Living Next Door To Alice

Who is Alice? I ask myself that same question everyday and still cannot come to accept her far-fetched explanation. Alice, I have known since I was a child. Our introduction was not by choice, as this strange reclusive woman seldom was seen in the company of others.

    Alice was a short woman with long, waist-length hair, as white as snow, her childlike features belying her age. She was one of those women you could not put an age to, but she had lived in Millbrook Street since the houses were built, some thirty years ago. Taking that into account, she must have unsurprisingly been at least fifty years of age. My parents recalled the day she bought the house, and say she has not changed a bit in those thirty years.

    Alice was a figure of ridicule in Stokesley, and some even claim she is a witch. As a child, we used to go out of our way to avoid her, and she seemed happy with this arrangement. That all changed on that day sixty years ago, when I was a ten-year old child with not a care in the world. My parents warned me not to talk to this enigma of a woman, but they might as well have handed me an invitation, as I was a curious, rebellious child.

    I recall that day as if it was yesterday. It was the hottest day of the summer and my older sister, Kate and my mother were sunbathing in the back garden. While mother was on her knees, tending to her beloved roses, Kate and I frolicked in the paddling pool. I remember the laughter when a large bee swarmed around Kate, which alarmed her as she made her way indoors, screaming at the top of her voice. Mother swiftly hurried after her. My amusement was enhanced when I saw the colourful insect home in on the arm of my distraught sister, like a Kamikaze pilot swooping on a battleship.

    The panic indoors offered me the opportunity I had been waiting for. I picked up my football and flung it over the high fence, before exiting the garden. I knocked loudly on the paint-starved, red door and saw the curtains move. Again, I knocked, and I soon looked up at this ominous figure of a woman.

    Close up, even as a child I could see how pretty she must have been, then realised she looked no older than my mother. It was just that pristine, white hair that added years on her appearance. Her narrow eyes were green, like emeralds, and her so white teeth were perfect and unblemished, but it was the clay pipe clamped between her lips that held my attention. I had never seen a woman smoke a pipe before. I still recall to this day, her mustard coloured cardigan and long black skirt, which trailed down to her bare feet.

    My bravado deserted me as I took a step back, wondering why I was here.

    “Yes, little boy. What can I do for you?”

    “M-my b-ball. It’s in your back garden.”

    Fear-provoking thoughts entered my head, and the stories of Alice the witch would not go away. I envisaged images of the inside of a pie, and Alice licking her lips as she placed me inside her hot oven.  I took another step back.

    “Come on then. Let’s go and look for your ball,” she insisted.

    “I have to go. My tea’s ready.”

    “Why not have tea at my house? I have jam tarts, hot cross buns, and rice pudding. You like rice pudding, don’t you?”

    I nodded enthusiastically, as the lure of the goodies negated my fear. She beckoned me inside with her index finger, and it was at that moment, when I noticed the length of her fingernails. This added to my imagery of her being a witch, but the aroma of the hot cross buns proved too much of a temptation.
    It was a strange house. All of the rooms I passed had a strange green glow emitting from them, and there was very little furniture. Several portraits adorned the black painted walls, all depicting a woman, which I took to be her. The kitchen was no exception, with the green glow giving it an eerie atmosphere. My eyes were attracted to four large pans that rested on the hob of the age-old oven…or were they cauldrons?

    Alice stood besides the oven, her green cat-like eyes fixed on me, as she smirked. “Hubble-bubble,” she laughed, and she reached for a wooden spoon.

    I backed off and she guffawed loudly, before telling me to relax.

I took a deep breath, expecting the worst when she opened the oven door. I licked my lips when she removed the hot cross buns and a large bowl of rice pudding.

    Alice winked at me and I followed her to the table. I then realised there was only one chair, which she prompted me to use. My mouth watered when she spooned the delicious looking pudding into a bowl. I polished off two bowls and still made room for a hot cross bun and a jam tart.

    Alice watched me contently as I held my stomach, and offered her a toothless smile. “Well, what do you think?”

    “It was the best rice pudding I’ve ever tasted.”

    “I thought you’d like it, Timmy.”

    “How do you know my name?”

    “I know everyone's name.”

    “No you don’t. That’s impossible.”

    “Is it?”

    “Okay, what’s the name of my dog?”

    “Goldie, of course.”

    “Yikes! You are magic. Are you a witch?”

    She laughed loudly, throwing her head back, her long white hair distorting her features. “The children like to think that. What do you think?”

    “I don’t think you are, because you don't have a cat, and all witches have cats.”

    She looked past me and smiled. I heard the patter of tiny feet before I heard the sound I was dreading. “Meow.”

    I was now on my feet, determined to make my getaway.

    “Sit down, Timmy. You have nothing to fear from me.”

    “The other kids call you Alice the witch, but I don’t, honest.”

    “Sticks and stones,” she cackled.

    “Why are you always on your own?”

    “Because, Timmy, it is God’s wish. I’ve been punished and am still serving my penance.”

    “Whatever do you mean?”

    “Someday, I’ll tell you. You won’t understand if I told you now.”

    “Please tell me, Alice,” I pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone, honest.”

    She smiled, flashing her perfect teeth. “Maybe, you’re more grown up than I give you credit for, Timmy. You’re a smart ten-year-old, aren’t you?”

    “How do you know my age?”

    “How old do you think I am?”

    “Dunno. About one hundred.”

    Again, she threw her head back and laughed loudly. “Timmy, I’m a wee bit older than that… Before I continue, you must promise me you’ll tell nobody of what you’re about to hear?”

    “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

    “Very well, I trust you,” she said, pouring out a glass of refreshing lemonade for me. “Timmy, I lived in a village in Northumbria many years ago. When you’re older, you’ll understand more what I’m about to divulge to you… I was a young girl; pretty, and in love with a young man called Edwin. In those days the Romans ruled Britain, and even though we hated the Romans, they offered us security, as we were vulnerable to attacks before they arrived. All was well until 408 AD. Yes, Timmy, 408 AD. Our rulers were recalled back to Rome, and of course the inevitable happened.”

    “The Romans? We’re learning about them at school.”

    Alice continued. “We were attacked by the Picts, and were defenceless without leadership and guidance. Edwin and I fled to the forest and were captured by those terrible people. A large bearded man with his face painted blue was about to smite Edwin with his sword, and I begged him not to. What he wanted to know was the whereabouts of our village in exchange for our lives. Edwin begged me not to tell, and reminded me that our families lived in the village, but I was a smitten young girl.  I did tell them, and they cut off Edwin’s head in front of me, before… Well, I’ll tell you of my ordeal when you’re older.”

    “You’re telling fibs. Nobody can be that old,” I insisted.

    “I’m not finished, Timmy. I returned to my smouldering village and found the ravaged bodies of my family, including my two-year-old sister. I wandered around aimlessly for what must have been days, before I came across a strange, green glow in the forest. I had to shield my eyes from the brilliance of the phenomenon, and a loud booming voice spoke to me. The voice said I had betrayed those that were closest to me, and as a punishment, I would be left to walk the earth forever.”

    “Wow, was it God?”

    “I don’t know, but here I am. I’ve seen many things in my time on earth, and I’m so tired. I long to find peace and to be allowed into the kingdom of heaven, but I know in my heart it will never happen.”
    “That’s a brilliant story, Alice.”

    “Remember your promise, Timmy.”

    “I promise.”

******

My parents scolded me for seeing Alice, but every opportunity that presented itself, I visited her, as she enthralled me with her countless stories of her life. I eventually went to University, but looked forward to visiting Alice whenever I returned home. The many self-portraits depicted her in her various eras, and I learnt so much about this poor woman who was destined to never die.

    I had my doubts of course, but it made sense when I thought about it. Alice never looked any older, and she went into so much detail about her life. I have to admit that I checked out the dates and facts, before feeling a little guilty when they substantiated her story.

    Our relationship is developing, as each day I grow a little nearer to her age. I am mesmerised by her accounts of her meeting Henry VIII and being present at the coronation of Queen Victoria. She was once even accused of being a witch in the dark ages, but one of her accusers fell for her alluring charm, and all charges were dropped. It amazes me to think that when I am no more, Alice will still be around, marvelling at another new era.

    There is a great sadness in this tormented woman, and recently I found out the extremes she is willing to go to in her quest for the ultimate peace. It was a fine spring day, and against the will of my parents, I decided to accompany her to the supermarket. I was now nineteen years of age and free to do as I please, and our unhealthy relationship, according to my father, would I hope flourish. I felt myself growing closer to Alice, and could see the vulnerability in her emerald eyes as she recited her eternal tales to me. A sexual chemistry developed between us, not physical as yet, but mental. I think Alice could sense my lustful thoughts, and encouraged me to find a girlfriend my own age.

    Lecherous stares were directed at us when we walked along the High Street, towards the supermarket. We waited at the traffic lights and I took my eyes off her for one moment, but that is all she needed. I heard the screech of brakes and then the loud dull thud when the car hit Alice, catapulting her into the air, as if in a dream sequence. She was thrown to onto the road, and I screamed when she disappeared under the wheels of a bus.

    Several more screams accompanied mine, and I dashed into the road blindly. I crouched below the bus and held out my hand, feeling her cold palm envelope mine. The tears streamed down my eyes as she stared into nothingness.

    A priest appeared from somewhere and asked her if she would like the last rites read. My tears turned to laughter when Alice smiled and said; “That would be lovely, Father.”  

    What happened next was amazing and miraculous. The crowd stepped back, open-mouthed, when Alice rose to her feet and brushed herself down. “Life goes on,” she muttered, and walked away, mingling with the crowd. My troubled mind was in turmoil. I did not know if I was happy she had survived, or if I was sad at her failed suicide attempt.

    Now, I am an old man, and as my life ebbs away, Alice tends to me. As I lay in her bed, she relates to me stories of a small boy many years ago, who craved for rice pudding. My hope is that after death, I can be reunited with Alice, in this life or perhaps the next.