Mother Wake (Part 1)

Mother Wake is more than legend. She’s a creature of the deep sea, lurking in the churning dark water under the chalk cliffs. She learned to speak our language a long time ago. The men say they hear her singing when they take the boats out to fish. Only the men. Women of the Chalk Coast never leave the land. We haven’t done for sixty years. My granny’s older sister was the last one who tried.

Granny doesn’t talk about her often, but we know the main strokes of the story. Granny was ten. Alice was a few years older at thirteen, pretty and headstrong. She talked her sister into helping her steal a small boat one night. Granny chickened out at the last minute. She sat on the docks while her sister sailed off, and said she’d wait until Alice came back. Alice got far enough from shore, out into the deep part of the water. That was when she jumped. She never came back up. They never even found a body.

“Merra!”

I snap to attention in my seat, whacking one bony elbow against the corner of our kitchen table. Pain shoots through my whole arm and I cuss. My Mum sighs, loud and long. “You were daydreaming again, weren’t you?”

I duck my head. “Sorry Mum.”

She smiles her crooked smile. “Don’t bother with your sorries, I know you can’t help it. Let’s just get these potatoes peeled.”

I give a sloppy little salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

Mum snorts. “Stinking right I’m Captain of this house. Your Pa and your brothers can have the boat, I’ll take my garden and my chickens anyday.”

I grin and get back to peeling potatoes. She and Pa have five children, but I’m smack in the middle and the only girl. That means I’m the only one who stays home to help with the land-bound chores. There are a lot of land-bound chores.

I don’t mind it most days, especially in early summer when everything’s growing in the garden. But right now it’s dead of winter, snow’s thick on the ground outside, and we’re stuck all sleeping in the two big beds near the woodstove. Mum and I have spent most of our time knitting, chopping wood for the fire, and triple-checking our stores in the root cellar and meat shed to make sure we don’t need to borrow too much from our neighbors.

After we’ve got everything peeled and cut for stew, Mum tends the fire. I light the kerosene lamps to ward off the gloomy dark gathering outside. Our cat, Betty, rubs against my legs and purrs before starting back over to the larger bed. She’s spent most of her days there since she had her kittens two weeks back and hasn’t had time to hunt so much. I sigh and give her a leg off the chicken I tried to cook yesterday. I left it in too long and the legs are more like jerky now.

Betty gives me an approving mrow. She catches the thigh bone up in her mouth and carries it closer to the bed, so she can watch her babies while she eats. They’re in Granny’s lap right now, tumbling over each other while she snores steadily louder. How she sleeps so well through the rest of our noise I’ve no clue.

“At least you like my cooking, Betty.” I joke, wiping my hands on my apron.

“Merra?” Mum calls.

“Huh?”

“Run down to the cellar and fetch some more carrots, will you? I forgot to grab enough of them first time around.”

I nod, already putting on my shawl.

Once I get into the cellar, I hear an odd sound. Like water dripping. I frown, trying to listen closer. There shouldn’t be water down here, and if there is, it’s a problem. With water around, rot will get into our food stores. Without them we might not last the rest of winter.

I pace the length of the cellar, lifting my lantern to inspect every inch of the walls. Once I reach the far corner, I see it.

There’s a big crack in the wall, just large enough to fit myself through if I turn sideways. I hear the sounds of dripping water clearer now, echoing through the darkness on the other side of it.

“That’s never been there before.” I mutter.

I know what I should do. Get the carrots, go back up and tell Mum about the crack.

But I'm too curious for my own good, always have been. So instead I suck in my stomach, heft the lantern out to one side, and shuffle sideways into the crack in the wall. The stone scrapes at my elbows and tugs loose threads from my skirts, but I can fit all right. It’s dry so far. I still can hear the water clearly though, and a cool breeze tickles my face. I wrinkle my nose. It smells like rotten seaweed and bloody fish guts, the way the docks do after the men bring home a big catch.

Then my brains catch up to my nose and I frown again. Wind underground makes about as much sense as the sun rising westward, unless there’s a cave down here.

“Well, I ought to make sure.” I tell myself firmly. “Can’t go worrying Mum if it might be nothing.”

That’s an excuse, and every part of me knows it. It’s foolhardy in all ways to go down into an unknown cave with only myself. But I’ve been cooped up in our little house for half the winter already, and cooped up in our little nameless village for my entire stinking life. I could use a little foolhardiness, no matter how much Mum scolds me afterwards.

So I take a deep breath and keep going. A few dozen steps more and the crack widens out, becoming something like a big, jagged stone tunnel. It slopes down steep and twisty. I keep going anyhow, keeping my free hand on the rough walls and my eyes on my feet. If I trip, who knows how far I’ll fall.

The tunnel keeps going down, down, down. I follow it, squeezing through another thinner crack and a couple steep spots where I’m more climbing than walking. The smell is stronger now, and the walls are getting damp and slippery. I stop for a moment, realizing I have no idea how long I’ve been down here.

“I hope Mum isn’t worried.” I mumble.

But I know she is, and I’m already hunching my shoulders in shame at what a bad idea this was. I have the sense to check my lantern, then. The candle wick is almost burnt to nothing. The flame is wavering on the pool of melted wax at the bottom, sending my shadow flickering and dancing along the tunnel walls.

I cuss, more than I ever would if Mum was there. I’m turning to make my way back, but I turn too fast. My shawl swirls the air into a breeze, and the lantern goes out.

(Photo by David Lyutov on Pexels)