Dear Diary,
Tonight the lift in my sixteenstorey council block shuddered between the fourth and fifth floors, and I heard once more the familiar rasp of my late grandmothers voice echoing in my head. How long will you keep putting up with this? she asked, as the doors lurched shut.
From the start my marriage to Peter had been a disaster. Wed been thrown together straight out of secondary school, and he never let me finish any course. I barely managed to get my driving licence and that only because my father, a machinist, never left the workshop, while his friend was a driving instructor. The only time I stepped outside was to buy groceries, and the only alternative to a walk was hanging the washing on the balcony.
Peter watched my every move. Even taking out the rubbish required him to be sure I had my mobile in my coat pocket, ready for a call. The weekends, which began on Friday evenings, terrified me. He would arrive home demanding dinner, a chilled bottle of his favourite gin on the table. After the meal he would, with a sneer, remind me of my worthlessness: Whats it like, you littlewretched thing? When will I have an heir? Hed then retire to the kitchen, finish his gin, and after the last shot demand, Wheres the beer? I knew hed never buy any during the day, giving me a precious twentyminute window for a breath of fresh air.
The lift halted abruptly, the lights flickering. Do you like how your husband treats you? the ghost asked. My voice barely rose above a whisper, No, he wipes his feet on me.
Not now, the old woman coaxed, but soon it will get worse. Do you want him to loosen his grip?
My God! I choked, No, of course not.
Then run, love, run! she urged.
Where to? To my mothers flat with her new husband? To my fathers house with his new wife? Ive got nowhere, I sobbed, my eyes stinging, my nose running.
She smiled, Being alone is a freedom, a chance to start anew. Imagine if you had a childhow would that feel?
My options? My eyes widened, as if the sky itself had opened.
A chance will appear soon. Dont miss it. Keep your eyes on the windows. Youll see.
What will I see?
Ive told you enough. Figure it out if youre not foolish. The lift is moving again. Dont be scared. Go for the beer, for your husband. And one more thing, the phantom whispered, search the little box that was left to you after my death. Its not empty; it has a double bottom. Find it, but do it without witnesses. If you flee, take only whats inside and leave the box behind so Peter never suspects.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift jolted back to life. My body trembled despite the voices warning. When the doors opened on the ground floor, the evening was warm enough to melt the lingering frost. Streams would soon rush, nature would renew itselfwhy shouldnt I?
Peter, drunk, sprawled on the kitchen table, snoring like a wild beast. His rumbling snores gave me the chance to examine the box without his interference. It felt lighter than it should have, as if there were a hidden compartment. I shook it over the bed; a cascade of threads, needles, crochet hooks, buttons and buttons flew out. My husband rolled his eyes, muttering, Ill toss it if its in sight. Your granny was a character, leaving her granddaughter some odd trinkets.
I turned the wooden box over, feeling for a seam. Nothing openedjust solid oak. I kept pressing, hoping something would give. The silence of my grandmother seemed to encourage me to solve it myself; I was no longer a child.
I settled onto the doublebed, ran my fingers over the lids carving, and a tiny latch clicked. A hidden drawer sprang out, striking my stomach. Inside lay an envelope, a set of keys, and several sachets labelled in my grandmothers quirky hand: Turn on the mind, Freeze the fear, Ignite vigilance, Dont be a fool, Kill the weak character, Feed the meat.
Shed always been a storytellerneighbors called her a witch, though she simply baked pies and knitted socks, never revealing what she did when the building was empty.
I opened the envelope. Papers fell onto my lap: deeds to a cottage that my grandfather had once built without a single nail, tucked away in a remote hamlet near the coast. Another document listed a vintage Ladamy grandfathers old Zhiguli with a foreign engine, now gathering dust in my fathers garage.
A letter followed, its tiny script like an ancient rune, reading in my grandmothers voice:
My dear, the hour has come to open the box. All my property, except the flat, is yours. If youre reading this, its time. Take the documents, the boxs contents, and the car. Leave now. Peace and happiness await you at Grandfathers cottage. Money for the first few weeks is hidden in the glove compartment. After that youll have to earn your own. Perhaps youll even learn something. Grandmother
Shed opposed my marriage, knowing what it would bring, yet after my death she still guided me.
I packed the papers, the sachets, and the keys into a separate folder, ready to leave as soon as the sun rose. The first instruction read: Take the Ignite vigilance packet, dissolve the powder in milk, and drink. Keep the paper. No other steps followed, but shed asked me not to discard the note, so I slipped it into the folder.
The next morning, still halfasleep, I lifted the mattress and found the folder where Id left it. The second instruction: Drink a glass of milk with the Dont be a fool powder on an empty stomach. I slipped into the kitchen, where Peter still snored, poured the mixture, and drank it.
Opening the window for fresh air, I returned to the folder and read the third note: Dont waste the folder; an enemy may find it. In an hour, drink tea with the Kill the weak character sachet. The fourth: After another hour, drink coffee with the Feed the meat sachet. Stay alert.
I obeyed each command. By the time the final concoction settled, I felt a surge of strength. My reflection in the cracked mirror showed a body more toned, arms defined, posture straight, cheeks flushed with vigor. Even my eyes seemed brighter, my jaw set.
Peters eyes flicked open, his face twisted with anger. What have you been doing in the lounge? he snarled.
Nonothing, I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.
You look like someones been working on you. A lover perhaps? he hissed, stepping toward me.
Fear clenched my stomach, but a new confidence surged. He lunged, fists swinging, but I blocked each blow with practiced ease, keeping my hands away from my face. Finally I struck his nose, and blood spurted, his skin turning ashen as he collapsed.
I looked at him, feeling no pity, no fear for his future health. I grabbed the folder and read the final instruction: Well done, Im proud. Look out the balcony, dress similarly, leave the shutters open. Place your bag where you see it. Then drink the Freeze the fear juice. When you collect Grandfathers car, stop at a café, order a milkshake with the Turn on the mind sachet. Leave the other packets untouched. Leave as quickly as you can. Grandmother
I dashed to the kitchen, mixed the powder, and drank it. I slipped onto the balcony, dressed in my grey jeans and black teeexactly what the stranger on the street below wore. The night was early March; a barefoot girl lay on the pavement, her hair a mess, her body shivering in the cold. The sight should have terrified me, but the concoction dulled the fear.
I gathered my documents, slipped my wallet into the folder, and fled the flat barefoot, my coat absent. By the refuse chute I found an abandoned pair of sturdy boots, a battered winter jacket, and a heavyduty coatenough to survive the chill.
I left the dead girls empty bag behind, as if someone had robbed her, then sprinted through the courtyard onto the street. No taxi was near, but a tram rolled by, and I hopped on, hoping for a connection to the old garage where the Lada waited.
The garage keeper, a hulking man who recognized my fathers daughter, let me in after I showed the papers. Im not against it, love. Just call your dad if you need a proper car, he said.
No, thank you. I just need the Lada, I replied, grabbing the keys. He handed me a cheap bottle of soda and a packet of chips. I slid the cash Id found in the glove compartment into my pocketenough for a few weeks, as Grandmother had promised.
Driving out, the road was a river of mixed traffic. My mind echoed Grandmothers voice: Look up, see the signs? I replied with a grin, I see them. Turn left at the roundabout and head towards Brighton. Youll find what you need there. Safe travels, dear.
I smiled wider, feeling the wind in my hair, the scent of the sea on the horizon, and the lingering warmth of my grandmothers guidance.
Lesson learned: sometimes the only way to break free is to listen to the quiet voice inside, gather the hidden strengths, and walk out the door with your own hand on the handle.
