The rain fell from the dark sky and flowed down the gutters of the O ld Town district
of Stirling as a small, hooded figure stood by an old-rendered, turreted house. A
couple appeared out of a doorway. The woman, a tall blond with too much make up,
said: “What’s a child doing out alone on a night like this?”
The small character turned slowly to face them, the hood hiding the facial features.
“Please help me, my name is Rebekah, and I „m looking for my mother!” said a
pleading girl’s voice as a strong feeling of menace invaded the atmosphere.
“Oh you poor dear,” said the woman, who started to move toward the figure, but
was pulled back by the man as the child lowered the hood to reveal a head of curly,
blond hair which tumbled on to her shoulders. The skin of her face was pallid and
stretched over a fine bone structure. She stared at the couple with total black eyes.
“Come on Peggy,” said the man with a quivering voice.
“Please, I have to go home!” beseeched the child, but the couple had gone and all
that was left was the splatter of the rain on the pavement and road. She pulled up her
hood and walked on. The gargoyles high on the Barceló Hotel on the other side of the
road spat out a steady flow of water which crashed onto the pavement below. A drunk
sitting in a doorway out of the rain gazed at the hooded figure as it passed by.
“Where are you going?” he barked.
She stopped and turned slowly to face him. He was unshaven and wore a crumpled
grey jacket which had seen better days. He whimpered as she pulled back the hood.
“Please help me, my name is Rebekah, and I’m looking for my mother!”
“Leave me alone!” the man shouted turning away.
A moment past.
The man felt a finger jab his upper arm and he turned to find the child’s face next to
his.
“Please, I have to go home!”
After a moment the Drunk rose up and shouted: “You keep trying!” as he walked
off into the night.
Crossing the road the figure passed the front of the monolithic Church of the Holy
Rude which, due to the light from spotlights reflecting on the water running down the
walls, had a dark-blue patina. She passed through the locked gates to the O ld Town
Cemetery as if they weren’t there and followed the path between the dripping
headstones. Shadows played hide and seek as statues gazed through a swirling mist
which had begun to descend on the graveyard.
The child stopped for a moment by the white iron and Perspex cupola of the V irgin
Martyrs and looked inside at two marble female statues, one reading a bible to the
other, both looked over by an angel. The rain drops ran down the Perspex like tears
from heaven.
She moved into another part of the cemetery where three statues stood on a raised
area, over-shadowed by Stirling Castle in the background. A thick swirl of mist
engulfed her; children’s hands pulled her apart and her essence was gone.
