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Chapter Five
Edward stumbled backwards in shock and his hands, flailing wildly for balance, suddenly became embedded in the wooden beams on either side of the window.
Frantically he struggled to free himself, twisting and arching his thin and piteously strapped up torso forwards, and all but tearing his arms from their sockets. Try what he might, he remained helpless, the deadly scissor-tipped fingers stuck fast in the wood, his chalk-white face filled with pathetic fright.
He closed his eyes tight, like a child who's been caught in a game of hide-and-seek but thinks he will be invisible as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut.
Anybody from the town below, anybody who had heard about the catastrophic events many years ago would have been able to tell you why Edward was so petrified now, at finding himself in such a helpless situation, pinned there in full view like some butterfly collector's prize specimen. It was because he was supposed to be dead, and a very long time ago at that. A life very precious to him depended on his keeping up appearances.
He hung there, waiting for the screams, the outrage, the blow... that never came.
"It's alright, I won't hurt you." The voice rose above a frightened whisper, "I...I won't tell."
Edward's dark and haunted eyes flew open and fastened on the dim shape in the shadows before him, almost as if he knew that voice and had been waiting for it expectantly all these years.
A small figure edged forward out of the darkness in front of him, keeping a safe distance between itself and the immobile figure pinned outstretched across the window.
The stranger was wearing an outsized white hoody, which almost seemed to be wearing its owner rather than its owner wearing it. The impression was heightened by the extreme thinness of the the jean-clad legs and slender wrists that were sticking out of the sweatshirt. The jeans were scruffy, the Converse hi-tops had seen better days but the hands, swathed in bunched up white fingerless gloves were neat, the nails brightly painted (the exact shade was Bahenie Bliss by Avon, had Edward known), and the long dark hair that fell straight down from underneath the drawn up hood was thick and shining. It was very much like the sleek black hair Edward had once had when he was first made, although it was quite hard to see the likeness now in its present tousled state.
For a long time the white figure and the black figure stood motionless, staring at each other.
Moira had absolutely not been prepared for this.
Chapter Six
Moira had been mooching around under the street lights earlier that evening, in a bad mood because she'd come home with some pretty appalling grades, and had heard all about it from her parents. She'd been having some bad problems focussing on her schoolwork recently and had tactlessly told the truth about it being impossible to concentrate in their piddly little dirty blue bungalow when you could hear the TVs, the lawnmowers, the hairdryers, the phone rings and the microwave pings of the entire neighbourhood for miles around.
She'd been angrily pondering why on earth everyone tells you to be honest when nobody actually wants to hear the truth when she suddenly spotted Chayne and his gang of wasters stealthily making their way past hedges, picket fences and Christmas trees abandoned on icy lawns towards the old haunted house that loomed ominously over the town. Chayne was never up to any good, and Moira stayed out of his way, usually for family reasons. She didn't like the way he looked at her either. He wasn't the only boy who liked to look at Moira, but she wasn't interested - at least not in the boys round here.
She knew immediately though that if there was even half a chance they were going into the old inventor's place, so was she.
Because she'd heard about that house all her life. As a child she'd asked for the story again and again, and her grandmother, after making sure Moira's mother couldn't hear, would tell her over and over again the strange and sad story of the man who was made with scissors for hands.
Now she was older she didn't believe in it of course, and could see why her mother didn't like Moira's grandmother to go on about all this nonsense being real, almost as though Grandma thought that she, Moira, still believed in Santa Claus.
Poor Grandma, it must clearly have been the start of her illness...
As the boys had entered the house, Moira had stayed well back. She'd crept round the other side of a large green privet ballerina when she saw the boys come running out, Chayne stuffing something into his knapsack. It took a lot of nerve to go inside the house all alone when they'd safely disappeared down the street. It took even more courage to creep upstairs and past the enormous white ice sculpture, while that furious snowstorm was still in full swing. At least it would hide her, she had thought, but she had soon lost her way at the top of the stairs, and, panic-stricken as the snow began to clear, she had ducked into the nearest shadow.
Only when the snow ceased had she been able to clearly see the vast attic room, the window, and who or what stood there.
And after everything Moira had been expecting, she had been expecting the truth least of all.
Chapter Seven
Moira involuntarily stepped back under the continued intensity of that unblinking stare, and as she backed away, Edward called out softly, hopelessly,
"Kim, don't go."
"Kim? You think I'm Kim...?" she stammered incredulously.
It was all really true then? How could it be, all these years, he was still here, her grandmother, it was all too much to take in. Confusedly she ran a limp hand across her eyes, knocking back her hood.
Edward strained forward the minute the hood fell, clattering the long vicious shears that were still stuck fast in the wood. The frenzied banging and desperate, wild look on his face terrorised the girl in white, who, but, for her black hair, was the living image of her grandmother, Kim Boggs.
'Kim, it is you, you are Kim. Kim, Kim, Kim!" and Edward's face was full of tears, like the night he'd run away from the town that didn't want him.
And it hit Moira at last, that if her grandmother's side of the story were true, then the man with the scissors for hands had waited up here all this time, hoping Kim would return, knowing she couldn't and so desperately sad and lonely.
Moira felt as if she couldn't breathe, it was all so...so... Her heart went out to him, and she walked forward.
He stopped struggling immediately as she walked right up to him. Their faces were now inches apart from each other, and Edward did not even seem to be breathing, his dark eyes were so full with the beautiful face he knew so well.
Moira was so close now she could see a teardrop caught by the ragged edge of one of the terrible cuts on his cheek, and without thinking, she reached up and brushed it gently away.
His skin was soft, cool as snow, but it was real.
Edward's eyes closed at the the touch of the soft, gentle fingers on his cheek. It had been so rare for him, a simple touch.
Chapter Eight
"Don't move" murmured that familiar and precious voice, and Edward opened his eyes to follow her as she tentatively touched one of the scissor blades. He gazed at Moira as she boldly seized what looked like tailor's scissors and tugged. Then, realising that she might have hurt him, she looked up at him, full of concern.
Edward motioned her to go on with a gentle nod, and she smiled shyly. It was a beautiful smile, like the calm smile of a marble angel in a churchyard.
Edward looked at the smile, the coral pink lips, so soft, the perfect and creamy skin, against the heavy waves of dark hair, which fell just like hers. He looked at the line of her cheek, the curve of her head, the turn of her neck as she bent to look more closely at where his hands were pitilessly trapped by the wood. He looked at the little frown of thoughtful concentration he'd seen many times on that face before, and he looked at the deftly moving fingers which moved over his. He stayed very still.
"I think I've freed your...uh..." She blushed furiously, "I mean, you could probably yank yourself free, but you're right in front of the window, and if you lose your balance...um." She avoided looking at the gaping drop down into the courtyard below.
And incredibly, she heard herself say "I think it would be safer if you stay still and I pull you forward from here."
Edward's eyes fastened on hers and he wonderingly nodded his head.
And he kept gazing at her (it was very disconcerting) as she moved forward, took a deep breath, and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest at the point where three straps with round steel buckles bound him cruelly round.
He was very cold, and his heart was beating very fast but she kept her attention focussed on the great silver knife-edged blades at the end of the arm near her head. For a moment, as she shifted her feet to give herself better purchase, she felt the lightest pressure on the top of her head as though Edward had rested his head against hers for a fraction of a second.
"Are you... Are you ready?" she swallowed, and somewhere very close by she heard and half felt him whisper "Yes".
She gripped his belted midriff hard with her arms, bruised her cheek against an unforgiving buckle and threw herself backwards.
Edward did not weigh quite what she had been expecting. Moira couldn't tell in that brief instant whether he was heavier or lighter than an ordinary human being, but she had miscalculated badly and they fell heavily onto the floor.
Edward was definitely too heavy then. He jumped up immediately in a creak of leather and was so worried he had crushed her that he tried to set her on her feet, forgetting after the intimacy of the moment before that his touch was lethal.
Moira screamed out as the razor sharp blades whistled around her, inches from her face.
Edward scuttled backwards and almost lodged himself in the window again before he caught himself in time and stood up slowly, scissors crooked defensively beneath his chin.
For a few moments Moira lay on the floor, trying to collect herself. A bright white star looked down at her through a hole in the rafters. She shut her eyes and felt the cold, hard floorboards underneath her. It was all still real then.
She slowly got to her feet and looked across at Edward. He was looking sorrowfully at the floor, eyebrows drawn together, afraid to meet her eyes.
Moira forced him to look at her, and smiled slowly and deliberately. Edward's face broke into its own rare and radiant smile. It transformed him. Somehow the boy he had been meant to be shone out beneath the whiteness and the scars. He looked like an ordinary, very young, and inexperienced teenage boy, with natural and beautiful feelings for the girl of his dreams.
Next
Previous
More coming tomorrow!
Continuation of my story about Edward Scissorhands.
Link to Story of Snow (Part 1)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 2)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 3)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 4)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 5)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 6)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 7)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 8)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 9)
Please read it, I've spent ages trying to make it real and plausible, and I've got lots of surprises in store (I've written lots more you see but am catching up with typing it up). I'll be uploading new chapters all this week, because I really wanted to share it with you guys!
I'm going to try and do some illustrations for it too, but I need to get all the rest typed first.
Stick around and find out more about where Edward came from, what he and Moira get up to in the vast chambers of the old inventor's mansion, and what horrible plans Chayne has for that scissor hand...
Link to Story of Snow (Part 1)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 2)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 3)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 4)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 5)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 6)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 7)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 8)
Link to Story of Snow (Part 9)
Please read it, I've spent ages trying to make it real and plausible, and I've got lots of surprises in store (I've written lots more you see but am catching up with typing it up). I'll be uploading new chapters all this week, because I really wanted to share it with you guys!
I'm going to try and do some illustrations for it too, but I need to get all the rest typed first.
Stick around and find out more about where Edward came from, what he and Moira get up to in the vast chambers of the old inventor's mansion, and what horrible plans Chayne has for that scissor hand...
© 2011 - 2024 Easabellina
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