Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  I walked to the bed and studied a picture on one of the end tables. There was a picture of my mother holding me as a baby. I knew it was her because we shared the same eyes. The same icy blonde hair. She wore a flowered dress with her long hair captured in a loose braid.

  I picked the photo up. Staring into the face of my mother, trying hard to remember the sound of her voice, the way she smelled. I suddenly needed to sit down. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand grazed something—my heart sank—old blood. My stomach churned.

  I jumped up, almost dropping the picture. I set it back on the nightstand and almost bumped into Anatoly. He reached out to steady me. I waved him off. I could hold my own, plus I hated the way it felt whenever he touched me. There was no warmth to it. It was like he was holding a tree branch to steady me.

  I pointed to the floor. “Shine a light on these stains. I want to check them out.”

  Anatoly illuminated my mother’s blood with a brilliant beam of light. I followed the stains, fighting back my queasy stomach, careful not to step in it even though it was old and dry. I followed the stains from the bed, out of the room, down the hallway, and to the next room. I pushed open the door and followed the blood trail leading to an overturned bassinet. Anatoly shined the flashlight over it and the bloodstains along the walls. A rush of sadness overpowered me. The picture was clear; my mother, shot and bleeding, had made her way in here to save me. Her last thoughts were not about herself, but about saving me.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whispered.

  Anatoly cocked his head. “Did you say something?”

  I shook my head as he waved the flashlight around the walls. Murals of lambs and angels were everywhere. A closet door stood ajar. I opened it the rest of the way so I could peek inside. What I saw in that closet—I will never forget—ever.

  At first I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Quick, give me the flashlight.”

  Anatoly hesitated, frowned, and tried to crane his neck to look around me into the closet.

  “Come on.” I held out my hand.

  He handed it to me and the bright flashlight beam flooded the closet with light.

  “What’s wrong, Natasha? What do you see?”

  A dozen handprints painted on the closet walls with creepy eyes drawn in the center stared back at me.

  My stomach twisted. “I don’t know. What is this?”

  Anatoly peered inside. “It is ancient symbol against evil. The protective hand of God—all knowing, all seeing.”

  The weird symbols covered every inch of the walls, ceiling, and floor.

  “My father found you here. Cradled in dead mother’s arms.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It is terrible thing. I did not want to upset you.”

  I stared at the swaddle of baby blankets on the floor. I couldn’t imagine the terror and desperation my wounded mother felt as she scrambled to find a way to protect me, hiding from my own father. Blood slid through my veins like ice. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Maybe she knew he was insane and that someday he would try to kill us. Did she think the symbols would protect me?

  “Did your father tell you anything else? Did he say why my dad…?”

  “That is all I know. We go now.” Anatoly took the flashlight from me. “My grandmother will have dinner ready for us.”

  “Wait a second. Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?”

  He shook his head. “It is getting late. We should go.”

  “No. I’m staying here. I want to look around some more. Just leave me the flashlight and go. I’ll give it back in the morning.”

  Anatoly’s eyes filled with concern. “You should not be here alone.”

  “Seriously, it’s fine. I can find my way back.”

  “I don’t mean to offend,” he said. “But you are stranger in our village. You do not know of the danger here. The things that lurk in the woods at night.” He lowered his voice. “Our ways are not your ways. It is rude to make my grandmother wait. She is old. We do not get visitors often. She has been cooking and cleaning all day. She is looking forward to meeting you.”

  For a moment I thought about arguing with him but his eyes shone with a powerful intensity that made me think better of it.

  “You will have all the time you need to explore in the daylight—you have my word.” He paused. His eyes softened. “You must have wondered your whole life about mother and father. I understand it must be hard for you.” He grew quiet for a moment. “Life is cruel, but you are alive and well. So you are blessed.” He turned to walk away. “We go now. Please.”

  I knew he was right. It would be rude to make his grandmother wait. There would be plenty of time for me to explore the house and grounds in the daylight.

  We went downstairs and into the entranceway, our footsteps echoing across the cold wood floor. His footsteps were stiff, hurried, like I’d caught a glimpse of a softer side he didn’t want me to see.

  On the way out, I glanced around the dark interior. How different my life would have been if I'd been raised here. In the middle of some strange empty village with a crazed father and superstitious mother. I thought about what Anatoly said about the place being dangerous. Chuck wouldn’t have sent me someplace that could harm me. Would he?

  I locked the front door and slid the key into my pocket. Mila and Nickoli’s laughter carried from some distant place in the dark.

  I turned to Anatoly. “Where are they?”

  “Come, I show you.”

  I followed him in a stream of wispy moonlight to a stony trail behind the house. I tripped and stumbled and let out a strangled yelp. Anatoly grabbed my hand before I hit the ground. “Thanks, I got it.” I straightened up quickly, trying to cover up for the stupid move.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m not the most graceful at times.” I was glad it was dark and he couldn’t see my flaming cheeks. Nice move, Natasha. Take a nose dive in front of a hot guy.

  We walked a few feet and I could see the water shimmering in the hazy light. Nickoli and Mila sat side-by-side on a boulder overhanging the river. A tiny whirlpool churning in a perfect circle on the surface of the river in front of them. Mila had her hand extended and she was waving a stick over the water. The faster she moved the stick the faster the water spun. It was some kind of cool illusion in the dark. But when we approached, Nickoli nudged her with his elbow. She dropped the stick into the water and the swirling stopped.

  They both stood. “Hi,” Mila said. “Did you get a quick look around?”

  I nodded, staring down into the dark depths of the water, remembering what the attorney had said about my father drowning himself. How strange that we stood here now in a place where both of my parents died. If he felt bad enough to kill himself over my mother’s death, why did he do it in the first place?

  Maybe he’d gotten drunk, gotten into a fight with my mother, shot her, and then plunged into the river to drown in his guilt. I wondered how long I had been in that closet before I was found. I looked back at the cold, dark house, at the small bedroom window and shivered.

  “Come,” Anatoly said. “Dinner is waiting. We go now.”

  Nickoli chased Mila back to the car, darting after her in the dark. Her shrieks of laughter and happy energy lifted my gloomy mood.

  Anatoly placed a firm hand on the small of my back. “Are you ready?”

  I pried my eyes away from the water. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  Anatoly and I walked to the car in silence, which was fine with me, I had so many thoughts tumbling through my head at once. Anatoly opened the passenger door and I slid inside, glad to sit down. Who knew carrying around so much mental weight could be so exhausting. Nickoli and Mila climbed into the back seat and snuggled together. I used to like being alone but now I thought of how nice it would be to have someone to hold me. To tell me that this was all going to be okay. I glanced at the green dash light displaying the time. It was almost eigh
t in the morning in Seattle. Pike’s Market would be just gearing up for the day. Coffee brewed, vendors setting up, fish being brought in fresh from the ocean. It was all I knew. And here I was all the way in Russia, where everything was foreign to me. I thought of my mother’s painting and of the house and all the secrets yet to be uncovered. I was happy I was here but I hated the feeling of being so exposed, so vulnerable.

  Anatoly backed out of the driveway. We headed down the narrow dirt road, weeds slapping against the bumper as we drove over them. I spotted the outline of the golden domed church glimmering in the moonlight. It sat so close to the edge of my mother’s farm. Maybe I’d find her buried in the churchyard. I longed to put flowers on her grave. Tell her how sorry I was that she was dead. That I never had the chance to know her and that I hoped she was at peace now.

  Moments later, we pulled into Anatoly’s driveway and parked in front of the house. Lights flickered, warm and inviting from the square windows. A porch light clicked on and there stood a small, hunched woman with a grim smile. She nodded to us as we walked inside. I half expected to find an apple in the palm of her hand like the witch in Snow White. She was dressed in all black, her head covered in a layer of scarves. Deep wrinkles, like cracks in weathered paint circled her watery eyes.

  When I walked inside, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to her. She cradled my face in her hands. There were tears in her eyes as she muttered words I couldn’t understand.

  I glanced at Anatoly. “What is she saying?”

  He waved me away with a swooping gesture of his hand. “She is old woman. She says things that make no sense.”

  Mila stepped forward and shot Anatoly a disapproving frown. “She said you are a miracle child.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You will save us all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Enough!” Anatoly shouted. He whipped open the front door and stormed out. His grandmother chased after him, yelling in Russian.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Mila said. “He’s super serious about everything. He loves this village, even though it’s deserted and he’s very distrustful of strangers.”

  The floorboards beneath my feet trembled as a truck rumbled to a stop outside. I peered through the window. Anatoly stood outside, greeting an old man with a long dark beard spotted with gray and a jagged scar that ran across the left side of his face. He was built big like Anatoly with a wide chest and shoulders and walked with a crutch under one arm. When they came inside, the old man smiled and extended his hand. “I am Pavel, Anatoly’s father.” He studied me for a moment and then reached out and took my hand in his.

  “I welcome you to our humble home.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded to the old woman. “You have met Grandmother Olga?”

  “Yes, I have.” Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Anatoly brooding in the doorway. Why was he acting like such a jerk? First thing in the morning I’d pack my things and head to my parents' house and camp out there. He couldn’t stop me. I had the deed. It was mine. In the daylight I’d be able to make out things better. It wasn’t very far to walk and I could be alone to explore the house as I wanted without him looming over me like an enormous black cloud.

  Anatoly’s grandmother urged me to a chair behind a big wooden table near the fire. What did she mean about me saving us all? Was she crazy? Why did Anatoly freak out when I found out what she had said?

  The old woman went to the stove and set a heaping plate of food in front of me, mostly vegetables, cheeses, and fish baked in a rich sauce. It smelled delicious. I waited until everyone sat before I picked up my fork. But instead of eating, they locked hands and said a prayer that sounded almost poetic.

  Pavel unclasped his hands and grabbed a dinner roll from a glass bowl in the center. He tore it in half and while smothering it in butter asked, “How do you like Russia?”

  “I like what I’ve seen of it. I didn’t expect it to be so warm and beautiful.”

  He smiled and Olga touched his arm, speaking to him and pointing to me.

  “My grandmother says you are pretty, just like your mother.” The old woman smiled and nodded at me. “She is happy you are here. You are welcome for as long as you like.”

  Everyone fell silent, staring at me. “Thanks.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

  I opened my mouth to ask him about my parents, but Anatoly’s piercing gaze stopped me. Maybe it would be better if I asked him in private.

  We ate the rest of dinner in silence. Afterwards, I helped clear the table and sat down to watch Nickoli do a juggling act with a pile of oranges. He seemed so happy, so full of fun, so much more lighthearted than Anatoly.

  After a while, Anatoly stood up and spoke at length in Russian. Everyone listened to him like he was some kind of god. I wished I knew what he was saying. Why didn’t he speak in English instead of being so rude and leaving me out of the conversation?

  When Anatoly finished speaking, Mila waved me over. “Come on,” she said. “You get to crash with me. I’ll show you our room.”

  I picked up my backpack from a hook near the door and followed her up a narrow flight of creaky stairs to her room. Two twin beds were pressed along each wall with matching pine dressers.

  Mila gestured to the bed closest to the windows. “That one is yours. I thought you’d like some light from the moon for star gazing, I love staring at the night sky.”

  The little twin bed folded softly around me as I sat down. “It’s wonderful! Thanks.”

  Mila walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. “No problem.”

  “So how long have you lived here?”

  “Almost my whole life. I grew up here until my dad and mom split. She didn’t want to live poor. So she took me to England to live with her rich boyfriend. It took me forever to get back here. I couldn’t wait to see Nick. My mother hates us being together. She wanted me to marry a rich guy who could bring something to the table besides an appetite.”

  “What happened to your dad?”

  “Mom had him run off. If he tried to come back to Russia she’d have him killed. She really is a horrible person, selfish, and all for herself. I had to throw a major fit to get her to send me back here.”

  “So Nick lives here too?”

  “Yes, his parents are really sweet. His dad had an accident and never really recovered. They have to live in town. Someday we hope to get married and have a place of our own, but until then, we will stay here and work with Anatoly, keeping watch on the village. It’s very peaceful here with nobody around to bother us. I think you’ll like living here and it’s not really that far from Kostroma.”

  I went to the window and looked out over rooftops of nearby homes. The architecture was old, gothic looking with intricate designs and faded wood. “It must be a big job taking care of a whole village.”

  “We do what we can. It’s a ton of work, especially in the winter, but so worth it.” Mila sighed. “It’s sad to see perfectly good houses stand like ghosts—waiting for owners who never return.”

  “Too bad almost everyone left. It looks like such a nice place to live.”

  “It was a fun place. We had a great school, but I’m glad I got out of here for awhile. I learned a lot about the world. Anyhow, I bet you’re exhausted.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  She went to a small wooden dresser and pulled out a nightgown and grabbed a toothbrush. “I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll be in the bathroom at the end of the hall.”

  While she was gone, I undressed quickly and got into a nightgown and robe. I was so drained all I could think about was sleeping, but I knew the minute I closed my eyes nightmares waited, crouched in the dark ready to pounce.

  First thing in the morning, I’d slip out and head to the house alone. I wanted to be able to explore it without anyone waiting on me, pushing me. I tossed and turned all night. Fearful of the dreams—the ones that replayed my mother’s murder over and over until I thrashed in my c
overs. I stared at the ceiling knowing that beyond it stretched the rafters, and beyond that the roof and sky. Was my mother there? Looking down on me? Did she know I had returned to piece together the puzzle of my life?

  I lay awake, wondering, wishing, feeling lost until sunrise arrived, dousing the darkness with thin swords of light. Twisting free from my tangled sheets, I climbed out of bed and gazed through one of the little framed windows. Through the clouds, spears of light shone across a crimson sky.

  Mila slept soundlessly in the bed on the opposite side of the room. She looked like Sleeping Beauty with her dark lashes closed against pale skin and her long mocha hair swept across her pillow. I slipped into my clothes and boots, tied my hair into a messy knot, and crept out of the bedroom. I made my way down the stairs and out the front door without anyone stopping me.

  It was a strange feeling having them watch my every move. Like I was a toddler learning to walk. It made no sense why they constantly kept their eyes on me. I resented it. I bit my lower lip as an odd primitive warning sounded in my brain. Maybe they had dark motives. Maybe it wasn’t my safety they were worried about. Maybe it was really about control.

  Once outside, I felt like an animal set loose from a cage—finally free at last. I couldn’t stand everyone peering over my shoulder, breathing down my neck. I wasn’t used to people hovering over me, and it made it hard for me to think. I had to come up with some kind of plan for what I would do next. I had to make a decision about the house—keep it or move on? I didn’t want to sell it. As creepy as it was, it was my last refuge. But with little money or a job I might be forced to. I thought about Kostroma. It would be a dream to attend art school there with the money from the sale, but as Mr. Kardinosky said, who would buy a house way out in the middle of an abandoned village.

  The road ribboned out in front of me. I took two steps when I heard Anatoly’s voice off to my right.