Chapter 1

It’s not always bad to be different.
Sitting below the skeletal remains of a large oak tree, Sky swept the rain from her hair and tickled the chin of the stray kitten that was sitting on her lap, it’s fur coated with drops of rain and shivering like a maraca. The rain had never disturbed Sky, when it rained everyone was inside and it was quiet, she could actually hear herself think. The kitten stood and wobbled away towards its mother who was lying close by letting the other kittens explore.
If you looked at Sky now this is what you would see: her long, mousy brown hair fixed back in a messy pleat, with frizz coming out in every direction… Eyes a rich green colour, unnaturally bright and shimmering in the light and full of knowledge, love, but also pain and sadness. She had creamy coloured skin, her body toned; wearing a long, button-less cardigan; it was light blue and went down to her knees. On this day she was wearing a black strap-top under her blue cardigan, which she had tied tight with a black scarf so you could tell how skinny she was. Her legs were covered with a pair of tight jeans that were worn and ripped. She had a pair of black leather boots over the jeans that made her look even taller. Hands, they were long and powerful and looked like magic might just spring from the tips, her nails were black.
The scraggy kitten looked up at her with a little awe flickering in its eyes but also love and respect and Sky looked back down on it with just as much love. She bent and picked up the little creature in her hand, it was barely larger then her palm, and settled it down again to suckle on it’s mother, then she stroked the mother’s head and turned her attention on the bandage on the cat’s leg.
Animals were a passion of Sky’s, if she ever found one injured, be it spider or dog, she would help it heal and send it on it’s way. She went to the woods, the forests and fields to tend her animals everyday. For hours Sky vanished to the woods to be with the only creatures she felt she related to. The animals were never scared of her; they came to her when they were in pain or when they just wanted to sit somewhere safe. They whispered to her. She took it for granted, even though she knew that she was the only person in her world that even wild robins came to whisper to, but to her it was natural and it didn’t matter that she was the only one, she never even thought why. She was just content to know she was valued.
Sky bent down and stroked the cat’s head before unwrapping the bandage from its leg. It had healed, completely and now the little family had to leave and it was killing Sky inside, but they’d be others she made herself think and lifted the mother onto her knee.
‘You know, your kittens are so sweet, I’m going to miss them, and you,’ she added absentmindedly, rubbing the cats ears, ‘ you will visit won’t you? I want to make sure that leg is healed right and I can’t do that until you start walking on it again, you need your independence back. This time stay away from Mr. Donald’s vicious mutt.’ The cat looked up at her and meowed softly, if it could speak directly then it would probably say ‘thank you, but don’t patronise me.’ Sky smiled, as if she had read it’s mind, ‘you understand every word I say, don’t you? You better go…’ She placed the cat down nervously on its feet. She trembled a bit but then balanced and wandered over to her kittens that were playing in the roots of the trees. Then the small family roamed away into the trees.
Sky flopped down on the wet grass and stared after them until it was to dark to see, then clambered to her feet and started to climb the ancient oak above her head. It stopped raining and the clouds cleared as she reached the highest branch that could support her. She lay down across the branch and stared at the stars and moon, relaxed in the peaceful stillness. Have you ever had the feeling that you don’t really fit in anywhere? Sky had that feeling all the time. She felt like the fly in the soup, but no one intentionally went out to make her feel that way, it was just her own personal feelings. She felt different inside, like something was being suppressed inside her that was pushing to be free. It made her angry at everything and it is never good to be angry all the time; it causes an imbalance in you and destroys all that is good about you. But Sky wasn’t going to be like this much longer, but she didn’t know that yet. There was something that was about to happen that would change everything and would give Sky a special gift, you decide what the gift is, and if it was worth it.
An owl flew down and perched on a branch across from her. Owls are the wisest of animals, or so Sky thought as the owl chirped at her. Then her mobile went off. The owl flew off in a fright and Sky tumbled off the branch, only catching herself in the nick of time on the branch below.
‘It never lasts,’ she sighed, as she grabbed the branch to hoist herself back up and answer the vibrating mobile. She opened it to hear an old, concerned voice.
‘Sky? Is that you?’ the voice crackled into her ear.
‘Yes, Grandmother you called my number, no one else has this number, it has to be me. What is it?’
‘You do know what time it is, Sky? It is half past eleven, your teas been cold for five hours and your grandfathers threatening to cut the forest down with a kitchen knife if you don’t get home soon’ (in the background Sky heard her grandfather shout, ‘If that bairn doesn’t get hame sharpish, then I’ll skelp ‘er lug!’)
Sky sighed, ‘Don’t worry Grandmother, I’m on my way. Ask Grampa to reheat my dinner, I’ll be home in ten.’
‘Good, see you then, goodbye.’
Sky flicked her phone closed, slipped it into her back pocket and clambered down the tree then jumped from about six metres up and landed neatly on her feet.
It is only a short walk from the forest to the semi-detached house that Sky had lived in since she was about eight, number fifteen Marcum Road. The front gardens were neatly kept and the windows all gave off a warm glow. Sky’s house had flowerbeds bursting with fresh summer plants and bumblebees spinning around the garden, even though the sun had set over two hours ago. The windows were spotlessly clean, but all you could see inside was the red curtains. As Sky wandered up the cobbled path she could here the familiar shouts of her grandfather telling everything and anything to ‘haud yer wheesht’ so he could hear the blazing news report on the television.
When her grandmother asked where she’d been, Sky answered sweetly, ‘Nowhere.’
Then when her grandmother asked who she’d been with, Sky would answer, ‘No one.’
Then when her grandmother asked her what she’d been doing, Sky always answered, ‘Nothing.’
These were honest enough answers, but they weren’t the answers that Sky’s Grandmother wanted, but no matter how much she nagged she never received a better answer.
As Sky ate her Grandmother’s lukewarm macaroni pie and chips a part of her mind was digesting the dream she had had the night before, an eerier dream then she was used to. Imagine dreaming that you are surrounded by blackness and from every direction around you a voice can be heard, the same voice, crying to you, asking you to do things. The voice wanted her to get angry and scared, to strike out at the blackness, but as she did this the dream dissolved and she woke. A larger part of her brain was wondering how her Grandmother managed to keep the pie so soft and tender after having to be reheated and being left stone cold for five hours or so.
Sky had no real memory of her mother, but what she did remember was a soft hand on her little face when she was younger, and hugging a soft cushiony body that smelled of perfumed soap and pastry. How odd it is that we can remember objects in such detail but when we try to recall the face of a loved one that is dead it slips from us like water in cupped hands, I have often pondered on this, as had Sky. Perhaps it is because we don’t know which face to remember, the last time you saw them, when the were at their happiest, their most funny expression, it all gets mixed together… maybe we as humans are just not meant to remember. When Sky was barley four years old her mother died, the only details she was given at first was that ‘mammy had gone to heaven’ but later on she found out other information but not as much as she’d have liked. All that Sky knew was that her mother became very ill very fast and died within a week of going into hospital. The only other information she knew about her mother was that her name was Bliss and that Sky resembled her greatly. After her mother passed away Sky’s father, Lorcan, raised her, for a time… perhaps this part of Sky’s past is best reserved for later, but anyway when Sky was eight she ran away from home and came to live with her Grandparents, Douglas and Hope Taylor, her dead mother’s parents.
Grandmother Taylor was a kind old woman with grey hair held up in a curly mop and wrinkles that made her look like there were tree roots growing from the inside of her and they were creeping onto her face. She wore a pink apron that had written on it in large letters ‘I’m the Cook, Stay Outta Ma Kitchen!’ Her clothes beneath were smart and clean, how she managed it was always a mystery, she was short and cuddly with a warm look about her face.
Grandfather Taylor was another matter altogether. He was strict, old fashioned and utterly Scottish. He was reasonably wise though; he never said something unless there was a reason for it, that’s why Sky valued him. But she also hated him sometimes, he told her off every night for being home late, he nagged her for wearing off shoulder tops and he scolded her for commenting on the news because in his mind ‘women should be seen and not heard’ well that’s not entirely accurate he thought that women should have no opinions on how the government was run, he thought that women having a vote was a complete waste of time, considering that women were stupid when it came to politics; in his eyes at any rate, but funnily enough he coward away when Mrs Taylor told him to shut up or made a pure point of logic that made him stop and think. He was balding, had grey eyes and walked with a stick, wore a lot of tartan and had thick-rimmed square spectacles.
When Sky finished her dinner the news was just finishing, Mr. Taylor was staring at the television full of anxiety and so was Mrs. Taylor.
‘What’s wrong…?’ Sky began to ask.
‘Hauld yer wheesht Lassie and pay attention!’ Mr. Taylor snapped pointing at the tight lipped reporter on the television.
‘Here we are outside Nymph Wood where the local police are investigating the disappearance of another young girl. In the last two weeks three have vanished from this area, with no trace. Experts believe…’ Sky stopped listening. Nymph wood is one of the places she disappears to all day, but this was the first time she’d heard of any disappearances and the animals weren’t affected by it. And when she looked up from her empty dinner plate, sure enough, her grandparents were gazing at her beady eyed.
‘What?’
‘Do you know anything about this?’ Her grandmother asked; it wasn’t an accusation. But Sky could see the concern in her Grandmother’s eyes and she knew what was coming next.
‘No,’ Sky replied. ‘This is the first time I’ve heard about it, why?’
Sky knew the answer, ‘Nothing, I just expected there to have been an announcement at school… Speaking of which Sky, mmh, I want you home straight after school until this is over… now don’t get angry, I know fine well you can look after yourself and don’t give me that look. Just do it, put an old woman’s mind at ease.’ Mrs. Taylor sighed at the look of distaste on Sky’s face. She knew fine well that Sky would never come straight home after school; she knew that she would be somewhere outside, where, she didn’t know and with whom, she didn’t know, but she knew Sky’s abilities and if anyone came near her they’d be on the ground so fast they wouldn’t know what had hit them. But still…
‘Please Sky, try and be home earlier then your usual, please.’ Sky thought for a moment then slowly nodded her head, turning back to her plate.
Sky went to bed that night with so much to think about that she didn’t get to sleep for a long time and when she did she had very uncomfortable dreams.

*****

The day after was basically the same, as was the day after that and the day after that. The hot summer days lolled by, and the school holidays ended.
The sun rose high and hot on the first Monday of term, but Sky stayed in bed. Her bed was soft and warm; the day was going to be scorching; as far as she was concerned, getting up wasn’t an option. It was coming up for eight o’clock when the sound of banging came up the stairs.
‘Sky! Sky! Get up!’ It was her Grandmother calling, her voice like thunder in the morning. Sky rolled over and whispered, cursing into herself. Pushing her covers back solemnly, Sky went down for breakfast.
Mr Taylor was reading his newspaper in front of a full English breakfast, Mrs Taylor was cooking fresh eggs on the hob. A strong smell of bacon wafted into Sky’s face as she wandered into the kitchen, her grandmother gave her a swift smile before returning to her frying pan.
‘What do you want for breakfast Sky,’ her Grandmother asked cheerfully. It annoyed Sky no end that her Grandmother could be so joyful in the morning when all she could manage was a crude scowl. For a second her Grandfather looked at her over his paper, shook his head and returned to it. Mrs Taylor laughed and motioned Sky to the table, where she sat and stared at the ceiling.
The kitchen was a long room with oak furnishings and shining worktops, walls painted light green with an accent of warm yellow. It had a cottagy feel, almost quaint… all it needed was an open window and a bird chirping on the sill. In the centre of the room there was a round dining table, covered in bits of paper, bills, yesterdays newspaper open at the crossword, an ashtray, a couple of books and other various odds and ends. The chairs were solid oak and padded with denim cushions, made by Sky’s Grandmother years previous.
‘Sky! What do you want for breakfast?’ Mrs Taylor asked impatiently, ‘your going to be late.’
Sky sighed loudly, ‘dry toast with butter and a glass of orange juice.’ That was Sky’s usual, either that or porridge, she wasn’t a fussy eater. Sky ate quickly, whilst her Grandmother jabbered on in her ear about upcoming birthdays and how nice the day would be, then ran upstairs to get ready for school. It took ten minuets and she was back downstairs, dressed in a long black skirt, a red t-shirt and her prized leather jacket; her hair tied back in a messy pleat and her schoolbag over her shoulder, with an arm of her blue cardigan hanging ceremoniously from the schoolbag, Sky left the house.
It was a long walk to the school from Sky’s cottage, even longer the way she went. Every school morning, Sky took a detour through the woods. It was the quietest route to take, otherwise Sky would have to take the main road, past little Peter’s house and the McDonald place; and that would come with being hugged by about ten nursery children, many senior citizens trying to persuade her to help them cut their grass and her Grandmother’s friend Mrs William trying to wangle her Grandfathers secret pancake recipe out of her. The woods were always quiet. The long limbs of the trees sheltered her from the sun as she walked, head down, making sure she didn’t stand on any bugs, it was nearly five to nine when she walked into the school.
The high school was a tall building with many vines crawling up the ancient, greying brick walls. High blue fences with sharp points at the top surrounded the grounds of dull lifeless grass and a few dead trees. It was lifeless, forsaken and just plain tedious looking; perhaps that was the point. The windows were dirty and hard to see through, but even from the front gate Sky could see the face of a middle-aged woman with greying ginger locks and an icy look. Sky sighed, and wandered on into the school.