unknown figures
It was cold, but she didn’t feel it. It wasn’t until she noticed the open window and the dead leaves did she remember that it was late fall. Where had the time gone?
The last time that she had noticed the passage of time had been a while ago—right before the figures started appearing.
She reached up into a cabinet and grabbed a tea kettle. Filling it up with water, she looked out her kitchen window over her sink and out to the front lawn.
She lived alone, in a rather isolated spot in the countryside, right near the water. While it really was a beautiful piece of land, not many people would want to live there—the graveyard was rather close by. That tended to put a sort of gloom on things. In front of her rustic, two story house was a wide expanse of dark green grass, with a small, dirt road leading to town about ten miles away. To her left, she could see the waves crashing on the sharp rocks. Far out in front of her, about a mile, was a deep forest. She tried to make the most of her isolation, however, and had planted a garden right outside, underneath her window. She planted daisies in the summer. Looking down at her small patch of dirt and daisies, she noticed that they looked brown and dry. She thought it must be time to change to pansies, for the fall.
Suddenly, a flash of grey caught her eye. When she looked up, she saw nothing. She stayed that way for a few moments. Only the feeling of cold water rushing over her hand as it overflowed from the kettle brought her back to focus. Placing the kettle on the stove, she glanced once more out the window. Nothing. For a second, she had thought it might be one of the figures. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the next room and grabbed a book and a blanket before
sinking into her heavy armchair. Turning page after page, she lulled herself into a sense of calm.
Then the front door opened.
A long creaking sound ensued, as she had never been one for home maintenance. She froze, all her muscles stiffening, and slowly places the book on the table. Without making a sound, she took off her blanket and stood up, walking towards the corner of the room. The figures were here. She could feel beads of cold sweat dripping down her back, and had to press her fingernails down into her palm to keep from screaming. She knew that if she stood still an did not make a sound, they would leave her alone.
There was a group of them—they were whispering, she couldn’t hear. Their footsteps made the floorboards creak. They were coming closer, closer—and then they stopped.
She turned around the corner, only letting her eyes sweep the next room. There they were. They were standing in a small group—three of them, maybe—and they were just looking around. She didn’t know why they came to her house. She had no idea why they chose to bother her. All she knew was that she was going crazy.
They began to speak again, and this time, she could hear them.
“They say she still wanders around the shore outside, looking for her kid.”
Who were they talking about?
“I heard she didn’t kill herself at all, but she was pushed!”
Were they talking to each other?
“I read that anyone who has stayed here for more than an hour has gone mad.”
They began to yell.
“Emily!”
She started. That was her name.
“Emily! We just want to talk to you! Come out!”
She was panicking. How did they know her name? The figures had never interacted with her before.
The kettle began to whistle.
“The kitchen! Hurry!”
Emily heard the footsteps as they rushed to the kitchen. For a second, she stayed where she was, silent and still with shock. After a moment, she walked across the floor and out the front door, still open wide. The ground was cold beneath her bare feet.
She walked, as if in a trance, out towards the shore and the waves and the rocks, and standing there, with the water spraying on her face and the rocks cutting the bottoms of her feet, she began to remember.
Her son.
Jason.
Her son had loved to play outside.
He loved to throw rocks into the water.
She remembered she came out to look for him.
He used to love to play hide and seek, but there was nowhere to hide in such a large expanse of land.
She walked around the house, a dark feeling settling inside of her.
He had always wanted to swim, but Emily had said no. It was too dangerous.
Emily had walked to the shore, to the exact same spot that she found herself now, and saw her son swimming. But he wasn’t moving his arms.
She had jumped in after him. She never came back out.
Now, standing at the edge of the sea, with the memories of the end of her life flooding back to her, Emily once more stepped into the churning waters and succumbed to the darkness.
It was cold, but she didn’t feel it. It wasn’t until she noticed the open window and the dead leaves did she remember that it was late fall. Where had the time gone?