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Back Things that Fall from the Sky
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. A Walled-In Girl
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. The Five Lightning Strikes of Hamish Mackay
  31. The Five Lightning Strikes of Hamish Mackay
  32. A Mermaid Splashing
  33. 1
  34. 2
  35. 3
  36. 4
  37. 5
  38. 6
  39. 7
  40. 8
  41. 9
  42. And That was The End of That
  43. 1
  44. 2
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  48. 6
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  50. 8
  51. 9
  52. 10
  53. 11
  54. 12
  55. 13

Hamish was buried in Crossbost churchyard.

Regards,
Mary MacKay

A Mermaid Splashing

A MERMAID SPLASHING

1

1

The screaming wakes me up. What’s the matter with that girl? Why’s she making that noise? She’s quite normal in the day, but it’s like she’s possessed at night.

Luckily, Pekka gets up. The bed grows cold when he goes upstairs, though.

If I were here by myself, I wouldn’t go and see her, no way. I’d stay safe inside in my own bed and wait for it to end. It would have to end at some point. What a racket.

The stairwell’s so cold at night. You’re best off not moving until the heat pump comes on again. At night it’s like the whole house belongs to someone else: definitely not me, anyway.

There are too many outside doors in this house: one to the front garden and one to the back garden. The cellar and the woodshed have their own doors, too. And you can get in and out through all of them. I want my own way out, a hidey-hole just for me.

It’s hard to get a grip on the place. The walls and doors have different tenses – something was there, something isn’t there any more, something could be installed there. I hadn’t got the hang of those four outside doors until I was awake one night and I started imagining a fire again.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve imagined fires when I can’t get to sleep. I make a mental list of the things I’ll take with me and I plan which way I’ll run and wonder if the door handles will be too hot to touch by now. The houses, doors and things have changed over the years, but the fire stays the same. My old flat was on the fourth floor and there I often thought of jumping off the balcony. Should I jump, or should I burn? It’s hard to know until you’re actually in the situation.

Towards the end of September, the nights started getting colder. I asked Pekka to put a proper latch on the cellar door. I had the feeling something was trying to creep in. Chill or damp or a field mouse. I don’t want anything to come in through that door apart from home-made apple jam.

And then there are the windows. Once, in summer, I was woken up by a bat flying over the bed! It flew round and round and round, bumping against the lamp every now and then. God! I buried myself under the quilt, head and toes covered, and started shouting. I was yelling in Swedish without even realizing. Pekka took the quilt off me and started massaging my calf, thinking I had cramp again. At last I managed to switch back to Finnish. I’m like, ‘Baaaat!’ at the top of my voice. Pekka only realized then that there was something fluttering above his head. He got up and the bat came down. I squeezed myself against the bed as flat as I could. I think I screamed.