Stepping Into Story by Tracy Williamson

 Recently, I posted in the group about my yearning to write a novel.  As a writer of devotional and Christian teaching books I’ve hardly ever written fiction although I did try my hand at writing some short nature ‘parables’ in my latest book,
Unashamed. 

I’ve felt inspired by the many other writers in the group who have ventured into other genres and I felt a prompting from the Lord to stop procrastinating and step out into my dream. 

But how on earth to go about writing a story? Where do you even start?  Some of you came back to my post with lovely encouragement and great ideas – write out of what you know; ask the Lord to give you a character that you fall in love with and tell their story; think of the things that you feel passionate about and let your story centre around that.

Well, after much thought: What I know are my own experiences including many deeply wounding ones; A character born in my heart who I already love is little Jilly and her story of brokenness and redemption; And what I feel passionate about is God’s work of loving restoration even from the deepest wounds in our lives and for all to know they are dearly loved.

So. . . tentatively and aware this is rather long for a MTW blog! I offer this beginning of a story, a Prologue . . .just called at present – Jilly’s story  Any feedback gratefully received….!

 Prologue

St Hilda’s Hospital,   London 1967

 Elsie Cummings glanced up as the ward door shut with a sharp click and a man and woman strode out side by side.  There was at least a yard between them and faces averted, they marched in silence. 

“Goodnight” Elsie smiled, but they ignored her, brushing past the nurses’ station as if it was an abandoned cleaning trolley.  “Well, can’t they at least say goodnight back!” Elsie fumed.  I could be sitting there in the nude for all they’d notice me.”  Scowling she shuffled her papers together contemplating the night ahead.  She wasn’t keen on the night shift, too long, too creepy with the faint sound of machinery and the buried hum of human pain.  In the daytime and all the busyness, she could ignore all that, but night shift was a different story. 

Sighing she got up from her chair and went over to the ward that they’d just left so abruptly.  Were they the last?  They must have been.  After all, apart from that little girl whose parents came regularly, the other two patients had very few visitors. 

“Been in there too long the poor things,” she muttered, peering through the small glass spy pane in the door.  Yes, she was right, no visitors left and that little girl hadn’t had anyone tonight anyway.  Elsie had checked her about an hour ago and she’d been sound asleep.  She was breathing ok this one, no need for all those machines.  Now she was out of danger she just had to get well again.  Pity her parents couldn’t be with her more but rules were rules in this place, especially where Sister Norma was concerned. 

Elsie remained looking through the window for a few more moments, checking all was well.  For some reason, this ward’s door, out of all the doors in the hospital, shut properly with a loud click.  Most of them swung both ways for easy access but not this one.  Elsie didn’t want to wake little Jilly or the other patients if there was no need for her to go in.  She gazed a bit longer, but nothing looked amiss. 

“I’ll just nip to the loo and get my cuppa”, she muttered and then laughed as she caught herself.  “Who you talking to girl” she scolded.  “You’re mad you are, maybe it should be you who’s a patient, not the nurse supposed to be looking after them!”  Smiling at her silliness she walked down the corridor to the nurses’ bathroom and canteen.  She would just be ten minutes and then she’d check on her three again.  As she turned the corner she saw the hulking form of the maintenance man in the distance and hurried her steps.  She didn’t like Albert, gave her the creeps he did.  Good handyman though, could turn his hand to anything, even mechanical and mend it in a matter of minutes.  But it was the way he looked at her she didn’t like, not that he’d ever done anything, always been polite. Still, she couldn’t help how she felt could she?  Hopefully he hadn’t seen her.  She’d stay in the ladies a bit longer, give him time to get this job done, whatever it was and move on somewhere else.

 

                                            ………………………………………….

 

The last of the visitors had long gone home and for the moment the ward was still.  In the dim evening light the shapes around her took on monstrous size and emitted a gurgling sound that made Jilly want to hide under the bed.  They were monsters wanting to eat her and she was trapped.  With each gurgle the fear crept higher.  She couldn’t move, but out of the corner of her eyes she could just make out their shapes.  Big people like mummy and daddy were buried under there.  She’d seen their feet sticking out, the monsters were swallowing them whole. One of them made a fierce rattling sound and Jilly whimpered.  They could see her and would come for her too.  She wanted to curl into a ball and hide but she couldn’t move.  The light was dim and shadowy.  She was alone.

Suddenly the ward door opened, and a shadow crept into the room silhouetted against the light.  Jilly tensed. Was this Red Angry Face?  She choked back a sob as the door clicked shut and something was pulled across the little window, plunging the ward into deeper darkness. This couldn’t be Red Angry Face.  She would be stamping and shouting. 

The shadow moved away from the door and crept towards her, huge and black. Jilly stayed silent, eyes wide. It wasn’t the monsters.  It wasn’t Red Angry Face.  She tried again to move, to hide but her tiny body was frozen. 

The shadow moved again and Jilly could make out its blackness coming towards her.  There was no sound though she strained to hear. Her cot suddenly shook as someone leaned against it, a big person. Jilly squinted but all she could see was the blur of a face.  Was this Mummy?  She tried to sit up but was still too floppy.  She tried to speak but no words came. 

She sensed the shadow was leaning into the cot.  She could smell something horrid.  Where was Mummy?

Through the aching in her body Jilly felt a sudden pain. A whimper escaped her and a huge hand came over her face.  She could hardly breathe. The pain came again and Jilly couldn’t help it, she wet herself. Instantly she heard a growling roar.  She screamed, but the hand came over her face again, clammy, stinking. She heaved. Hot tears flowed.  The black shadow leaned over her a moment longer then as quickly as it had come, it disappeared.

Wide eyed and staring blankly, three-year-old Jilly lay in a wet pile of bedding, the only sound in the night ward the whirring hum of the iron lungs on the comatose adult polio victims on either side. 

 

Tracy Williamson is a writer of devotional and Christian teaching books and has just published her latest book called Unashamed -Discover the healing power of God’s love for your wounded soul.  Tracy is deaf and works with blind gospel singer/songwriter Marilyn Baker for MBM Trust.  www.mbm-ministries.org