And the Trees Crept In

by Dawn Kurtagich

  I crawl out of the shadows and back along the wall. At the foot of the stairs, I look up, toward the dull light coming from somewhere else in the house. I closed the door. I did. I closed the door!

  Auntie Cath.

  We need you.

  She is shut away in the attic. Walking, walking, pacing. Creaking.

  She can’t help us now.

  The thing is getting closer. Not rolling now, but walking. My heart alarms like a panic bell, a siren shrilling silently inside me.

  Trapped! We’re trapped!

  I hear something shuffling closer, on unsteady feet. Something big. I can feel the presence.

  I see the shadow. His shadow, stretching impossibly high along the wall.

  I back away, return to Nori in the cupboard, and squeeze in beside her.

  Like a mouse, she signs. I shut my eyes and nod my head.

  Gowan—where are you?

  We wait.

  I dream of my mother.

  There’s something you’ve forgotten, sweetheart.

  Stop it.

  Did you think I would forget?

  Shut up.

  Well, I’ve got news for you.

  Please…

  I have a long memory.

  … Mama…

  The truth, my girl,

  … go away.

  is coming for you anyway.

  I wake up alone in a cupboard with the vague notion that I had a dream. Then it comes back to me and I reach for Nori—

  Who isn’t there.

  It’s like the breath is knocked out of me. I mean to scream her name, but it comes out a pathetic gasp.

  “Nori!”

  I race up to her room, and find her fast asleep in her bed, her grotesque little mouth hanging open and the air saturated with her stale breath. I swallow and then go to shake her awake.

  She rubs her eyes and squints up at me.

  “Are you okay? When did you go back to bed?”

  She frowns at me, and shakes her head.

  “Nori, why didn’t you stay in the cupboard?”

  She sits up, still rubbing her eyes. What cupboard?

  “We ran downstairs, remember? The basement? Hiding?”

  Did you have a bad dream? she asks, and I can see she has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “You never got up last night?”

  No. I went to bed when you said, after I fell asleep by the fire, remember?

  I do.

  I shake my head and force a laugh. “Must have had a bad dream. Come on, up. I’ll get some peanut paste and an apple, okay?”

  She nods and watches me. I know that when I go, she’ll be back to sleep in under a minute flat. I turn away, ready to forget this (crazy) nightmare, when I spot something under her bed.

  A tattered penguin doll with a red knitted scarf around its neck.

  I open my mouth to ask Nori about it, but she has already fallen asleep.

  The nib of my pen flashes in the moonlight. Silence reigns, expectant.

  There are twenty-nine candles left.

  Four boxes of matches. [BURN THE HOUSE DOWN.]

  Two gas lamps. A single jar of kerosene. [TO THE GROUND.]

  Four batteries. One flashlight. [WATCH IT BURN TO HELL.]

  I focus on my whisper note, looking for a core truth to these feelings, trying to ignore the tooth I am close to losing.

  I sat in the library for a long time today, thinking about you. About what you said. I remember every single thing you said to me. “You’re hiding in this dying place because you’re a coward.” The way your face fell—the way you gave up on me. “If you do nothing, you’ll die here.”

  How could you say those things?

  Why didn’t I listen?

  You were right. I am afraid. Afraid to leave this house. Afraid to find out what I have left behind in that world out there. In London. In my past. I can’t even think about that. I can’t face it. I was fourteen when I came here, and I dragged Nori with me. I dragged her through the rain and the mud.

  La Baume is cursed. Haunted, even, maybe. I have too many theories to list. Though that might just be me going mad, like my mother always said I would. Except… I’m not mad. I know it. But I wish I was. Because then, all of this… all of this would make a kind of sense. And I don’t think Cath is mad either. She stays in the attic because it’s the farthest she can get from the trees.

  Anyway. All this is to say that you were right. All along. But I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want to be trapped here. A voice in the night tells me that if I leave—if I leave… he’ll—he’ll… but it’s just my own insecurities. My own fears that hold me hostage.

  I miss my anger. Can’t handle this fear.

  I know you’ll never come back. Who would? I’m going to burn this damn note anyway, so here it is:

  I miss you.

  I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how I never saw myself falling off this platform I built for myself—a platform to keep me above the messy, noisy, painful world of emotions. I have a stone for a heart, but it is turning to clay. Softening. And you’re to blame.

  God, I hate you.

  I like you.

  I love you.

  I hate that. I hate you. I do. You’ve ruined and broken me and I hate you forever you stupid, selfish, ignorant, happy shithead! I hate you! I hate you for breaking my stone in half! I hate you for leaving and I hate that you’re never going to come back and I am never going to see you again.

  I hate myself, too. For loving you. Love is a lie.

  I will kill this heart, even if I die, too.

  Silla.

  I can’t burn it. I hold it near the candle flame for a long time, but I can’t make it ash and air. Instead, I leave the note in the garden, buried deep in the earth, and maybe it’ll turn into a rock. I push the earth over the hole, letter inside. Poisoned earth, soft as ash, under my fingernails. I’m already infected. I know it. The green mold growing on my dress proves it. The way I’m falling apart proves it.

  This should worry me, but doesn’t. Nothing feels quite real anymore.

  That’s probably a bad sign.

  In the morning, I discover a small pile of green pages on the kitchen doorstep, held down by a green apple. A green letter.

  He came in the night.

  I missed him again.

  THE GREEN LETTER

  STANDING ON THE OUTSIDE IS HARD, SILLA. AND YOU DON’T MAKE IT EASY. YOU’RE DIFFICULT, ABRASIVE, RUDE—AND I LOVE YOU. BUT, YOU’RE DIFFERENT. COLD. HARD. I DON’T THINK I’M HELPING YOU.

  I STAYED AWAY ONLY TO DO THAT.

  DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE AN ORPHAN? NO ONE EXCEPT AN ORPHAN COULD EXPLAIN. THE WHOLE ABANDONMENT-ISSUE THING IS REAL. IT NEVER QUITE LEAVES YOU.

  LA BAUME WAS MY FIRST HOME. I GUESS YOU COULD SAY THAT CATHERINE WAS MY FIRST “MOTHER.” IT MEANT A LOT TO ME, THIS PLACE. BUT NOW THERE’S NOTHING. MY HOPE IS GONE. AND I DON’T THINK THAT HELPS ANYTHING.

  AND THEN THERE’S YOU.

  YOU KEEP SENDING ME AWAY. BUT I WOULD KEEP TRYING TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU, THAT YOU CAN TRUST ME, THAT I ONLY WANT THE BEST FOR YOU. NO MATTER HOW LONG IT TOOK ME, I WOULD TRY.

  BUT THERE’S ONLY SO MUCH DIRT A GUY CAN TAKE IN THE FACE, SILLA.

  I WANT TO HELP YOU. I WANT TO BE WITH YOU. I WANT TO KISS YOUR LIPS AND SO MUCH MORE. THINGS I COULDN’T EVER WRITE DOWN. I WANT YOU TO COME WITH ME, FAR AWAY FROM HERE. I WANT YOU TO BRING NORI. BREAK THE CHAINS. TRUST IN ME.

  BUT YOU’RE TIED DOWN TO THAT MANOR. I SEE IT. I FINALLY SEE IT. MAYBE I’M NOT ENOUGH. MAYBE I NEVER WAS.

  I’M LIKE SOME KIND OF SHADOW IN YOUR WORLD. ONLY HALF-REAL. SOME KIND OF PROP. AND I’M HAPPY TO BE YOUR SOMETIMES FRIEND, IF THAT’S ALL I CAN BE. BUT I CAN’T WATCH YOU DESTROY YOURSELF—

  IT’S NOT EASY TO WRITE THIS. I WISH I COULD SAY EVERYTHING TO YOU.

  I CAN’T DO IT, SILLA. I NEED MORE THAN THAT.

  —G

  14

  see your shrinkr />
  The longer you wait

  the closer he gets

  so say your prayers

  he never forgets.

  Cath starts screaming on a Sunday night. The screaming pierces my head like a high frequency I can’t tolerate, a ripping thing, and I press my fists into my ears. On and on, Cath screams. I can hear it through my flesh. It rattles my bones. [GO AND CHECK ON HER.]

  I slide from my bed and check on Nori, but she is huddled under her blanket and hasn’t stirred. I leave Cath alone. Whatever she’s screaming about, I’m too much of a coward to find out.

  GIGGLES

  The girl, Silla, assumes Nori sleeps while she sits in the library reading my books. But while she leaves her little sister to dream sweet summer dreams, Nori is in the basement again, playing with a man made of shadows.

  And in a house that doesn’t speak, Nori begins to talk.

  She stands in the corner.

  And covers her eyes.

  “… nine… ten… ready or not… here I come…”

  The Creeper Man is hiding, and Nori

  giggles.

  I heard it again, I know I did. A child’s laughter. To be sure, I open the library door, which I had barricaded with a chair, and peer out. And listen.

  There

  is

  only

  darkness.

  Creak.

  “Stop.”

  Creak…

  “Stop it.”

  Creeeeaaaaakkkk.

  “STOP IT!”

  I slam the door closed and bar it again with the chair. I grip my head and huddle on the floor.

  “Mama,” I whisper. “I don’t like this. Please make this stop. I don’t want to be here.”

  Cath’s screaming is the only reply.

  15

  all about the poison

  Python striker, Python tree

  please don’t let the man get me

  python striker, Python tree

  let me sing this melody.

  BROKEN BOOK ENTRY

  I have another theory, and this one is worse. Don’t say it out loud, don’t think it—don’t write it. That’s what I tell myself. Would you write down a mortal dread? Make it real? But I do wonder about it and I have to write it to see if it’s true. To understand why. Closure, maybe? To see if it sounds as ridiculous to you as it does to me? I never thought of it before, but it makes sense. I think my father might be in this house. I think he might have been here for a long time. I think that he—the granite beast—has been toying with me, punishing me with my fears. It’s the only theory that makes sense. I mean: Curse? Or evil father? What’s the answer?

  The storm complains like a petulant child, worrying at the windows and the walls. I’m stowed safely in the library, while Nori is out there, being infected by this house. Being swallowed up, masticated like a piece of—

  [SAY IT.]

  Like a piece of meat.

  I wander the library slowly, feeling fragile as brittle bones. My mind is heavy, though. My heart, too. Why won’t he come?

  The books lull me into calmness, if not a sense of security, and I find myself wandering the rows. I stalk along the ground floor, then take the spiraling side stairs up to the next level. I wander that floor, too.

  A thump and a crash from above. I flinch, shoulders raised defensively.

  A shadow moves along the edges of the far bookcases. It is distorted through the glass ceiling. I go up, my body tight as a guitar string, ready to snap.

  It’s on the third level that I spot him.

  He’s huddled like a ball of cloth by two corner bookcases, his head pillowed on La Vita Nuova: The New Life. He’s shivering and twitching, lost in some terrible dream. He’s knocked several books off the shelf to his left, his arm still raised, as if in defense or defiance.

  Something inside me breaks to see him and I feel

  irritation

  exultation

  rage

  fear

  confusion

  joy

  relief. I am so relieved to see him. I step closer, minding my feet on the floorboards, and then kneel down, quite close. His breathing is deep, but not steady. He is distressed, eyes flighty beneath the membranes of his eyelids. I want to wake him, to save him, but fascination stops me.

  His breathing intensifies, his face twitching, and there is a fine sheen of sweat on his torso—which is bare. “Uhn… AH… No… No! No, please—NO!” And he wakes. He presses his fists to his eyes, teeth bared.

  “Shit.”

  I feel bad for watching him, and want to sneak away. But I’m right beside him, and when he lifts his head and sees me, his surprise becomes brightness, and then caution in less than a split second.

  “Silla…”

  I have to bite down on my lip to keep myself from calling his name.

  He left you, Daddy’s voice says, the whisper floating beneath the crack in the door. Don’t forget that. He left you all alone.

  Gowan crawls to me and wraps his arms around my waist, clinging to me so tightly that I gasp with the closeness of it. I clench my fists at my sides, fighting my urge to hug his head closer, kiss the top of it, tell him I’m here to stay. Instead, I get to my feet.

  “You left me,” I say as he stands up too, his hands still on my hips, and his cheek twitches—the merest little flicker, but I know I’ve hit some kind of sore spot.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice trembles and for a moment I think he wants to hurt himself.

  I recognize self-loathing.

  “I’m sorry, Silla, I am sorry—”

  “How long have you been here?”

  He shakes his head like he wants to rid himself of the things inside it. “How did you find me?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Tell me, Gowan. How long?”

  “Since the night I left.”

  “You’ve been hiding out in my library for three weeks?”

  I find myself trying not to laugh, and he smiles slowly. “I didn’t want to leave. I just couldn’t.…”

  There is a lot to say.

  You stole my whisper note.

  You left me a letter.

  Green paper. Like the apple…

  You left me apples.

  To help or to torture?

  Why did you leave?

  I hate you for that.

  I want to hate you for that.

  I’m so happy to see you.

  You came back.

  “You never left.”

  He shakes his head. “Are you… are you okay?”

  I don’t think he’s really asking me that. “I’m fine. I just… I couldn’t sleep.”

  I know how I’ve changed. How I must look. So much hair has fallen out. I’ve lost five teeth, my nails are thin and brittle, and my skin feels too tight.

  Cathy’s creaking never reaches me in this room, but the memory of it is enough to make me clench my teeth—the ones that are left. Gowan spots it.

  “What?”

  Creeeeaaaak.

  Stop it.

  “I… I hate this place.”

  Creeeeeeeeeak.

  He doesn’t ask me why I don’t leave.

  “Why don’t we kill each other?” I don’t know where the question has come from. But it feels important to ask.

  I sit down, close to him, and wait.

  “Silla, you can’t be serious.”

  “I am. You kill me, I kill you. We’ll do it at the same time.”

  He closes his eyes. “Stop it.”

  “I’ll have to kill Nori first, of course. That would be difficult.”

  “Silla, stop—” He gets to his feet, stumbles, and steadies himself on the bookcase. I watch the muscles in his back move as he breathes.

  “Don’t say things like that to me ever again. Please.”

  I stand, putting a hand on the middle of his back. “I’m sorry.” I’m tempted to kiss the back of his neck, taste his sweat.

  I don’t.

  “You just lef
t,” I say quietly, as if this will explain my momentary weakness.

  He turns to me slowly. “I promise,” he says, voice low, “I promise I won’t hurt you again, if I can help it. I promise you. You’re… vital to me.”

  Vital. I don’t even know what that means. Still, I nod and I even manage a smile.

  Some people don’t realize they are liars, even when they are.

  “I saw some boxes in the basement,” he says after a while. “We could see if they have any food. Tins or dry goods.”

  I glance down at the library door, firmly shut and locked. “I don’t want to go out there.…” I can’t stop hearing that sound… that fleshy thud! and the way I felt chased.…

  “There’s a secret passage. I could show you.”

  And he does.

  It’s hidden on the ground floor, between two of the last bookcases. A gap so small and dark I missed it for years. Gowan slips in and pulls me after him. Close… we are so close. He never lets go of my hand. We walk a few paces and then there is a click as Gowan opens a door. He takes me down three steps, and then we are facing a staircase. Concrete, all of it, heading into the dark.

  I don’t want to go, but he has my hand, so I follow him deeper. It goes on for a long time, this tiny, suffocating space, spiraling down until I feel sure we’re just twisting ourselves into the earth like screws.

  Then we are in the basement. No glamour. No tricks. No hidden locks or passwords.

  The basement is just there in front of us. Huge and black and empty. And the windows, completely covered over with soil. Gowan doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if he sees. But him being here and me not being alone is enough of a reason to not bring it up. I want to protect this moment.

  We don’t find any food.

  But we do find a stupid supply of wine. I grin and look at Gowan and he grins right back.