The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

I’m sitting in a small cemetery, protected by a locked gate. It looks like it’s been locked for a very long time. Beyond the gate, I see passersby going about their business, all as it should be except for the strangeness of their dress. They’re all practically naked. I try to conceive of how much time has gone by, but I can’t think about it just yet. At least a year, but something tells me it’s much more than a year. I can tell from the light and the heavy pressure of the heat that it’s summer, so going practically naked is probably a relief.

A boy lopes by in baggy short pants and a loose-fitting shirt with no collar or sleeves. I smile, as his outlandish clothes remind me of my figment.

Wes.

When I think of his name, my eyebrows shoot up.

Wes! Wes came out of the fog to talk to me!

Wes isn’t a figment at all. He’s real!

His was the first new conversation I’ve had since my nightmare began.

And Wes can talk to me.

But how do I find him? He didn’t wait for me, when I asked him to. I don’t know where he went. I could try to find him at my house—the thought of my house causes a wave of nausea to curdle in my stomach—but I don’t know where in the city I am, or how I got here.

I struggle to my feet, stumbling on weak legs, and then pace to and fro in front of the marble slab with my name on it. I can’t bring myself to look at the name on the slab. I can’t bring myself to think about what’s inside. That won’t do anyone any good. The idea crowds in on me—the monster that I saw in the mirror when I was getting dressed—but I push it away. I have to think. I have to think. I can’t succumb to horrifying myself on top of everything else.

When I first tried to leave the house, I was confused by the fog. It turned me around and brought me back where I started. But later, I was able to leave. I could walk the streets. The fog was gone.

Can I leave now?

I tiptoe up to the cemetery gate and peer through the bars. I don’t see any fog. Two boys go trotting past, tossing a large orange bouncing ball between them and laughing. I retreat into the shadows of the gate, afraid that they’ll see me. I’m afraid of what I might look like.

I reach my hands up slowly and touch my fingertips to my cheeks.

They feel warm and smooth. Like my cheeks always do.

I close my eyes and swallow hard.

I make up my mind that I will at least try. I’m going to leave. Wes can see and hear me. Wes offered me his help. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go find Wes.

Except when I put my hand on the gate and touch it to make it open, it’s locked.

“Huh,” I say aloud.

Of course, it was locked before, when I got here.

I grab the iron bars and rattle them.

They don’t budge.

Drat.

“Hey!” I call to a couple of girls striding by outside, talking together. Their legs are so bare, it’s dizzying. “Hey!” I stick my arm between the bars and wave to catch their attention.

They don’t see me. My arm droops with dismay as they pass.

I pace back and forth behind the locked cemetery gate, thinking.

Maybe I can climb over the wall.

I go over to the brick wall and stare up at its blank face. It’s probably ten feet high. Maybe higher. A few dull windows look down over the alley, and there’s a roll of nasty-looking wire coiled along the top of the wall. It looks like it’s covered in razors. I suck my teeth, thinking about how much that would hurt. Just to see how hard it would be, I curl my fingertips into the grooves between the bricks and try to lift myself up. I grunt and scrabble with the effort, splitting a nail and then skidding back down the few inches that I gained.

I stick my injured fingertip in my mouth. It tastes of blood.

I prowl the periphery of the cemetery, looking for a door or a loose window or something, anything that might offer a chance of escape.

There’s nothing.

I give the gate a sullen kick as I pass, and its chain rattles in response. Then I sit down with a sulk.