I found a book lying in the library, less molded than the others. Smells of mildew, still, but then everything does. It almost fades after a while. Picked up a pen—plenty of those—and began to write. Nothing very important at first. Who would ever read it? It feels old, and hard like stone; there is a long crack in the leather, calcified. A symbol in the center—from the Greek alphabet. Omega. I wrote nothing much, but then slowly, little truths. Like this one: I don’t know if I’m more terrified of the woods, or of the fact that we are going to die here, and that is the end of the story. I’d like to write it all down first, if I may. If I have enough time. It seems like all I have is time. But I know it’s only a matter of… Ha. Ha. TIME. And then there will be… I don’t know. So I will pick up my pen. It’s all I can do. And I write.
His face is pale when I open the kitchen door. Behind him, the trees stand sentinel in the garden.
[THEY HAVE PASSED THE GATE.]
I give a panicked laugh, and step back to let Gowan in. In my hand, I clutch a broken book. He stops and stares at me, taking in my pale, thin face, my collarbones, which protrude beneath my dress, and my matted hair, and it’s like something inside him snaps.
“We have to leave,” he says right away, snatching up one of Cath’s baskets and piling in the apples he has brought with him. “No more excuses. No more delays.”
“I…” In the garden. They are in the garden. “I can’t.”
“For God’s sake, Silla,” he snaps, stuffing the last scraps of food in with the apples. “You have got to get out of here. This place is going to kill you!” He is almost hysterical. “Get Nori and we’re going.”
His panic calms me. It distills all around me like a warm cloak, and I feel my old anger returning. “No.”
He freezes, turns to me, and his voice is barely controlled. “What are you talking about?”
“I am not leaving this house, Gowan. I told you that before. I’m not going into those woods—and they’re the only way out. We’re going to… we’re just going to wait.”
He puts the basket onto the counter very slowly; his hands are shaking from—what? Rage? Panic? Adrenaline?
“What do you think you’re waiting for, exactly?”
Now it’s my turn to walk away, but he grabs my elbow.
“What are you waiting for?” he yells.
“I don’t know, I don’t know!”
“You’re lying—tell me the truth!”
I pull myself free. “Don’t touch me!”
He turns and, with a speed I’ve never seen in him, he punches the wall. His fist goes right through the plaster, an explosion of white and gray, leaving a massive, dusty hole, and revealing the stone behind it. He yells at nothing, then puts his plaster-covered palms on either side of the destruction and tries to control his breathing.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” he asks, but he’s not really asking me.
What am I waiting for? Waiting a bit longer to live? Waiting a bit longer to see what happens. Waiting to keep Nori safe, just a bit longer. Waiting to avoid a repeat of what I saw in the woods that day… what I felt.
Waiting to avoid his promise.
YOU WILL DIE AND
SHE’LL BE MINE
Gowan leaves me there in the kitchen and I follow him into the entrance hall. He stumbles over the hole there, and turns back to look at it with horror.
The hole is small, but definitely bigger than it was yesterday. And he knows it.
“When did this appear?”
I shrug. “A while ago. It’s gotten bigger.” [DADDY’S VOICE COMES OUT OF THERE.] “It’s weird. I couldn’t see anything down there. I mean—nothing at all. The flashlight just found more darkness. I checked the basement, but the entrance hall isn’t above it. This is just—a hole.”
[A SINKHOLE, WAITING TO GET US ALL.]
“I’ll fix it,” Gowan tells me. “I don’t want this here. Do you have any unwanted wood? Crates?”
I shake my head; I can’t look away from the place my father’s voice comes from.
“Never mind. I’ll cut back the trees. Use that wood. I saw an ax by the kitchen door.”
He has my full attention now. “The trees? You’re going to use the trees?”
“We have to get out of here, Silla. You have to see that. You can’t ignore it.”
“Yes, but—”
“So I’ll cut us out. The trees are in the garden, and I can’t explain it, but we have to cut through them to get out—”
“This place is weird. You sense it, right?”
“—so I’m going to take that ax—”
“It’s haunted or something.…”
“—and I’m going to cut those damn trees, and I’m going to fix this hole.” His eyes bore into mine. “And then you’re coming with me.”
As he leaves, I wonder why he’s taking the time to fix the hole at all.
Tried to eat the apple.
Can’t keep it down.
Think I have anorexia
or maybe a stomach bug.
Food feels disgusting.
Can’t imagine putting it
inside my body.
Thought makes me squirm.