Zoe Deleuil
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ribbed vests. She must have been a skinny girl, whoever wore these clothes, because they weren’t very big. It was hard to tell how old they were, but there were no shorts or t-shirts. They must be from the days when girls had to dress like ladies.
Who had worn them? A skinny body all covered up with these frilly, buttoned clothes. There were signs that someone had looked after them. A stitched-up tear in the skirt of the old blue dress. Dark brown wool on the black socks, where someone had darned a hole.
I piled the clothes into the lid of the case so they wouldn’t get dirty, and kept poking around. Right at the bottom was a pair of shoes. Sandals, made from worn out, soft brown leather, with darker patches on the soles where ten toes had rested. She must have worn them every day, they were barely staying together, and when I tried to pull open the buckle it fell off in my hand. I felt bad, breaking someone’s things. I put the shoes away again. I’d sort them out later. First I wanted to try on a dress.
Where was that mirror? The one that used to hang above the fireplace. I poked around until I met my own eyes, looking back at me in shock. Once I got over the fright I pulled the mirror out from behind my old bike and propped it against Dad’s workbench.
I took off my shorts and pulled my t-shirt over my head, then chucked them on top of the case so they wouldn’t get any grubbier. A mosquito landed on my belly. I pinched the skin on either side of it so it couldn't get out in a hurry. Then I squashed it flat against my palm. Already there was a smear of blood mixed in with the crushed mozzie. Little bugger. I wiped it off on my bare leg and picked up the dress.
Just then something rustled in the corner where the mirror had been. A dry sound, like leaves against cement. Probably just a mouse.
The dress smelled dusty, but under that was a faint perfume. Sunlight soap. The neck-hole squeezed my head and for a moment I was trapped, with no idea of where to put my hands. The dust made me cough. Then it all gave way all at once and I pulled it down over me.
I shuffled up to the mirror. Cobwebby light was coming in through the glass louvres. I looked older than twelve, all of a sudden. Like a different, taller girl.
There was another rustle behind me. The dress was tangling around my feet, so I gathered it up in my fists and tiptoed over the greasy floor towards the sound. It was coming from low down on the floor, where the mirror had been.
There was something there in the shadow. Coiled like a leather belt.
I stamped my foot and it moved a bit, all lazy and slow. In the dirty light from the window I saw coppery scales, as dull as old coins. Then a blunt head, a shiny black eye. The thin line of a mouth.
Slowly it came to life. Too slowly, like it was playing a trick on me. Its body went all flat and its head stretched up. The underside of it was yellow. A tiger snake.
Aggressive, deadly poisonous. And cornered.
Hisssssssssssss.
They really do hiss, I thought, just as my scream came out louder and faster than I’d ever imagined it could.