Emma crawled into her mother’s lap. Her presence seemed to snap Mother out of whatever daze had fogged her mind. Mother brought her arms up and wrapped them about her. Warm breath filtered through Emma’s hair, making her smile and cry at the same time.
“Please eat, Mother, you’re scaring me,” whispered Emma.
Kimber crept closer with hesitant steps, glancing off to the side. Emma shifted to make room and gestured for her to climb up too. They sat quiet for a while, Emma staring worriedly at her mother while Kimber closed her eyes, basking in the glow of life with a real family. Emma took a piece of bread from the plate, and poked Mother in the lip with it twice.
“Mama, eat.”
Mother took the bread after stroking her hand over Emma’s hair. “You’re always trying to take care of everyone.”
Emma clung to her, resting her head on Mother’s shoulder. “I’m scared, too.”
Mother held them both, and sang a few lines from an old lullaby. It was almost enough to rid Emma of her fear. She had not hidden how she felt this time, hoping the instinctual need to comfort a frightened daughter would pull Mother out of her strange sadness. Minutes later, Mother stopped singing.
Emma reached up and brushed the top of her head. “You got crumbs in my hair.”
The fear had returned to Mother’s eyes, but the unexpected grumble made her laugh.
“Mama, do you think the Banderwigh came back already? Did it hurt Father?”
Mother helped rid her hair of crumbs. “No, Emma. Those things run away from adults. They’re only scary to children. Like goblins, cowards.”
Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “Why are you smiling?”
“I’m used to my Emma looking for boring explanations. Attacked by bandits, found someone that needed help, or maybe they got lost.”
She stared into the dark corner, her voice a touch above a whisper. “I believe now.”
Memories of being trapped in a cage that could not open, in a room with no door, and unable to reach Tam, watered her eyes. The burned girl’s laugh echoed in the back of her mind. Somehow, somewhere, that awful false child knew Father was missing and loved it. It occurred to Emma at that moment she had not done anything with the experience but bottle it up inside. She had to hide her emotions to protect her little brother. Mother kissed her on the forehead. Images of the burned village came back to her, and she buried her face against Mother’s shoulder and wept.
“Oh, Em…” Mother rocked her gently. “What’s wrong?”
Kimber held her hand.
Emma mumbled through tears, telling her about the cages and the dreams, about the horrible, evil girl, and about how scared she really was. Kimber hid behind the folds of Mother’s dress as the story unfolded.
“You were very brave, Emma.”
She sniffled, looking up. “I didn’t believe it. I was only brave ’cause I didn’t think it was real.”
“No.” Mother wiped the tears from her cheek. “You’ve always looked after your brother. You were strong for him. You’re smart, Em. You knew, and you did what you had to in order to protect him.”
She let her head down and closed her eyes. The gentle motion of her Mother’s breathing and reassuring whispers carried her off to sleep.
Emma awoke, still curled in Mother’s lap. It had grown dark, and without a candle or lantern burning, the house contained only the shapes allowed by moonlight. Not even Nan was puttering about. Mother slumped in the chair, head back and mouth open. The arm that had cradled Emma’s back now lay on the table, her other was limp at her side. Emma shivered and sat up, looking around.
Kimber and Tam had the family bed to themselves, and seemed eager to use up the entire area. Both were adrift in contented sleep. The rear hall carried the strange sound of Nan’s snoring, and one of the mice was on the table helping himself to the half-eaten bread. He froze as Emma moved. She did not bother trying to talk to him, too tired to think about magic. Instead, she smiled, hoping the gesture had some meaning to his little mouse brain.
The rodent zoomed off the table, crust in mouth, vanishing into the dark. Emma settled against her mother’s chest and closed her eyes. They snapped open at the sound of a metallic rattle. She gathered her hands together under her chin and shivered, curling into a ball. Drifting curtains sent shadows scurrying about, the fabric glowing like specters whenever it passed by the window.
“Mama?”
Mother continued to sleep.
“Mama!” rasped Emma, trying not to wake the other children.
She patted her mother on the cheek to no reaction, not even a shift or sleepy mutter. Emma curled tighter, crossing her feet. The rattle again filtered in from the rear hall. This time, she recognized the sound―the back door was open and blowing in the wind. Before any of this happened, she would have grumbled and assumed someone went to the privy. Now, she feared something had let itself in.
Emma slid out of Mother’s lap, seized her by the shoulders, and shook. Her head wobbled about, but aside from continuing to breathe, the woman did nothing. Cold air slid over the floor, making Emma shiver. Nan said I’d be old like her before it came back. She took a deep breath, and ran her palms down the front of her dress. Grow up, Emma. She ran to the cabinet to get a small blanket, which she draped over her mother.
Rattle.
Hands clutched to her stomach, Emma crept to the small alcove by the back door. A shelf of Father’s boots lay undisturbed to the right, several cloaks hung on pegs on the left, shifting with the gusts. The door flapped in the wind, creating an ever-changing shape of moonlight on the floor. She swallowed, unable to resist shivering. The door whipped left with a loud crack against the outside wall, giving her a second-long view of the privy before it slammed, making her jump and squeak into her hands. One tentative foot pierced the patch of moonlight, pale skin aglow. She reached out for the handle and took another step. Wind howled. She looked up at the roof as the house creaked.
Another step, arm outstretched.
The shaking door bounced the latch open. It flew wide again and clattered shut. Just the wind. She slid her left foot forward, teeth chattering from the frigid wood. Two more steps and she could reach the door. Groaning walls protested the air outside, but despite the solid wood, the chill seemed to blow right through the house. A shadow to her right moved.
Thunk.
Emma leapt away, back pressed to the wall among the cloaks, body propped up on tiptoe. Father’s shortsword, in its scabbard, had fallen over. She sank flat on her feet, feeling the warmth of a blush spread over her face. That was a darn sword falling. Grow up, Emma! She stooped to pick it up, leaning it against the wall where Father kept it. She took a casual step towards the door and grabbed at the handle, but it whipped all the way open and smacked against the wall outside.
She stared over pale fingers, ghostly in the moon, still poised to grab the latch. Too scared to scream or even breathe, she froze in place, waiting for the wind to slam the door. The winding trail of stones between the house and the privy made her remember that night. Cold wind passed through her nightdress, reminding her of the small building’s purpose. She pouted at it. The more she didn’t want to walk outside to the outhouse, the more urgent her need became.
After backing away from the door, Emma stooped, and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the shortsword. It was awkward and heavy, but far less so than the weapon her father usually carried. She tried to connect the feeling of the blade in her hand with her memory of Nan’s tale of Princess Isabelle. This thing seemed so unwieldy in comparison to the way Nan described the swordfight. The blade came free of the scabbard with a metal scrape that sent a shiver down her back and brought goosebumps to her arms. The sheath slipped off and hit the floor. Emma jumped, even though she’d expected the noise. With both hands on the grip, she held it out in front of her. What little moonlight made it through the window gleamed the blade pale blue. The edge glinted sharp and deadly. Father might give her a whack on the bum for hand
ling it without a scabbard on, but she would gladly suffer it if it would bring him home.
Emma put that thought aside. Step by tedious step, she advanced over the porch, whirling at every shadow.
This is stupid. Don’t go alone.
She cringed at the freezing stones underfoot as she stepped off the porch.
Mom won’t wake up. She’s exhausted. I can’t bother Nan, and Tam and Kimber need to stay safe.
Sword held out, she crept closer to her destination, wondering where the warmth of early summer had run off to. When she was halfway to the privy, the wind slammed the house door with a crack that sounded as though it had shattered apart. Emma shrieked and spun to face the noise, foot slipping out from under her on wet stone. She sprawled in the grass, but leapt back up in mere seconds. Not waiting to hear a twig snap or see the Banderwigh come out of the dark, she scrambled up and ran to the house.
The door opened easily.
Emma rolled to lean against the wall near the door, putting her back to the house, with the blade clutched to her chest. For a moment, she breathed. Urgency drove her to action. She avoided the stone path, running through the dirt and grass to the outhouse. She leapt in, slammed the door, and flicked the bar locked. For a short while she stood, breathing hard. When she could no longer hear her heart in her head, she took a seat, keeping the sword nearby. Soft thuds accompanied her heels tapping the front of the bench. She gazed up at the cobweb-laden roof as the shack groaned in the wind. She went rigid; the strangest sense something stood on the other side of the wall, an inch of wood between them, paralyzed her.
She waited, blade held high, but nothing happened.
Emma stood and crept to the door, peering with one eye through a gap in the boards. Moonlit grass, a rocky path, and an empty porch waited for her. Her fingers teased at the lock. Her sense of being watched had not lessened, despite hiding in the outhouse for almost twenty minutes after finishing. Her legs hurt, her feet had gone numb a long time ago, and her teeth would not stop chattering.
It’s summer. It should not be this cold.
She cried in frustration, unable to come up with any explanation for what was happening, other than the monster. Father was missing, Mother wouldn’t wake up, and she doubted Nan could hear her screaming over the wind. If she made too much noise, Tam or Kimber would wake. She bit her fingers.
It wants Kimber.It wants me to scream so she comes to see.
Her fingers gripped the cold iron latch. In her mind, she flung the door open and there it was, waiting. She would open the door and it would grab her. Both hands wound up on the sword again, pointing it at the locked door.
“Daddy,” she whimpered, afraid to even yell for help.
The back door rattled in the distance.
Emma cringed, eyes closed. There’s nothing between it and my family.
She flung the latch open and burst forward at a full run. She slipped in the wet grass, flailing to an ungraceful halt three steps later. Her eyes locked upon the wobbling stripe of moonglow in her hands, the gleaming edge of the shortsword.
If I fall on this, I’ll die.
The sword tilted in her grip as she twisted it to look at her blurry reflection, her heartbeat slowing at the expectation of a shadow looming over her―but there was nothing behind her but sky. Emma held the blade out to the side, moving in a constant spin in hopes of preventing anything from sneaking up on her. Step by agonizing step, she crept to the porch. She slipped inside and pulled the door closed, watching Mother sleep for a few seconds before turning to lock both bars. After a test rattle, she took a step back and exhaled.
The board beneath her shifted from something else’s weight. Her heart pounded.
“Haveta pee,” said Tam, two steps behind her.
Emma whirled, leaping backwards into the door. The sword tumbled out of her grip as she clamped both hands over her chest and gasped for air. When the realization of what he just asked hit her, she shivered.
“Be careful.” He bounced at her, pointing.
She looked down. The sword had stuck into the floor, an inch shy of her toes.
mma’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on the blurry shape in front of her face―Tam’s foot. She scrunched up her nose and pushed him away. Kimber’s arm flopped over her from behind, the girl’s sleep-breath dancing across the back of her neck. The room was still dark. She snuggled into the covers, shut her eyes, and wanted this strange night to be over.
“Emma?” Father’s voice, distant and echoing, beckoned.
At first, Emma thought she was slipping back into a dream. She curled on her side, burrowing into the covers.
“I need you, Emma.”
The blurry bedding came into view as her effort to drift off failed. Emma plucked Kimber’s arm from her side and draped it over the girl’s chest before sitting up and rubbing her face. Mother still slept in the chair by the table and Nan still snored. Emma listened to silence, dreading the sound of a rattling door. A moment or four of being awake should prove the voice to be coming from her mind.
Father spoke again, distant, but loud enough to understand. “Emma?”
“Liam?” muttered Mother, a soft moan in her sleep.
The air seemed warmer now, as it should be in the early days of summer. She crawled out of the blanket and over Kimber as gently as possible. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, toes not touching the floor, but close enough to sense how cold it was. She stretched and yawned. Minutes passed as she fought off the urge to fall over backwards and pass out.
“Emma…”
Trembling, she slid from the bed and wandered to the table. “D-Da?”
Silence.
She spun in a slow search of the room, looking for anything out of place.
“Emma?” called the voice, sounding as though it came from the back.
Emma rushed into the alcove, perching on her knees atop the shelf of boots to stare out a tiny window to the right of the door. There was nothing in the meadow behind the house, not even fireflies. Her breath fogged at the glass; her eyes shifted side to side. She glared.
“I’m dreaming.”
“Emma, I need you,” said Father.
He seemed to beckon from the trees. His voice was too loud to be real, too loud to come from a man too far away to see. Emma shifted her weight onto her hands and slid her legs to the floor. She grasped the latch, but decided against opening it. Creaks and groans shifted through the house as the wind gathered strength. Cold seeped under the door and lapped at her toes. She backed away from the thick, frigid air.
Don’t be stupid.
She ran to her Mother, grabbing the dangling arm and shaking it.
“Mama, Mama, wake up. I hear Da.”
Emma pulled, shook, and whined, but Mother would not wake.
“Mother!” Emma pushed at her shoulder. “Mother, wake up!” Emma trembled; she could not understand how her mother remained sleeping. Fear and desperation overwhelmed her and she screamed, “Wake up!” and slapped her across the face.
Emma recoiled, ashamed of herself for hitting her mother.
The woman lay limp as a corpse.
Mother did not budge as Emma shrieked, stomped, and kicked at the chair. Neither did the other two children. The house was quiet, save for the sound of the wind outside, and her own heavy breathing. She darted to the bed, pulling Kimber up into a sitting position and shaking her. The girl’s head wobbled about. She let her plop back down and jostled Tam, going so far as to put her frozen foot against his back. The boy didn’t even mutter in his sleep.
“Emma, there isn’t time,” said distant-Father. “Mother can’t help you now.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she shot a pained look at the door. She could not tell if it was real or a trick. What if it is him? Does Father have a spirit animal?
After a final pleading stare at her sleeping mother, she rushed to Nan’s bedroom. The space was small, large enough for a modest bed and one chest of drawers. Emma launched
herself onto the bed, bouncing and shaking the old woman. Nan continued to snore. Black-feathered talismans hung all over the walls, mixed with wooden beads and shining polished stones on cords. Any one of them could potentially be helpful, but Nan had not taught her much of anything except how to talk to a mouse.
“Nan! Wake up! Something’s the matter.”
Emma drew her arm back, but stopped. I can’t slap Nan. She fell over her grandmother, shaking her and clinging at the same time.
“The old one cannot help you either,” said Father, the ghostly voice no louder or softer than before.
“Nan, Nan, wake up! Please.”
“…returned. Magical sleep…” Nan’s arm lifted, clawed the air, and fell limp. “Too strong against someone so old.”
“Emma… I’m dying,” said Father.
Crying, Emma slid off the bed and went into the main room, wiping her face on her sleeve. She changed from her nightdress into the one Nan had made, feeling a bit braver and warmer for wearing it. Her favorite garment stopped above her knees, much shorter than the nightgown. It shouldn’t feel warmer.
Emma’s eyes widened. Did Nan put magic in it?
From the forbidden cabinet, Emma took both healing elixirs she’d helped make, stuffed them in a pouch, and swiped Nan’s dagger. A length of rope from the pile of stuff by the front door became a belt, from which she hung both items.
“Emma, hurry,” said Father.
“This is stupid.” Emma ground her foot into the rug. “It’s trying to trick me.”
Father whispered on the wind. “Em, please. You’re my only hope.”
She brought her hands to her face, covering all but her eyes. The desperation in the voice was painful to ignore. Mother did not respond to metal pots banged together or a half-cup of water poured on her. Emma set the empty glass on the table, and glared at the door. Her fright simmered into anger. The monster had hurt father, and it was doing something to her entire family.
Emma and the Banderwigh Page 13
