Little Secrets Read online

  She’d slept better last night, maybe because there was too much to think about, too much to worry about to even bother. Her exhaustion was stronger than her anger and frustration, and so when she went to bed she’d fallen unconscious almost instantly, waking up with a claggy mouth. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth. But the rest had given her a new sense of determination, something that even the two rejection emails she’d received from the jobs she’d applied to yesterday couldn’t shake.

  She took a swig of Coke, the cold bolt of flavor pushing back against the sleepy heat.

  When her computer was finally on, she linked it with the Bluetooth on her phone. She tried to use as little of Rob’s resources as possible. She bought her own food, used her own internet plan and never used the home phone. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to be indebted to him. She also hated the idea of touching anything he used; she despised everything about him. Not that it mattered much anymore.

  All morning she had replayed last night’s conversation with her mother. Rose wished she had made it clear, at the very least, that she hadn’t been stupid in calling the cops. Say the word pedophile and she was sure she could get that breathless panicky quality back into her mother’s voice. The idea did something strange to people, especially parents. Everyone agreed that pedophiles were the lowest scum on the planet, yet people also seemed weirdly fascinated by them. Their stories were always in the news the longest, front page after front page of disturbing stories in sickening detail. Maybe people enjoyed feeling horrified.

  The screen lit up and, already, she felt a little wired. She’d dismissed the idea of writing about the dolls almost immediately. Dolls on kids’ doorsteps was hardly a story.

  But maybe it didn’t even matter.

  She opened a blank Word document and typed the title in, just to see how it would look: Porcelain Terror in Colmstock.

  Everyone loved a good mystery. Her fingers started flying across the keyboard, trying to shape the strange truth of what had happened into something more menacing. Trying to make it into a story.

  It wasn’t the sort of thing that would ever stand a chance in the Sage Review, but maybe it would be possible in the Star. She and Mia only read the thing for laughs, and because it had the most ridiculous star-sign predictions. The tabloid was always filled with tacky sensationalist articles, like how a suburban man had made his wife swallow an entire live snake as part of a voodoo ritual or how a mother was addicted to eating her children’s glue sticks, in between full-page advertisements for diet pills.

  It was fun writing something dramatic and salacious. By the time she had to leave for work, she’d emailed the article to the Star. Usually, she would spend at least a few weeks on a piece, but this one she kept short and to the point. If they didn’t like it, they could go fuck themselves.

  PORCELAIN TERROR IN COLMSTOCK

  By Rose Blakey

  Mystery dolls threaten children of small town.

  A mystery is an unusual thing in the town of Colmstock, which all but disappeared from the map after the closure of the Auster Automotive Factory. Now, to add insult to injury for the residents of this forgotten place, a bizarre case has emerged that has the local police baffled.

  Multiple families have made the terrifying discovery of old-fashioned porcelain dolls on their doorsteps. Most horrifying of all, the dolls are the spitting images of their young daughters. Hair and eye color of these unwanted gifts exactly matching the scared little girls.

  Local police have attempted to calm the victims. However, these families may be right to be frightened for the safety of their youngest daughters. Inside sources have revealed that possible links to child molesters and pedophiles are being investigated and that the dolls are marks of this anonymous sicko’s intended prey.

  With the limited resources available to the impoverished Colmstock, the community fears the offender may not be apprehended until it is too late.

  * * *

  Rose leaned into the wide freezer in the storage room of the tavern. She stroked the back of her head, combing her hair with her fingers so that it came off her sweaty neck. She let it dangle around her face like a veil.

  Today had been an especially hot day, the humidity making the air a sweltering, oppressive weight as she’d walked to work, her shoes banging against her bandaged heels. The road had felt like it had been sizzling. Her head was full of dolls, although as soon as she’d started walking she’d realized what she’d written was crazy. It didn’t even really make sense.

  The freezer reeked. It was as if something had died in there, froze, then thawed, rotted a bit and then froze again. Still, the cool air on her skin was worth it. It felt like little icy pinpricks on her face and neck. She could happily stay there all day, but Jean would notice her absence soon enough and come to find out why she was slacking off. Reaching into the freezer, she pulled out a hunk of frozen meat wrapped in plastic. It was wedged in there, and the sound of the icicles squealing against each other as it scraped against the side of the freezer made her wince. It was heavy; she held it tightly with one trembling arm as she slammed the lid of the freezer closed with the other.

  The meat started to stick to her forearms as she walked up the corridor. She passed Will’s room. The light inside was on, but the Do Not Disturb sign was still plastered to his door. Rose dropped the hunk of meat down on the kitchen bench.

  “Thanks,” Jean said from the stove; her white shirt was damp with sweat. Rose couldn’t imagine trying to cook on a day this hot.

  “Look at her go.” Jean pointed her chin toward the bar, a smile playing on her lips.

  Mia was flirting with Bazza outrageously. She was leaning against the taps, literally twirling her hair. It was almost laughable, but Bazza was eating it up.

  “I’ll give them a few minutes,” she said to Jean and went over to the bin. It wasn’t completely full yet, but Rose didn’t really want to go back to the bar. It was only a matter of time before Frank asked her about the cadetship, and she’d have to tell him that she hadn’t got it. She didn’t want pity, not from him or anyone else. Plus, the longer you left the bin, the more likely it was that you’d leak foul-smelling bin juice down the corridor. She tied the black plastic rubbish bag into a knot at the top, then slid it out of the bin; it was already heavy.

  Holding it in one hand, as far away from her body as possible, she walked quickly down the corridor. The back door to Eamon’s, past the keg room, was propped open with a brick. They always left it like that when the pub was open. People went into the back alley for cigarettes sometimes, or, very rarely, for make-out sessions. Rose couldn’t imagine anything less romantic. The concrete was cracked and uneven, and the large metal Dumpster stank, even when it was empty. The thing had probably never been cleaned. It smelled like sweet, rotting rubbish and made her want to gag. There was no light out there except for the streetlights around the front and the light that spilled from the open door down the four cement steps. Rose let the bag slide down the steps next to her, then picked it up and hurled it into the Dumpster. She heard it hit the bottom with a heavy thump like a bag of flour, or a dead body. Rose wanted to laugh. It would be great for her career if she found a dead body out the back here, but unluckily for her, it hadn’t happened yet. Although, Jean had told her she’d found a dead cat in there once. She’d said that when she picked it up it was as stiff as a brick. Rose slapped her hands together and walked back inside.

  As she passed Will’s door, her curiosity overwhelmed her. She knocked, wondering if he was even inside. The squeak of the bedsprings told her that he was. She thought about running. It was too late. He opened the door a crack, smiling slightly when he saw her.

  “Housekeeping,” she said, sarcastically, trying to look past his head into the room.

  “I’m fine for now, thanks.” He smiled and went to shut the door in her face.

 
“Are you sure?” she said, before he could.

  “Yes.” His smile widened. “You know, I can’t decide if you are trying to be very helpful, or if I’ve done something to piss you off.”

  She blinked. Usually she was the confrontational one.

  “Just trying to be helpful,” she said, shooting him a huge, fake grin, then turning to walk away. He might be the weirdest guy she’d ever met. The way he’d hidden his bedroom from her, it was like he didn’t want her to see past him, like he was hiding something. She imagined his room was filled with porcelain dolls and snorted back a laugh as she walked back to the bar. The dolls had only started appearing when he arrived. It was definitely possible, although not very likely. Journalist Uncovers Weirdo Doll Lover Tormenting Town. Now, that would be a good story.

  9

  “I’m seeing something really special here,” Mia said, staring at the leftover foam in Bazza’s empty beer glass.

  “Really?” He leaned forward. She showed him, and his face screwed up as he looked inside. She noticed the way the light lit up the fine hair of his eyelashes.

  She leaned closer. “See that line of foam across there.” She pointed at the line near the top of the glass.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s your heart line.”

  “Really?”

  “Look.” She let her voice go really quiet so he’d get closer. “It’s unbroken.”

  “Is that good?” He looked up at her.

  “It’s really good. It means you’re going to find love. Soon.”

  He looked between the line and her. She grabbed an empty glass and flicked on the tap, smiling at him, trying to beg him with her eyes to ask her out. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Thanks,” he said, when she put his beer in front of him. “I wonder what this one will say.”

  He left her a tip and went back to his seat next to Frank. Her heart sank a little bit. Had he seen what she was doing and not asked her out anyway? She wasn’t sure if her advance had been rejected or not, but either way she could feel the sting.

  “You know, I think he does like you,” Rose said, coming up next to her. “He looks at you like you’re beautiful—he was doing it last night at the gas station too.”

  “What, like that?” Mia said, and they both looked to Frank, who was staring at Rose, his eyes soft.

  “Yeah,” Rose said and turned away defensively.

  Mia sighed and propped herself up on the bar. “Bazza’s dumb but so hot. It’s the perfect combination,” she said wistfully. “I think he’d make a great husband.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Rose said with disgust.

  “Nope,” she said, then flicked Rose with the wet, dirty rag in her hand. It left a gray smear on her thigh.

  “Yuck!”

  “Streets of Fire” came on and Mia started humming along under her breath. She didn’t understand why Jean didn’t play a more varied mix of music, but she didn’t question it. If Jean wanted to listen to Bruce Springsteen every single night, then that was her choice. It had irritated her at first, but after a while she’d begun to enjoy knowing exactly what to expect out of her evenings. Unlike Rose, she quite liked working at Eamon’s. When she was here, she could just focus on each task: pouring beers, serving meals, mopping the floor, and not worry about the past or the future.

  Wringing out the cloth in the sink, she watched the gray water squeezing out from the fibers. She rinsed it, letting the water absorb, wrung it out again and then hung it over the tap to dry. The detergent and grit made the skin on her hands feel tender. She wiped them on her shorts, trying to push herself to remember to put on hand cream before she went to sleep. She was always forgetting, and her flesh sometimes got so dry that the skin around her fingernails would crack.

  She watched Rose out of the corner of her eye as she dried glasses, the cloth squealing against the glass. Rose never had problems with dry skin. For the tiniest of moments, she felt a pang of jealousy. Rose was so beautiful. If she wanted to, she could get any guy she liked. She could quit this place and start a family and be looked after. But Mia wasn’t a jealous person. She hated negativity, especially in herself, and she loved Rose more than anything. She put the glass down and went over to her, resting her head on Rose’s shoulder. Rose gripped her in a one-armed hug. Their skin stuck together slightly from sweat but Mia didn’t mind. She loved being close to Rose. It held the darkness that she sometimes felt at bay.

  “I’m going to miss you when you’re famous.”

  “Shut up,” said Rose, but she squeezed her tighter.

  They laughed and Mia picked up her rag again. She sprayed down the counter, the bleachy disinfectant stinging her nostrils, and wiped away the beer rings that had dried and gone sticky.

  Steve Cunningham came in, a huge grin on his face. This was unusual.

  He walked straight up to Mia and slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “A round for the boys on me.”

  A low cheer came from Bazza’s table, and Mia began pouring the drinks, lining them up next to Steve’s note. Steve awkwardly gripped three in his hands and brought them over to the table.

  “Is there something to celebrate?” she heard Frank ask.

  “Not yet, but maybe,” Steve said, leaning with both hands on the back of a chair. “My application for a review of the shale mine’s gone through. They’re sending someone next month to survey it.”

  “Great job, mate,” Bazza said.

  “Knew you’d come through.”

  They cheered their drinks, glass clicking against glass, and Mia turned away from them.

  “Do you remember how we used to play at the mine?” Mia asked. “It’s weird that it used to be a fun place.”

  “Yeah,” Rose said. “Are you thinking about him again?”

  “No,” Mia told her, “not really. It’s just weird to think about what that place was like before.”

  “It was always pretty horrible.”

  Mia wasn’t sure if she agreed. She’d go visit the place sometimes, think about his final moments. Right after graduation, her high school boyfriend had disappeared for three days. They found his body at the bottom of the mine. He’d jumped.

  “Cover for me,” Rose said from behind her.

  Rose was looking at her phone, a shocked look on her face as she rushed out to the back hallway.

  For a fleeting moment, Mia wondered who it could be to warrant that look of exhilaration. Her fingers went to the rose quartz that she wore on a chain around her neck, holding the cold rock, trying to find comfort.

  “Tell Steve,” she heard Baz say to Frank. Then he turned to Steve. “Honestly, you won’t believe this one.”

  “Why don’t you tell him?”

  “You tell it better.”

  “All right,” Frank said, and Mia leaned forward to listen. She’d heard them all laughing about something before, but hadn’t caught what it was.

  “So we get a call out to the wildlife sanctuary out in Baskerton.”

  “Yeah?”

  “When we get there it’s bloody mayhem. Ambulances, Japanese tourists running around screaming. It’s nuts. So we find this kid.”

  “That poor kid,” Buddy added.

  “He’s got his uniform on, probably only fifteen, and he’s just standing there, walking real slow in the grass. We make him give us a statement. He tells us a group of Japanese businessmen had come in from the city, wanted to see some real deal fauna.

  “So he’s showing them around. Telling them all about the mating practices of tiger snakes, or some such shit. But all they want to see is the kangaroos, you know?”

  Steve nodded, already smiling, waiting for the punch line.

  “So he brings these bloody idiots into the field where the roos are. They’ve got a red on
e there. Huge. Taller than Baz here. So the boss is trying to be the big man, you know. So he gives his camera to this poor kid and keeps going.” Frank put on a terrible Japanese accent. “Hoi take my photo, hoi!

  “The kid is telling him not to get too close,” Frank continued. “But he wants his picture, you know?

  “So he gets real close to the big red. Puts his fists up, posing, like he’s fighting it. The red’s not bothered, just chewing away, ignoring him. The kid’s telling him to keep his distance, but the guy keeps saying ‘Take my photo, take my photo,’ and all the other guys are laughing along. They’d probably been drinking.

  “The guy gets even closer, fists in the air, and the roo, he doesn’t even look at him, just swipes. Just one swipe.”

  “And?” said Steve.

  “Pulled his eyeball out.”

  The guys cracked up laughing.

  “That’s what the kid was doing. The red had jumped off when everyone started screaming. He was looking for it in the grass. The eye.”

  Frank banged on the table and took a swig of his beer, and all the men started snorting with laughter again.

  “So did you find it?” Steve asked.

  Mia went back to drying glasses; the image of a bloodied eyeball in the dry grass was enough. She didn’t want any more details to add to the visual.

  Father came up to the bar, looking a bit white. He annoyed Mia, although she would never admit it. He was a really friendly man with the kindest eyes she’d ever seen, but he was just too damn nice. It made her feel guilty for everything unchristian she had ever done, or even thought. It was as if he could sense her jealousy and that was why he’d appeared. To remind her that it was a sin.

  He put five empty beer glasses on the bar. He always did that, collected the glasses from the other guys so that she and Rose didn’t have to.