Healing - Book One

eight

I feel genuine sadness as I cling to Aggie at the gate. She hugs me tight, before forcing me away.

"You're going to be fine, Violet. Promise me you'll write to your mother and father? They're going to miss you terribly."

I nod, fighting back tears so not to show weakness in front of the other children. They stand in a group behind me, already having said their farewells. Aggie clutches her handbag in her manicured fist and trots out the gate as the sun begins to set in the backdrop. I watch her disappear out of view, unsure of when I may see her again.

I scurry back indoors, not wishing to converse with anybody at this moment. Instead I dash back up to my bedroom and shut the door on the outside world. I retrieve my letter set from the depths of my drawers and get to work on writing home - I want Aggie to know I'll be alright. However, I begin with a letter to the house in Oxford.

Dear Mother, Father and Rosanna (if she's home.)

I'm getting along just fine - you needn't have worried! I've made many friends already, and the headmistress is far from a lunatic. In fact, she's very intelligent, and I do not feel alone in the slightest - since everybody's like me.

If you'd like I could send you the address of the house, if you'd ever want to visit. I promise to write often, and I miss you all dearly.

Love always, your Violet.

I write almost the same to Aggie, except without the passive-aggressive comments and more outpourings of joy. I address both of the envelopes and seal them.

I make my way back downstairs with the letters in hand; the house is pretty much silent. Everyone must be getting changed or something of the sort. My shoes produce a satisfying 'tap' against the wood of the staircase. I hear footsteps from the living room, and so poke my head around the doorframe to check it's the person I'm seeking. Sure enough, Miss Peregrine is gliding around the bookshelves in the living room clutching a feather duster. She sweeps it across the book spines and the surfaces of the shelves.

"Miss Peregrine?"

The headmistress spins around on her heel, smiling when she spots me.

"How can I help you, Violet?" She asks from her position across the room. I extend my arms away from my chest to make the letters visible.

"I'd like to post these tomorrow, but I need stamps."

"Ah, wonderful. If you run those up to Enoch, he'll drop them off at the post office when he goes into the village tomorrow." My heart sinks just a little bit, bothered at the fact I'll be swamped by the boy's negativity again. Reluctantly, I exit the lounge and creep upstairs. Immediately, I'm puzzled at which door could be his. My first idea involves trial and error, and I dash that thought away. However, I needn't think any more, because I spy Bronwyn making her way out from her bedroom.

"Bronwyn!" I call. The little girl turns to me and stands to attention - like a pint-sized soldier. "Which door is Enoch's?"

"On the right hand side, third from the left end." She says cheerily, before jumping down the stairs.

I inch down the hall in question until I find the third door from the end. Hesitantly, I give the door three, short knocks. No answer. I try again - however to no avail.

"Is anyone in there? It's Violet."

Nothing happens again - he mustn't be in. Tentatively, I grasp the door handle and push down - a familiar 'click' tells me he's left his door open. Upon pushing it open, I'm taken aback to see the walls stacked with jars of all sizes. Within these are what appear to be hearts, suspended in a pickle-green solution. Very little light is allowed in as the curtains are closed. The bed is unmade, the desk in the centre of the room is in disarray and a sinister-looking collection of mutilated baby dolls are shoved into a chest in the corner.

My attention is dragged from the disorganisation of the room by the definite feeling of being watched. Slowly, I turn myself back to face the door and jump when I see the boy himself standing in the doorway. His expression is, once again, miserable, and he clutches a brown paper bag in his hands.

"What are you doing in here?" He snarls, placing the bag down on the closest shelf to the door. "I don't need a constant stream of visitors."

"Miss Peregrine told me to hand these over," I flick my wrist towards him in order to present the letters. "She told me you'd post them for me."

The boy grunts - presumably somewhat agreeing - and snatches the letters from my hands. He pushes past me and dumps them onto his desk, probably never to be seen again. I try to contain my disappointment by attempting conversation.

"What's in the bag?" I gesture to the paper bag Enoch had just left on the shelf.

"Take a look for yourself if you're that bloody interested." He growls as he takes his seat behind his desk; he begins to fiddle with a doll which was lying sadly on a pile of books.

Cautiously - not quite trusting him - I use my forefinger to pry open the fold on the bag. Immediately, an odd metallic aroma is released. Upon further investigation, I see crimson mass inside. I jump backwards at the sight of the fresh hearts and begin to back out of the door.

"You're sick." I inform him, however I don't receive a second glance as I return to my sanctuary.