Death Cart

Here's a fantastic short story Kate wrote in her second year of her degree:

Death Cart

It’s not the case that Carys regrets her childhood, or fears for her own child’s future now that the rest of Britain had access to their town; It was anxiety over the first day of school which released a pang of pressure into her throat.

The thought of spending her days alone in that big house was her true cause of fear. She lay staring at her mottled ceiling, the same ceiling she used to make shapes out of when she’d come running for the safety of her mum’s bed after a bad dream. She couldn’t see the outlines of animals or faces anymore; her imagination just wasn’t what it used to be.

Carys hoped that her little girl would find some friends at her new school. Growing up Carys didn’t have many friends, no one to share her adventures with. She remembered a rat she had thought a friend for a short time. Carys pulled her arms out of the covers and pushed her hair from her forehead as she recalled the day.  

This was before the Prince of Wales had stumbled upon Pantyffynnon when his hot-air-balloon had to land abruptly in one of the surrounding fields near the motorway, which is looped in a teardrop around the village and constantly clogged with congestion. Except the roads had been far quieter in her youth, something she had since come to miss.

For centuries Britain was oblivious to the goings on in Panty’, much to the delight of the locals. The Prince, in what he must have thought to be a generous gesture, declared independence to the town and its people for saving him from the tall oak his basket had become trapped in. The inhabitants of Panty’ had been overrun with tourists eager to visit the small state. Students from schools across Britain were sent on history trips almost year-round, and foreign visitors would come far and wide to take photos beside the town’s few landmarks. There was even an award-winning doctor who came in their first year of independence, wanting to take samples of the populations blood, from the local water sources and even their allotments soils.

“Home by six” her Mum had croaked after her as she skipped down the ginnel between her house and next door. That day her head was in the clouds, smiling at the sky. She’d failed to spot ‘Old Man John’s’ left boot resting beside her front gate as it flew open in her haste; or the fox’s tail twitching underneath the corner hedgerow. She hurried towards the wood and a new day.

She had woken before the sheep started bleating on the hill behind her house as they did every sunrise. This particular day she was distracted. A rat hidden in an old rabbit hole, stuffed with giant leaves had her attention. She had found it down by where the two rivers meet the day before and had carried it in her Dad’s old bucket to her hidey hole. She chose this spot to keep it away from Marcus and his friends.

Marcus lived alone with his Dad and was not legally allowed to own any pets, not after he set fire to Mr Hector’s cat and let loose Farmer Smith’s cows onto the motorway.

The wood wrapped around the street’s playground and a path straight through saved her three minutes at least. She didn’t stop under the swings to check for four-leafed clovers. She had found one last year, back when her Mum spent all day hiding in her potting shed, something she did on days when she felt low. Carys’ Grandad had died and her Mum’s visits to her shed became far more frequent. Carys had given the clover to her Mum, who cried at first, before crushing it into her baking pot, hung over the hearth. Her Mum smiled for one whole month after that day and stayed away from her shed in that time too. Carys usually made a point to check for more lucky clovers, but not that day.

The memory was strong of the men loading her Grandad onto the death cart. The cries of “bring out your dead” had been answered by her Mum’s wailing. The two men carried his body from the house and lay him into the back of the cart. The death cart passed their street the first Monday of every month, except on Bank Holidays, but she had not stopped to take note of the decaying corpses before. As her Mum said her goodbyes, Carys stood beside her, eyes fixed.

Gormless faces lay still, some staring at the sky, others facing her. Puss seeped from the wrist of a dead vicar set next to the stiff blacksmith with four missing toes. Blackened joints holding up pale expressionless faces were the makings of many nightmares of hers. Since then, when the death cart passed, she kept her eyes on the two men riding the horses and turned away as the rear of the cart was facing her direction. She sometimes wondered where they took the dead, maybe across the motorway and far from here. The townspeople rarely left Panty’, so few knew what was out there.

When she spotted the rat Carys was shocked, left rooted to the spot. People always spoke of how disgusting rats were but as she watched as it scurried across the rocks, she thought it looked harmless, innocent of the bad press. Balancing precariously like a bird, she watched the way it turned swiftly from left to right, in no obvious direction or reason, reminding her of herself. The way its little toes curled over the stones ahead of her resembled hamsters holding their food, and everyone likes cute hamsters. Marcus’ gang were playing rocket ball in the woods further down river. Rocket ball was invented by Marcus where his friends propel a football into the trees, trying to knock down any bird’s nests and the odd squirrel into the kid-made circle below. She didn’t want them to find the rat, so she decided to take it somewhere safe.

Getting it into the bucket was a struggle at first, it didn’t seem interested in the grass and dandelions she had laid as bait. She eventually enticed it in with some blackberries. She had picked the berries with her Dad only yesterday, the fruit used for his homemade blackberry wine, and the fresh blackcurrant jam sandwiches her Mum made for him to take to work down the mines. Carys had sneaked a handful from the pantry and was saving them for a post-paddle snack, but she was happy to share them.

The journey back was a bit bumpy, especially when she heard Marcus’ bicycle tyres screech down the path behind her, rocket ball must have finished. He enjoyed showing off with his wheelies and skids, so Carys had to run part way down the lane behind the houses, before nipping through Doctor Davies’ garden, bouncing the bucket off her knees once or twice in the rush.

She reached her hiding spot, under her favourite tree. A leaning oak tree, overlooking the stream which she hung all her best rope swings from. If she swung high enough, she could see the top of the swing set through the treetops. The river pushed the water over the rocks into a white floss of foam and bubbles. She didn’t see any fish, although, she didn’t slow down to check, if she had Carys would not have missed the silver flits below the water’s edge.

The rat seemed out of breath from the journey so Carys lay it down in the old rabbit hole to rest. That day, she had made sure that she had her handkerchief in her back pocket for nose-related emergencies, or pirates requiring a makeshift eye patch. She lay it over the rat as a blanket to help it sleep. She watched as its little nose twitched, rippling little waves down its whiskers, looking back at her over the top of the pale blue cotton square. She crossed her blue pumps over each other and sat up straight - allowing the little sunlight that broke through the tree line above her to heat up her shoulders as she watched it.

Its little chest moved slowly, and the colour of its fur was lighter than Carys had imagined a rat’s fur to be. In books they were usually black, dark and evil, but this rat was a pale brown and she decided that it was her new friend.

Carys decided to visit it again in the morning and covered the entrance to the hole in fallen leaves so no one would see the rat. Walking home, she bumped into Marcus on the street, making her jump out of her skin. “What you been up to, pimple face?” He spat, but Carys ignored him and ran into her house. She watched him through the net curtains. What if he had seen where she had come from? Nowhere was safe from Marcus in this village, except when near the death cart. Ever since Marcus’ Mum was loaded onto the cart, he didn’t go anywhere near it. Carys used to think this was why the local dogs walked behind the cart with their heads low, maybe they knew Marcus wouldn’t come near them there.

When Carys got to the rabbit hole the next day, she had brought with her a small handful of cheese from the fridge and a cracker crunched into crumbs in an envelope. She hadn’t had time to pick anymore blackberries but had planned to forage some for lunch later.

The rat was very still.

Tears fell from Carys’ eyes. Not the same type of cry her Mum had done following her loss. These tears silently streamed over her cheeks and off her chin. She could have sat there and sobbed for hours, if he hadn’t found her.

Carys knew it was him from the heavy thump of his footsteps behind her and the overhang of his shadow above her head. Marcus began to chuckle “you pussy.” She froze on the spot, dreading what twisted plot he was panning. She stood and faced him as Marcus bent down, picking up a large log and quickened towards her. Feet rooted, her legs would not move, stood in the path of his charge. That’s when she heard them.

“Dispose of your dead.” There was only one thing for it.

Branches snapped across her face and leaves flew back from beneath her heels. She jumped over the tree roots crisscrossing the track. Running through the nettles in shorts was a shock but needing to reach the cart before the climb of the hill demanded the stings. Marcus wasn’t far behind as she flew out of the wood with one large leap and ran across the road, reaching the back of the cart as it hit the incline.

She stopped, leaning back trying to catch her breath. Her shoulders jumped up with every deep breath and she could feel her veins pumping the blood through her limbs. She watched the cart begin to disappear from view. In a matter of seconds, she could no longer see her blue handkerchief resting between the rotting bodies.

Carys sat up, giving up on sleep and headed downstairs to double check her little girl had everything packed in her school bag that she needed for school the next day. After pouring it all out onto the kitchen table, Carys carefully packed everything back inside the bag; packed lunch, sun hat, pencil case and her yellow cotton hanky – for nose related emergencies.