The snow in the village had finally stuck when Phoebe had woken this morning. Yesterday she had agreed to meet up with her friends before school a little earlier than usual for the first week of December. It had taken until walking into the police station a few hours later for her to fully comprehend that she was indeed awake and not still sleeping.
Before the month of December had begun, she had been blissfully ignorant to most crime during her short life, she was given no reason not be. Flacklie village was quiet and privacy was almost unknown with everyone being disgustingly involved in each other’s business. The dazzle of this sheltered childhood – full of one run-down local pub, no night club and long urban green spaces – which were currently hidden under powdered snow and black ice – has all but made these last six hours feel like a scheme cooked up for an elaborate prank. That’s the feeling she had when she had discovered the crime scene this morning. Shock had permeated through her entire body, a shock that did not show any sign of fizzling out any time soon. Bad things usually came after school in her experience; not before. She yearned for comfort from her cold mother whilst processing the odd calm of those currently filing into school.
*
More than an hour had gone by since they had got to school. The four girls had sat in the raised oak alcove based at the entrance to the school, their empty cups lay tipped over in a pile to the right just outside of protection from the elements. The left-over hot chocolate was staining the snow a light brown which collectively they decided they would leave to be avoided like the plague by students walking in later.
Phoebe had cleared her throat and the rest of the girls turned to look at her as she ushered. ‘Do you think we could go and wait for the gate to be opened; I don’t think I can sit here any longer I can’t feel my toes anymore.’
A chorus of agreement sounded, soft white mist blowing out with everyone’s reply. Phoebe reached for her mauve handbag whilst simultaneously getting to her feet using the locked door behind her as support before stretching her arms above her head to shake some of the early morning cold from her body. A sharp breeze, smelling of damp, hot chocolate, and Calvin Klein obsession with a subtle metallic tinge blew across her cheek making her shiver slightly and her brows to crease with the ghost of a frown. Whilst waiting for the others she watched as her gloves became embroidered with little flecks of ice not yet melted as they sat floating on the petal pink fibres. A thick fog lay floating just above the road outside of the iron school gates leaving the zebra crossing the closest visible thing to the girls; it was identical to the smoke of the fire that had hidden half the village only a few months prior. It made her hairs raise just thinking about it. She fell into step with Freya who was rushing through an explanation of a video she had seen online last night; they were behind Rosie and Poppy who were abnormally silent. After a few moments even Freya’s words began to stutter before leaving her completely. She spared a brief look at her friend stood beside her; her cheeks and nose had a sudden rosiness to accompany the blueish lips she’s had for the last half hour. Phoebe shook her head with disapproval the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Freya would never admit to being cold, especially when she already had on multiple layers.
The gates still hadn’t been unlocked and it was half past. Closer they went still, until their faces were pressed up against the dark green gates that stood between them and the warmth their form rooms beckoned. ‘Surely not,’ Freya whispered, so quiet that Phoebe wouldn’t have heard it had she not been stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The picture behind the gates had Phoebe stepping back so quickly she stumbled. Her hands were trembling, she felt almost mechanical as she looked to her friends who had similar fear etched into their faces. Rosie however, remained stood with her head pressed against the gates and both of her hands gripping the slats next to her head had white knuckles. She had completely frozen, as if she were looking out at an experimental art exhibit. The fresh thick snow was painted with slashes of abstract dark red blood. When she finally did turn, she had a strange awe-like look on her face, she was held completely captive in that moment; even as her mouth opened and closed a few times trying to pluck the appropriate words from somewhere in her mind, Phoebe could see the artistic joy she received from the image which was obscurely aesthetically. There was no way that was what it appeared to be; she didn’t believe it could be real.
The number of people in the carpark had more than tripled in the last hour after they had finally picked up their mobile phones to call the police and their parents. Even more had piled in during the last ten minutes. There were now people in uniform everywhere (police and ambulance crew), teachers and students who were on their way in for the Monday morning school day. The local news team stood the most; they stood not more than a metre away from their blacked-out van with bulky cameras and microphones which were constantly being shoved into people’s faces to try and harvest information. Cars of parents trying to drop their kids of at school piled up on the road outside as the carpark overflowed. The blank canvas of snow covering the carpark was now tracked with footprints of all sizes resembling a pure chaos. Ironic almost that there should be no peace here now.
Phoebe could finally spot her parents talking to two tall men in police uniform, one holding neon yellow tape, the other held a clipboard and was lent up on the police car parked behind them. As Phoebe shuffled up to them, she was bristling with anxiety, she kept her eyes down on her mother’s bright pink shoes that stood out like a sore thumb against the pearlescence of the white snow. When she did reach them, she could barely lift her head up, unable to face the intensity of their gaze.
‘You must be Phoebe Talloway?’ said the taller one holding the clipboard. He was the broader of the two, easily appearing the more intimidating to her with a hard almost blank stare. Phoebe opened her mouth to speak but shut it almost immediately when her voice refused to surface. Her eyes darted to her mother’s face worried of the judgement she might find there, before slowly nodding to confirm her name.
‘Officer Todd,’ he said before using the thumb of the hand holding the clipboard to gesture to the other policeman, ‘this is Officer Martinez.’ He paused taking in her current state. ‘We are just trying to organise with your parents when the best time is for you to come to the station and give your witness statement kid.’
He must have found something in his search of her as his gaze softened, his broad shoulders relaxed a little and his thin lips pulled up trying to look reassuring. Phoebe only hid her shaking hands further in the pockets of her black blazer. His voice was gentle though as he tried to lull her out of her shock and help her understand her role in helping them. But it fell in step with the other voices around her which floated around like a dream sequence. Even the wind that had begun to whip her hair around rather viciously felt like someone’s effort to help ease her mind. Maybe it would have worked if she didn’t feel so disassociated. She said nothing as her parents took over the conversation sparing her a mild look of alarm and interest every few seconds which had her anxiously looking anywhere but at them. That’s when her gaze snagged on Freya who now stood a little closer to the main road traffic bent over with her hands on her knees emptying her stomach into one of the two bushes that decorated the path up to the reception. She hesitated, should she help? She supposed the question really, was could she help? This didn’t end up mattering though, she didn’t hear the goodbyes or the instructions the police gave. She however did feel her mother’s hand on her shoulder guiding her away from the school and away from what stood behind the gates.
They walked in complete silence to the car. She embraced it, glad to focus on the steadying beat of her heart instead. She was even more relieved to finally get into the warmth and grateful when her parents didn’t say anything but tell her that they will take her to give her witness statement at two this afternoon.
The noise of her father pulling into their driveway, big enough for only one car, caused the two ravens that were hopping around the front step scattering; only to reconvene on her parents tattered thatched roof. At the sight Phoebe’s breath faltered; death was quite literally keeping a watchful eye on her now. ‘We’d better get you inside and into the warm,’ her mother said. As her parents bustled her inside, she couldn’t help but keep thinking she should have had a sick day. Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.
Sat on her parents’ sage green cloud sofa with the TV remote resting on the arm listening to the familiar sound of the morning news begin, she slipped off her shoes. The female news reader appeared on the pixilated screen, caught in the act of placing her papers on the table with a solemn expression on her face. A fleeting image of Frau Academy; live bustling with people leaving their tracks in the snow like ants burrowing, stole her full attention. ‘We will be going straight to our shocking and terrible headline story first today. Early this morning at Frau Academy, four young teens discovered a brutal murder.’
Her parents had surged out of the kitchen to come and watch the news with her, hovering just behind the couch and her. In her peripheral she could see her mother’s slim fingers turn white from gripping the back of the couch too hard. ‘Now details of the victim are yet to be confirmed by officials who have announced that the school is now an active crime scene. The police have asked anyone who has any tips or details to please come forward and contact them. For now, that’s all the information we have, we will continue to keep you updated as the story develops.’
Suddenly, the image of her school cut. With no more information available at this time the news reader continued with the rest of morning line-up, the next image switching to a greying, well-groomed middle-aged woman with the caption Pam Frank, Nursing Chief subtitled on the bottom right of the screen. Phoebe only turned the TV off when the weather came on, she didn’t need someone on a box to tell her that it would be snowy and icy today, not when the weather felt like such a trivial thing now.
In the time the story had appeared and disappeared from the TV her mother had taken a cigarette from her emergency box of Benson & Hedges Blues and rushed outside. She could see that she had already smoked half of it when looking to where she stood just outside in the driveway directly in front of the living room window. ‘Do you feel able to talk to the police later?’ her father delicately questioned.
‘No.’
“Gr-e, oh uh I’ he stopped himself halfway through, probably not expecting such raw honesty from his daughter who usually reserved her emotions for worry of effecting theirs.
‘They are either going to make me a suspect or make me relive what I saw so much that I will not be able to ever feel or be ok again,’ her voice was a mere whisper and was followed by a stifling silence.
‘We don’t know that, Phee.’
‘Dad –‘she paused to rub her face with her hands, ‘ we do.’
Her eyes were already puffy and she had decided she couldn’t attempt eating before giving her statement, even now the image filled her with nausea. An abrupt silence had settled in the living room with her father having no reply ready for her. She could hear her mother making her way into the house, slip off her shoes and coat and then pad into the living room where she sunk into the seat just next to her, seemingly content with staring at the floor. Her father excused himself after a few minutes had passed and still her mother stayed saying nothing, she just stared outside the window watching the neighbour’s cat who sat at their front window watching the birds.
As troubled as she was, all she felt able to do was sit and contemplate, only occasionally interrupted by brief bouts of hysteria. This had gone on from the moment she had returned home. There was no use her parents asking her about how or why she was upset, it was plainly plastered all over social media, the news and she was sure in their Facebook group chats. She was barely able to go anywhere online without seeing it. Yet she still sat on her phone an hour before she had to leave for the station. The lights had sprung on, the darkness that had blanketed and comforted receded to where it now waited to return in the shadows of the large fake golden crystal chandelier. The light had made everything feel suddenly very mundane; the tattered sage green couch, the frumpy pillows, the dented TV stand, and the rug that was way too small to make the room feel cosy. She hadn’t taken notice of how everything was just a little off before and was pleasantly surprised to not have a wash of hysteria wash over her with the reappearance of the familiar. With the light had come new pessimistic eyes morphed by the comfort of the unknown that lingered in the darkness. She looked to her left to find her mother sliding her boots on, brought over by her father. ‘Come on, let’s get ready, give your statement and then you’ll be home in no time.’
Her mother feigned a smile before pushing Phoebe’s shoes over to her and draping her red coat she hadn’t worn for two years since she outgrew it over the back of the sofa. Phoebe had no energy to say anything not even thank you and after lacing her shoes stood up and squeezed herself into the sleeves of her coat that bit at her now too-wide shoulders before following her parents out of the safety of the house and back into the arms of the snow.
*
She was seated in a small monochrome room and had been for the last five minutes wishing that she hadn’t left her coat with her mum. Her thin cardigan offered her little to no warmth and holes she had chewed into the wrists made it look like she was too poor to afford actual jewellery. She had just pulled her cardigan over her hands and placed them under her thighs when a woman brusquely entered the room with a coffee, some papers, and a black biro. Her face was concealed slightly by thick brown glasses that she wore low down on her nose and of which moved when she talked. ‘Hi phoebe, I’m Officer Miller who you will be talking to today, I would just like you to check your details on this piece of paper are correct.’
She placed a sheet of paper in front of her and Phoebe briefly scanned the page before nodding, still yet to utter one word since she had entered the station. ‘Great, then before we get started just a few things I would like to go over. If you have any queries or remember anything else after this, I encourage you to get in contact,’ she placed a card on the table in front of her, her chipped red nail polish a little too bright in the gloom of the grey room and the blood colour visibly making Phoebe flinch.
‘This is the Officer in charge and his contact details.’ She paused picking up her coffee and taking a long sip, her glasses falling back onto her face properly in the process.
‘There’s water here if you would like and anything else you need during giving your statement, please let me know.’ She settled into her seat and looked directly at Phoebe, ‘Now if that’s all alright I’ll start the recording.’
Her voice came out wobbly; ‘I don’t usually go to school early, this was the first time and it was heart-shaking,’ she was already letting her nails bite at her palms, the pain centring her.
‘It only happened this morning and the memory feels like its imprinted on me forever. There was so much blood everywhere, some of it had conjoined and frozen with the ice and snow. I didn’t recognise the person, but their skin was purple –‘She sharply inhaled, ‘God, I can see them now. Their hair was matted and clotted with blood and leaves which looked like they had come from the bushes they have outside of school. They were glassy eyed and staring straight forward at me. I thought it was a joke at first you see, because they were stood up in the centre of a black and red circle with a rope around their neck which was hanging them from the first-floor window of the humanities building. But I’m sure their feet were touching the floor and their skin was just drenched in blood it was too real. We tried calling to them, screaming at them, but there was no answer. I still don’t know who it was. I watched the news when I got home this morning but they didn’t know either – I don’t think she is in my year.’ She paused for a second then corrected, ‘was in my year.’
‘I thought her clothes were odd too, a green and red elf costume with the hat barely hanging on her head. But it’s weird; all the clothes were completely clean, the only blood on it that I could see was on the white fluffy parts.’
Officer Miller said nothing in response, merely nodded her head in encouragement and gestured for her to continue. Inhaling deeply Phoebe continued recounting the worst of what she saw. ‘When I moved away, closer to the carpark I saw what it was matting her hair – it was her brain. It was smeared all over her face, little chunks of it were in her hair and the snow was falling on top of her as if it were trying to bury her itself.’
Tears tracked down her cheeks, she didn’t know when she had started crying. Officer Miller leaned behind her and placed a box of tissues on the table which Phoebe took and quickly buried her distressed face into. They sat without talking for a minute or more before she continued.