THE RIVER 

By Tessa Harvey


    The youngster kicked over her chair in anger, and leaving the firelight, stalked off into the darkness.
    "Let her go," Elizabeth said firmly, as Gladys Swan, her employer stood to go after the girl. "Amy will be back soon. She hates the dark." But she did not return that night.
    She had run as far and fast as she could. The night enclosed her like a dark blanket. The young girl hunched over, hands on her knees, panting hard. She looked back. No one had followed her. There were no wavering torch beams, no light at all, far beyond in the all-encompassing blackness.     
    "Fine," she told herself, "I don't care." Unbidden, a memory of her father quoting an old expression came to her: "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me. Think I'll go and eat worms," he had gently chided her when she had one of her familiar tantrums.
    "Yuck! Worms," she would giggle, helplessly, her mood sunny again, the desperate-seeming disaster all but forgotten. "It's a blame game," her mum had chimed in with her soft voice. "Own it, Amy. Don't hide and hurl accusations. It's a blame game. Take responsibility. You aren't the only pebble on the beach," added Amy's father's voice. Then they had hugged her, a child sandwich of security - both parents holding her safe between them. 
    Suddenly she understood. She had been wrong. A twig snapped. Amy whirled around, startled, gazing into the cold, unfriendly night. "I am alone," she realised. "I cannot see."
    A grey ghost materialised from the nearby trees. "You," whispered the girl, "Dad's friend." "Oh no, Blue dear - not his friend. Never that."
    The voice turned angry. "He stole from me, so you will pay."

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