Page 65 of Magpie
“I should thank you for returning Alister to me,” she says, breaking our silence. I don’t look at her, focusing only on the clover at my feet as we move steadily on. “He wasn’t the first person to run from me, and he won’t be the last,” she muses, her voice blending effortlessly into the calming symphony of the forest. “Every now and then someone gets the idea in their head that they can outsmart me, find some loophole to avoid me for aslong as possible.” She turns to me, beaming. “But I greet them all in the end.”
We walk along the pillowy-soft clover path, the dying light of the sun never waning, but never brightening, remaining in stasis. I only lift my head when she stops us and I see a massive archway in the middle of the woods.
The columns are made of the purest white marble, etched in scrollwork. Beyond the archway is not the forest, but a midnight-wreathed field of heather. Lilies twine and crawl over the arch, and winking bugs light up and dance around the field. A peacefulness like I have never know drifts out from the archway, and I find myself yearning to step through its marble barrier and rest.
“You didn’t try to run from me,” she says, and I peel my eyes away from the moonlit field to study her. “But you tried to flee my sister.”
She holds up the luna key.
“I was scared,” I say. Not because it’s an excuse, not because I think it will make her understand me more, but because it is the deepest truth in my soul. I was scared of life. Terrified of it. So utterly petrified of the very idea of it that I ran into the arms of a monster to avoid it.
She doesn’t placate me, doesn’t try to soften the blow with some practiced speech. She only smiles at me with a face that is both youthful and entirely ancient. “I know.”
She turns to the field of heather and breathes deeply, her eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat.
“I should take you with me,” she whispers.
And all at once, I realize I don’t want to die.
As if she was waiting for it, waiting for me to fight to live, even at the bitter end, a smile bursts across her face like the first rays of dawn. She turns to me, grinning.
“Instead, Maggie, I want you to go back.” She takes both of my hands in hers and draws close to me. “But this time, Maggie, actually live. Don’t run from the dark, and the hurt, and the pain of life. Embrace it and find the light in the midst of it. Meeting me doesn’t mean a damn if you haven’t actually felt, if you’ve never actually lived.”
She drops my hands, walking into the moonlit field, the dancing bugs surrounding her in an effervescent glow. Turning to me, she waves again, her friendship bracelets jingling along her wrist.
“I’ll see you later. Oh, and Maggie…I wanted the rest of them to live, too.”
I furrow my brow, confused, but there is a sudden weight in my hand, like something being dropped into my palm. Looking down, I see the Cadillac keychain with the bright purple puffball attached. Laughing, I look up to call out to her, only to find myself standing in Alister’s study.
His body is gone.
The keys are gone.
Sheis gone.
The ashy fog, the remains of the snapped keys, may have lifted, but I’m still covered in caked blood and soot. A grim reminder of the bloody events of the night. Closing my hand around the keychain, I turn and step undeterred over the painted barrier of my cage. Grabbing my backpack, I sling it over my shoulder and leave the room.
The attic seems smaller as I step into it, musty and subdued. I climb quickly down the ladder and walk resolutely down the hallway. Patrons are walking out of rooms, crowding the hallways in confusion. They’re muttering about the House, about the lack of atmosphere, about how it seems so…normal. I walk by them all. A few nudge their friends, pointing me out.With the inky blood covering my arms, I’m sure I look like an actor to them.
“Hey, what gives? Is this place still open?” someone shouts at me as I stroll through the wide-open front door.
“No,” I call over my shoulder, not breaking my stride. “This place is finally dead.”
The noise of the murmuring crowd fades behind me as I walk down the path from the old barn to the cars. Her old beat-up Cadillac is parked exactly where we left it. I throw my backpack in, sliding into the driver’s seat. I situate myself, glancing in the rearview mirror.
I freeze.
I see myself. I see, and I remember.
The hue of my eyes, the tone of my skin, the color of my hair. It all stays firmly in my mind.
I exist.
I twist the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, drowning out the noise of the droning crowd. Pulling the car out, I navigate easily onto the dirt path leading to the main road, leading away from the House.
I roll the windows down, letting the night air drift in and whip my hair around my face. I click the radio on, picking up a local station. A sugary sweet pop song is playing. I drive on, content to be directionless and free. The sun is just beginning to brighten the sky, the first budding rays chasing away the darkness of the night.
Smiling, I turn up the volume and begin to sing.
