The Cave

Part 1

It was the summer holidays where the whether made you either extremely lazy or a fidgety sort of restless. It was also Thursday and thirteen year old Marc was confined to his room for breaking two plates and because he had hayfever.

Entirely miserable, he looked weakly outside, longing to have fun or, at least, to have a breeze whipping off his sweat.

He tried to call for water but what came up was a weak splutter that made him more aware of how weak he was. Marc let his eyes close, he had to waste the time til dinner somehow.

There was a small sound he was increasingly beginning to notice. A sort of scratching sound that he thought was probably rats or possums in the room. Then there was a thump. It came from the other side of the room.

And footsteps. It was a faint scratching sound that came closing to his bed and each time as the side came, Marc lost more of his interest in going to sleep. Then it stopped and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to keep his breathing slow and sleep-like. Hoping whoever it was would not notice him. Hoping they weren’t some psycho serial killer nor a friend playing a trick on him.

A hand brushed almost imperceptibly over his fingers. How desperately he wanted to pull the blanket entirely over himself, how he was clenching it so fiercely in his hands despite his attempts to look asleep. Before a pathetic whimper passed his lips, he shot upright in bed, staring with bulging eyes as the person in front of him.

A girl. About his age. Lowering his clenched fists, Marc realized he knew her. Perhaps in the second or third grade. He’d seen her at school a few times, even spoken to her sometimes.

She smiled at him and sat on the bed. He noted her hair was a pale blonde compared to its usual auburn and her skin colour seemed several shades lighter.

He gulped, his fears subsiding quickly. “Frieda, what are you doing in my room?”

She toyed with her hair, looking away from him. For a while it didn’t seem like she would reply. “Oh,” she said dismissively. “I heard you were sick.”

“How could you?”

“And your mum let me visit. So.”

“Mum let you in?” This time, he softened his voice a little. He didn’t want to frighten off his only company.

“Yep.”

“Okay…So you came to see me. Why?” He said, a bit surprised.

“Because you’re my friend.”

“I--I mean yea.”

“And friends care about each other.” She hadn’t looked at him since they had began talking, but now she looked at him. He blushed a little under her gaze and was quick to ask, “So, where do you live?”

Frieda cocked her head at him.

“Well, if you get sick, I can visit you. Y’know, to return the favour.”

“I don’t live anywhere. Not now.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, are you moving, you live off the streets?”

“Nope.”

Marc sounded a bit annoyed when he said, “Well, where are you going after visiting me?”

“I can’t go anywhere,” she said, lowering her head and playing with her hair some more. “I want to leave, I really do. But I’m stuck in a cave. You know that rocky place a little far from here?”

“You live in a cave?” Marc barked, eyebrow raised. Sometimes children were so hard to understand.

“I don’t live there. I’m just…trapped.”

He spoke as gently as possible. “But you’re here, Freida.”

Frieda turned to him. She looked a bit spooky, almost ghostly. “Am I, Marc?”

And then she was gone. Disappeared in front of his eyes, his gaping mouth. He ran his hand over where she just stood.

At dinner when he was allowed out of his room, he snottily asked her if there’d been any girl wanting to visit him and she frowned at him, saying now.

In bed, at night, he began thinking more deeply abut her. A ghost? Stuck in a cave. Could she be calling for help, was he hallucinating?