The Veils: Childhood Part One (complete)

Female Main Character x Male Monster

When I was little, I was sent to live with a distant relative. An accident had killed my parents, although I can’t really recall it. Aside from photographs, I can’t really recall much of my family before then. The first thing I could clearly picture was that house on the hill. It was old even then, with paint peeling off the sides and chipping off the columns. But it was the rolling sea of grass behind the house that stood out most, rolling into the distance, green as far as the eye could see. It waved in the wind, moving in a way that seemed very unlike grass.

My aunt - at least, that’s what I called her - took me in without hesitation. Aunt Fifi was a kind, doting woman with extremely curly hair, and she had bought the house in hopes of renovating it into a grand home full of rooms so she could take in kids as a foster parent. She already had one kid staying with her at the time, a boy around my age named Atticus, who was my first friend. Atticus eventually moved on, but I stayed with Aunt Fifi, and bit by bit we slowly restored the old house. Other kids passed through, coming and going throughout my life. But none were like Atticus.

After Aunt Fifi passed away, I kept repairing the house. I wanted to finish what she started and see the house complete. After that, I had no clue what I’d do. I’d always been there, and maybe I always would be.

I was packing up Aunt Fifi’s belongings. It had been months since her death, and I hadn’t been in there for some time. The floorboards were worn and partially stripped of varnish. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, ripped away in some places. I thought that by making her room as beautiful as possible, I could make it a loving tribute to her. I kept what I wanted of her things and boxed up the rest. I thought about donating them, but I’d been seeing lots of the kids she fostered, so I decided to keep them all in case any of the kids wanted a memory of her.

I could keep the boxes in the attic. As far as I recalled, there wasn’t much up there to begin with. I pulled down the ladder and hauled up my first box, tossing it inside. Then I peered around and was struck hard by nostalgia. I climbed the rest of the way up and stood in the attic, the light from the window illuminating the swirling dust I had stirred. Under the window was a small table with chairs drawn up around it and candles in tins on top, along with several notebooks.

This was where Atticus and I used to play, sitting at the table and pretending to be highly respected thinkers. We’d write down our ideas and stories in those notebooks, surrounded by old candles that Aunt Fifi had thrown away, although we never lit them as we weren’t allowed matches. I sat at the table, smoothing my hand over the names carved into the surface - ‘Atticus + Daisy’. Daisy? I didn’t remember a Daisy being here. I was a Margaret.

My memory had never been very good, but this seemed like such a sad thing to forget. This was where I spent most of my time with Atticus, and if Atticus held affections for a girl named Daisy, I surely would have remembered that. Although, even though I remembered him fondly, I could barely bring up his face. And I thought about Atticus often, especially since Aunt Fifi passed away.

I took a notebook and opened it; the dust on the cover smudged across my fingers. The pages inside were crisp, warped by blocky writing and the many, many words upon them.

“Daisy sits across from me, she’s talking about poetry. She thinks I’m writing it down, but I won’t. Instead I’ll write this and that. I think her eyes are pretty. I think that big freckle on the tip of her nose is cute. She still can’t remember that her birthday is coming up, but I’ll remind her. Like always, I’m the brain between us!”

I smoothed my hand over the passage. I guess even back then I was having some lapses in my memory. Then I saw a line written in faded yellow pencil, and moved closer to the window in order to read it. “Daisy hates the ocean. I hate the bathtub. We both drowned and now we’re here.”

A chill ran up my spine, then crashed back down into my gut and sank like a stone. I didn’t hate the ocean! I’d never even been there. But how could I be sure of that? I closed the notebook and laid it back on the table, in the space where there was no dust.

I returned to bringing the rest of Aunt Fifi’s things into the attic. My pulse was racing, and when I went to pick up a box my hands were trembling. I dropped the box, and Aunt Fifi’s things spilled out. It was mostly scarves, luckily, and I scooped them back into the box and hurried it up the ladder. I looked back towards the table, then quickly left again.

A few days later, a young woman who had been fostered by Aunt Fifi came by to pay her respects. I offered her something of Aunt Fifi’s and she happily accepted, so I made my way into the attic. I found the box of scarves, and one was already sticking out. I was about to grab it when I saw a shadow at the corner of the room, just out of the corner of my eye. I tried to follow it, but when I tried to look at it directly, I saw nothing.

I returned downstairs, gave the woman the scarf, and we sat and talked for a long time. “There was a boy here once,” she said thoughtfully. “He reminded me of that book, Harriet the Spy, because he always carried around a notebook. Remember him? Always watching people and listening to them. You two were joined at the hip, though.” She chuckled thoughtfully. “I can’t remember his name.”

I thought that Atticus had been long gone before she arrived. “I don’t recall that,” I said.

“You don’t?” She seemed surprised. “I guess you saw a lot of kids come through here,” she sighed. “They must all get muddled together.”

I looked out the window at the sea of grass, and thought I saw a kid playing outside. I furrowed my brow and moved closer to the window. “Do you have any kids?” I asked.

“Just one, a boy,” she replied. “I left him at home with his dad, though.”

The child outside dipped under the grass and appeared elsewhere, moving between the tufts like they were water. I felt a chill, and I stepped away from the window. “How old is he?” I asked.

“Five,” she said with a smile. “Never expected to have any and then bam, I’m in the delivery room.” Her laugh was so welcome to hear. The house had been devoid of it since Aunt Fifi passed.

After she left, I went to work on Aunt Fifi’s bedroom. I was taking down all the old wallpaper, and it was messy, nasty work. I had torn down what I could, but then I had to steam what remained, hoping it would peel away from the walls. It smelled disgusting, so I put on a face mask with some lavender inside to help cover it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the wallpaper off the wall so I can…” I stopped mid-sentence and turned around to see a little girl standing in the doorway. “What are… Who are…” I lowered the steamer and turned towards her.

“What color are you going to paint it?” the girl asked me, walking up to the wall and looking around.

“Green, maybe. I…” The little girl looked familiar. Her hair was up in a ponytail, with small lizard clips at the sides. She had freckles all over her face and her eyes were dark brown. “Where did you come from, sweetie? Do you need me to call your mom?”

The little girl didn’t answer as she hopped around the room, then stooped to pick up a piece of wallpaper from the floor. “How come you’re doing this?”

“To make it look nice.” I took off the face mask and went after her. “Come here. Tell me your name. You know you’re not supposed to go into strangers’ houses.”

“Why do you wanna make it look nice?” the girl asked me, tilting her head to the side. “Are you hoping someone will move in?”

I took the dirty wallpaper from her and laid it aside. “Young lady, I asked you a question first. It’s polite to answer somebody when they ask you a question. Not only that, you broke into my house.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Oh! So you live here alone?”

“I’m not sure I should answer that. Come along. I’ll call your parents.” I stood up and ushered the girl from the room, took her to the kitchen and made her sit down at the table. “Do you know your phone number?”

The girl shook her head. “No.”

I huffed. “Okay, then, what’s your family’s name? I’ll look it up in the phone book.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve not answered a single question I’ve asked.”

The girl frowned at me. “Yes, I have. I told you I didn’t know my phone number.”

I glared at her, and she just smiled back brightly. “Look, usually I appreciate a smart-mouthed child, but not when they’ve broken into my house. I need you to tell me how I can find your parents.”

“You can’t,” she said simply.

“I know I can’t. I don’t have anything to go off of besides the fact that you don’t know your own number! Do you at least know where you live?” I tried to go about it another way.

“Sure I do.” The little girl reached for the salt and pepper shakers on the table, then started playing with them like they were dancing together.

I came to the table and sat down. “Is it near here?”

The girl nodded. “You sure do ask a lot of questions. Don’t you know anything?”

“I know plenty of things.”

She looked across the kitchen at the fridge, which was covered in magnet calendars, lists, notes, and phone numbers. “What’s all that for?”

“My memory isn’t that great. So I make lots and lots of notes.”

The little girl went back to playing with the salt and pepper shakers. “Why can’t you remember?”

I instantly felt wary. My stomach churned, and my hands clenched tight. “You should go home,” I said abruptly. “Can you walk there from here?” I took the salt and pepper shakers away from her and led her towards the door.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. She stood on the front porch and looked up at me. “Why do you want me to go, though?”

“Because you’re trespassing.” I closed the door on her, locking it so she wouldn’t get in again. I scoffed “kids these days,” and went back to work in Aunt Fifi’s room.

The next day, I was taking trash to the end of the driveway. As I was heading back, I saw that same little girl sitting on the front porch. I huffed, preparing myself to try and direct her home again. “Young lady,” I said sternly to her. She was kicking her feet off the side of the porch, making a chain of dandelions. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a nice day,” the girl answered.

“Do you enjoy trespassing on people’s property? Is that a hobby of yours?” I walked up to her at the porch, watching her as she made her chain.

“I’ve seen lots of people here, though.”

I sat down beside her. “That’s because my aunt just died.”

The girl set the chain down in her lap and looked up at me. “Do you miss her?”

I wasn’t sure what to make of this kid. It was strange she kept coming here, but maybe she was told to play and had nowhere else to go. Maybe my house was just the easiest to wander to. Maybe it just looked more inviting than some of the other places around here. “Yes, of course,” I answered. “She raised me.”

“Why?” the girl asked.

I wanted to know why her questions bothered me so much. “Because she was the only relative I had who would.”

“What happened to your parents?” the girl asked. “Or can you not remember?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but the sound of the garbage truck startled me. I turned to watch the trash man toss the contents of the trash can into the truck, then hop back on. I sighed heavily. “Okay, sweetie, you can stay on my porch, but you can’t keep breaking into my house.” I stood up as she continued to make her dandelion chain. “There’s a hose around the side if you get thirsty.”

“Okay,” the girl said simply as I went back inside.

I turned on the small television in the kitchen as I set to washing some of Aunt Fifi’s things. Some of the frames and knickknacks had been sitting around for ages, never dusted, barely touched. They had a dirty film on them I wanted to wash off, so they’d be pretty and new when I displayed them in the finished room.

“A landmark lawsuit posed by the civil rights group Verge is contesting the recent studies being conducted on Veil-affected humans. They allege the studies are unconstitutional and barbaric, and are suing for the rights of those currently under study, as well as seeking damages for those affected in the past. This, along with the current ‘sea free’ seafood bill, has been causing a lot of uproar about the Veils and their intentions regarding humanity.”

I looked at the screen, seeing the pretty news anchor posed in front of one of the walls blocking off the beach. I could see the water just behind the wall, and it made my skin crawl.

“What are you watching?”

“Shit!” I exclaimed loudly and turned the TV off. “Kid, you scared me.”

The girl stood with the dandelion chain in hand. “I made this for you.” She held the chain up to me.

I exhaled slowly and approached her. “Thank you. But you can’t keep breaking into my house.”

I took the chain and the girl smiled, watching as it sat on my head like a crown. “What do you do here?” she asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

The girl rocked on the heels of her feet. “Yeah, but isn’t it boring to be alone? Even if you have TV?”

“And why do you want to be here?” I threw back at her.

The girl shrugged, then moved across the room to look at my cluttered fridge door. “Aren’t you married?”

“How old are you? The nerve!” I went back to washing a knickknack in the sink.

“But don’t you wanna be married?” the girl said dreamily. “You must have someone you like, don’t you?”

“That’s none of your business,” I scoffed.

The girl studied the notes on the fridge. “Who’s Atticus?”

I jerked up from the sink, sloshing water on myself in the process. I stormed over to her, turning her around to see she was holding an addressed letter. I snatched it from her and placed it back under a fridge magnet. “Has no one taught you manners?”

The girl shrugged. I marched her back to the door. “You can play in my yard and on my porch. But if you come into my house once more, I will call the cops.”

“That seems excessive. I’m a kid,” she scoffed at me.

“If you won’t tell me who your parents are, then the cops will.” I closed the door on her and went back to the kitchen. The letter for Atticus was hanging front and center, unearthed from all the notes and bills I kept tacked to the fridge door. The address was handwritten by Aunt Fifi, found among the things to be dealt with after she died. I hid it again behind the papers. I would get to it eventually, I told myself.

I took a frame apart so I could wash the glass. Inside I found two pictures - one of my graduation photos, and another hidden behind it. The picture was a grainy image of a boat with people on board. I heard screaming as I looked at it. My vision became blurry and my stomach churned. I raced to the back door, bending over the railing and vomiting. Once I was empty, I sat on the back porch, sobbing. But by the time I was done crying, I had forgotten the reason. It was just a picture that came with the frame, surely.

I went to the hardware store the next day, going over paint swatches until my eyes were strained. I picked up some supplies, put in an order for paint, and made my way home. I noticed the red flag on the mailbox was up when I got home, but I didn’t recall having mailed anything. I stopped to check, but only the new mail had arrived. I lowered the red flag, thinking it must have been a mistake by the postal worker.

I carried the supplies I had bought to Aunt Fifi’s room, taking out the wood cleaner to start scrubbing the floors. I was pouring a bucket of water when I heard the sound of running upstairs.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I turned off the water and set the bucket on the floor. “If it’s that damn kid again…” I grumbled as I stormed upstairs. I saw right away that the attic was open, and I could hear her footsteps above me. I crawled up the ladder and looked inside. “I know you’re here!” I snapped. “I told you what would happen if you sneaked in again. I don’t care that you’re a little girl.”

I saw that a new chair had been moved at the table under the window. There was also a notebook there I had never seen before. “Hello?” I barked again when the girl didn’t reveal herself. I went over to the table, pushing the chair back into place.

The journal had Atticus’ name written on the front, and ‘DO NOT OPEN’ scribbled in thick, indelible marker. I picked it up, seeing it was warped and fluffed out from so much use. Inside, some pages were taped together along the edges. Others were scribbled out completely with black marker. All supposed ‘spy tricks’ he had learned from a book he got at the library.

“This is a book of secrets,” the first page started out, “not meant to be read by the faint of heart. Everything contained in here is true and as seen by me! This is all meant to serve as a record one day, just in case anything should happen. I want to protect this house and the people who are in it. It is my job as the only man here to see to it.”

“I’ll start by saying that I am not the real Atticus xxxx.” The last name was scribbled out so hard, the page was ripped. “The real Atticus died in a bathtub five years ago, which is why I am here now. I was taken from that home and placed in a safe one. I don’t use bathtubs anymore. I’m not scared of them because Atticus died. I’m scared because I almost did.”

I stared at the page, almost laughing because this seemed like such a little-boy thing to do. And yet it was terrifying. I could almost remember Atticus talking about it once, but everyone created fantasy stories like that. Everyone used water as a sort of magical gateway in their fairy tales.

“I can’t explain it. I don’t even know if I could. I know I am me and yet I am not me. Everyone thinks I am Atticus, but I don’t remember him. I remember being afraid and seeing a strange, bright light. I felt lost, even when I opened my eyes. I was given to Aunt Fifi, so she never knew. She knew me now, even if I was Atticus. I wasn’t the real Atticus.”

“Daisy seems to understand. She told me that after the boat accident, she didn’t know who she was. She said it was as if her body wasn’t her own, more like something she had to wear. I understand that feeling. I walk around and try to remind myself I am me. In my head, at least. Everything makes sense there. I’m safe. But outside, everything is so big, so scary. I don’t know how to move sometimes. At least I have Daisy to talk to, someone who understands me.”

Who is Daisy? I couldn’t remember her at all, and it was starting to get to me. I put the notebook down, leaving it where I found it, then went back downstairs and continued to clean the floor in Aunt Fifi’s room.

In the kitchen the following morning, I found I hadn’t cleaned up my mess. The glass I was cleaning was still in the dingy, cold water, and the frame had fallen to the floor. I could only find my graduation photo, and I hung it on the fridge until I could get the glass dried.

I put the coffee pot on and looked out the window at the sea of grass. Atticus and I used to hide in the high stalks, snaking through them and playing all sorts of games. Sometimes we were tigers, other times we were soldiers. We ran down one path in the grass so often that we created a permanent track. I wondered if that path still existed. I wished my memory worked better, or at least in a way I could sort. I could remember these things, but I couldn’t even recall Atticus’ face if I tried.

I went outside with my coffee mug, searching along the space between the house and the sea of grass. The mornings lately were crisp, but held that new, fresh spring smell I loved so much. I found a worn section in the dirt, and parting the grass, I saw there was still a packed-dirt trail winding through it. I stepped onto the path, following it as far as I could.

The hill dipped into a slope, and I sat down, dangling my legs over the edge to touch the low ground. There was an overhang that created a long corridor between grass and earth, and Atticus and I used to hide here and make it our base of operations. I stooped down to look, and when I did I saw the little girl again, huddled and sobbing.

“Sweetie,” I said gently. “What are you doing here?”

The girl just continued to cry. “Are you hurt?” I asked gently. I set my coffee cup aside. “Talk to me, okay? Let me help you. Are you lost?”

“No,” she wept, rubbing her eyes and smearing dirt across her freckles.

“Then what’s wrong? Why do you keep coming here?” I held my hand out to her. “I can cook you a hot breakfast if you want.”

“I’m not hungry.” The girl scooted away from me. “I’ll never be hungry again!”

“Then will you at least come out?” I asked.

She turned away from me. “For goodness sake!” I sat down on the ground before her. “You’ve been pushing my buttons for over a week now! Why do you keep coming here, and why are you crying? If you’re in danger, I insist you tell me.”

“They took him away,” she wept.

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. “Took who away, sweetie?”

“My best friend,” she sobbed.

“Oh, I see.” Now it was all clear as day. “You’re upset because your friend is gone. Is that why you’ve been bothering me?”

“Maybe,” she pouted.

“I know what it's like to lose a friend,” I said.

“You don’t even have any friends!” the girl snapped at me. “You keep yourself alone here. What do you know about friends?”

I frowned at her. “Hey now, that’s not nice. I lost my best friend when I was your age. He used to live here, but he got adopted. It was really hard without him, too. So I understand why you’re so upset your friend went away.”

Behind me, I heard a car door slam shut. “Hello? Daisy, are you there?” a man called out.

I sighed with relief. “Oh, good, it must be your father.” I reached for my coffee cup. “Wait a second. Your name is Daisy?”

The girl darted off before I could catch her. “Wait a second!” I chased after her, following her through the waving field of green.

“Daisy! Hello? The door is open!” the man called out.

I lost sight of the little girl, so I walked out where I went in. The man was standing there, looking confused, but he had a big smile on his face. “I’m so sorry. She got away from me.”

I wiped at my brow, then chucked my coffee out. It was cold and full of grass. “Who got away?”

The man laughed. There was something about his crooked smile, and the way his front teeth seemed too perfect but a little too big.

“Daisy,” I panted. “I was talking to her, and then she just darted off.”

The man’s brow crinkled as he laughed. “Well, if there’s no Daisy, then who might I be talking to?”

“Margaret,” I chuckled.

The man tilted his head to the side. “Margaret? Sounds awful grown up, doesn’t it?”

I had to laugh too. “Oh, yeah? Then what’s your name?”

He looked concerned again. “It’s me. Don’t you…” He took a pause as his blue eyes looked me over, and then he laughed again. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve been without your brain all these years. I’m sorry. Let me start over. It’s Atticus.”

My jaw dropped. “Oh!” I was flabbergasted and I could barely breathe. I broke into a grin and managed to huff out a laugh. “Atticus! Oh my god!” I ran to him, throwing myself into his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the letter!” he announced brightly. “The one from Aunt Fifi. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know she passed away.”

“Letter?” I murmured as we broke the hug. “What letter?”

Atticus reached into his back pocket and pulled out the letter, the one that had been hanging on the fridge. “She asked me to come here and take care of you. She was afraid you’d be alone.”

I shook my head. “But I hadn’t…” I ran my fingers through my hair.

“You still got missing marbles?” Atticus asked. “Do you still keep a memo pad with you?”

“Yeah. I mean…” I took a step back. “Wait a second Aunt Fifi asked you to move here?”

“She asked, but I figured I’d stop by and see you before that happened. Let’s go inside and talk.”

Atticus led me back inside. “Oh, wow, this place looks different.” He washed out my coffee mug, then refilled it for me. His eyes wandered about the kitchen in awe. “The same, but different. This shelf used to be over there. And the table used to be by that window.” He sounded excited as he pieced it all back together.

“We’ve been working on the house every day since then,” I replied. I took my new cup of coffee into my hand.

“What all have you done?” Atticus looked out the window, probably trying to find Daisy.

“Oh, you just have to look around and see. I can’t even remember all the work we’ve done on the place since you left. Hell, I even made remodeling into a business for myself, that’s how good I got at it.”

“No kidding?” Atticus turned away from the window. “You can keep track of all that?”

“I’m not helpless!” I laughed. “What about you? What are you doing?”

Atticus finally took a seat at the table. “Good question! Very good question.” He looked directly at me, a smile on his face. “I’m one of the head lawyers for Verge.”

Static filled my brain. “That Veil rights group?”

“The Veil rights group,” he chuckled.

“You just issued that huge lawsuit last week,” I murmured.

He nodded. “I did. I’m the one who wrote it.”

“That’s amazing!” I gasped. “I never would picture you as a lawyer! How did you get involved with the Veil movement?”

Atticus’ smile faded, and his eyes grew serious. “I’m a Veil.”

All the air was sucked from the room. “No.” I wanted to burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious? When? How? Did Atticus… did he die?”

The Atticus in front of me shrugged and made a face. “It’s a long story. I mean, yes, at one point, the original Atticus did die, but… that was before I even knew you. I’ve been a Veil since I was five. Or since this body was five. I don’t know my real age.”

“You’ve been a Veil all this time?” I whispered.

“Well, yeah, it certainly explained a lot. The family that adopted me did so because they suspected I was. They were Veils, too. Remember? They wanted to adopt you too because you drowned, and you were…”

I bolted upright, knocking over the chair I was sitting in and the coffee mug in my hand. I started breathing hard and shaking my head.

“Easy now, easy!” Atticus stood and approached me, but I shook him off. “Calm down, it’s okay.”

I heard the little girl screaming outside. I raced away from Atticus and out the back door. “Wait! Come back here! What’s wrong?” Atticus chased after me.

I heard the scream again in the grass, and I waded in furiously with Atticus trailing behind me. The grass whipped against my skin, leaving scratches. I forgot about the gap on the slope, and I tripped and fell, hitting the ground hard. My vision blurred as I gazed up at the sky. Everything was spinning.

“Oh, my god! Are you okay?” Atticus hopped down and helped me up. “What the hell happened?”

“She was screaming. I thought…” I felt nauseous.

“What screaming?” Atticus brushed my hair away from my forehead.

“Daisy,” I grumbled. “The girl.”

“What girl?” He looked all around us. It was quiet except for the sound of the wind rustling the grass. “And Daisy? What do you mean? You’re Daisy!”

“No… That’s not…”  I shook my head. “Put me back down. I want to lie down.”