Have I hardened your heart after years of making you softer?
I jumped with fright as the glass of the window banged against its frame; branches were scratching across the glass like skeletal fingers trying to get in. I shuddered at the thought.
I remembered when you first arrived here Heath, I remembered like it was yesterday. I was six years old, Hindley must have been 11, and he was already a bully and full of himself. Dad came home after a week away on business and bounded through the door with his usual gusto. He was like the moors himself – larger than life, blustery, full of energy and power. I couldn’t wait for him to come home from his business trips, he put the energy back in the house. I could feel Mum relax too when he walked in the door as if we were all safe again. And he always came back bearing some quirky little gifts he had picked up for us; I adored him.
But this time he brought you home. I didn’t see you at first, he closed the front door and there you were behind him. Ha, you were dark, thin and scraggly and everyone froze… it was the quietest I’ve ever heard Hindley.
I remember Mum asking Dad who you were with a look of surprise and shock. Hindley was an ass, calling you out for being dirty. But Heath you did look wild… your eyes were so dark and huge, your hair was wild and unkempt, and you looked like you’d be up for a fight with the slightest provocation. To be honest, you scared me a little bit but if Dad brought you into our home, I guess you had to be okay.
‘Looks like a homeless kid from the gutter,’ Hindley had said. He could have done with a year at charm school. But I guess from his perspective he was no longer the only boy; you threatened him and his position. Dad was so disappointed in Hindley’s comments. He shook his head and said: ‘Sometimes, son, I wonder where you come from. Charity begins at home, remember that.’ Yeah, remember that, Hindley.
And then Dad introduced you as Heath, our new brother and told us to make you feel welcome and part of the family. I can still see you studying us all and looking towards the front door like you’d bolt as soon as we all went to bed. Dad asked me to show you around but you wouldn’t take my hand, so you followed behind me as I walked around each room. You said it was a mansion with disgust in your voice. You made me feel bad for living here. It’s the only home I’d ever known.
Hindley was fighting with Dad about you staying and I was pleased when we got away from them. I asked you how old you were and you said eight, you were two years older than me. Another big brother for me, but I don’t think you had that in mind even then. I asked where your parents were and you said you didn’t have any. I’d never heard of someone not having parents and when I reached for your hand that time, you took mine. Remember? You smiled at me, and I loved you then, and I’ve loved you ever since.
When I turned thirteen and you were fifteen, you promised to marry me and that we’d be together forever. I still wanted that, I did. I just had to go it alone for a brief while, for the first time in my life. See if I liked myself, did that make sense? I wish I could explain it in a way that didn’t hurt you.
The wind was howling again. Thank you, wind, I was getting lost in history. I closed my eyes to sleep but the wind got louder. Please, just give me a good night’s rest.
Sleep … come to me.
More tapping on the window; ignore it.
The branches were scratching, the glass-like fingers rapping to get in. Go away. More tapping, more scratching. More knocking on the window.
For the love of God!I rose and pulled the window frame up so I could snap them off… the ones that I could reach. The timber frame was so heavy, I edged it up and put it in its hinge. Cold air rushed in from the moors. I put my arm out and grabbed the small branches scraping against the window. The wind was whipping my hair into my eyes, the cold air was stinging and my eyes watered. I could barely feel my face and hands they were so numb from the cold.
That’s when the hand seized my wrist. I screamed, it was dark, strong and icy cold, and the fingers gripped me tightly.
I screamed again and tried to pull away but the hand wouldn’t release me. I was terrified, my heart was pounding, the branches were still shadow dancing around the room, and the wind was howling now, in my ears, in my room. Then I heard the voice.
‘Let me in,’ it said. ‘Let me in, Catherine or I will die out here without you.’
‘Let me go,’ I screamed, terrified, pulling and twisting in terror. It was a male voice, but I didn’t know it… it wasn’t you, Heath, was it?
‘It’s me, let me in,’ I heard it say again.
‘Who are you? Go away, you’re not my Heath. Who are you?’ I was crying out in terror. My wrist was red and raw from rubbing against the timber window pane as I tried to pull away and pull my arm back in.
‘It’s me, Cathy, your Heath, let me in.’
‘Heath, is it you? Is it really you? I can’t see you, show yourself.’
I strained to see him but could see nothing in the dark and fog. The hand was freezing cold on my wrist and the wind was making it impossible to hear all his words.
‘I’m lost,’ I thought he said.
‘But this is your home, Heath, I am your home,’ I yelled back, and I pulled to release my wrist again. His fingers would not release me.
‘I’m frightened. Please, Heath, let me go, you are home.’
‘I’m lost on the moors,’ the voice said, again. ‘Help me, Cathy, come find me, find me.’ And then the grasp on my wrist was released and I fell backwards. I heard the voice moan ‘I’m lost’.
I rushed backwards, away from him, away from the window and rubbed my wrist.
Then I woke up gasping, I was crying and Heath wasn’t there. The curtains were closed and I raced over to open them. Behind them, the window was closed as well. I pulled up the window and leant out and called: ‘Heath! Come back, please.’ I yelled as loud as I could but my voice was carried away by the wind, lost to the night, lost to the moors.
I’ve lost him. It’s an omen.