A Better Place

It was an hour before dawn and the land was still sleeping. An icy breeze passed overhead, making the looming blue gums sway ominously in the cold air. In the distance, the harsh shriek of a barn owl pierced the night. To the dishevelled young woman shambling through the greenery, the bird’s ominous call was eerily appropriate for what she was about to do. She was almost completely blind in the darkness, but she refused to slow down. In her haste, shrubs snapped underfoot, and tiny rocks pierced the soles of her bare feet. Before long, the woman was grimacing with every step. She knew that her feet were bleeding, but she didn’t care. Soon, her injuries wouldn’t matter. After several more long minutes of painful walking, the hard, cold ground softened into soothing, cool mud. Panting slightly, the woman finally stopped. She was here. Before her, silvery moonlight danced across the blackness of the river’s surface. The dark, flowing water seemed to beckon to her. The woman allowed herself one last glance into the darkness behind her before creeping closer to the river’s edge. With tears blurring her already-hindered vision, she stepped into the water.

…

She should have let herself starve. If Maeve hadn’t given in to her hunger-driven urge to steal a stale loaf of bread, she would have died in her homeland. Instead, she was being shipped off to a foreign land forever. Maeve never could understand why her act of petty theft was being punished so severely; after all, she’d only been trying to survive. Despite how difficult it was for her to get by in Ireland, it hurt her deeply knowing that her country was abandoning her. Now, she was condemned to a place whose very name struck fear in the hardiest of prisoners.

Van Diemen's Land.

In the six months that she was confined to the bowels of a colonial ship – overwhelmed by seasickness, overcrowding, and the stench of human excrement – Maeve spent long hours wondering why her fellow convicts were all female, impoverished, and of childbearing age. When their ship finally landed on the shore of their new “home”, the women were placed in an eloquently named “female factory”, which acted as both a prison and a place of endless labour. Maeve was confined to this institution of domestic servitude for months, where she and the other women spent long hours washing garments, sewing clothes, and spinning wool. If a woman misbehaved, she was swiftly dragged away by a supervisor for a few hours, then returned to the working area with her hair scrappily shaved off or an iron collar wrapped tightly around her neck. Maeve quickly learned to keep her head down and do what she was told.

They weren’t people anymore. According to the government, they were only “tamers and breeders” for the opposite sex. Unfortunately for Maeve, she was neither. When Alexander, a pardoned convict, selected Maeve to be his wife, the woman was terrified. Her only experience with men on the island had been in the factory, where she’d witnessed female inmates endure humiliating punishments at the hands of their male superiors. Now, she was married to a man with a criminal history, and she had to bear his children.

She was right to be afraid of him. Alexander was an angry, aggressive, and cruel man. He never let her rest. Much like in her time at the factory, Maeve was forced into a role of perpetual servitude and abuse. If Maeve took too long to prepare a meal, Alexander would eat both of their servings. If Maeve didn’t properly repair his torn clothing, Alexander would tear great, revealing holes in the woman’s plain dresses. Worst of all, when Maeve failed to conceive, Alexander would beat her. Each month, Maeve begged her body to cooperate with his desires. Each month, it didn’t. For half a year, Maeve endured this brutal cycle of abuse. Her only moments of reprieve were found at the river.

Sometimes, when Alexander left their secluded colonial home to travel into town, Maeve would wander down through the forest of tall, papery trees until she reached the muddy bank of the flowing water. The river was enchanting. Ankle-deep in the chilled water, Maeve would gaze intently at her liquid reflection. Despite being her mirror-image – a perfect reflection of deep brown eyes, mud-coloured hair, and moon-pale skin – Maeve liked to imagine that the woman in the water was a completely different person. Someone who had a better life, but who also understood her pain.

As Alexander’s physical punishments became more frequent, so too did Maeve’s visits to the river. Every time Maeve went to the water, it became harder to leave. Her reflection could completely entrance her; it seemed to make silent promises of a better place, free of pain and suffering. Soon, Maeve would find these promises irresistibly enticing.

One night, during the seventh month of Maeve’s marriage to Alexander, the woman snapped. Settled in bed, and a moment before Maeve could blow out the bedside candle, Alexander grabbed her wrist. Heart pounding in her chest, Maeve slowly turned to face him. He wasn’t looking at her. She followed his line to sight down to the sheets directly under her thighs. A large, red stain was spreading across the thin material under her. The tell-tale sign of a failed conception. Alexander released her wrist, and dragged both hands through his hair. He was silent, but trembling. His knuckles were turning white with how tightly he was gripping his hair. Maeve could feel her heart beating in her throat. Her instincts screamed at her to run.

So, she did.

…

The harsh bite of the water made Maeve, gasp, but she pushed onward. She whimpered as the chilled water wrapped around her waist, then her shoulders, then her neck. Soon, her toes could barely touch the muddy riverbed, and she tried not to panic as the current pulled her further down the river. In the distance, she heard her wretched husband call out for her. At the sound of his voice, Maeve completely surrendered to the water, letting it swallow her whole.

She was only submerged for a few moments before her lungs began to burn. Panic set in with the pain in her chest, and the woman started to struggle. However, her thick clothing weighed her down, and she was pulled deeper into the blackness. Maeve’s desperation grew as the burning in her chest increased, but the icy water was weakening her limbs, and her air-deprived brain was shutting down. On the brink of losing consciousness, Maeve felt a firm grip around her ankle, and she struggled one last time before she was pulled into the river depths.

…

Maeve coughed and spluttered as she was dragged feet-first onto the riverbank. Eyes closed and lying on her side, the woman continued to wretch in-between desperate gasps for air. For a few long moments, all she knew how to do was breathe. She was ignorant to everything except the blissful feeling of air rushing in and out of her lungs. Eventually, when her chest stopped aching and the pressure in her head faded, Maeve remembered that she wasn’t alone. Someone had pulled her out of the water. Wanting to know who her rescuer was, she slowly opened her eyes.

And screamed.

Her rescuer was standing over her. And her rescuer was not human.

Its face was flat and misshapen, a mockery of a human face. Its skin was pale; so pale that even in the dimness of twilight, Maeve could see its purplish veins trailing down from its wide, thin lips to its quivering throat. Apart from two pin-prick pupils, its bulbous eyes were completely white.

And it was staring at her.

Maeve shrieked, scrambling away from the creature. It watched calmly as she frantically clambered backwards through the mud, desperate to get away. The thing took a step towards her and Maeve froze.

“What are you?” she asked, her shaking voice barely a whisper.

The creature cocked its head, and in a perfect mimicry of Maeve’s voice, replied:

“What are you?”

“What are you?”

“What are you?”

Maeve sobbed, wrapping her mud-smeared arms around her shins and pressing her tear-filled eyes to her knees. “Stop!” the woman wailed. Her mind was on the verge of breaking as this thing – this almost person – tormented her.

“Stop!” echoed the creature, using Maeve's voice and fear-filled tone.

“Stop!”

“Stop!”

“Stop!”

She could hear the mud squelching as the thing made its way towards her. She wanted to run, but she was frozen. The sound of its wet footsteps grew louder, then ceased. It was right in front of her now. It was standing over her. Tears brimmed and overflowed, spilling onto the woman's knees as Maeve felt it press its meaty palm onto her scalp.

Shaking, Maeve raised her head. The creature was gone. Before her, a naked woman with pale skin, deep brown eyes and mud-coloured hair stood before her. Even in the poor illumination of twilight, Maeve knew she was staring at a perfect copy of herself. She watched in stunned silence as her double turned and strode into the river. Within moments, the woman-thing was completely submerged in the dark water, and Maeve blinked in shock and bewilderment. Shivering in the chilled air, she shakily stood. Dawn would come soon.

Across the river, the white sun rose over the pale tree-tops, bringing soft, yellow light with it. Maeve felt no relief at the coming of a new day. Once again, she was stranded in a foreign world.

Trapped, in a demon's land.

...

Eight months later

In the soft candlelight, Alexander sat in bed with his pregnant wife. The man possessively pressed his hand to her swollen belly as he pondered the future of his unborn son. Alexander's touch was rewarded with a swift, fierce kick.

"He's a brute already," he murmured fondly to himself.

The woman beside him lowered her face to hide an unnaturally wide smile.