The Price

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The soft licks of heat lapping my face, melting the frost that clung to the world. I watched my neighbours, my friends and family, run from what threatened to devour them; I watched their attempts all be for nought, for the fire swallowed them up. My world burned before my very eyes, leaving in the fire’s wake a barren wasteland.

By the time I stepped outside, my world had already been forsaken.

*

A sharp chill clung to the air as I breathed in the scent of autumn, my heavy black boots crunching over an array of colourful leaves; red, orange, brown and yellow, all fluttering down from towering trees above. The pavement below my feet was sugar dusted with fine frost that glittered in the October sunshine and I pulled the sleeves of my red knitted jumper down to cover my chilled hands. I turned the corner that led to my parents’ house and saw it looming in the distance; standing apart from all the others, with its rickety gate, wonky, Victorian structure, which had always reminded me, and unfortunately all the other children in my village, of a witch’s house. The graveyard probably never helped, I remarked drily to myself, the garden gate screeching shut behind me.

I made my way up to the front door and its old-fashioned iron knocker, with a backpack full of groceries for my parents, and let myself into the dark house. The colour I had last painted the walls still remained; a deep, burning burgundy, with blackout curtains to help ease my mother’s migraines, which she had suffered from since having a stroke a year previous, and then frequently after. I often joked that it was like walking into a furnace.

“Jenna,” my father’s gentle voice sounded first, then the familiar, rhythmic clunking of his walking stick as he hobbled towards me. He spread one arm and drew me into a tight hug, smelling like smoke from the fire they kept raging all day every day. “How are you?” He asked as he drew back, leading me through to the living room.

“I’m fine, dad,” I said, half swinging the backpack off, so it hung from one shoulder. “How are you? How’s mam?”

At that, his smile faltered. “Ah, well she’s – it doesn’t look promising, Jenna.”

I set the bag down on the kitchen table and began unpacking groceries, determined not to cry. “Has she seen Doctor Thom this week?”

My father nodded somewhat gravely, setting the kettle over the stove; I had been at them for years to buy a modern kettle, one that didn’t require a lit stove to boil the water, but they had remained partial to the old one and that seemed to be unchanging. “Doctor Thom says it’s a matter of waiting now, the medication helps to control it, but it’s not a cure.”

Pain, so intense, shot through my chest and spread across my body. I found myself unable to speak, so instead I nodded and accepted the cup of tea my father handed me, grateful for the mug scalding my hands distracting me from thoughts of my mother. I took a seat on the sofa opposite my dad, looking at the lines on his labour-weathered face, the grey of what remained of his hair. I swallowed the lump that lodged itself in my throat; soon, I would be without them both.

Perhaps sensing my torment, my father smiled at me, asked me how my fiancé Brandon was. I gulped a mouthful of tea, “he’s okay,” I said. “He’s starting a job at the newspaper next week and I think he’s really excited.”

“That’s excellent, love,” my dad’s voice was coated in warm honey. “And how are you doing – have you been okay?”

I offered him a lopsided twitch of my lips, “yeah, not much changed in my life since the last time I saw you, just work and more work.”

“No rest for the wicked.”

A silence fell for a beat, broken only by the sound of tea drinking. I stared into the depths of my mug, the tea made from tea leaves instead of teabags reminding me that my mother used to read our tea leaves once upon a time, a better time. She always claimed to have the gift of sight, though I never believed her.

“Can I go up and see mam?” I asked eventually.

My dad nodded, “aye, she might be asleep, but if she’s not she’d be really pleased to see you.”

I got to my feet, setting my mug down on the table and headed for the spiral staircase that led me up towards my mother.

She looked smaller than I remembered, tucked up in the queen-sized bed that she shared with my father, more grey too. She was awake, just barely, when I entered the room and she mumbled my name with a small, exhausted smile. I crossed to the bed as quietly as I could and lowered myself onto the edge gently, taking her papery hands in mine, suddenly choked by tears.

“Jenna,” my mother whispered. Just ‘Jenna’, over and over again, weary eyes tracing my face, and I realised then that she was trying to memorise me so that she would never forget what I looked like.

Overwhelmed, I raised my hand to touch her cheek softly and she smiled and closed her eyes; I was unable to look fully at her, the memory of her once being such a strong, vivacious woman plagued me as I looked at her now, so quiet and frail, so I focused instead on her bedside table. That’s when I saw the old scrap of paper, a name written in blood red ink:

Clauneck.

I frowned, curiosity getting the better of me, I pocketed the scrap of paper surreptitiously. When I looked back at my mother, I saw she had already dozed back off, so I planted a feather-light kiss on her forehead, before turning to leave the room, my heart aching in my chest.

*

The café smelled like spices, cinnamon, ginger and coffee. Unable to face going home for a little, I stopped in to get a cinnamon latte as a little treat that I indulged in every autumn when all the coffee shops brought out their seasonal drinks, so I sat at a small, round table with one chair by the window and stared out unseeingly as I sipped the sugary coffee. I was halfway through the mug when I heard the most curious thing, not being a great believer of coincidences myself, my interests were more than piqued:

“Cappuccino for Clauneck!” Called out the barista, handing over the mug to a tall, well dressed man, who turned around and caught me staring in disbelief.

The dark haired man smiled knowingly, “strange name, I know.” He drifted over to me, “mind if I sit?”

Stunned, I shook my head.

Clauneck pulled up a chair, setting his mug down on the table, “my parents were a little…different. But, what about you? What’s your name?”

“Jenna Walsh.”

“Jenna…no relation of Diedre Walsh?”

I blinked in surprise, “how do you know my mother?” My right hand snaked its way into my pocket to clutch the slip of paper there.

Clauneck smiled again, “I’ve been counselling your mother, terribly sad what’s happening to her.”

The coffee burned my mouth as I took a sip, for lack of anything to say, trying to remember if my parents had ever mentioned counselling or any kind of emotional support for my mother. But, I supposed, she would not have Clauneck’s name written down if she did not know him.

“Has it- has it been helping?” I asked, setting my mug back down.

“I certainly hope so. Listen,” Clauneck lowered his voice and leaned forward, “I can help you to help your mother, if that’s what you want; I’m involved in some experimental treatments for people like your mother.” Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he got to his feet. “Why don’t you meet me tonight at eight, by the Railway Inn, and we can discuss it more then? Goodbye for now, Jenna.”

And, with that, he left; I had not noticed how much colder the café had been when he was in it.

Meet me tonight at eight.

The words reverberated inside my skull, dizzying, as I tried to force forkfuls of spaghetti Bolognese down my throat that night, Brandon watching me in concern. It could be anything, a trap, a scam; I could end up murdered or the victim of fraud, or assault, but the chances of me learning of two different people called Clauneck (when I’d never even heard the name before) seemed to slim to dismiss it as coincidence.

“Jenna, are you okay?” Brandon asked, his eyes fixed steadily on me.

I tried to reanimate myself somewhat, “yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I met my mam’s counsellor today and he offered me different treatment options, less conventional ones. He said we should meet to discuss them a bit more.”

Brandon chewed his lower lip, a frown knitting two eyebrows into one. “I didn’t even know your mam had a counsellor – did he give you a name?”

“Clauneck,” I replied, still attempting to find anything appetising. 

“Clauneck? I think I’ve-“ Brandon paused abruptly, the way he so often did when overcome with thought. “That sounds familiar to me…”

I shrugged, “it’s not a common name, so maybe my parents did mention it and I just forgot until now.”

“Maybe…do you want me to come with you tonight?”

I smiled, leaning across the table to give him a long, lingering kiss, “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he said when we broke apart, though his face still showed uncertainty.

Cold, October air engulfed me as I stepped out of my warm house and into the dark night. My feet slipped slightly on the frosty ground, I grabbed the fence for support and felt the cold melt instantly from the warmth of my hand. The Railway Inn was mere minutes from my house, which was one of the benefits of living in a small village, though at this time of year it would have the fire roaring and be packed with bored locals, already sick of the dark autumn nights, making the place unbearably humid.

Clauneck stood outside with his coat collar turned up; he looked like Dracula. I almost laughed out loud. He raised a large hand in greeting, “it’s busy in there,” he said, “why don’t we go for a walk?”

Though my instinct said no, my desire to help my mother got the better of me and I agreed. We walked on through the night, away from the pub and away from eavesdropping locals. I wasted no time on pleasantries, though he himself seemed disinclined to make idle chit chat, “how can you help my mam?” I asked, “I don’t want to waste any time on false treatments that just cost money.”

Clauneck laughed and shook his head, “I wont waste your money, I always follow through on my word. Jenna, what would you give to help your mother? And I don’t just mean ease her symptoms, I mean cure her.”

“The doctor said-“

“I know what the doctor said,” interrupted Clauneck, “I’m asking you what you’d give for it to be possible.”

For a moment, I felt tears constricting my throat, then eventually I breathed out, “anything, I’d do anything to save her.”

“I thought you might say that.”

“Is there something your treatment can do that the doctors can’t?”

Clauneck opened his mouth to answer, when our conversation found itself disturbed by the shrill ringing of my phone. Grimacing, I mouthed an apology before answering it, and Brandon’s voice exploded in my ear:

“Jenna,” he said, “this is going to sound really weird, but I know where I heard the-“

I cut him off urgently, “Brandon, can you give me a minute? I’ll be home soon; I just need to finish up here. I promise I’ll be back shortly and then we can talk about whatever this is.”

“Jenna, wait-“

“Love you, I’ll see you soon.”

I switched off my phone and stowed it back in my pocket, “sorry, you were just about to say?”

Clauneck smiled a cat-like smile, “if you put your name down, I can see what I’ll be able to do for you,” he produced what looked like a sign-up sheet from his coat pocket. “Just names for the system,” he assured me, handing me the sheet and a pen.

I took them, signed my name, wondering what could possibly go wrong from a simple signature.

“Wonderful,” he said smoothly, “I’ll be in touch, Jenna, I’ll speak to you very soon.”

He was an odd man, I thought to myself, as I turned to leave, but he might just be my mother’s saviour.

“I know where I know your mother’s counsellor from,” said Brandon, the moment I shut the front door behind me, clearly not bothering with pleasantries was a common theme for the night. He took my hand and led me over to where his laptop sat on the table. “Clauneck is a faith healer, a miracle worker. In short, he’s a fraud. I’m sorry, Jenna.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them back. “That’s okay,” I whispered, “it was too good to be true.”

Brandon took me in his arms, “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to help your mam, but no harm done to her, right? Or you.”

I nodded, the tears finally falling, and allowed him to tuck me into bed like one would a small child. Overcome by exhaustion, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and awoke in the early morning to a call from my mother.

“Jenna, what have you done?” She said in horror when I picked up the phone. “What did you do?”

My heart froze in my chest, “what do you mean? I met Clauneck, he- he said he’d been helping you.”

My mother groaned, an anguished, animal sound. “No, no, no, no. Jenna, you have no idea what you’ve done. He wasn’t helping me.”

“He said he could heal you?”

“And he did, for a price. Everything has a price.”

I felt as though all the air had gone from my lungs as Clauneck’s words, what would you give, came back to me with a new, sickening clarity, and I realised Brandon’s warm body was not in the bed next to me.

“What’s the price?” I asked, terror ripping through me as I bolted out of the bedroom, already on my way downstairs.

“What did you say you’d give?”

“Anything,” I admitted, horror like ice in my veins.

My mother’s sobs echoed down the line, “then he took everything. Your dad, he’s – he’s gone too. You made a deal with a demon, my soul for anything and everything else.”

“A demon? No, there’s no such thing – this can’t be happening.” I felt as though I had woken from nothing into a living nightmare.

“It is, though.”

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I dropped the phone, a scream tearing at my throat, so awful that at first I did not think it was mine. I ran towards him, fell to my knees, coming face to face with Brandon; from a distance it had looked like blood, but then I realised, his skin had been burned off, melted, bubbling, but he was long dead. I cradled his lifeless body in my trembling arms, tears streaming down my face. The kitchen stank of rancid, burning flesh, and even in my petrified state I wondered how I had not heard him, for he must have screamed in agony. I thought, unwillingly, of him burning alive, the flesh melting from his bones, and I felt nausea rise within me. Up until I had laid eyes on my now-late fiancé, I had not fully believed my mother’s words.

We were due to be married in two months’ time, we were supposed to be together, and my rashness, my selfish need to fix everything had ruined that; perhaps if I’d taken his call the night before seriously I would have thought twice about signing my name.

Everything has a price, Jenna. Clauneck’s voice came to my mind, overpowering my attempts to drive his contact out. I asked you what you’d trade, so surely you must have known, you just didn’t care if it meant saving your mother. I knew you’d be in that café; I knew you’d say yes.

“That’s not true!” I sobbed, my head splitting with pain. “I didn’t know!”

You didn’t try to find out, all you cared about was the fact that you couldn’t bear to lose your mother; you didn’t even ask her if she wanted to live, and now look what you’ve done. You might have heard him screaming, you know, if I hadn’t torn out his vocal chords first.

And then Clauneck’s voice was gone, leaving me sick and cold and horrified.

“Brandon,” I screamed, over and over again. “No, wake up! Please, Brandon, wake up!” it was like a morbid stuck record, and I screamed until my throat was as raw as his flesh. That’s when I saw it, out the kitchen window. Almost in a trance, I rose to my feet and headed outside; I had offered him everything, so he had taken it.

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The soft licks of heat lapping my face, melting the frost that clung to the world. I watched my neighbours, my friends and family, run from what threatened to devour them; I watched their attempts all be for nought, for the fire swallowed them up. My world burned before my very eyes, leaving in the fire’s wake a barren wasteland.

By the time I stepped outside, my world had already been forsaken.