Chapter 1 - Tammie

Tammie sat unmoving, perched precariously on the edge of her bed, her hands palms down on her knees gripping the soft silks of her dress till her knuckles turned white. She stared at her slender fingers, wishing she dared stick them in her ears. A shudder of terror ran down her back imagining the consequences of such an act. She wanted to creep away, to withdraw into her own world and escape the words that hailed down on her. But those very words formed a barrier between her and her haven. She was helpless against them. They carried her away in their senseless torrent. "Your behaviour is unpardonable." Her mother’s voice was harsh, cutting into her like whiplashes. "I always knew you had no brains, but the situation is far worse than I thought." The woman stood towering over Tammie, glowering, her features set in steel, her hands clenched in fists. Her mother was like one of those terrifying women warriors whose pictures hung defiantly on the walls of her mother’s rooms. To think that she had once admired them, wishing that one day she too could be a woman warrior like her mother, but she was too small and too slight for such a destiny. Seeing her mother’s face twisted with rage, Tammie was glad that that future was barred to her. "Why did I have to bring such a weak and worthless child into the world?" her mother hissed through her clenched teeth. "Would that you had died at birth," she spat. Tammie couldn’t help whimpering. Disgusted, her mother let fly with her right hand and slapped Tammie with all her force sending the girl sprawling on the floor. Tammie fought desperately against the tears that spurted from her eyes as she struggled to her feet. If only she could be stronger. Not that she dreamed of fighting back. No. Just strong enough to buy some peace and quiet. Whatever, it would do no good to show herself any weaker. Her face smarted from the blow she’d received and her vision was blurred. "You will stay in your room till I decide what to do with you," her mother barked. And with that she spun on her heals and strode to the door. Tammie heard the double click as the key turned in the lock. Released at last, Tammie flung herself on her bed, burying her head in the thick eiderdown, her body wracked with sobs, her hands cradling her throbbing face.

She awoke several hours later, her legs stiff and cold where her dress had ridden up her thighs leaving her milk-white skin exposed. Her face continued to throb where her mother had slapped her and her eyes hurt from so much crying. The fire in the hearth had burnt down leaving only glowing embers and the candles spluttered as they struggled against the growing dark. A soft rustling sound caught her attention. Alarmed, she realised she was no longer alone. Fear coursed through her veins making it difficult for her to breathe. Had her mother sent a wicked witch to finish her off as she’d often threatened to do? She dared not open her eyes and look. For it was through your eyes, she’d been told, that witches slunk into your soul and ate you up from the inside. Having suffered the onslaught of her mother’s words she wondered if witches could gain access through your ears as well. She pulled up her knees, covering herself with the many skirts of her dress and rolled into a tight ball.

"Tammie," a soft voice whispered, almost inaudible. Smooth and inviting, it purred. Butterflies fluttered deep in her stomach at the sound of it. Could it be her imagination? She was very skilled at imagining things. It was one of the activities her mother reviled in her: complacently whiling away her time in nonsense when she should be working harder to develop strength and self-control. "Tammie," the voice persisted, moving closer. She could have sworn she smelt butterscotch and toffee. It made her mouth water. How odd: it was as if the voice gripped her stomach, pulling at her. She clenched her eyes shut and cupped her hands over her ears trying to curb its influence. "Don’t be afraid of me. I’ve come to help," the voice said winningly. It was almost an embrace. It made her head spin. Tammie had heard of the sweet voices of people from the Other World who could lure you to follow them until they had you completely in their power. "Leave me alone," she growled shifting her position and sticking her fingers in her ears. How silly, a part of her mocked, all you want is to listen to nothing but that voice whispering your name. "OK," the voice acquiesced, seductive. The room fell silent, leaving her feeling desperately empty. How disappointing! Tammie could not be sure the person had gone. She’d won too easily. Maybe it was a trick. She lay still for a long time, her limbs getting colder and colder. She wished she had a shawl over her shoulders as the flimsy bodice of her dress offered little resistance to the growing cold. Normally her mother would have her clad in trousers, a shirt and a waistcoat, but she had donned her favourite dress to annoy her. And it had worked too well. She loved the feel of the many layers of taffeta as they brushed against her legs when she moved. She wanted to be a girl not a warrior woman. But dresses were banished to her room.

Fed up with waiting, she rolled over and peered cautiously in the direction the delicious voice had come from. She immediately snapped her eyes shut. There, standing next to her bed, was a child about her own age. It was extremely good-looking. Ravishing, even. Its beauty sucked the breath out of her. But something about the beautiful child troubled her: she could not decide if it was a boy or a girl. "Go away," she shouted trying to gain time to think. Not getting any response, she peeked again. He or she was still there, standing unmoving, smiling at her. The child was gorgeous. Tammie’s heart missed a beat. He, for she thought it might be a boy, had long light brown curls cascading down onto his shoulders. He had high cheekbones and a narrow face that made him look almost girlish and he had ample lips painted red with rouge. "What do you want?" she snapped, not moving from her defensive position. His eyes sparkled at her, but he replied not a word. Tammie’s heart skipped another beat. She raised her head onto her cupped hands and studied him more closely. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she could hardly tear her eyes off him. He was wearing brightly coloured trousers under an equally brightly coloured tunic that stretched almost to his knees. It was so long it could have been a dress, she thought. No wonder I took him for a girl. He remained unmoving, a picture of an angel. She sighed. (...)

This extract is from the first chapter of Twisted Paths, the first book of Beyond the Face of the World by Alan McCluskey.