The Friday the 13th Garden
Behind a tall, old brick wall there was once an exclusive,
private garden, with fruit trees and curved flower-beds, an oval fish pond and
a crowd of climbing roses on a wide pergola. It was also full of self-seeded
buddleia, infested with nettles and partly covered with ivy, ragwort and other
uninvited guests. One other fact that you need to know is, this overblown
private garden was in Chelsea. To have a private garden in Chelsea, you need to
be posh, or rich or preferably both.
Sylvie was neither posh nor rich, but she was a gymnast and proud
of it. This particular day, Friday the thirteenth of May, after a row with her now
very much ex-boyfriend Simon, in the crowded pub known locally as ‘The Plastic
Meat,’ due to the display of fake foods beside the serving hatch, Sylvie found
herself walking alone, beside a high brick wall. She was still angry and felt
lightheaded and seething with adrenalin after the fight. A black cat ran across
her path and shot up and over the wall. The wall was six feet high, Sylvie was
five foot four, but she followed the cat.
She’d walked past that wall often enough, and never felt the
urge to climb it before. It was on her way home from college and she assumed,
like everyone else, that it backed onto the row of garages which were clearly
visible from the next street. Yet somehow that Friday evening the sight of the agile
cat almost thinking itself up the wall triggered an unfamiliar instinct in her.
Once on the top of the wall, a position that surprised her for a moment, Sylvie
looked back at the street, which seemed duller and further away than quite made
sense.
When she turned and looked into the garden, she found a
large apple tree was reassuringly close, with an adjacent branch which she leapt
onto, then she saw the cat on the ground, looking up at her. Although it was getting dark, she could see
the cat quite clearly, as if the air in the garden was brighter than the street
outside. The cat made an inviting sound, a sort of loud thrum, then turned and
walked off into the weeds, its tail a dark question-mark above the greyish
grass heads.
Dropping to the ground, Sylvie felt soft, mossy turf beneath
her feet. She began to follow the cat; its tail was still visible in the
undergrowth. She found the stems of grasses and ragwort parted before her, they
were very tall, so were the nettles yet brushing against them didn’t harm her
hands or face
She found she was approaching a huge wooden structure that
loomed skyward, with the vast stems of climbing rose that enveloped its posts
swaying in the evening air far above her head. The scented roses, white and
full, seemed to dot the sky like stars.
Then a deep, charmingly melodious voice called out her name.
‘Sylvie! Why hello, Sylvie, thank-you for gracing us with
your pretty presence.’
Sylvie arched her back, she felt the hairs on her neck stand
up, then those on her back and her tail. The entire sensation was so surprising
that she ignored the voice. A hiss escaped from between her pointed teeth as
she worked mentally through her body; eyes, nose, ears, whiskers, paws, tail…
Whiskers? Paws? Tail?! She yowled in alarm.
‘Don’t trouble yourself, dear’, the voice said calmly, then
there was something under her belly and she was lifted up three times her
height and placed onto a huge, white cushion.
‘…you’ll find it a little startling to begin with,’ the
voice continued, ‘but you will become accustomed to your new state. You may
even come to prefer it, others have done so.’ A large, pale face was smiling down at her,
hugely sparkling eyes and mouth with a smear of dark, strange smelling
lipstick.
Then the black cat appeared on the cushion beside her,
seeming much bigger than before and he rubbed his cheek against hers.
‘Judas! You clever boy, thank you so much for finding Sylvie
for me. She is delightful, look at her velvet coat and amber eyes. She could
almost be your sister if it wasn’t for those white claws.’
Startled, Sylvie
looked down at her front paws, they were black and soft, with curved, pale
claws which were clinging to the cushion for all they were worth.
‘Sylvie dear, I know this seems a little strange,’ a hand
was stroking her back, it was somehow soothing. ‘Judas brings me new friends
every Friday the thirteenth, as I can’t leave my garden.’
Sylvie opened her mouth to ask a question, any question, there
were so many buzzing around inside her mind, but all that came out was an
anguished, ‘Mmrrrooooww..?
‘You shall be my newest friend,’ said the voice, ‘allow me
to introduce us all. Judas you have met,
he has been here the longest. Over there in the camellia bush are Dante and Gabriel,
tabby brothers, such naughty boys, they constantly squabble. By the pond you
will find grey Derek who tries quite obsessively and yet fails to catch the goldfish
and my dear Caroline nests in the overgrown ivy, I so wish she would come and
play with me as she once did. Her delightful white fur has become knotted with roots
and spiders’ webs. There are so many others, I seem to forget all their names.
However, I am Gwennifer Drew-Jones, my father was Viscount
Hubert of Llanmaes and I have resided at number 2, Cadogan Close all my life,
and all of my death. When my nephew inherited the title, he had me smothered
and buried underneath this lovely rose, since I was still an embarrass-ment.
Having a witch in the family, even a very old one, is apparently most improper,
so he buried me like an animal.’
Sylvie felt her fur starting to prickle again, and then there
was more stroking.
‘Please be calm, Sylvie dear,’ Gwennifer said, ‘I am by no
means the first spirit you have met this delightful evening.’ The black cat
called Judas licked the giant cheek, then turned to Sylvie and purred a
confirmation. ‘There, you see, Judas was here before me. He was my kitten when
I was quite a child myself. He was buried by the wall, following a disagreement
with a hansom cab. Being a young cat, he can easily surmount the wall and go
into the street to look for likely passers-by. I myself cannot go beyond the
garden, since I am permanently an old woman.’
Sylvie’s fur had settled beneath the soothing of the giant
woman’s hand, but it felt disarrayed, without thinking she found herself
twisting her head around and licking her shoulder, combing the disobedient hair
flat with her rough tongue. It was a satisfying sensation and she felt a
throbbing purr begin inside her chest.
‘There, there, Sylvie,’ Gwennifer said, ‘You could return to
being a young woman, if you choose, but you must leave my garden to do so.
There are some who choose to go. There was my lovely Geoffrey, he was a
beautiful ginger fellow and his companion was lovely Soo-Ling, they came here together.
Dear Geoffrey went away and even Soo-Ling can’t tell where he is now, can you
dear?’
Sylvie became aware of the slim Siamese cat who sat on the
other side of Gwennifer’s vast, tweedy, tree-trunk legs. The Siamese put its
head on one side and stared intently at Sylvie. She knew that for a cat, a
straight stare was usually a challenge of some sort, but this cat’s expression
held something entirely different.
Words formed in Sylvie’s mind… ‘Geoffrey had the right idea.
If you stay too long, the instincts take over, though your mind remains human.
You’ll find you can’t leave, you’re without solid food, or love, or sex. Your
body will starve, then you will just be here forever as her toy in this damned ghost
garden. Go, while still you can.’
