Nightly rituals. Belladonna Brown, the only child of Peita and Byron Brown, enjoyed her rituals.
The housekeeper would make sure she had bathed and eaten and tucked her into bed before retiring to the nearby cottage she lived in.
Belladonna would pretend to sleep with one ear open for the latch on the door, signaling freedom. Sneaking out from under the covers, nightgown in hand, making a beeline for the kitchen. Milk and bread and a comfortable position at the bay window, she waited. Crumbs on her nightdress were the signal that they would arrive. Dusting herself off Belladonna perched on her knees and peered out the window, waiting. Her grandfather, whom she never met, would send her a token at C
hristmas, last year a wooden spinning top. She placed herself affront the toy like a master of chance and spun it.The world seemed to end off the cliff that the estate sat on. The only signs of life, a lighthouse somewhere distant on the horizon.
She new she would get in trouble for being awake, but it had become a game. Her parents would pretend to be mad, but the time they spent away from their only daughter meant that they both enjoyed the little girls mischief. Greeting her with huge warm hugs, a playful spank on the bottom and a promise not to tell the housekeeper if she promised to clean her room. A bargain struck.
But not tonight.
Lights in the mist. Routine. The car rounded the corner and continued up towards the entrance of the estate. On time.
For as long as she would live she would recall what happened next in detail. No blinker. Irregular. No break. The car continued at pace to the gates, not slowing. The little girl could see her fathers hands on the steering wheel, then not, she saw his eyes, in an blink. Illuminated by the fog lights at the gate and the reflection of the wood grain dash, he was in distress. Open wide, then clenched in pain, perspiration ran down his forehead. Belladonna and her father shared their last look, she would never know if he saw her too, she saw him. His pupils dilated then clouded like mist on the bluff, his head lolled, ricoching from one brick pillar to another before spinning like a whirling durvish disappearing over the horizon.
The toy spun on the floor, her parents spun in the air.
She never saw them again.
Stay tuned....
