The Pier

When I was young my mother told me to never go to the pier after the sun sets, when the night comes and when the shadows reach out.

Here, where we live, you’ve got to sleep early. Before the yellow light turns white and calls you. My mother said.

I never really understood what she meant but I feared the look in her eyes and the way her voice goes eerie every time she spoke of the pier. It was the sound of danger, of horrors and nightmares. I could do nothing but drill the words in my mind and take the warning to heart.

I was a little girl who knew nothing of the world back then. A little girl who was afraid of the dark and the shadows under her bed. A little girl who trusted her mother’s words. A little girl who felt protected and safe with her mother’s arms around her as she slept before dusk.

But now that I’m older, I’m no longer that little naïve girl who knew nothing of the world. Those stories that my mother told me no longer scare me. It has no logic to it, no facts or truth.

Just the made-up delusions of a widowed mother. That’s what the men who took me away said. That my mother was unstable. That over time, with my father’s death taking a big toll on her, her mind had deteriorated as the paranoia of dying ate her mentally. That she could no longer look after me.

I cried and fought. Hard. I didn’t want to be separated from my mother. After my father died, it was just her and I. Against the world, we’d say.

I knew those men were right. I did lose my mother. A long time ago. I lost her the moment that she started having me sleep early, and when she started to have that strange glimmer in her eye. But I always thought that as long as I was with my mother, everything would be alright. But those were just my wishes. And like every birthday wish I made, it never came true.

My mother was never the same after my father died. That was a fact. She became more paranoid, afraid of losing me. That was another fact. She was afraid that, like my father, the shadows by the pier would also take me away from her. That was when my mother’s nightmares became part of our reality.

After the men took me away, I had to go through therapy. Intense therapy.

They said I should thank them for taking me away from a dangerous mother.

As a little terrified girl who understood nothing of what they were saying, I just stayed silent. I didn’t answer their questions. I didn’t talk back to them. I just cried.

It was hard being away from my mother, the only person who made me felt safe and secure. But this feeling didn’t last long.

They said that if I didn’t cooperate with my treatment for the ‘trauma’ that I experienced, they would not feed me. So, I did not eat; until I fainted from malnutrition and dehydration. Eventually, they said that if I did really really well, I could go back to my mother. They would even let her visit me sometimes.

And I believed them, after all, I was a naïve little girl on the verge of death and at the slightest mention of my mother, I was rejuvenated. I began to hope that we’d meet again. So, I did what they said. I listened. I was well-behaved. I was the perfect daughter. But they lied. I didn’t see my mother. She was nowhere to be found. And I was never sent back home.

They said she visited. But I knew she didn’t. Otherwise there would have been some screaming and I would have been wrapped up in my mother’s arms. They said that if I just behaved better, they would send me home. But they kept me locked up.

After a few weeks, I became fascinated with the world outside our tiny house near the pier. After a few months, I started wanting to stay with my new friends. And after a few years, I forgot how I got to the place, how I had no parents. I forgot who I was.

Soon, a family came and picked me up. They loved how I was perfect. As a family of three, we travelled to places and made our own precious memories. The present burying my past. I was no longer the little girl who was afraid of make-believe. I became a girl who saw facts as the truth and reality determined by my actions. I was a practical girl with a good head on her shoulders.

It should have stayed that way. But it seemed that the past that I kept sealed, forgotten. Could not be left behind.

The phone rang. I answered it. It was those men again. The ones that took me away.

They said that my mother died. I laughed.

How could she be dead when I saw her just five minutes ago. I said.

Your birth mother died. They clarified. I froze in the spot with the phone in my ear as I remembered everything.

Miss? They asked. But I couldn’t hear them. I could only think back to my childhood.

Are you there? They questioned. But I couldn’t speak. My mouth seemed to have been glued shut. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry hysterically or swear.

Miss, are you okay? They asked again. But by this time, I could no longer listen to their voices. I put the phone back, ending the call.

A lone tear slips from my eye. That’s all it took before the dam broke. I cried and cried and cried. At the pain. The betrayal. The loss. I could no longer go back. I could no longer be wrapped in my mother’s arms. I was all alone.

I knew I forgot something important. But I could not remember it until I lost what was most important to me. My only remaining family. My mother.

How could I have forgotten the lies covered in sweet sweet honey that the men who took me away fed me? How could I forgotten who I was? How could I have forgotten to go back to my mother?

That was just a few weeks ago. Now, I’m back in the old small house by the pier. My only memory of my parents. Of our time together, as a family of three then a family of two.

I tried asking how my mother died. But no-one said a word, like it was taboo. A cursed topic never to be mentioned by anyone, else they want it happening to them. The only other clue I got was that my mother died by the pier, like my father.

It sounded like a caution, but I was an adult now that did not believe in fantasies. So, I went by the pier. It looked exactly how I remembered it. Rotten with molds, broken in some parts but still as stable. I walk to the end and sit down. I want to watch the sunset before I leave everything behind. For good this time.

I dangle my legs over, touching the surface of the water.

I feel the tender summer breeze wrapped around me. Just like my mother’s arms. Gentle and warm.

I hear the whispers of ancient stories, of my memories as a child when my parents were still alive. Full of laughter and love. Tears start falling as the amber sun continues to set, turning the sky on fire.

Soon the red sky turns dark and the moon lights up the pier.

In that small moment, where the sky turns night, one blink of the eye, a green light flashes. Blink. It disappears. Blink. It flickers through the horizon. I watch it with my glassy eyes, mesmerised. Like some sweet melody calling me to it.

I stand. I don’t know if it was for me to go home or to get closer to the green light. But I somehow find myself slipping off the pier and into the murky abyss. I try to swim up, but my clothes and shoes are dragging me down. Who said it was a good idea to wear military boots.

I start to panic as I feel my chest tighten. My legs frantically moving. My arms desperately reach out. But no-one was there to help me out. I was alone. In reality and at that very moment.

Tears mix with the water as I swallow a mouthful and as my breath leaves me. I start to see hallucinations. I see my father, then my mother. Then the shadows. Clawing me. Holding me. Dragging me down. I do not know what was real and what was part of the nightmare.

I just hear my mother’s voice. Her tone full of threat and caution. Her last words to me as the men took me away.

Baby, whatever you do. If you leave here, do not come back. Not to this town, or the house. Especially not to the pier. Remember.

I do not remember. What was I meant to remember?

When the sky turns red, time will stop. When the horizon glows green, they will come.

I should have trusted my mother’s words. She was not a crazy delusional widow. She was my mother. The only one that kept me safe all my years. Now she’s gone. And I did not remember her warning. It’s all too late now.

All over red rover.