𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 • To You, From The Pacific Winds 🌬

IV

          "So, what is it that you do, Meredith?" said a girl.

          I peered up from my pudding, bewildered. It was the same nosy one who asked if I was staying forever. I heard people call her Olive.

          I didn't exactly want everyone there to know right away that I could rot their limbs clean off. Besides, one question will lead to another and another and another, and in no time, they'd know I was here because I killed someone.

          "Well," I started calmly, voice strained from disuse, "It's not a pretty... what do you call it again? It's not a pretty peculiarity."

           I wasn't assertive enough, clearly. Instead of doubling down, they swarmed me with encouragements, silly little jargons that peculiarity equals potency. It's okay, Meredith, we're all oddballs. It's alright, come on. Even Emma leaned in, almost imperceptibly, the ribbon on her collar dangling dangerously over her gravy boat.

          I eyed Miss Peregrine expectantly, but she merely nodded.

          "It's nothing brilliant, really," I finally succumbed, "My hands can decay things very quickly. So, er, don't expect a demonstration."

          Relief washed over when I saw no tell-tales of reprehension among the children. The children oohed and aahed with interest more than revulsion. Among Millard's airy-fairy invisibility and Horace's clairvoyance, it made sense if they wanted me to stay an ocean away.

          "Oh!" said Olive, "That's fascinating! Actually!"

          "It really is. But it must be very troublin' at times, no? You let me know if there's somethin' you need help with, you hear?" said the curly-haired girl sympathetically. Bronwyn, Horace had called her.

          "There's nothing I can't do with a jolly pair of gloves," I reassured her, gave my glove-clad fingers a waggle. "So, you shouldn't worry about me escaping housework."

          A smattering of polite laughter ensued, phantom pat on my tense, tense back.

          It felt odd to be this light-hearted about my peculiarity. Back when I lived with Pa, we still could never shy away from it. I'd ask for another pair of gloves now and again, and he'd warn me to hide my hands whenever someone paid a visit outside work hours. It was almost another person in the household. But all the same, it was a private taboo between Pa and I – never was it referred to by a name as quaint as a 'peculiarity'. A slight jerk of the head, an awkward purse of the lips and we'd know what we were talking about.

          Now here it was, put on a glowing niche and made as essential to my person as the name Meredith.

          The group finished supper after another round of chatter. They talked about each other's peculiarities, now. Everyone was equally as unique that, ironically, all became nothing but a blur of names and oddities. One or two were memorable – Emma's fire-making, Enoch's quasi-necromancy and the Bruntley siblings' superhuman strength.

          "Alright, children," Miss Peregrine said eventually, standing up and dusting the front of her dress. "Tidy up and early to bed, now."

          "But Miss, may we show Meredith the changeover?" Olive whined. "Please? It's become a tradition now, hasn't it?"

          "I'm afraid we can't, Miss Elephanta. I've gotten quite ill from the trip, unfortunately," she said, with a boldness that was sure to shut down all retort. She indeed looked pallid. "We'll be sure to show Miss Abraham soon. But I don't think today, is that alright?"

          She turned to me, and I met her with a grateful nod. It was late, and despite my long sleep, I was still lethargic.

          The children went and tidied up without further ado, Olive somewhat sulkily doing so while Enoch picked on her for being vetoed by Miss Peregrine. I helped as much as I could, though there were more than enough people to man the garbage bins and sink five times over. They operated like clockwork, and in no time they all thundered upstairs to their room, chorusing 'goodnights' at one another (even to me) and Miss Peregrine. I was the last to leave after a 'goodnight' of my own.

          I lumbered up the dim staircase, hazily admiring the many photographs that hung on the walls enclosing it. Without fail, each one held a fantastical twist – a six-headed sloth here, a bat-winged boy there.

          None shocked me as much as seeing Emma by my door when I arrived, though.

          We stood there in the dark, staring face-to-face for the first time. I wasn't sure it counted, actually. I couldn't see her face. Outlined by the weak glow from my room, her tall figure looked to me like a lone shadow, so far removed from the silver spectre she was at supper. I bade her a stiff wave and turned away, thinking I had taken a wrong corner.

          "No, no, this is your room," she chuckled. She spoke with a Welsh lilt, low and lovely. "The people want to know if you liked the sea bass."

          "It was finished before I could have any, sadly."

          "Oh," she said. A pause. Shuffling of the feet. "Then what about fish in general?"

          "They're alright when they're seasoned well," I said, grimacing inwardly at how blunt I sounded. "But no, yes, they're grand. I love fish."

          "Alright," she said, "then consensus says we go to the beach tomorrow. I mean, all of us."

          "That sounds lovely." More shuffling from the both of us. I counted to five to make sure she had nothing else to say. "So, goodnight, then?"

          "Goodnight," she said.

          I made my way past her and into the bedroom, when she jammed the door with her foot.

          "Wait," she said, and reopened the door, exposing her face to the faint moonlight.

          I lifted my head to look at her eyes. They were clear as day, bright and rounded, ringed by translucent eyelashes. I had never seen eyes that colour before, a blue so faint it was almost silver. They just about matched her grommets.

          "You should see the reset at midnight, through the window. It's when the day rewinds? It's quite interesting, anyhow" she said, curt as ever. "If you want to that is. It feels odd to not show a newcomer the reset."

          "I'll try," I said, my voice hoarse from surprise. "I'll tell you how it goes?"

          "I think I know it well enough," she said, letting out that chuckle that made you want to kick yourself.

          I watched her walk away, then when I couldn't anymore, listened to her light footfalls peter away upwards. Only when I couldn't sense her anymore was I able to breathe.

          Emma shared something with the likes of Salome Durham and her beautiful siblings, a breed of clean, fragrant, asserting people. In the crazed moment that I saw Salome in her, my mind warped her form, mangled it so terribly. Her wide eyes not blue but brown, her hair a slick stream of brown, her pale body painted the unmistakable black of rot.

          What have you done?

          What have you done to her?

          She was a hell sent avenger on a mission to fling me over the cliff, onto the razor-sharp rocks, into the sea. My head hurt too much to think otherwise.

          I slinked into the bed and beneath the blankets in a stupor. Sleep had become as evasive as a housefly. I tossed and turned profusely; every minor discomfort amplified tenfold on the unfamiliar surface.

          The ceaseless howling of the sea, the not-sodistant roar of airplanes rattling the windows. The sore burning of my eyes vetoed again and again by my racing mind.

           What have you done to her?

          The most peculiar thing yet, was that I managed to sleep that night.