Yet another year gone by, and yet another urge to post something seasonably shivery here. This tiny story is one of those few inspired by a dream (as unsettling as THAT is), and even though it's set in winter, I think it works for Hallowe'en.
Be safe out there, everyone.
Don't sing anywhere I wouldn't.
~bdf
Invited
B.D. Ferguson
The party was over, which meant that my uncles were dozing in the living room chairs and my aunts and I were washing a thousand glasses in the kitchen. Well, my aunts were washing. I was mostly re-arranging the glasses as space became available, and occasionally answering an aunt’s pointed glance by picking up a tea towel to wipe off glasses piling up in the rack and finding a place in the cupboard for them. When the knock came at the door, no one even looked up, so I went myself.
It wasn’t until I was in the hallway that I realized the knock was strange. Midnight had long passed, which made a knock unusual enough, but it had also come from the front door – not the door we used as the front, but the real front, the one on the outside of the enclosed porch my aunts insisted on calling the solarium, although calling it that did not make it sunny or warm once winter arrived. Everyone knew to use the side entrance once the cold came. As every autumn ended, we’d even block the solarium door with furniture to make sure that happened. Maybe whoever had knocked couldn’t see our seasonal barricades.
The knock came again.
Even on the inside the house, the doorknob to the porch was chilled and turned reluctantly, as if there were grit in the workings. I tugged it open with effort, withstood the gust of chill that blew into the house, then clambered over the wicker chair we’d pointedly placed across even the internal doorway. The air in the window-walled room felt thin, still and cold. By the time I reached the outer door and pushed more wicker out of the way, my eyes had adjusted enough to discern the snow-draped shrubs in the yard, the iced and drifted stone path to the gate, and a small, slender shadow standing on the stoop. From within the blur of a pale face, dark eyes watched me unblinkingly.
“Hello?” I said, my voice hollow against the glass walls. “Do you need help?”
“Will you come sing to us?” The voice was also small and thin, high with eager youth. A dark arm waved vaguely toward the side of our property.
I paused in the act of reaching for the door latch, and the voice came again.
“Please? It’s dark with no moon, and we can’t sleep. Will you come sing?”
I stood startled and silent while the small faced watched me – girl or boy, I wasn’t sure, and the pale edges of cheeks and mouth wouldn’t resolve into a clue. Just a sense of watching, like a fox from hiding, the faintest gleam of wary eye. Somehow knowing my response before I spoke it, and I saw the flash of small teeth in a wide smile. The child nodded once, leapt silently off the side of the stoop, and disappeared around the corner of the house, a darkness stretched briefly against the snow.
I stood there a moment longer, then made my way back into the light and heat of the kitchen, blinking at the brilliant sharp edges.
“Where were you?” my aunt asked irritably. “These glasses are stacking up.”
“I had to answer the door.”
“What? Who would be at the door at this time of night?” She looked at my other aunt, who shrugged. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
“They knocked,” I said, and remembered something. “Oh. For the second time tonight. One came around sunset, but I… forgot to tell you.” Must’ve been the excitement of the party.
It hadn’t been the same child then, in the smeared purple-orange of twilight. That first one had been younger, stormy eyes huge in a grubby face, hiding in a shrub next to the door, dirty fingers among the leaves like soft new branches. Please will you come sing to us later? It will be so dark without a moon. Before I’d said anything, there had been that same show of small sharp teeth in a smile or a snarl, a shivering of the greenery as it threw off its snow, and a burst of cedar scent as the small form slipped away.
Now I said, “They wanted me to come sing to them.”
My aunts stilled, and exchanged another glance, and the one who didn’t have her hands in the sink thinned her lips and raised her eyebrows as if to say this again. The other looked back down at the dishes and washed another glass.
“Down at the Plains,” she said, nodding.
I frowned, wondering how she knew – how I knew. The Plains were our jokey name for a small flat piece of ground at the very edge of our property. We had trouble growing anything but grass there, so we tended to spend most of our time under the trees and in the gardens we’d put everywhere else. But just now, when the child on the stoop had gestured, I’d known exactly where was meant. I’d known it with the shrub child too, though there hadn’t even been a gesture.
“It is awfully cold and dark tonight, with no moon. Poor things,” one of my aunts murmured. I couldn’t tell which one.
“Should I go, then?” I asked. “To the Plains?”
“They wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want you to,” one aunt said.
“Asked you twice, even,” the other added. “They’ve been neighbours to us a long time. Best to keep on their good side.”
A nod and a murmur. “Truer words.”
“But how do they know I can sing?” I asked. “Wait… can I even sing?”
They laughed. My uncles laughed too, distantly, from the living room. I’d forgotten they were there. They might even be able to see the Plains from the windows in that room, but only if they wanted to look.
“Will you go?” one of my aunts asked. In the moment I’d looked away, the one at the sink had turned to wipe her hands on the other one’s tea towel. Both were watching me expectantly.
“It’s cold. It’s late.”
“But will you go?” one of my uncles called, unseen.
I thought a moment. “Yes, I think I will.” I looked up. “Will someone come with me?”
They just smiled, and I understood.
I turned away, then paused. “Will you leave a light on for me? Or will you still be awake when I come back?”
“Yes, of course,” one aunt murmured, but absently. Just for something to say.
“Good-bye, dear,” the other one said, with a wave of the tea towel.
Behind me, water sloshed over the glasses again, and I think my uncles chuckled quietly to themselves, but my mind was already on the song I had to sing on the Plain.
I didn’t even stop to bring my coat.
Be safe out there, everyone.
Don't sing anywhere I wouldn't.
~bdf
Invited
B.D. Ferguson
The party was over, which meant that my uncles were dozing in the living room chairs and my aunts and I were washing a thousand glasses in the kitchen. Well, my aunts were washing. I was mostly re-arranging the glasses as space became available, and occasionally answering an aunt’s pointed glance by picking up a tea towel to wipe off glasses piling up in the rack and finding a place in the cupboard for them. When the knock came at the door, no one even looked up, so I went myself.
It wasn’t until I was in the hallway that I realized the knock was strange. Midnight had long passed, which made a knock unusual enough, but it had also come from the front door – not the door we used as the front, but the real front, the one on the outside of the enclosed porch my aunts insisted on calling the solarium, although calling it that did not make it sunny or warm once winter arrived. Everyone knew to use the side entrance once the cold came. As every autumn ended, we’d even block the solarium door with furniture to make sure that happened. Maybe whoever had knocked couldn’t see our seasonal barricades.
The knock came again.
Even on the inside the house, the doorknob to the porch was chilled and turned reluctantly, as if there were grit in the workings. I tugged it open with effort, withstood the gust of chill that blew into the house, then clambered over the wicker chair we’d pointedly placed across even the internal doorway. The air in the window-walled room felt thin, still and cold. By the time I reached the outer door and pushed more wicker out of the way, my eyes had adjusted enough to discern the snow-draped shrubs in the yard, the iced and drifted stone path to the gate, and a small, slender shadow standing on the stoop. From within the blur of a pale face, dark eyes watched me unblinkingly.
“Hello?” I said, my voice hollow against the glass walls. “Do you need help?”
“Will you come sing to us?” The voice was also small and thin, high with eager youth. A dark arm waved vaguely toward the side of our property.
I paused in the act of reaching for the door latch, and the voice came again.
“Please? It’s dark with no moon, and we can’t sleep. Will you come sing?”
I stood startled and silent while the small faced watched me – girl or boy, I wasn’t sure, and the pale edges of cheeks and mouth wouldn’t resolve into a clue. Just a sense of watching, like a fox from hiding, the faintest gleam of wary eye. Somehow knowing my response before I spoke it, and I saw the flash of small teeth in a wide smile. The child nodded once, leapt silently off the side of the stoop, and disappeared around the corner of the house, a darkness stretched briefly against the snow.
I stood there a moment longer, then made my way back into the light and heat of the kitchen, blinking at the brilliant sharp edges.
“Where were you?” my aunt asked irritably. “These glasses are stacking up.”
“I had to answer the door.”
“What? Who would be at the door at this time of night?” She looked at my other aunt, who shrugged. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
“They knocked,” I said, and remembered something. “Oh. For the second time tonight. One came around sunset, but I… forgot to tell you.” Must’ve been the excitement of the party.
It hadn’t been the same child then, in the smeared purple-orange of twilight. That first one had been younger, stormy eyes huge in a grubby face, hiding in a shrub next to the door, dirty fingers among the leaves like soft new branches. Please will you come sing to us later? It will be so dark without a moon. Before I’d said anything, there had been that same show of small sharp teeth in a smile or a snarl, a shivering of the greenery as it threw off its snow, and a burst of cedar scent as the small form slipped away.
Now I said, “They wanted me to come sing to them.”
My aunts stilled, and exchanged another glance, and the one who didn’t have her hands in the sink thinned her lips and raised her eyebrows as if to say this again. The other looked back down at the dishes and washed another glass.
“Down at the Plains,” she said, nodding.
I frowned, wondering how she knew – how I knew. The Plains were our jokey name for a small flat piece of ground at the very edge of our property. We had trouble growing anything but grass there, so we tended to spend most of our time under the trees and in the gardens we’d put everywhere else. But just now, when the child on the stoop had gestured, I’d known exactly where was meant. I’d known it with the shrub child too, though there hadn’t even been a gesture.
“It is awfully cold and dark tonight, with no moon. Poor things,” one of my aunts murmured. I couldn’t tell which one.
“Should I go, then?” I asked. “To the Plains?”
“They wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want you to,” one aunt said.
“Asked you twice, even,” the other added. “They’ve been neighbours to us a long time. Best to keep on their good side.”
A nod and a murmur. “Truer words.”
“But how do they know I can sing?” I asked. “Wait… can I even sing?”
They laughed. My uncles laughed too, distantly, from the living room. I’d forgotten they were there. They might even be able to see the Plains from the windows in that room, but only if they wanted to look.
“Will you go?” one of my aunts asked. In the moment I’d looked away, the one at the sink had turned to wipe her hands on the other one’s tea towel. Both were watching me expectantly.
“It’s cold. It’s late.”
“But will you go?” one of my uncles called, unseen.
I thought a moment. “Yes, I think I will.” I looked up. “Will someone come with me?”
They just smiled, and I understood.
I turned away, then paused. “Will you leave a light on for me? Or will you still be awake when I come back?”
“Yes, of course,” one aunt murmured, but absently. Just for something to say.
“Good-bye, dear,” the other one said, with a wave of the tea towel.
Behind me, water sloshed over the glasses again, and I think my uncles chuckled quietly to themselves, but my mind was already on the song I had to sing on the Plain.
I didn’t even stop to bring my coat.
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