Alys heaved into the white basin, luckily for what seemed to be for the last time. Groaning, she lifted her head upwards, running long, thin fingers into her newly bleached hair. Dry to the touch, it stuck up erratically as her friend behind her laughed.
“Feel any better?” Fiona asked, taking a swig from the brown bottle she held in her right hand, the other carrying two hand bags.
“S’pose so.” Alys replied, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. “Got any gum?”
“Yeah, one sec.” Her friend stated, digging through one of the hand bags. “Wait, ugh. Can you hold yours now?”
Alys grabbed the black leather bag from Fiona’s outstretched hand, whilst the redhead continued to rummage aggressively through the other, periwinkle one.
“Fucking hell! I can never fucking find anything- Oh! Here you go.” She passed the pack of gum over, as Alys stood up. The two of them had very little room to move, practically crushed together in the cubicle, their large, faux feather stuffed coats infringing on their personal space to an even more uncomfortable degree.
Banging on the cubicle door made the pair whip their heads to the sound, with Alys quickly leaning over to unlock the door.
“Feeling anything yet?” Maxie asked, grinning from ear to ear. Quickly whipping off his sunglasses, he snorted. “Jesus Christ, Alys, you look horrible.”
“Thanks, can you move so we can, you know.” She ushered, pushing Fiona forward so that she could make her way over to the sink. Booming Techno music grew muffled as the bathroom door shut, which relieved Alys slightly from her headache. Placing her hands under the sink, she continued. “And to your question, no. I think I must’ve thrown it all up. I always do.”
“Hey! This is good stuff! Tracks promised me.” Maxie exclaimed, half-offended, and half-coming-up-too-hard-enough-to-care.
“I don’t think anything that comes out of the mouth of someone that calls them ‘Tracks’ can be taken seriously.” Fiona giggled, before whispering to Maxie. “But yeah, I feel it.”
Alys wiped her hands on her velvet trousers, sighing at her predicament. “Maybe I will, soon. Hopefully.” She turned to the pair before her. “Maxie, how are you even in here?”
“Gender neutral bathroom, Girlie.” He winked, before throwing his hand up to grip his jaw. “Jesus, I think Tracks was actually on the money this time.”
Scoffing, the two women pulled their friend with them, emerging back into the club’s dance floor. Bright, fluorescent lights meet Alys’ eyes, blinding her for no more than 3 seconds. “Better Off Alone,” by Alice Deejay plays, as Maxie begins to spin his two ‘favourite’ women around the room.
Alys feels it. Her body tingles, and suddenly everything looks so much prettier; better; the best it’s ever been, ever, for real, like!
Love seeps from her pores, and she can’t help but kiss both of her friends on the lips, not like it mattered. The droning Techno has become one solid frequency. Everything is the best ever, once again, and then-
-
Alys woke up. It was the next day, and her train was due in an hour. Paddington. Massive trek from Alys’ haunt in Isle of Dogs.
“Fuck.” Alys stated rather than shout. Everything ached, stung, made-you-want-to-cry. She scrubbed herself together, and thanked herself for having packed the evening prior.
DLR. Tube. Victoria Coach Station. Get on the Coach. Food from BK before. Fine. Sleep on the Coach. Hopefully no one sits next to her. Hopefully they don’t stop for an hour again, like last time.
Alys Hughes sat down in her seat, staring out of the window the entire journey. Being 22 in London didn’t give her many favours, especially with her Psychology degree - turns out, people do give a shit if your voice makes you sound ‘stupid.’ Apparently the Welsh accent doesn’t help with job applications, especially after Uni.
Alys looked at the text from her brother.
‘Dad’s picking you up near Bangor Station. Pub later?’
She was ready to text back, but the heaviness in her eyelids distracted her momentarily.
‘Yeah, no issues on my end. Should be fine for 4:37 PM. And sure’. Alys texted back, placing her phone face-down on her fold-up table before her. She played ‘Better Off Alone’ on her phone to her headphones, before shutting her eyes to rest.
She slept soundly throughout the entire journey. She dreamt about how much she’d missed. The farm, the pubs; Lynn who’d served her since she was 13 because the older woman fancied her Dad. Good times.
A cough awoke her from her slumber. Eyes fluttering open, she looked upward to see the Coach driver in the aisle, who grinned a nearly-toothless smile at her.
“Gosh, aren’t you a heavy sleeper?” He chuckled, before emerging into a fit of coughs. A smoker. “We’ve arrived, I believe your father is the one stood outside waiting?”
Alys stood up instantly, uttering apologies to the older man with a deeply croaking voice.
“No worries, wish I could sleep as well as you do.” He chuckled once more, the same low, rasping noise rattling around his chest. Alys followed the driver off the Coach, apologising one last time before greeting her Dad with a hug.
“Wow, Sunshine, love the hair.” Her Dad exclaimed, ruffling it about until it stuck out awkwardly from all ends.
“Really? Thought you would’ve hated it?” Alys asked, shutting the boot to the truck her Dad drove. He smiled, eyes and smile-lines wrinkling.
“No, no. Not at all. Quite the city mouse now, it suits you.”
Ah, there it was. Mouse. The nickname her father had branded her with ever since she left her mother’s womb. Possibly, though not to her knowledge, even before she was a mere twinkle in his eye.
The drive was long, but not boring. Quite the contrary. Despite her father, Dafydd, being quite young to have a 22 year old youngest child, he still had an old soul, one which refused to own any sort of mobile phone. He’d gone and impregnated her mother when they were both just 17, months before their exams. Despite a rather intense beating from his father-in-law, and a heavily pregnant girlfriend, he’d done marginally better than anyone else in his sleepy town ever had done before. He took to working on a lamb farm, and within a year or so it had been left to him, allowing a stable-enough income to support his then-wife, and their newborn son, Llewellyn. Alys came into existence just under 2 years later.
A hearty laugh from her father caused Alys to crack a smile, as they drove through the winding country lanes. A saddened, albeit proud twitch of her father’s mouth caused Alys’ heart to sink slightly, bracing herself for the inevitable words that would leave his mouth.
“You look more and more like your mother everyday.” He said, eyes never wandering from the road before him. Alys stilled awkwardly; bracing herself for such quips never worked, despite how hard she tried.
Her mother was a beautiful woman; known by all the men in the village for her long, red curls and buttoned nose. ‘Lips like rose-petals’: a phrase etched into Alys’ mind from the moment she could consciously understand such words. Her mother was a sight to behold, and, despite passing before Alys could truly know her outside of her warmth, had unknowingly and unintentionally cast a cloud of suffering over her daughter. Alys, by contrast, looked like her aunt, her father’s sister, who had a crooked face and a scrawny build. The red-hair was unceremoniously passed down to her brother, who took after his mother’s beauty and father’s handsome ruggedness, and Alys suffered with plain looks; naturally mousy hair and an unnoticeable demeanour. Hence the bleach. With all these factors playing against her, Alys never felt anything but eyes filled with judgment and comparison from all those who knew her parents.
“I mean it. I know you don’t think so, but your mannerisms, they’re the same. You’re Marie’s daughter, alright.” Dafydd nodded assuringly, noticing his daughter’s grimace.
“Thanks, I suppose.” Alys responded, albeit more curtly than she’d desired. The drive grew more silent for a while, and she looked to her phone. A text from Fiona.
‘Tell your brother I say hi xx’
Alys’ lips pulled back, nose scrunched to snort, but was suddenly stopped by her heart skipping a beat. Her father had halted suddenly to a stop. Lurching forward, she put a hand on the dashboard to still herself, inhaling sharply.
“Jesus. Sorry.” Dafydd said, unbuckling his seatbelt to leave the car. Alys watched as he grew closer to the mass on the road. Being winter, the roads were dark, leaving very little to see from the safety of her father’s truck. She watched in horror as her father, quite the iron stomach, hurled onto the ground beside the mass. She burst from the passenger side, running over to her father to help him in his vulnerability.
“Dad, are you ok? What-“ She stopped, her eyes settling on the mass. It was a ram… well, the remains of one anyway. The smell was sickening, something she could only imagine the inside of a van transporting butcher meat would smell like. The smell was certainly not rotting, despite what the carcass may have implied. Just… tainted meat.
“Dad…”
“Get back into the car, fuck!” Alys rarely heard her father sound so distressed, so desperate. She wanted to listen to him; everything in her gut telling her to simply obey his words. But she couldn’t.
Stepping closer to the remains before her, her breath hitched when she saw what it was that made her father lose his lunch. The ram had no eyes. No blood around the face, like if birds had taken them. The body certainly was fresh enough to bleed if they had; the pool of red liquid spitting from an artery in its leg evident as such. Yet this wasn’t enough to make Alys, and especially her father ill. It was the mouth of the ram, opened up into a silent, statuesque screech. Tongue bared back, with jaws stretched open far, as if a final, terrified bleat was the last thing to leave its throat. Alys turned on her heels, and moved back toward the passenger seat, sitting down to try and rationalise what she’d seen.
The thud of the door closing, and her father starting the engine snapped her out of her thoughts, and, eyes darting to the road lit up by headlights before her, noticed the corpse had been moved away from sight.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Dafydd said, his strong hands shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. He inhaled deeply, before driving once again. The smell of vomit hit Alys’ nose, her realisation that the beard her father clad was no help to the odour.
“Dad…” She whispered, her throat too tight for the words to come out anything but a wrangled mess.
“We need to talk. It’s nothing serious, but…” He trailed off, knuckles whitening by the second as his grip on the wheel increased. “I’m glad you’re home, I am, but once Christmas passes, it’s safer for you to be in London.”
Alys gulped. Her father was never this serious. He was a light-hearted man, who, no matter what hardships were hurled his way by whatever cruel God had it out for him, managed to keep a sunny demeanour. Now he was steeped in a dark cloud, one which remained present for the rest of the journey.
-
“Ah, the runt has returned!” Llewellyn cheered, embracing Alys in a hug that almost squeezed the life out of her. Chuckling, she beckoned to be released, before Dafydd, the siblings’ father, brushed past into the kitchen. The familiar sound of a bottle-cap clanging onto the ground, followed by a soft curse in order to pick it up ensued.
“What’s Dad’s issue?” Llewellyn asked, quirking a bushy, dark-red brow at his father’s brusque behaviour.
“We saw a… um, ram’s body on the journey.” Alys responded, kicking her shoes off. Llewellyn’s expression darkened, and, looking off to the side, he uttered a grunt in acknowledgement. Quickly, his lopsided grin returned, picking up her bags to take them upstairs.
“Still up for the pub in a bit then?” Although it was a question, it came out more like a confirmation.
“Yeah… um, Dad?” Alys called out, to which a slight hum responded from the kitchen. “What’s for tea?”
“Nothing, really. Sorry, mouse, didn’t have much time - hey, why don’t I give you some cash and you can grab some food from Takdir’s?”
“You sure?” Alys replied, still unable to see her father from where she stood in the hallway.
“Yeah, of course. Get a keema naan for me to warm up for tomorrow.” He said, his sing-song voice calling out.
Llewellyn trotted down the stairs, grinning excitedly.
“We’ll be at the Cart, Dad. Heard you’re pining for a naan?” Alys’ brother quizzed, wiggling his brows.
“Tell Lynn, once again, she’s like a sister to me. And yeah, keema. Wait, I never said you could have anything, you’ve got enough cash to feed yourself!” Dafydd’s voice called, as Llewellyn ushered his sister out of the house.
“Love you!” Llewellyn yelled back, before slamming the door behind him. Turning his face back to his sister’s, his grin grew wider. “You are not going to believe the stuff that’s happened.”
Llewellyn was a gay man. Something he never told anyone, bar his Grindr hookups, close friends, and, of course, his little sister. The switch in voice was phenomenal; around his father he opted for a more masculine code-switch, yet around Alys, a sweeter, softer voice emerged. Alys could never understand his mind; it wasn’t as though Dafydd would care if his son was gay, nor would it ever affect his life working as a lamb-farmer alongside him. But Llewellyn didn’t like the notion of being the ‘only gay in the village,’ which would lead to quite the gossip amongst the older, sullen religious folk in the community.
“I hate that you fake that voice. He probably knows already, you’ve had enough women throw themselves at your feet for him to not grasp some idea.” Alys stated, crossing her arms for warmth. North Wales was cold, and her thin leather jacket gave no relief from it. Llewellyn hummed, his perfect teeth glinting under the street-lamp lights.
“Anyway.” Alys started again, teeth biting at the chapped skin on her lips. “What’s been happening, then?”
Llewellyn chuckled, before turning his body to walk backward, addressing Alys face on.
“Mate, you could not - would not, even believe what’s happening.” He sniffed, nose red from the chill. “Bad stuff. Weird stuff. Religious nut-jobs are having a field day.”
“Alright, that’s clarifying.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. Llewellyn snorted.
“Fucking hell, sarky much?” He resumed walking normally, beside her. “The rams at the farm are dying. No eyes, like something plucked them out.”
Alys shivered. “That’s what we saw with the ram on the road here.”
“How far away?”
“About 30 mins before we got home, to the farm.” She stated, and Llewellyn stopped walking. “Wait, how are we getting to the Cart again?”
“Mill’s taking us.” He said abruptly. “Are you sure its eyes weren’t in its head?”
“What?”
“The ram. On the road with Dad. Are you sure it didn’t have eyes?” He questioned, eyes never leaving his phone as he texted.
“Yeah. I’m sure. What? Is there suddenly some Welsh chupacabra about?” Alys joked, but her brother’s solemn face made her realise there was, apparently, nothing to laugh about in this situation.
“You shouldn’t stress about it, but yeah, it looks like it.” Llewellyn stated, before his eyes gleamed. “Ah, Millie’s here!”
A 2011, cobalt blue Subaru halted before them, the window pulled down. An androgynous face looked back at them, a handsome smirk across slender features.
“Alright, Llew? And Alys, don’t you look old, haven’t seen you in yonks.”
Alys’ face grew warm, recognising the person before her. The prettiest girl in college, who became friends with Llewellyn, after both revealed, rather drunkenly to one another, that they could care less about the opposite sex. Soon after Millie cut off all their long, black hair, and began dressing in a more masculine manner, which suited their tall, slender form.
And, to top it all off, they were Alys’ first crush.
“Backseat, missus!” Llewellyn chided, patting Alys on the back. Grumbling, but realising she didn’t have much authority amongst her older brother and his friend, she plonked herself down comfortably in the backseat.
“Do you mind stopping at Takdir’s on the way back? Haven’t had dinner and me Dad’s gagging for a keema.” Llewellyn asked, promptly kissing Millie on the cheek. “Pretty please Mills?”
“Sure thing, sweet thang.” A horribly inaccurate Louisiana accent drawled out from Millie’s lips. “I haven’t been to Takdir’s in ages. Also, have you, er…”
“Told her? Not yet, reckon she might need a pint to line the stomach.” Llewellyn looked back, wiggling his brows.
Alys scoffed, but continued to look out of the window, peering upon the vast green landscape. The grass and shrubbery of farmland glistened ever so slightly; the moon illuminating the frosted over blades. The hills were still and silent as they had ever been, and ever will be. It was a landscape Alys was sure she could draw from memory, even if she hadn’t seen it since the Christmas before. It was as much a part of her as the blood that rushed through her veins was, and she often pondered about whether, in some previous life, she may have known it then as well.
Suddenly something foreign crept up her spine; an icy, foreboding feeling that didn’t usually coincide with looking at the picturesque scene before her. Like something was amiss, yet she couldn’t explain why; she couldn’t determine -
Breath bubbled in the back of her throat, a painful lump harshly pressed against her oesophagus. She saw it.
It was only a glimpse. Thinking back to it, did she even see anything at all? It seemed that, in the exact moment she’d allowed her brain to process it, the figure had vanished into thin air, the feeling dissolving with it. But her mind ran away with it.
‘What could it have been? A farmer? But why would they be out so late? They wouldn’t have disappeared like that? A ghost? Don’t be ridiculous. But it was white, and shiny? I don’t think ghosts are shiny. So what then, I don’t think my mind conjured it up. It mostly certainly did, that’s the most logical reason.’
The back and forth in Alys’ mind distracted her from realising that the Subaru had come to a halt, parked swiftly in front of the pub.
“Oi, stop daydreaming, we’re here.” Llewellyn chuckled, opening her car door for her.
The Old Horse and Cart.
‘The Ol_ ____s_ _n_ Cart’.
The pub’s sign needed to be repaired. Alys felt her shoes stick slightly to the floor; spilt beer that had yet to be mopped up. The pub was warm and cosy, and the musky smell of barrelled liquor tickled her nostrils.
“Pint of Guinness, and - what did you want?” Llewellyn turned, and Alys took a quick glance at the pub’s taps.
“Cider, please.”
“Oh, Alys!” A rough, feminine voice called out, and Lynn shot Alys a smile from behind the bar, nodding as she put the pint of Guinness down for it to settle. “I didn’t realise you were back yet. Home for Christmas?”
Alys smiled, her lips pulled sheepishly into a thin line. Lynn was a friendly woman, who took kindly to the two siblings. Whether it was on part due to her clear infatuation with their father, or if she truly extended pleasantries to them because of the goodness of her heart, it didn’t really matter. In a home town as cold as theirs was, any warmth was welcome. Lynn’s hair was as black as her eyes; and as the smudged eyeliner that never seemed to be removed. Tattooed brows and a sleeve, she didn’t mess about, and held the Cart together as a master does with their hound.
“The young’n should’ve stayed in London.” A gruff man stood at the bar slurred out, swigging from his pint glass.
“Gareth!” Lynn scorned, rolling her eyes. “Don’t listen to him - here.” She passed the pint of golden, fizzing liquid toward her, which Alys noted was a tad warmer than what she would’ve preferred.
“It’s true. Bad things round these parts. Omens.” Gareth replied, shaking his head. A plump man with a swollen stomach, Gareth was a regular at the Cart. A dairy farmer who’s taste for cheese clearly took a toll on his weight. He snorted, his shining red nose rippling as he did so. Alys prodded further.
“What do you mean?” She enquired, turning to look up at the mountain of a man. “Is this about the rams?”
Gareth coughed slightly, casting a glassy look to the girl, pondering onto what to say. Lynn continued to watch them warily, and Llewellyn interjected.
“Ah, Alys, I said I would explain -“
“You’ve seen one.” Gareth stated, using two fingers to beckon Lynn to pour him another pint. “I can tell, you’ve got an air of dread to you.”
“It seems everyone here has.” Alys continued, maintaining her urgency to figure out what exactly had happened in her absence. “What is it - what’s going on?”
Gareth sighed, thanking Lynn for the fresh pint and taking a swig, wiping the foam from his lip with the meat of his palm. “Lambing season. We saw some miracles. Many ewes had twins, some even triplets. Some… had siamese lambs; lambs stuck together in unfortunate ways, though none that died. Many had to be put down, for complication reasons - but all lived through the birth regardless. Perhaps they would’ve gone to let live f’longer, but no butcher wants siamese meat.”
“Then the rams started to grow sick. They grew weak, but the ewes grew fat, and milk was fine. The rams’ skin began to hang off their bones, and their bleats rang through the night. Painful, screeching bleats. Your father spent many a night here, for stress relief.”
He hesitated for a moment. “It got better. Rams began to get better, and healthier. But many rams died. It couldn’t have been the feed, nor the water or the ewes would’ve grown ill as well. My sheep were also fine, and their milk made for good cheese. Your father called other sheep farms nearby, and none of them faced any issues. It seemed to be just here, in this dreary place. Summer proved to be a better time for us all, but as Autumn came, the rams… began to turn up dead - bloodied and fresh corpses with… well, you saw it. No need to put everyone off their supper.”
Gareth drank, and suddenly his pint was empty again. Alys noted that the pub grew silent, and Lynn, as quiet as a mouse, replaced the glass in Gareth’s hand with a new one, moving quick to wipe the surfaces to busy herself. Llewellyn hummed lowly.
“I think that’s all you need to hear, now Alys?” He smiled, though it held a warning quality to it. She nodded, and soon the pub was filled with mirth once again.
-
“That’ll be £12.49, Sir.” Amaar said, holding a palm out. In this economy, it’s no surprise that small takeaways are choosing cash over card payment. Llewellyn handed the cash over, winked, and proceeded to check the bag, to make sure nothing was missing. Amaar blushed.
“Thanks again, Mills.” Llewellyn gushed, sweetly smiling at the taller woman, who offered only a wafting hand in response.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me just -“
A crack, followed by a smear. An egg had been thrown against the front of Takdir’s shop. And then another one. Crack, crack. Crack.
“It’s because of you people being here. God is pure, and he does not recognise Mohammad!” A shrill voice squealed from behind the glass. A group of white, toothless individuals came close enough to be viewed by the eye, pasting posters to the egg-sodden windows.
Another voice croaked. “It’s brown cunts like you causing this! The loss of life. Is it halal to take out their eyes?” It cried, and a gammon stuck his tongue out whilst snarling. “We know God protects us, repent. REPENT!”
Amaar spoke in Hindi to his uncle, who was confused to what the crazed mob were saying outside. His uncle and cousins grabbed brooms and mops, attempting to push back against the group who were berating them so. The crash of glass and a sickening scream rang out, and through the chaos, Alys realised a molotov cocktail was thrown into the takeaway. Llewellyn grabbed the fire extinguisher, and sprayed it not only on the small fire that had broken out, but also turned it upon the mob of wrong doers. Her head felt mute, like everything was moving in slow motion. The grip of Millie’s hand on her wrist pulled her both literally and figuratively out of the horrified daze, and she came to back in the back seat of that same Subaru.
It was a silent journey. Alys looked out of the window, but the drink had dulled her senses. The hills didn’t look as still, and the trees moved to the beat of her ever-racing heart. She feared it. The growing dread in her stomach bloomed once more, and she had to draw her eyes to her knees, in case the scenery passing by, or even the road, spooked her once more. The car came to a halt, and still nothing was said. The shuffle of feet and averted gazes spoke enough to fill the silence.
With a shaken turn of the lock, the siblings entered, greeted with the unexpected blare of TV noise.
‘Mental health issues at an all-time high, NHS unable to handle the pressure without funding. Prime Minister says a meeting at parliament will be held.’
‘Do we need religious studies taught at school? Education minister emphasises importance on the education of religion for young people.’
‘Lambs in America found to be born without male sheep - is cloning now the natural way of production in the animal kingdom?’
“Dad?” Alys called, kicking off her shoes. She was met with a hush. Llewellyn looked at her, concerned, and they walked into the kitchen. A myriad of bottles littered the table, and their father, Dafydd, stared concerned at the small box TV they had. It rippled with each satellite fault, and the wind rattled against the kitchen windows.
‘Lambs found to have been born without the need for fathers, cloned naturally, if you will. Let’s hear from biologist Henry Therman-Neuman’
‘Well, Liz, this is unprecedented. Lambs born without rams is not something we’re used to in nature. Of course, we had Dolly, the first cloned sheep, but that was with scientific interference. Wyoming has never seen this before. Maybe there’s a disease affecting the rams which we aren’t quite aware of - but there’s no need to worry! The meat of the lambs has been tested, and it is extremely safe to eat! Stanford has proven it, so, Liz, all it means is if we need insemination for the future of the meat industry. Back to you.’
Alys watched on, the BBC fluttering on her screen with the lack if signal.
‘Thank you, Henry Therman-Neuman, again. Onto other news, I -‘
The newsreader paused, before putting a hand to her headpiece. She looked at the camera man for a moment, before, to assume, waiting for the teleprompter to allow her to say something. Her eyes widened, and she cleared her throat.
‘I regret to inform you all, that the Pope has died by what law-enforcement believe is a suicide.’