a woman is perplexed as a shaman tells of 'THE GOM', a soul of one who wishes to be evenged, that enters the body of a child as they lay to their death. The soul engulfes the body, a reaping maniac with one goal : to kill. Lucy knows. HerNeddy. But would you believe her?
When you become a mother, you're supposed to be suddenly attached and in love with your child. Somewhere, an unspoken vow and binding agreemeent is signed in invisible ink, forming an unbreakable bond to your offspring. Of course I loved him, but Neddy was always different.
I try to forget the slight glint of fire in his eyes as he turned his head. The flash from a sharpened tooth, a snarl; I would backtrack, but then it wouldn't be there. A trick of the light. But I knew what I saw. Then there was the pond.
When Michael and I first got married, I was set on having the fairytale lifestyle. The cottage with the roses entwined around the doorframe, the little pathed path from the wooden gate, engulfed by scented flowers. A small garden, dotted with gnomes and old flower pots, rusty watering cans filled with pluming blooms. The reality, however, was quite dissapointing. Alongside my dream was Michael's, who had his heart set on a career in archutecture. He was good, but work was scarce, creating little money to spend on my fairytale cottage.
In fact, the best we could do was a small semi in the London suburbs. But Michael wouldn't leave it there, he decided that I should have a little of my dream - and so built a garden pond. It was small thing, a few feet deep and strewn with lily pads, but I was quite content (or so I said.)
We had always taught Neddy to watch out for the pond, and by the age of five he had learnt to steer well clear of it. Which is why I was so scared. Perhaps he saw a fish, or the glisten of a insects wing, or dropped one of his toys beneath its sunken green surface. But all I know is one minute he was there, and the next he was unconcious at the bottom of the pond, and since that moment, he changed.