Submission by Rachel McLaughlin
The first breath of fall lingers. It catches in the back of the throat, clings to the thick fabric of sweatshirts, seeps through unwittingly cracked windows. That first gust of air, that scrapes at the nose, that reminds unerringly of the dying trees- it stays and it does not leave.
Ellie opens her eyes and breathes cool air and knows that she’s dreaming.
Ellie was five when she broke her arm. Her family used to live on a farm, or, more accurately, something that used to be a farm. At five, the open fields of grass, the scattered trees perfect for climbing—Ellie loved them. She spent days running under the sun, alone and free and happy.
Summer air is nothing like fall air. Summer air roasts you from the inside.
Ellie opens her eyes to darkness. For a moment, she doesn’t understand where she is. She shifts, water splashes, and Ellie remembers.
When Ellie was five, in the heat of the summer, she spent long days rambling through the grass. It was overgrown, wild, abandoned. She was supposed to stay close to the house. Those were the rules. But the tree-line was right there, hiding untold wonders and blissful shade.
Ellie wandered. She took a step into the forest, and she fell.
There isn’t enough light to see by. Ellie can feel the water, pooling around her waist, dragging, pulling. Wet sand clings to her arms. She shivers. She doesn’t call out, she won’t give them the satisfaction.
When Ellie opened her eyes, her right arm was trapped under the roots of a tree. The sun was hot, beating down, cooking her alive.
Her arm didn’t look right.
She was covered in pine needles and dirt and blood, and when Ellie saw the red, she started to cry. The trees swallowed the sound. She screamed, and no one answered, but something listened.
The water recedes, returns. Cold fingers wrap around Ellie’s forearm, where the bone had snapped all those years ago. The fingers squeeze, but Ellie bites her lip and doesn’t make a sound.
~
She wakes up.
Fall air lingers. Ellie can smell it on her pillow when she wakes, and on her backpack as she leaves for the day. It sits heavy in the classroom as the professor drones on, scraping Ellie’s face, tempting her to sneeze.
Gia pokes her in the side. “Hey, babe, you need to stay awake for me.”
Ellie blinks. When had she closed her eyes? The lecture hall is empty, cast in shadow. The air tastes of fall, and dying things.
“What’s going on?” Ellie asks. Gia holds her hand, traces the tendons barely visible. She raises brown eyes, devastating, and the air in Ellie’s lungs turns cold. Gia drags their hands to her mouth, presses a kiss to Ellie’s knuckles.
“Stay here with me, love.”
Ellie nods, smiles.
Gia smiles back and breaks her arm.
By the time Ellie stopped crying, the heat had, if anything, gotten worse. Tears crusted her cheeks and she was distractingly, unbearably, thirsty. This was what her parents would cite, for years after, as the source of her nightmares, of the monsters that followed her. The pain, the thirst, the heat.
Her arm was still lodged in the tree root, and Ellie didn’t try to pull it free. She was on a slope, and the top was as far away as the bottom. Logic, or a five year old’s version of it, told her to lie still and wait for help to come.
Out of the corner of her eye, the shadows began to move.
Cold fingers on her arm squeeze, but not hard enough to snap the bone. Ellie breathes, slow and quiet. Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, we miss your voice, we miss our game, talk to us, Ellie.
“Enough,” she says.
The shadows moved, and when they moved, they covered the sun. That was the only explanation that Ellie could think of, for how night fell, between one breath and the next. The shadows moved, shifted, and Ellie gathered up all her courage.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” A cool breeze brushed over her cheek, pushed her hair up off her forehead, smoothed it back. Ellie squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “Please. I need help.”
Help, help, help. What is your name?
The voice felt wrong, like needles scraping each vertebrae, scratching marks into the bones. Maybe her eyes were open. Everything was so dark.
“Ellie.”
“Enough,” she says. “I came here to make a deal with you.”
~
She wakes up.
Fall air lingers indoors. Defying central air and logic, it stalks down clinical hallways, through bustling stations. Ellie leans against the railing of the bed, and holds her grandmother’s hand.
“Are you in pain?” She asks.
Her grandmother’s other hand brushes over her cheek, pushes her hair up off her forehead, smoothes it back. “No, honey. I just wish you’d visit me more often.”
“Of course, grandma. I love you so much.” Both of her grandmother’s hands come together to squeeze Ellie’s one.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
The bone of Ellie’s arm snaps so easily.
Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, the shadows said. We can help you Ellie. And Ellie was five, and tired, and if there was anything that could be explained away by the pain, the thirst, the heat, it would be this.
“Please. Please help me.”
And before she could blink, she was at the top of the slope. Ellie found her feet, and she ran.
The shadows followed her. Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, you’re ours now and we’re never letting go.
“I want to make a deal,” Ellie says. “Bother me here, not out there. Come for me at night, while I sleep, and leave me along during the day.”
Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, why would we ever let you go?
“You’re not letting me go. I’ll stop fighting if you leave me alone during the day.”
Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, do you think we’re ever really gone?
~
She-
Ellie opens her eyes, gasping. Darkness, darkness, it’s always darkness. Laughter rings in her ears. She reaches out, fumbling for Gia, or her dad—for someone. Her hand meets the silk of a cushion. It rests above her, beside her, under her. She presses up, up, but the lid—the cushion—refuses to budge. Fall air, dead and dying things, pushes down on her chest. A single finger traces the length of her forearm.
Wake(s) up.
Ellie opens her eyes. Gia’s head rests on her shoulder, above her heart. For an hour, Ellie stays frozen, waiting. Gia sighs, eventually, presses a kiss to Ellie’s collar bone. “Morning, love. Sleep alright?”
The blinds are thrown open, and lamps sit in every dark corner, because Gia has never once attacked Ellie’s peculiarities. “Just fine.”
The closet door is open. They close it every night, but perhaps they had forgotten this time. The closet door is open just a crack, and Ellie can see the shadows.