Into the Deep Wood

“Do you think they will return?”

Early morning, they both lay under wool blankets. The windows cracked open to allow just a bit of the chill inside, forcing them closer to one another. It smelled like smoke from neighboring homes, warming their ovens early to bake bread.

“Without a doubt,” Marat said, propping his head up with his arm. He would be expected soon, but even Khaleel could wait.

“You think so?”

“If you lose something and do not find it, do you not return to places it may be?” His eyebrow raised ever so slightly, adding expression to his otherwise impassive face. “And we already know that they will not find it elsewhere.”

“What then?” Val asked, cherishing the heat from his body in contrast to the cold of the room. A wicked thing, it was, to have to rise on a morning like this. She felt him shrug slightly.

“We develop a system like that of smoke signals with Nadia, and when she sees danger, she will send a pigeon to shit on my head.” He said flatly but allowed a smile to break when Val’s body shook with repressed giggles.

“Slow-witted.” She said, kissing him and then climbing over him to get out of bed.

“She would like that. That is all I’m saying.” He called after her. “She would send many false alarms. For practice.”

Val wrapped herself in blankets. Water would need to be boiled for tea. Well… her tea, Marat had taken a stance against it and only drank hot water with embarrassing amounts of sugar.

She started the fire in the oven and reached for the copper kettle, but it was bone dry.

“Gods…” Val complained, knowing she would have to go outside to the well pump. It was far too cold to even consider it, yet… “Marat?”

“Yes?”

“Come bring water from the well?”

“No.”

“What?” She demanded, playfully indignant at his tone.

“I told you last night it was almost empty and to fill it after you’d made your tea. You didn’t. So, I am not going to help.” He answered.

What an infuriating creature.

She pulled her boots on and stepped outside the door. It was colder than she imagined, the air chilling her legs to the very bone where they were exposed. It had been very, very early. No one was in the streets yet, and even the sun was taking its time rising.

The chill drove her to run to the small well. Val set the kettle down, using both hands on the pump - the metal of the handle stinging her fingers with the thin layer of frost. A rush of water came out with every push until the kettle was filled nearly to the brim.

As she was about to turn and walk back, her eyes fell on something in the brush by the fence.

A small figure stood there, one that she could have very well mistaken for a shadow.

Val stepped closer, cocking her head and squinting slightly.

There it was. She saw the distinct arms, legs, little torso - and head.

She was about to call out, but a disturbing feeling crept over her, giving her a momentary pause.

Around the child, the bush, its branches, the earth it stood on - they did not look right. They felt unnatural and out of place, but she could not tell why.

“Hello?” Val said reluctantly. She received no answer, nor did the child move. “Are you alright?”

She heard the creak of the door open behind her at the house.

“Who are you–” Marat’s words cut off as the little figure stepped forward and into the light. The copper kettle dropped out of Val’s hand and water went splashing and flowing through the pebbled stones.

It was her.

Val felt the breath tremble in her lungs. Her hand covered her mouth, eyes locking with the little girl standing not even twenty feet away. It was her. The girl she imagined when with a heavy heart, she thought that the child she carried was not Marat’s. To the very detail - golden-haired, light-eyed. Her nose just as Val’s had been - but chin as…

Her heart beat faster, and the girl took another step forward, the pudgy little arms reaching up in desperate need.

“Ma-ma?” The word sounded ugly and distorted. But it came as a tiny, soft voice.

“Get away from her!” Marat shouted. He was already running toward them.

“You’re not real…” Val whispered, but her eyes were hungry for every detail of this child’s face.

Alive. Here. In front of her.

The texture of her skin, her eyelashes, the way the fine hairs around the crown were disturbed by the slightest breeze.

Marat reached her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her away from the child. A few steps backward, he stumbled, and she steadied him but could not help looking back. The girl’s arms were still reaching out, but now her face reddened, crying. But the way it twisted, it wasn’t right, either. It was not the way a child’s face sours when they cry. The eyes squinted as if in a laugh, mouth disproportionately opened - gaping.

And suddenly, she was just… gone.

“NO!!” Val pushed Marat away, rushing to the spot where she had stood a moment ago.

She fell on her knees, touching the earth where the footprints still smushed the small blades of grass into the dirt. Val put her hands on them, looking for any remaining warmth of small, bare feet. Looking for any sign that she had not imagined this.

Marat caught up to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to get up.

“Leave it!” He demanded, nearly carrying her back to the house. He felt her entire body shake as he forced her to sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets tight around her. Her face was frozen in misery.

He’d been afraid of this, afraid that Val had grossly downplayed her feelings.

He knew what the girl meant. It pulled the thoughts right from Val's mind, the way she imagined it, the heartbreak of losing a child and everything that followed suit.

He knew the girl did not look like him.

It was obvious that Val had dealt with her grief as best she could, but now the pain that colored her face sickly had come rushing back. He knelt in front of her, although it seemed she could not see him.

“Val, it wasn’t real.” He grabbed her face, pulling it closer to his. “Look at me. It wasn’t real. It was the changeling.”

But she could not hear him, her eyes wide, completely lost in thoughts that the creature brought with it.

“Shit…” He still held her face, studying it, trying to understand the extent of the damage.

This was a raw manifestation of her grief and fear.

“I’ll kill it, Val, I swear I will…” He uttered the words and immediately knew it was a promise he could not keep.

Not here.

“I’m sorry, Val.” He said softly.

It was an apology for not being able to protect her.

“Please, do not listen to the voices in the shadows. Do not look at wraiths in the trees. Remember the chorts, how they would whisper things to you with the voices of others. Remember how they would say your name. This thing does the same but whispers with your mind’s voice. It shows you what you are most afraid to see, please, Val..."

“I’m fine,” She muttered quietly. “It was not her. It could not have been her. It was just…”

She cleared her throat, blinking away tears of frustration.

“...hard.” She finished.

He nodded and pulled her head toward him, resting their foreheads against one another.

“I think… I think I’d like to stay here today…” she mumbled, as if not quite sure.

“Whatever you need.” Marat stood and then disappeared out the door to retrieve the copper kettle.

He filled it, lingering at the pump, looking out into the shrubs and trees beyond. Farther off, mostly hidden by the branches, he saw the green eyes - so bright they could have been aglow, looking back at him. His brows drew together, the urge to give chase stirring his blood. But, he turned and walked away, the eyes following him all the way up the stoop.