the grace year
Storyboard Tekst
- Do they think I'm a ghost, an apparition coming back to haunt them?
- I know you. Tierney the Terrible.
- Someone was looking for you. I can't remember who.
- That's how she says good morning
- grrr
- Tying the red silk ribbon around my wrist, I step into the camp. I’m expecting a flurry of commotion, the excited panic that comes when the trappers return from the wild—return from the dead—but no one seems to give me a second glance. In fact, the first few girls that pass seem to look right through me. I wonder if they think I’m a ghost, an apparition come back to haunt them. And for a moment, I wonder if it’s true. Maybe I died that night, maybe Ryker skinned me alive, and all of this is an elaborate hallucination of my own making.
- Did it always smell like this?
- Because even without the influence of the well water, I feel dizzy in their presence. Transparent. Paper thin. Like one stiff breeze could turn me into stardust.“I know you.” A girl staggers toward me. I think it’s Hannah, but it’s hard to tell beneath all the dirt and grime. “Tierney the Terrible.”I nod.“Someone was looking for you.” She reaches up to scratch her head but ends up pulling out a clump of hair instead. “I can’t remember who,” she says before wandering off.
- Cautiously, I walk the camp. The pots and kettles are piled up next to the fire, rotting food curdling at the bottom, rice scattered in the dirt, empty jars and cans strewn about. Roaches are battling it out for the remains. I pass Dovey’s cage, thinking she’s certainly dead by now, but huddled in the bottom corner there’s a scrawny bird. She’s not cooing, but when I slip my finger through the slats to try to pet her, she lashes out with a vicious squawk.“That’s how she says good morning.” A soft voice passes behind me. I turn to find Vivi shuffling toward the gate, where a handful of other girls are huddled together.
- I'm so sorry, Gertie,
- She's not here,
- The limbs of the punishment tree hang heavy, bloated with new trinkets, the soil beneath, caked in fresh blood. There’s a girl standing behind the tree—she’s so thin that I almost miss her. She’s stroking a long copper braid that obviously used to be attached to her skull. It makes me think of Gertie. Where is she? As I open the door to the lodging house, the smell hits me like a runaway coach. Urine, disease, rot, and filth. I wonder if it smelled like this when I lived here or if this is something new.There are a few girls lying in their cots. They’re so still that for a moment I wonder if they’re dead, but I can detect the faint rise and fall of their chests. I stare down at them, but they don’t meet my eyes. They seem to be lost in a world of their own making.
- I find the spot where my cot used to be. I remember how scared I was the last time I was here, but I also remember Gertrude, Helen, Nanette, and Martha—talking late into the night. We were so full of hope in the beginning. We really thought we could change things, but one by one, they fell under the influence of the water … of Kiersten.Their cots are gone now. I tell myself that maybe they’ve just moved their beds to the other side of the room, but when I look over at the swollen pile of iron frames stacked up in the corner, I know it’s a lie.
- I’d love to play dumb, pretend I’ve been in a soundless slumber, but I heard the caws in the woods, as I lay beside a poacher every night, doing nothing to help them. Nothing to warn them. “I’m so sorry, Gertie,” I whisper through my trembling lips. “She’s not here,” a voice calls out from the far corner of the room, making my skin crawl. I don’t see anyone there, but as I walk toward the sound, a hand reaches out from under one of the beds, grasping my ankle. I scream. “Shhh…,” she whispers, peeking out from beneath the rusty springs. “Don’t or you’ll wake the ghosts.” It’s Helen. Or what’s left of Helen. There’s a half-moon puckered scar where her right eye used to be.
- AHH!
- Shhh..., don't or you'll wake up the ghosts.
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