Ashes and Entropy

by Laird Barron

  But I refused to shut my streaming eyes for a moment, screaming and laughing while she pinched my leg harder. One of the waterspouts, now a powerful tornado on shore, angled towards us in the storm-gloom, and all light vanished. I could feel the hum of the fish scale siding sloughing off the house. I tried to keep my eyes open, but the agony in my bad leg made my eyelids squeeze shut.

  And the hum becomes the world, and the top of the world blows off.

  Now I am sitting, blind,

  in my long-dead grandmother’s ranch-style house – the living room, if I could see it, would be full of bright greens (the curtains), yellows and reds (the colorful faux-Turkish carpeting). The creamy, bumpy, low ceiling always appeared delicious once to my child-self, as if it were covered in ice cream on the brink of dribbling down onto the high-backed, Victorian looking chairs and couch, upon the coolness of the marble end tables, upon the colorful carpet, upon my grandmother’s miniature organ. I am staring (had my eyes been open) at that organ, which I haven’t seen in thirty years or more but that I can feel crouched across from where I sit as if it is alive—an instrument that smells of burning wood in autumn suffused with the pungent, synthetic florals of an old woman’s perfume and soap. I get up, turn to where I know the open dining room is with its long, dark-wooden table, its room-wide mirror, brilliantly lit by a chandelier, crystals meticulously clean and sparkling. I turn back to the organ, walk to it, sit down upon the smooth, lacquered bench, flip the power switch on the organ’s face, red light I know beginning to glow upon my face, a familiar, electric hum filling the room.

  And I (who have never taken a music lesson in my life) play that organ, deftly switching the gray rocker switches from one sound—bells—to another—pipe organ—switching from upper to lower keyboard, feet pumping, playing the most intricate, harmonized melodies, which vibrate through the living room, throughout my body, with that underlying, electrical hum. I feel tears of relief pouring down my cheeks as I finish.

  But when I try to pull my fingers away from the organ keys, I can’t. My fingers are stuck. It’s as if the organ keys have grown claws as sharp as needles, which hook the skin of each of my fingers, into the meat, and out again. I try to get up from the bench, but it also feels like it has sprung claws that hook inside my thighs and buttocks, and I am held fast in my grandmother’s phantom, ranch-style house, eyes fastened shut in the living room full of bright green curtains I cannot see, the yellows and reds of imagined faux-Turkish carpeting, the ceiling bumpy with petrified ice cream, but now it seems like something is about to erupt from all those little imagined bumps, as if something is shifting, ready to dig itself out, upside down, within them, like funnel cloud fingers from a thunderhead, maybe to bloom, the artificial floral smell of old women’s perfume and soap smells more like smoke and the miniature organ begins to shriek and something is burning inside it, and then all at once I am sitting again on the high-backed faux-Victorian chair sitting across the room from the miniature organ, which I know glowers at me like a predator, its red eye shining through my lids, its electrical hum purring, its keys ready to hook their claws into me, hungry for the connection.

  Then I hear her voice.

  “That was just lovely, my precious heart. Now tell me where Millie has run off to. She’s coupling with some crook in the Indoor Swamp, I’ll warrant.”

  “Don’t profane my mother,” I almost say, but I’m exhausted and want only to be unmolested by that crooked, deranged voice and grandmother’s many grasping fingers.

  When I open my eyes at last, I’m sitting in the yellow house again, on the kitchen bench, and there is no sign of my grandmother.

  The house now seems undamaged, most notably the recently broken kitchen window, making me wonder if I dreamed the storm. But the boardwalk, I can see now, is gone, leaving only long splinters of itself on the dingy shore.

  I look out onto the bay at the electrical pylons and smile.

  The first two—the giant-pylon-grandmother-doll and the smaller-pylon-me-doll—still stand, connected as always to each other, but the pylon I always imagined as my mother is gone completely. Not even the wires remain. A dark fog is moving in over the bay towards the yellow house.

  And then all at once I remember what I’d forgotten.

  I walk to the living room and sit in my grandfather’s old easy chair. I become quite still and stare at the hutch where his television used to be.

  WHAT FINDS ITS WAY BACK

  by Damien Angelica Walters

  When they were children, Keira and her sisters buried their secrets in the woods behind their house. She and Ava and Amanda would run between the trees, hands linked, one of them with lips clamped tight, drawing as close to the stream separating the old woods from the new as they dared. Together, they'd dig a hole and one would bend low, pressing lips to waiting dark, whispering the secret into the exposed dirt, their voice like drifting feathers, and the three of them would cover it up as fast as they could and run back home, not speaking until they were clear of the tree line.

  By the time they'd finished grade school, the ground was thick with secrets—Jennifer Smyth is a jerk; Mrs. Halloway isn't as pretty as she thinks she is; I hate Stephan Gregory and wish he would die—all trapped in place by the self-righteous fury of childhood.

  The woods on the other side of the stream held other, darker secrets.

  ~

  Keira's hands tightened on the steering wheel as she turned down the narrow, winding driveway leading to her childhood home. It was the first time she'd been back since Nana passed away a year and a half ago, and she had the same pit in her stomach now as she did then. She'd already stopped at the sheriff's office, and Sheriff Banks told her exactly what she expected him to say. Amanda was an adult and her note made it clear she left of her own accord. "I guess she decided to follow in your footsteps," he said, his goodbye perfunctory, his smile tight-lipped.

  As the house came into view, she eased off the gas pedal. Time and the environment had dulled the green siding on the two-story Craftsman and weeds had overtaken the flower beds, but the grass had been mowed recently. Better than last time.

  She parked her Hyundai beside Nana's old Toyota, and before she even got out of the car, Ava was out the front door and running toward her, hair streaming in a dark, tangled veil, jeans sagging from her hipbones as though she were a wire hanger twisted out of shape. Face bare of makeup, she looked more like a young girl than a woman of twenty-two.

  "I'm so glad you're here. We've—I've—missed you so much."

  "I've missed you, too." She plucked a leaf from Ava's hair and lifted her hand to inspect the ragged cuticles, the nails bitten to the quick. "You're a mess."

  A red flush painted Ava's cheeks. "I know, I'm sorry. I've just been too worried to care about anything else, and I…" She swiped her eyes with the back of a hand, before falling into Keira's arms.

  "It's okay. It'll be okay." She spoke against Ava's sour-smelling hair, and the words felt heavy and false, the sort of thing you said to fill the quiet.

  "I feel like part of me is missing, Keira. I can't be without her. I just can't."

  Keira was only three years older than the twins, but the difference always felt greater as though she were the mother and they the children. It wasn't their fault, but still, her muscles relaxed when she untangled herself from Ava's arms.

  Ava insisted on carrying her suitcase inside. The house was neat and tidy, even the mostly unused formal living and dining rooms, and the lemon scent of furniture polish clung to the air. A far cry from the chaos that had greeted her the last time.

  All for her benefit, Keira suspected, confirmed by the small, pleased smile on Ava's lips. Even the stairs were swept clean of dust. The door to her old bedroom at the far end of the hall stood open and Ava moved aside so she could enter first.

  The night before she'd left for college, she'd removed her posters from the walls and her knickknacks from the dresser and nightstand. The former went into the trash; the
latter into a box in the attic. Now, they were back. She pinched her lower lip between her front teeth, at a loss for words.

  "Is it okay?" Ava said, her voice a bird's wings. "I just thought it might be nice while you're here…"

  "No, it's fine." Her gaze passed over glass dragon figurines, small pieces of quartzite and agate, a jewelry box of marbled wood.

  "Are you sure?"

  It wasn't fine, not really. The last time she'd been home, every time she'd been home, the twins begged her to stay; this seemed a passive aggressive attempt at the same. Before she left, she'd throw it all out so it couldn't happen the next time.

  "No, yeah, it's fine. Why don't you show me the note? I can unpack later."

  Ava nodded, eyes awash in sorrow, and led her back downstairs, to the kitchen where a magnet in the shape of a snail pinned Amanda's note on the refrigerator.

  I'll be back in a few days. Don't come after me and don't worry!

  "I waited a few days," Ava said. "Then I waited some more, then I called you."

  "We'll find her."

  "Promise?"

  Keira nodded, though she gazed at the woods visible in the window over the sink and, stomach in knots, wondered.

  ~

  In the morning, she knew instinctively that the house was empty. Nana had always said you couldn't fart without the house announcing it to everyone else inside. Something in the construction, she'd say, butterflying a hand.

  Both cars were in the driveway so Ava couldn't have gone far. Still in her pajamas, Keira made a pot of coffee, sitting at the kitchen table while it brewed, her head foggy and thick. She'd slept hard, thanks to the four-hour drive from Baltimore and a Unisom.

  With a full mug, she sat on the back porch step, knees to her chest. The wide yard sloped gently down to the tree line, to over a hundred acres of oak, hickory, and pine, of which only little more than a third were safe. The new woods, Nana had called them, though they'd been named that since before she'd been born.

  Keira craned her neck from left to right, but it didn't break the tension pinching her muscles. Nothing would, not here. There were too many memories, too many things she wanted to forget, too many ways this place could hold tight and refuse to let go. A slight spring breeze sent the trees to bend and leaves to rustle. Mocking her, perhaps. Or reminding her that they knew, they remembered.

  It wasn't that she hated it here; she hated herself here, hated the box in which she had to fit, the role she had to play. At home, she had only herself to care for. She didn't even have a plant in her apartment.

  Ava came out of the woods then, clad in a nightgown, visibly starting when their gazes met. Keira's spine went cold.

  "What were you doing in the woods?" she said, when Ava drew close enough to hear.

  "I didn't expect you up this early."

  "Obviously, but that wasn't an answer. What were you doing in the woods?" She drew the sentence out, making sure each word was heavily weighted.

  Ava lifted one slender leg and bent to scratch her ankle, long strands of hair tumbling over her face and obscuring her features. It reminded Keira briefly, powerfully, of the last time she saw their mother, and she held tight to the coffee mug to keep her fingers from shaking.

  "I woke up and I couldn't sit still. I had to do something."

  "So you went into the woods?"

  Ava nodded, sat down, and scratched her ankle again. "Um, I…"

  "What?"

  "Well..."

  "Ava, please just tell me."

  Ava looked away fast. "You have to promise not to get mad, okay?"

  Keira's stomach clenched, and she fought the urge to run in the house, grab her keys, and get the hell out, but said, her voice as calm as possible, "I promise to try."

  "Okay." Ava scrubbed her palms along her thighs, pleating the fabric of her nightgown. "A couple days before Amanda left the note, she was looking for something in the new woods."

  "What?" she said, the word halfway between a laugh and a shout.

  "She didn't tell me what it was, and when I asked her she said it was nothing."

  "So you lied to me?"

  "I…"

  "Why didn't you tell me this before now? Why didn't you say something when you called me?" The words scratched in her throat.

  "I couldn't tell you, don't you understand? I was afraid once you knew, you wouldn't come." Tears shimmered in Ava's eyes. "And how could I take care of it all on my own? I couldn't, I'm not like you."

  "I still would've come," Keira said, but even she heard the lack of conviction in her voice. "This changes everything. You know that, right?"

  Ava shook her head, whipping the ends of her hair back and forth.

  "No. She wouldn't have gone into the old woods. She knows better."

  "So did Mom." Her words were gentle, but Ava winced.

  "That isn't fair. You know it was different with Mom. Nana said so. The woods wanted her from the time she was a little girl. They don't want Amanda. I'd know. She couldn't hide something like that from me. She wasn't walking at night or talking to herself or doing anything strange. I would've known." Ava sat back a little, breathing hard.

  She picked at the edge of a fingernail. Nana had always said if the old woods claimed you, you had no choice. You could move away, marry, have children, but in the end, the pull would be too great and you'd return. She'd admitted to Keira she hadn't known they'd claimed Mom, not until she'd shown up on Nana's doorstep, her eyes wild and bright, a twin on each hip and Keira toddling behind. By then, it was too late; she was already lost. And six months later, she walked into the woods and was gone.

  "Most of all, though," Ava said, her voice mouse-small. "I know it because whatever she was looking for, she said it had something to do with you."

  How Keira managed to hold her face still, she wasn't sure.

  ~

  After breakfast, she donned jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and hiking boots, and before heading downstairs, she pawed through her purse until she found her pocketknife, a gift from Nana when she'd first moved away. "Every woman should have a knife for protection," Nana had said. "And don't be afraid to use it. Sometimes you have no choice."

  The three and a half inch blade, which she kept sharpened, folded neatly into a heavy, dark wood handle that fit perfectly in her hand. She'd never needed to use it, but its weight in her front pocket was a comfort.

  She and Ava crossed the grass to the woods, both in their own sphere of silence, and Keira's steps slowed the closer they got.

  "Keira? What's wrong?"

  She gave what she hoped was a convincing smile. She'd not been in the woods since junior year in high school. No sister by her side then. Nothing but the dark, her tears, and a hole in the ground the perfect size for a secret. And Nana, of course. Without her, she never would've made it through that night.

  "Nothing. It's just… If she's in there, how in the hell are we going to find her?"

  "We have to at least try," Ava said. "We have to."

  But what if Amanda didn't want to be found? Keira took a deep breath, fingering the outline of the knife, and stepped forward, small twigs cracking beneath her feet. Like bones. Like tiny bones. Beneath the canopy, the day turned twilight, the air chill, and she shuddered.

  They stuck to pathways feet had made long before the Ashton family came to live here. Birds sang overhead and flitted from tree to tree, squirrels zig-zagged out of their way, and every ten yards or so, Ava called her sister's name.

  Keira walked through a spider web and let out a breathy shout, waving her arms to dislodge the sticky strands while Ava laughed. In that moment, at least, it felt as though they were simply taking a walk. For Ava's sake, she tried to think positive and swallow her unease. There was nothing in the woods that could hurt her, not after so much time.

  By the time they returned home, they were dirty, hungry, and disappointment radiated from Ava in waves. "We have to look again tomorrow," she said, her voice a sandpaper rasp. "We have to keep lo
oking until we find her."

  All Keira could do was nod.

  ~

  Out of Unisom, having packed the wrong box, Keira gave up on sleep after an hour of tossing and turning while the wind screamed through the trees. She peeked in on Ava; her sister was out like a light, on her back with one arm flung over her head, the other hanging off the side of the bed.

  The twins always could sleep through anything. Sometimes a curse; sometimes a blessing.

  She shivered, and not from the chill in the air. She was halfway down the stairs when a wail broke the night, long and low and mournful. Goosebumps landscaped her arms, and she froze in place. No. No.

  The cry came again, farther away this time. The spell shattered, and she ran back upstairs to her room, her bed, curving her body into a nautilus, hands over her ears, telling herself over and over again it was only a fox.

  When she finally slept, she dreamt of tiny hands tapping her face, from forehead to cheek, to jaw, to chin, and all the way back around, but every time she tried to brush them away, her fingers caught in spider webs.

  ~

  Ava found walking sticks in the shed, and they went deeper into the woods, where the ivy grew thicker and the bushes wielded thorns and toxic berries.

  "Ava, I know you think she's here, but maybe all the stuff about looking in the woods was a ruse. Maybe she…left and didn't want to tell you."

  "She wouldn't do that. Not to me," Ava said.

  "Maybe she couldn't tell you because she knew you'd be upset."

  "She. Wouldn't." Ava punctuated each word with a hard thump of her stick. "Anyway, she didn't take the car and town is too far to walk."

  A long walk, yes, but not an impossible one. Not if someone was determined. "Are you sure maybe she wasn't seeing someone? They could've picked her up—"

  "No. She wasn't seeing anyone, she didn't meet anyone, she didn't walk into town. She went into the woods looking for something. You haven't been here, you don't know, but I have and I do."