Matilda

Six months after Matilda was born, all eight of her siblings vanished.

They lived in a house at the back of their landlord, Mrs Tipper’s property behind the larger house where she lived herself with her husband and four sons. Matilda’s house was small, far too cramped for a large family, but the yard in between the two houses was vast and was theirs alone. Excluding the garden shed which was off limits and secured by four separate padlocks attached to the wide dented door.

Her brothers and sisters would play all day in the yard, but Matilda, wanting to stay by her mother’s side was happy simply watching and listening to the cheerful sounds of playtime. When the sun went down, they would scurry back inside bringing with them fresh cut grass from their unwashed body’s. The house always smelled of grass or dirt and a green stain across the wooden floors became increasingly darker every day. There were only two rooms in the house, a front room where they ate their meals, and a one large bedroom in the back.

From the moment Matilda was born, she understood the world in way most couldn’t. Sensing the unseen and comprehending language in native and foreign tongues.

By the time she was one month old, Matilda realised that she was her mother’s favourite. She observed the way her mother shielded her––and her alone––from her brother’s rough play, or from the snake that once crept into the yard.

At two months old, Matilda was aware that the neighbours didn’t like her family and wanted them gone.

She understood them as they sat on their porch volleying complaints back and forth: They’re too noisy. They’re too messy. They’re ruining Mrs Tippers yard. It’s cruel for so many to live under such a small roof.

Sometimes they would peek over the fence just to glare at them. Sometimes they would kick or shake the fence to try and scare them.

Mrs Tipper had known Matilda’s family their whole lives. At three months old, Matilda sensed the care that Mrs Tipper held for her family. She came to look forward to the sound of her back door banging shut and boots swishing through the grass every evening as Mrs Tipper carried plates of left over dinner for the hungry children and their single mother.

When she wasn’t bringing them food or checking in on them, Mrs Tipper would lean her head out of her kitchen window which overlooked the yard, keeping a watchful eye over them.

Mrs Tippers four sons were hard working boys. Matilda noticed on Saturdays they would work on the house, reinforcing the fences, clearing out the gutters and mowing the lawns. The youngest, Joel, would always smile and say hello whenever he was outside. When Matilda was four months old, Joel crossed the yard to bring the dinner leftovers. He smiled at Matilda and stroked her face gently with the back of his hand.

‘You’re a reflection of your mother. Rosy pink skin and long lashes.’

Matilda smiled

At five months old, Matilda began to sense something different stirring in the world around her. For the first time in her short life, she sensed danger––though she couldn’t understand it. During the day her body would tremble for no clear reason, unease settling deep within her stomach. At the night, she would huddle in close to her mother tucking herself under the familiar curve of her mother’s belly, hiding from the pale moonlight that slipped through the window.

On the morning that she turned six months old, she woke to an empty house. The bed was empty. She couldn’t hear her brothers or sisters playing in the garden. She couldn’t smell grass or the dirt drifting through the open door. She could only see the green stains on the floorboards and her mother collapsed beside them, motionless. Matilda started crying. Slowly her mother turned her head towards Matilda and then back to the wall.

Matilda understood her siblings were gone and sensed they were not coming back.

Mrs Tipper continued to bring food to Matilda, but her mother refused to eat.

Matilda sensed that her mother’s heart towards her had grown cold, twisting into hatred and despair as if the universe were punishing her for having a favourite child. Matilda, helpless, could only watch.

When she finally rose from her spot on the floor days later, her mother ran into the yard screaming, smashing into trees, tearing up everything in her path. She returned to the house and kicked the door off its hinges. Then, she turned on Matilda. With sudden desperate fury, she bit her face and neck before leaving her outside.

Joel heard Matilda crying and peeked through the kitchen window to see her sitting alone in the cold night. He hurried to her and picked her up, rushing her up to the Tippers house. Once inside, he carefully wiped the blood from her face and put his arm around her tenderly. Mrs Tipper agreed that Matilda should stay with them, away from her mother for the time being. Joel quickly volunteered to look after her, setting up a bed in his room and searching for old toys for Matilda to play with.

Matilda liked living with the Tippers. The house was spacious and clean, and the food was plentiful. The walls were decorated with pictures to look at and the rooms had carpet to roll on. Joel built a fence around the front yard so that Matilda could play outside without seeing her mother. By the time she was eleven months old she had forgotten her mother and siblings. The Tippers treated her like one of the family. She knew they loved her, and she loved them back.

On the day she turned one, Matilda wandered out to the front garden, exploring like she always did, looking for worms and lady bugs. As she lifted a piece of bark off an old log, she heard squeals drifting up from the back of the house.

At once, all the memories that she’d kept buried surged back–– her mother, her brothers and sisters. The squeals were familiar. She recognised them. Her siblings had returned. She ran straight for the house heading towards the back door but just before she reached it Joel grabbed her.

‘You don’t need to see this Tilly,’ he said.

Matilda didn’t understand. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She wrestled out of his tight grip and ran back out the front squeezing her way through a narrow gap in the fence, breaking a panel on the way.

She followed the sound of squealing towards her old house and then stopped short––frozen in disbelief.

Mrs Tipper, her husband and her other three sons were all gathered at the bottom of the yard surrounding Matilda’s old house. She watched as they shuffled and forced their way into the house––the squeals rising––shrill and desperate until one by one the Tippers emerged dragging two children each by their hind legs across the yard to the garden shed which was waiting with the door wide open.

Then Matilda saw her mother. Eyes red, foam bubbling from the sides of her mouth dragging her trotter through the dirt beneath her. With a sudden burst of speed, she charged––hard and unstoppable––slamming into Mrs. Tipper and sending her crashing to the ground. She turned again and again trampling her until a single bang thundered across the yard. The great pink body shuddered, rolled once and fell limp splattering the green grass with red blood.

Joel placed the gun on the ground and ran to help. He lifted Mrs Tipper up, propping her against the wall of the shed while his brothers restrained the other piglets. Mrs Tippers bottom lip had torn away and was now a hanging flap exposing her gum and the roots of her teeth. One of her fingers was missing and Mr tipper rolled the dead pig over as he searched for it.

Matilda hadn’t moved. Her tail, once curled, straightened and drooped as understanding crept in. Mrs Tipper met her gaze. For a long moment, they stared at one another. Then she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the shed.

She sighed heavily. ‘She’s seen too much,’ she said.

With a solemn nod Joel approached Matilda.

“I’m sorry,’ he said to her. Matilda sensed he meant it. She understood there was no other way. Then he ran his hands over her rosy pink skin one last time before raising the gun.