Hood followed, but stepped over the debris with care, and joined The Chief in the high ornate hallway.
The Chief roared; “No bloodshed!” The clatter of running feet drowned his voice.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“There, there, Missy. Not so fast.” Peggy spilled gravy over the edge of the spoon, and it dribbled and splashed onto the carpet.
Sylvia stretched her mouth as wide as it would go, and the spoon went in, and she tipped her neck back, knocked the meat off the bowl, and swallowed it whole. More! More! And bigger spoonful’s!
“Easy does it my poppet.”
Don’t speak, feed me.
“Don’t want you choking now do we, my little angel?”
Hurry up, silly old lady, don’t waste time talking. Why did Peggy sit down? The spoon was out of reach. If she didn’t get fed, now, she’d come and get it. She tucked her elbows in, opened her mouth, reared up, and dived for the plate of meat and bread on Peggy’s lap.
Too far, still out of reach, and she flopped onto the pillows, panting from the effort. Peggy dropped the plate as she leapt out of the way. Silly, silly, old lady! That meant waiting for more food to be sent up from the kitchens. Not fair! Why did Peggy scream like a little girl?
The meat on the floor smelt strong, and close. Peggy spoon it up, but she looked scared as baby rabbits. What was the matter with her? She beckoned the old maid nearer with her long jagged fingernails. Peggy didn’t move, and when she spoke, her voice shook.
“You’re eating too fast Missy. There’s plenty of food but you mustn’t go so quick. I’m not giving you anymore until you go slower.”
Feed me, and she contorted her face into a beguiling smile of innocence. This always worked, though not today, because Peggy didn’t move.
Fear flickered in her thin little maid’s eyes, and she hated the old woman’s weakness. Why didn’t Peggy look after her like she used to, she needed food, now, because something new was happening inside her.
Sylvia guessed that it must be called “strength,” that was blossoming in her body, because she hadn’t felt so physically active for years. Every mouthful of food made it grow, and it felt good. Why didn’t Peggy see that? Why did she make everything so difficult? Such frantic physical assaults, like the one she had just attempted, exhausted her. Though, she reasoned, she couldn’t have managed that before.
Sylvia glanced along the length and width of her huge body. She had started to notice it during the last few days and, with budding awareness, realised how the years of lying in bed had made her weak. Food used to be a comfort, now it was a flame of energy. She craved it, and frustration at being denied, made her frantic. Physical exertion turned happy desire into black fury when she didn’t get what she wanted, and she needed time to rebuild her stamina for a fresh assault. She shut her eyes and settled into the soft mattress.
And the wolf lay down, and watched.
There in her mind, like a “vision,” and always present. He first appeared in a dream about loneliness, and stayed, and now, every time she shut her eyes, he sat and watched. A patient companion, she loved him, and in return, like a deep understanding between two minds, he encouraged her to develop her new found strength, and enticed her, with his warm devotion, to greater acts of physical daring, and to unlock the violence she didn’t know existed in her waking life.
She opened her eyes and watched her white flesh rise and fall and ripple over her immense body as she recovered her breath.
Peggy stood at the end of the bed with a large bowl of cream meringues with, what looked like, raspberry filling. Out of reach. Fear strained her thin little face. How to entice her closer?
Sylvia shut her eyes, and the wolf stretched and stood, and then padded away, his head turned towards her, his orange eyes gazing into hers. He didn’t go far, and she gurgled with delight at his beautiful easy grace. She wanted to move like that. She needed food to achieve it.
She snapped her eyes open, reached up with one long curling fingernail, and tapped two silver bowls. Now Peggy would come closer.
“Is it happening Miss?” Her voice squeaked like mice. “Is it the “visions?” Shall I heat the bowls?”
Sylvia half-shut her eyes, opened her mouth, and snored. She watched Peggy’s confusion as she flustered about, uncertain what to do. Still too scared to come close to the bed, and that meant the meringues didn’t come closer either.
Sylvia snored with deeper, longer grunts, to convince her that she really was asleep, and this time it worked.
Peggy bent down and reappeared with a glowing taper. She shuffled in little frightened movements round the bed, her worried eyes never leaving Sylvia’s face. Closer and closer, but so slow, and the meringues wobbled in her shaking hands. She extended the trembling taper under the first silver bowl, and Sylvia moaned and rolled her head on the pillows. She didn’t know if she did this during a “vision,” but Peggy didn’t run off, so she guessed she must have seen something similar.
Peggy shuffled closer to reach the next bowl. She looked less fearful and this time, she didn’t stretch so far with the taper. She was close enough to grab.
The candlelight dimmed, as if a cloud passed before their light. A breeze, cool and fresh, slid across Sylvia’s body.
Her attention flicked from Peggy to the bedroom. The candle flames danced in the breeze, and some of them went out with little puffs of black smoke.
A strange shape emerged out of the gloom on the far wall. Like the beginnings of a “vision,” but real. Its grey indistinct form shifted and flowed like underwater reeds in moving water; though more than a shadow cast by the candlelight. Long and thin, then short and squat, as if undecided about what form to take, it slid down the wall and flowed onto the floor.
Sylvia glanced at Peggy as she waved the taper under a silver bowl. She didn’t see the manifestation unfolding behind her. The creamy scent from the meringues mixed with the exotic aroma of cinnamon. Sylvia’s intense hunger lessened as she fixed her gaze on the other side of the room.
And Peggy saw the glimmer of her Mistress’s eyes and jumped back alarmed. “It’s not fair Missy. Why do you keep making me scared? I can’t feed you when you’re like this. What do you want? I do everything I can. Why is it so different now?”
The shape moulded a new form out of itself. Four points extended down from a flat base, and stretched in long thin lines that ended in puffy balls. Two oval spheres emerged from either end of the flat base. The right one expanded into a medley of points, while the left one elongated as a brush, loaded with wet paint, might stroke a line across wet paper, and left behind a feathered image. The candles flickered again.
“Is it the food? Are you after something different, to calm you perhaps? I can send something new up from the kitchens.”
Sylvia grunted, exasperated by Peggy’s whittling noise.
“Why do you keep staring like that Missy? Is something the matter with your eyes? What is it? Is it the candles? Do you want a candle for your “vision?” Let me fetch one.”
Peggy bobbed down and up, down and up, fussing like pecking hens. Sylvia fumed; get out of my way. The silly old woman obscured her view, and her mounting frustration erupted into a furious burst of strength. She lashed out, and her nails sliced through Peggy’s cheek and tore the thin flesh. A sliver of curling skin dangled from her longest nail. Annie screamed, dropped the plate of meringues, and fell to the floor. The meringues plopped onto Sylvia’s stomach, and she scooped up a handful and crammed them into her mouth. The sweet creamy stickiness made her strong.
She braced her elbows and heaved her upper body higher. Now she had an uninterrupted view of the bedroom, and her heartbeat quickened as the “vision” materialised against the far wall.