Little Lorna

            She was plain, not ugly merely plain. Her dark hair hung round her face hiding its features. When pulled aside it revealed no great beauty only a curious complexity that drew you to her. She seemed to be any other child anywhere else. Her mouth wasn't full and beautiful. Her nose was a bit too large for her face. Her cheeks were neither high nor full, but something made you stare. Upon closer inspection one would discover her eyes, not attractive limpid pools that should stare back from the sockets of a six year old, but burning black puddles of passion and hatred. Her eyes were the eyes of Nazis at Bergen-Belsen, of the Saxons raping England, of the Crusaders killing Moors in Spain. She was a child of hatred and bitterness. Her twisted smile was full of cruelty.

            She was called Lorna. Soft, melodic syllables strung together to form a quiet, lovely name. It was the kind of name that a doll-like angelic child should bear. The name conjured images of blonde ringlets dancing in the sunshine. She could not have been named more poorly.

            Lorna, whose nature was spawned in waters diseased by zeal, was no frolicking angel child. She was somber and morose. She rarely smiled, and even more rarely laughed. Her family wondered what was wrong with her. They questioned their abilities as parents. Because of their perceived failure with Lorna they had no other children.                    
           
            Allison Gardner first saw Lorna while she was shooting a spread for a local magazine. “Creekview’s Young Geniuses” was the title of the piece. A local private elementary school had just posted several students with test scores well above the norm. Allison was supposed to shoot the kids at the school, engaged in academic pursuits.

              It was an uneventful shoot except for the one dark-haired little girl named Lorna. Her black eyes chilled Allison to her very core. She was glad when she finished shooting the child. Allison continued the banal, uninspiring work of photographing the little “geniuses”.


              At the end of the shoot, Allison was glad to head home. She was anxious to finish her work from the weekend. She was able to head up to Oswego to take some photos and thought she had shot some amazing pictures. She dreaded processing the film for the assignment but knew it would have to be done first.

            As she flicked the light in the kitchen on, her cat Garbo brushed up against her legs and meowed. Garbo had been saved from a local shelter. Allison fell in love with her after she saw the poor cat, which was terrified and reclusive. The name Garbo seemed to fit her private temperament. She reached down and fluffed the cat’s fur. She grabbed a can of food and put it down for her before descending into her dark room.
 
            She pushed past her dread and started developing the pictures from the day. She mixed the chemicals and grabbed the film. Slowly she began processing the photos, systematically checking them for errors.  When she came to the roll of Lorna’s pictures, she hesitated. She did not to be alone in a dark room with the little girl’s likeness. She chastised herself for her childish trepidation. And began to develop the photos.

          The colors and slowly swam into focus. Allison was perplexed. She was certain that these photos were not the ones she had shot. The portraits seemed bleached of light and color. The edges of the pictures were black; the only illumination fell on the child’s unsmiling face. The pale peach of her skin and the browns of her clothes were the only colors present in the shot. Allison had shot pictures of Lorna in a group setting and alone, but all the photos only featured the girl. Allison was confused. She was sure she had used a regular lens and no special techniques. The film from the other children was fine.

            Allison printed and organized the photos of the children. She dropped them into an envelope to give to her editor, Lawrence. She also printed a proof sheet of the solemn little girl’s pictures to examine later.

            Suddenly Allison realized she was late for a drink with her friends. She had scheduled the date last week and forgotten to write it down. She finished up in the dark room and ran up the stairs to her kitchen.

            Allison searched frantically around the kitchen for her bag. She checked all the usual places it would be. She finally found the bag thrown on top of the refrigerator. She tossed the envelope containing her assignment and the proof sheet into the purse. She intended to drop the envelope by Lawrence’s office later.

          Allison caught a cab to the bar across town. While she was sitting in the cab trying to occupy her thoughts, she pulled out the proof sheet and decided to examine it.

          The little girl’s somber face stared back at her from the gray and black background.  Her eyes seemed to be burning with internal fire. The little girl’s mouth appeared set, as if she were angry about something. The vehement look of hatred on her face frightened Allison. She thought it was incredibly stupid that she should be scared of a photo of a little girl, but she couldn’t shake the chill of fright.

          Allison glanced out the window of the cab and her breath caught in her throat. Was that the little girl standing beside the bus stop? Allison mocked herself for seeing things and forced the child from her thoughts.

          Allison arrived at the bar and began to search for her friends. She found them at their usual table at the back. She greeted each of them and let her thoughts be turned towards the gossip and everyday chatter. She completely forgot about the black-eyed child for a while.
         
          Allison stumbled from the cab and onto the curb. She had drunk more than her limit this evening and would pay for it in the morning. She tried several different keys until she found the correct one. She opened the door and let the cool familiarity of home wash over her. She checked her voicemail and petted Garbo before settling down for the evening. Stumbling into the bedroom, she cursed a new antique end table she had bought last week.
         
            Finally, Allison made it into bed. She let everything slip away from her and was fast asleep within minutes.  Garbo sat at the end of Allison’s bed and watched her twitch and jerk in her dreams.
         
            Allison was surrounded by the little girl’s image; it threatened to swallow her up. Every which way she turned there was Lorna’s face distorted by hatred. Allison watched and screamed futilely as Lorna stalked and devoured her classmates. She seemed full of unholy life and coursing with evil energy. Then the child turned to Allison with a wicked smile.

            “You can’t run.”
         
              Allison awoke with a scream. She clawed her way out of her bedclothes and looked around frantically. She was certain she would she the child looming over her with the same bitter, cruel smile. Allison was alone, save Garbo, who looked at her curiously.
         
            “Merowl?” Garbo inquired.
         
              Allison looked at the cat and smiled. She had to stop drinking on weeknights. She pushed the memory of the dream away and told herself that she had to stop obsessing. The kid was probably just having a bad day. She hadn’t smiled because she was mad at a classmate over some silly first-grade dispute. Her eyes were angry and her mouth clenched because she had been humiliated by her teacher.
         
              Allison checked her bedside clock. It was half-past nine. She was supposed to be at work an hour ago. She grabbed the phone and left a message for Lawrence. Dashing into the bathroom, she turned the water on to it’s hottest. Allison stripped out of her clothes and let the scorching water run over her. She indulged a few minutes and then washed hurriedly. She dried off with a mostly clean towel and pulled on clothes she had laundered day before yesterday. As she ran out the door she grabbed her bag and a lint roller, the clothes were covered in Garbo’s hair.
         
              Allison walked the eight blocks to her editor’s office. The revolving door caught her bag and nearly jerked her off of her feet. She ran towards the elevator calling for the door to be held. Unfortunately either no one heard her or no one cared. She finally caught an elevator and rushed down the hall and into her editor’s office.
         
              Lawrence Geoffreys shot death-rays from his eyes as Allison entered. He was on the phone and held up a finger to indicate he would be a moment. Allison looked around nervously; she needed this job. All her colleagues envied her steady position and assured her that freelance was a living hell. She was prepared to grovel as much as necessary.
         
              Lawrence turned around to finish his conversation. Allison glanced around his office and for the first time noticed the lack of any personal photos. It struck her as odd; she knew Lawrence had a wife and two children. Where then were the smiling family portraits that usually graced the walls of an office?
         
              Lawrence finished on the phone and turned his attentions to Allison. He wanted to know why he hadn’t gotten the photos first thing this morning. Allison apologized and lied about a late night phone call from her parents. Lawrence chided her strongly but forgave her. He had a new assignment for her this afternoon. He wanted Allison to go and shoot the river people, homeless people living near the river in a tent city. She got the information she needed and promised to get him the photos as soon as she could.
         
              Allison decided to go ahead and shoot by the river. She wanted to get the mid-morning light. She walked swiftly back to her flat to get her camera bag.  She caught a cab from there over to the river. When she got to the tent city, she braced herself for the worst. Allison had always had a tender heart and seeing these wretched individuals would hurt her terribly.
         
              She took her camera out of the bag and began shooting. She got a couple of shots before that the river people noticed her. One woman walked up to her and asked for change. Allison relented and handed her a rumpled ten from her purse. The old lady thanked her and then bent to retrieve the item that had dropped from Allison’s bag when she opened it. The lady picked up the proof sheet of Lorna, stared at it intently, and began to yell. She demanded to know where Allison had taken the picture. Allison knew better than to disclose the child’s location after such a violent response.

              The old woman seemed so agitated by Lorna’s pictures that it made Allison think about her own dream last night. She wondered if something was off about the girl, then quickly pushed the thought away. That was absolute lunacy. Just because some crazy old lady at the river went nuts didn’t mean anything.  River people went nuts all the time. Allison had to focus on her work. She shot two more rolls of film before deciding she had what she wanted. She wanted to go to the office and process these and get them in to Lawrence before he got angry. 
She left the river feeling uneasy. What on earth was happening lately? She felt rattled by the whole experience. Allison decided to process the photos at work, turn them in, and then return home for a quick nap. She hailed a cab and told the driver the magazine’s address.

                Allison arrived at the office and grabbed the key to the shared darkroom. Lawrence’s assistant assured her that no one else was working today. She felt relieved not to have to make small talk with anyone. Allison stepped into the darkroom and started to set up. She got all her materials and film ready and  began the dull, slow process of developing the film. She then hung each completed photo from a drying rack in the center of the room. She examined every single picture for errors. Allison only needed about five shots for the assignment, so she went through the painstaking process of choosing them.

                While she was looking at the seventh photo she had shot, she noticed a strange sight in the background. She got a magnifying glass to look at it more closely. In the back left corner of the shot, up toward the edge of the river, stood a solemn, dark-haired little girl. Allison could not believe her eyes. It wasn’t possible. She would have seen Lorna if she were there. The six-year old could not have been in the worst part of town, unattended. It made no sense. Lorna was, certainly, at school. It was the middle of the week. She couldn’t have been at the river.
Allison examined the next photo and found the little girl staring at the camera from the background. She picked up another and another. In every shot the child was looking directly into the camera from the background. Allison was terrified. She felt the hair on her arms and neck rise. She shivered with fright. She had to get out of the darkroom. She ran from the room, not bothering to lock it or gather her things.

              Allison walked quickly down the hall to the water cooler and got a drink. She stopped for a moment and let herself regain her senses. That couldn’t be Lorna; it was some street kid who looked a little like the girl. She was imagining things.

              That explanation didn’t entirely calm Allison’s fears. She thought that even if a homeless child had been there, even one who looked like Lorna, how could that child have been in every shot? Allison believed she was going crazy. There was no way that Lorna was at the river. It was not possible.

                Allison gathered her courage and returned to the darkroom. She snatched the photos down and chose five randomly. She didn’t want to look at them again. She stuffed them into an envelope and left them with Lawrence’s assistant. She needed to go home. The rest of the photos got stuck in Allison’s bag, so she could put them away at home. Maybe, after she had some sleep, she would look over them again and find out who was in the shots.

                Allison closed the blinds tight against the disruptive sunshine and crawled wearily into bed. She desperately needed rest. As soon as she got comfortable, her lids began to droop over her eyes. She was asleep within minutes. Her exhaustion swiftly brought her to the place where dreams wait.

                The girl was there again, standing over Allison with a ball in her hand. Allison looked down and saw she standing next to a young boy. She had seen his face before, but couldn’t place it. He was terrified of Lorna. He seemed to convulse whenever she looked at him. All of a sudden both Allison and the little boy were falling. Allison grabbed around her for a handhold to stop her descent. The ground slammed into Allison’s back. She looked over at the little boy, terrified of what she would she. His long-dead eyes stare back at her. A trickle of dried blood ran from his mouth.
                Allison screamed.

                She awoke once again, panicked. She got out of bed and headed for the kitchen. She needed to clear the dream image from her mind. Why was she seeing these things?

                She drew a glass of water from the tap and sat at the bar. Her hand idly wandered over Garbo while she grabbed the paper to clear her mind.

                The little boy from her dream took up most of the front page of the paper. Allison gasped and closed her eyes. When she opened them the little boy was still there. She wasn’t dreaming. She began to read the article and was struck by the horror of it. The boy had been found dead at the bottom of a culvert near the school. Police had no leads. There was a hotline and a reward for any information.
Allison knew she couldn’t share her information with police, no one would believe her. They would want to know where she found out about the boy. She couldn’t tell them she had a dream. Allison was certain that Lorna was responsible for this. She had no doubts about the black-eyed girl now. She knew Lorna was not what she seemed. There was something wrong with the little girl. She was, for lack of a better word, evil. Lorna knew that she was meant to do something. She kept having dreams and photographing Lorna where she couldn’t have been. She was somehow tied to this little girl. Allison knew that she had been given this curse for a purpose.
                 
                  She was meant to stop the girl.

                  Allison went downstairs to the basement. She grabbed her camera and formed a plan. She would grab Lorna; she would hold the child in her home until she could figure out what to do with her. Allison had already steeled herself to the possibility of having to kill the girl. She knew that Lorna was not a person with a soul. She was not a real child. Allison could kill he rafter seeing the dead little boy. It would be difficult but she could do it.

                  Allison grabbed a cab to the school that Lorna attended. On the way she tried to quiet her racing thoughts. She tried to still her rambunctious heartbeat and slow her breathing. She was terrified. She knew that Lorna would try to come after her next. That if she didn’t succeed in destroying the girl, she would be killed.

                  She fought down the fear. She could do this. It was necessary.
The cab pulled up the school and Allison jumped out. She fed the gate guard a lie about a follow-up with the magazine. He gave her a visitor’s pass and wished her luck. She dashed from the guard’s station and ran toward the main building. It was as I her feet knew where she was going.

                  The bell for dismissal rang and Allison almost screamed. She had to get the little girl today. Right now, she couldn’t lose her. She ran down the long hallway as it began to fill with students. She spotted Lorna walking quietly alone down the hall. She dropped her head and muttered to herself. Allison knew this was her only chance.

                    She ran as fast as she could toward Lorna. She grabbed the girl and covered her mouth. Lorna writhed in her arms and tried to bite her. The little girl made a noise deep in her throat like a growl. Allison almost dropped her. She knew now that it would be far too dangerous to capture the child. She had to kill her.

                    She ran with Lorna in her arms. She was slow and clumsy. She almost fell several times. Lorna had gone utterly still in her arms. The girl was saving her energies for something worse. No one seemed to notice Allison holding the child and running toward the back exit.

                    Allison burst into the schoolyard. She threw Lorna to the ground. The girl widened her eyes and looked up at Allison. She feigned innocence. Allison knew better. She locked her hands around the child’s throat. She began to squeeze. She put more pressure on the little girl’s neck. Something cracked in the girl’s throat and Allison shuddered, she almost let go. She held her grip. Allison knew the little girl was no innocent child. She had to finish her or Lorna would make her pay.

                    Allison heard a click, and a metal object was pressed into the back of her head.

                    “Get off of the girl, NOW” a voice shouted at her.

                    Allison kept pressing, hoping she would finish before they shot her.

                  A loud crack and blackness enveloped Allison. She fell forward and her face laid within inches of the girl’s.

                  Lorna’s parents sat in the administrator’s office. In front of them was the young officer who had saved Lorna. He seemed much too young to be a cop. He was waiting  for his captain to brief the parents. He smiled at their worried faces and assured them it was all right.

                  His captain strode into the room. He was a much older man. He seemed tired and world-weary.

                    “I just left the hospital, Lorna will be okay. There are a few things that I need to ask you, is that alright?” he inquired

                    “Fine, fine,” Lorna’s mother answered.

                    “The woman’s name was Allison Gardner. She worked for a local magazine. Have either of you seen her before?”

                    “No, it didn’t know her” Lorna’s mother once again answered.

                    “Ms. Gardner was in Oswego this previous weekend. We found some film among her things. We are having it develop now, but it looks like she was staking out your vacation home. The pictures seem to be surveillance photos, mainly of Lorna. On Tuesday, Ms. Gardner was at the school taking photos, claiming to be on assignment for her magazine. We called her editor and he said she hadn’t been on assignment. He also told us she was in and out of the office but hadn’t turned in any pictures in over a month.”

                      “Oh, god” Lorna’s mother sobbed.

                      “Unfortunately ma’am, this woman fixated on your daughter. We are still trying to figure out why she did, but we may never know. As soon as Ms. Gardner wakes up we will question her and take her into custody.”

                      “Why?” Lorna’s father finally spoke.

                      “We don’t know sir. I need you to look at some photos for me. We found them in Ms. Gardner’s bag. We need to confirm where these were taken.”

                        He laid ten photos on the table. A smiling girl’s face stared up at them. Lorna surrounded by her classmates. Lorna making goofy faces at her father in Oswego. Lorna laughing with friends as they left school. Lorna’s smiling face as she posed for another picture for the magazine. Her eyes sparkled, her freckles danced. Her dark hair was constantly getting in her eyes. Her smile was that of a happy six-year-old.