’s name plate, drilled to the wall above the door. Through screwed-up eyes, he made out the letters that spelled the name.

Purgatory.

It seemed entirely appropriate.