I Wish

Chapter 2

The rest of the day was strange, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was that made it so off. Nobody did anything different. The boys were glued to some kind of screen, yelling and hollering. Mum was still trying to find a new hobby. This week she’d started hand embroidering anything that sat still long enough. Hand towels, her clothes, cushion covers, and handkerchiefs. I think she ordered that last one online specifically for this. One day I hoped she could find a hobby she liked enough to stick with, because whatever she was looking to get out of this, it was clear it just wasn’t happening for her. Dad was whizzing about the house doing chores. Oh? isn’t that impressive? I bet some of you are thinking right about now, a man that helps around the house? I’m not going to touch the offensive implications of that particular line of thought with a ten-foot pole. I am, however, going to tell you the thought process behind why it happens. The house is a two litre coke bottle, dad’s the cola, and the extended periods confined to one location are the ADHD flavoured Mentos thrown in to make things interesting. Just in case you were wondering, ADHD flavoured Mentos are orange, but you probably weren’t, so yay for pointless information. He cleaned the house because if he didn’t, he’d go nuts. There had to be something to do, preferably with some kind of accomplishment or physical achievement at the end. Hence, cleaning. Honestly, you’re lucky if you can get the man to sit down long enough to watch a movie all the way through.

All of these things going on in the background were normal, but me? I felt weird. I was so utterly exhausted that all I wanted to do was lie right on down, and go to sleep. Except I couldn’t settle, and it wasn’t a tossing and turning situation either. Maybe this was how dad whenever he would sit somewhere and fidget, and you know you have five minutes tops before he got up to go do something. Literally anything. It was a full-on case of moving about the house like some kind of restless zombie Goldilocks, except for the fact that I couldn’t tell you what it was ‘too…’ I just knew it wasn’t right.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mum asked me suddenly after I’d relocated yet again. I thought about telling her I was fine, but as I looked at her, the less I could bring myself to do it. She’d fight it, and I wasn’t big on lying. You had to remember who you told what, and pull non-existent facts out of the air to support your story. Then you have to make other people believe your story. I didn’t want to put all that effort in. I was too tired, and it wasn’t worth it. Plus, that was my mum. I felt bad lying to her, so historically I generally didn’t. Generally. Give me a break, we were all kids at some stage.

“I’m just a bit tired,” I settled on, and she gave me a sharp look for hedging.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” she offered warmly, but as she took off her glasses and cleaned them on her shirt, I knew it wasn’t voluntary. It was a little habit she had picked up when she was bracing herself, to be honest, to win. Some would call it arguing, but I’d like to see you beat her when she feels she has a right or a point.

“Can’t seem to stay in one place,” I admitted quietly. She sighed like she was asking for patience.

“Lay down in one spot. Don’t move your legs,” she said with a wry grin, “Go to bed. Not an option.” I didn’t even get a chance to argue. It was just nope, go to bed. Mum was like that though, she was what some people might call a fixer. Nothing bugged her like a problem she couldn’t solve, it made her want to throw all her weight into making sure what she could do — gets done. It sounds so sweet, but when it’s iffy it’s a f*****g nightmare. Sometimes she didn’t realise, acknowledge, or in some cases care that you had a different opinion of something than she does. Even if you’re the one that she’s trying to help. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got one fierce mama-bear, and I’m privileged to have her, it’s just I was an eighteen-year-old adult just shuffled into bed at barely 9pm by my mum. Yeah.

“Even Jeremy gets twenty more minutes,” I huffed stubbornly, trying my luck despite knowing it probably wouldn't make a scrap difference one way or the other. She looked at me over the top of her silver circle frames of those glasses.

“Jeremy’s not sick, and he lost tech half an hour ago,” she replied immediately. I thought about bringing up my birthday, but it had never ended well before. So that was that.

I went to bed without further protest. My room was awesome. White painted wooden furniture, smoky blue walls on three sides, and the last wall behind my bed a shocking, almost navy colour. I had wooden horizontal blinds that were covered with lacy curtains, and a desk with my laptop sitting under the window. I climbed into bed, and felt the buzzing under my skin. If I wasn’t for the part where I was sure mum was waiting for me to go back downstairs and would have plenty to say about that, I probably would have gotten up again. In lieu of this, my exhausted ass fell into something that was supposed to be sleeping.

****

“Come on. Little one. Come and find me.” I blinked. This wasn’t my bedroom. This wasn’t the bed I had fallen asleep on. There was dirt under my feet and I wiggled my toes into it in wonder at how warm it felt. The moon shone down and that was when I heard it again. Laughing-music-singing-sighing away, “Come to me. You called, I’m here.”

I started to walk. This seemed like the thing to do. If I was supposed to be finding someone, then moving was logically the best place to start. “Can you hear me?” they asked, and my eyes started to well up. This… the forest looked darker than it had before, and distress crept over me. I began to walk faster, turning in wide circles and scanning for something. Her I imagine. They were definitely a her, and I stopped. Out of breath and leaning against a tree. The second my hand came into contact with it, everything seemed to pulse.

“Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave. Find the way out, or stay for eternity,” it hissed, and this one sounded male. The woman had sounded sweet, welcoming. This voice, if you were to read it on a piece of paper, looked like a warning. It sounded like a threat. He, they, didn’t even sound like one voice. It sounded as if a whole crowd of people were speaking the exact same words in the exact same way, at the exact same time. It was chilling.

“No,” they implored. The woman's voice hitched in a hurried ethereal breath that I would have sworn was being spoken by someone standing behind me, so close I could feel it brush by my ear. I swung my head so quickly it should have ached. “Don’t listen to them. Come to me.”

“Go,” the hissing voice said, “Go now.”

“What about?” I murmured, thinking of the woman who was calling me. The wood in the trees around me seemed to crack menacingly, roots winding through the ground like snakes.“It’s a trick,” they said harshly, “If she catches you, you’ll never be free.” Never be?

“No! No! No! Come back,” the woman shrieked, starting to panic. Heat-wrenching screams filled the air. “Please. Please let me find you,” they begged. Never be free? Her cries rang out again and again, she’d given up looking for me, and I could feel my eyes well with tears. I had to… I had to do something, help or… or.

“Never,” the man’s voice confirmed my thought. It was a thought. I was sure I hadn’t spoken. The screaming continued, long mournful howls. I didn’t… I didn’t like this anymore. I turned and ran.

****

And ended up sitting. Sweat was pouring down my face, and long brown hair that had been described as chocolatey stuck to my body in a tangled mess. My dad’s hand was on my shoulder and pulled me into his side faster than I could think about it.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay,” he soothed. I buried my face in his shoulder. I had been. There was. “Here,” he said, tipping some little white pills into my hand, “For your fever.” I popped them into my mouth and rested back against him.

“Thanks,” I said thickly, words turning into jelly in my mouth.

“You’re mum’s running you a bath, you have to stay awake just long enough to try to get your fever down, and then you can go straight back to sleep,” Dad promised, running his hands through my tangled hair, “Okay, just give us twenty minutes.” His hands caught on the knots, but it was still nice, or maybe that was just the sound of sleep. Sleep sounded amazing, but if there could be nobody but me this time, that would be lovely. Also, at the moment, unattainable.