Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

A Short Story

Tucking a seed into the soil, Scarlet pushed back a loose lock of hair with the back of her brown glove, smearing dirt across her cheek. The temperature had hit thirty and was still rising. Inside the greenhouse the heat was filtered, and the shade from the plant pots provided her with quiet relief. Through the glass to her left she looked back at the house. In one of the highest windows she saw the shadows of her brothers, play fighting. The youngest, Henry, spotted her and pushed his thumbs into his ears and stuck out his tongue in her direction. Laughing, she mirrored his taunting gesture. She remembered her gloves and slipped one off to wipe the mud from one ear with a finger. The greenhouse door squeaked open and Scarlet turned to see her father bending at the waist as he entered, to avoid hitting his head. Like her brothers, he stood towering over her whilst she, like her mother, was a little shorter than her siblings. At least that's what her father always told her.

 “I thought I'd find you here,” he said, folding his newspaper under one arm. Despite the growing heat he still wore a suit. She could count the times she’d seen him dressed differently on one hand. “How are the plants doing?” He asked, business like apart from the slight smile that touched the corners of his eyes. “Fine father. They are flourishing in the new warmth, just so long as I keep them watered.” He nodded his approval and she eyed him suspiciously. It wasn’t like her father to linger. “Is there something you wanted, father?” She asked, careful to keep her tone casual. His usually tidy hair fell into his eyes and he coughed. “Nothing, no nothing, carry on.” Her stomach clenched as she watched her father leave.  

Later in her room, she used a wooden nail brush to rub the dirt out from under her nails. I may not be a lady but that does not mean I am not clean, she thought, studying her wrinkled fingers. Clutching her stomach, she gasped. A pinching pain prodded at her abdomen. Her hands shook as she tried to stand. Holding both sides of the bucket, she shifted her weight. Rolling, sickening pain came in an unforgiving wave. It held on to her and laughed as the room tipped on its side. She felt the bucket tip and watched the muddy water run past her hands. It was warm underneath her neck. Wincing she pushed herself into a sitting position, her mouth salivating with pain. That's when she saw it. She was reminded of when she’d knocked over her father's quill aged five. That ink had been black as the sky in November. “Look at the mess you’ve made!” He’d said it then and she heard it now, in her ears as if spoken only minutes ago as she stared bewildered at the dark stain on her dress. Black liquid.

 Like ink.  

Am I dying? She thought.  

“You’re not dying.” Said a voice. Scarlet looked around but saw only herself in the looking glass. A cold shock ran through her as she watched her reflection remain still as she turned to face it. That was who had spoken. It now held her gaze with a quiet confidence that made Scarlet uneasy.   

Beneath its skin Scarlet saw small ripples, almost as if ants were crawling just below the surface. The thought made her itch. “Who are you?” Scarlet asked, still wincing against the niggling pain in her stomach. “I’m you.” said her reflection. “And I need your help. You- we’re in danger.” Scarlet shook her head. Somewhere in the house she heard a child’s squeal. One of the boys, she thought absentmindedly. Michael maybe. “This isn’t real.” Scarlet whispered. “This is a dream, I’ve fallen asleep or banged my head. That must be it. It was so hot in the greenhouse, I must have heat stroke. Any moment I'll wake up. Any moment now.” 

“Is this real enough for you?” she heard her reflection say. In the dirty glass of the mirror her image began to age. No, it wasn’t ageing, it was rotting. Scarlet clamped her hand to her mouth. She could smell it, a smell like fruit turned soft and sickly sweet. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, she tried to turn her head, but her neck had turned to stone. Around her neck was a line, deep indigo like the plums she picked for pudding. Her breath quickened as her pupils turned milky and her jaw fell open. A single brown hairy fly landed on her pink dry tongue. She tried to scream against lips that would not move. No sound came. “Stop, please make it stop!” She shouted in her mind and at last the force that held her let go.

She hunched over, pressing her fingers in her eyes as if she could wipe away what she had been shown. Then she heard another voice. Unfamiliar and soft and yet one she knew in the deepest places inside her was a voice she’d longed to hear all her life. “Scarlet.” Said the voice, softer and lighter than a feather in a storm.

 “Mother?” She looked in the reflection and saw her normal face as it was that day, pink and alive. Over her shoulder she saw another face, etched with kindness, framed by thick red hair. Scarlet spun around to see... no one. Looking back in the mirror there she stood. “I’m here Scarlet. You may not see me but I’m here.”  

“But why are you here mother?” She heard her own desperate confusion. “Why am I being shown such awful things?”  

“Of all your brothers one is a lie.”  

“A lie? What do you mean?” 

“I never had six children. When I died, I passed through a-well I'll call it a doorway. Well this doorway can let things in but sometimes it lets things out. When I passed through, a shadow fell over me. In your grief it slotted into your lives like it was there all along. And now it’s waiting. Waiting to take you all.” 

Scarlet’s hands began to shake. She swallowed. “Which brother?”  

“I don’t know Scarlet. That’s what it does. It sees a missing puzzle piece and moulds itself to fit the shape. Then it eats the part of you that never noticed it wasn’t there. But listen to me, Scarlet. I love those boys and so does your father but one of them is a lie. He will turn and when he does you must be ready. Protect them for me Scarlet, protect the rest of them.” 

A loud knocking at the door made Scarlet jump. She stood and glanced down to find no trace of the black ink. Her dress was clean.  

“Scarlet come out! We're playing hide and seek you promised you would join us!” Scarlet turned back to the looking glass, but her mother was gone. Something glinted in the corner of her eye. The bucket. Was there something in it? She picked it up and faced the door. Grasping the cold metal of the door handle, she twisted and looked down to see Henry, blonde and bouncing. “Are you ready?” He asked, his voice laced with excitement. She made herself smile as her hand tightened on the knife behind her back. “Ready or not, here I come.”