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When the Rain Falls

Joseph Braddock had not wanted to leave home. He stared out of the window of the attic bedroom, across miles of snow-covered fields and clenched his fists. He missed the traffic, the bustle of the city and anyway, the room smelled damp. The attic room was where Mrs Hills’ son slept but he was in France fighting in the war. She didn’t like to be reminded about her son. She welled up and sniffed whenever the war was mentioned. Joseph was no fool and, after one conversation, he had learned not to touch on the matter.

His first day at the school had come and gone. The teacher was a kindly enough man called Mr Steward. He had soon discovered that Joseph could neither read nor write. Sitting at the back of the schoolroom, Joseph worked sulkily with a copy book and scratchy pen. His letters looked like a spider had crawled across the page. Joseph kept his head down all day, put his anger inside a box, and shot out of the door as soon as the school bell rang.

The weeks rumbled by and Joseph began to carve out a routine. His days were spent bored at school, scratching spidery letters and at home, he helped Mrs Hill with daily chores. Soon, winter left the valley and spring arrived with a flourish of green warmth. The garden had been dug up and Mrs Hill grew potatoes, carrots, lettuces and various vegetables that Joseph did not know existed. Flowers filled the roadsides, many of which Joseph had never seen. Hedgerows thrummed with blossom like petalled, coloured stars and the sound of sparrows chattering and goldfinches twittering amazed Joseph. He locked the chickens in at night, collected eggs in the morning and scratched the back of an enormous pig that Mrs Hill was fattening up.

Last thing at night, Joseph stood at the attic window, watching nothing happen in the valley as the sun slipped away. Nothing happened, except for one thing.  Every night, Mrs Hill took a lantern, left the cottage and made her way down into Spinney’s Acre. This was a large wood on the edge of the village. Leaning out of the window and tracking the gleam of lantern light, he watched her from his attic room,. What was she doing? Why did she go down to the wood every night?

Joseph did not have to wait all that long to find out. One night, at the start of May, when the trees had come into leaf and the bluebells covered the woods, she asked Joseph to follow her. The lantern bobbed ahead and Joseph trudged sulkily behind. He was not yet ready to show her that he was beginning to enjoy his new life.

The moon shone down a silver light and stars studded the night sky but inside Spinney’s Acre, it was dark. The lantern cast shadows that in Joseph’s imagination became goblins that might steal you away. He hurried after Mrs Hill.

She stopped by a thicket of brambles woven together. Joseph peered into the bushes. He could smell something intense, meaty and distinctly animal. Then two green eyes appeared out of the darkness. Something growled, long, low and deep. A throaty snarl like no other. Joseph gasped. He was looking at an enormous cat, bigger than any he had ever seen. “Meet Aphrodite,” Mrs Hill whispered, “She’s a panther. I found her as a cub, lost in the snow.”

Aphrodite stared at Joseph and padded forwards. Joseph stood, paralised with fear.
© Pie Corbett 2024