And the Trees Crept In(62)

“Sh-she said s-something about the woods, about her biggest fear—”

“The woods? She went to the woods?”

“I think so!”

“Pamela, why did you let her go?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Pammy keeps screaming her sorrys but Catherine is already running down the stairs, out the front door, and into the storm.





It’s bright. So bright that everything is white and painful.

I blink, blink, blink—slowly the light fades.

W h e r e a m I?

I know this ceiling. I know the crumbling paint and the cobwebs and the patterns in the dried drips. I’m in bed. In my bed.

Oh. I remember.

It’s at least an hour before dawn, and I know they’ll be sleeping downstairs. She will have placed a blanket over him and put him into the recovery position, draping herself over him for warmth or comfort. Maybe she wants to try to remember the man he used to be, long ago when she was a girl and his lies were dreams she still believed in.

I’m very quiet, because I’m not wearing my shoes. I hid them under my pillow for later, but forgot. I tiptoe over to Nori’s bed and quietly rouse her—just enough to sign that she has to be Quiet as a mouse.

Squeak! she signs back, and then closes her eyes again.

I lift her onto my hip and her head lolls on my shoulder.

“Come on, bug,” I whisper, and carry her downstairs.

I have to pass them to get to the door, but when I round the corner, I see Mam is awake. She is alone in the room, bent over her sewing, her aged hair falling in scratchy waves over her face.

“Mam? Where’s Dad?”

She looks up at me and smiles. “There you are. We were wondering when you’d come looking.”

“What do you…” My voice trails off as I take in what she is doing. My body grows cold and I hug Nori tighter to me.

Mam isn’t sewing her dress. And she’s not using cotton thread. It’s her hair. She’s sewing her hair into her leg.

“Mam! What are you doing?”

“War is coming, my girl.” Her eyes are full of sympathy. “Something very hard is coming.”

“I don’t understand.”

She keeps sewing, sewing, sewing. Her hands are bloody. It is slippery work.

“You’ll have to be strong.”

“Mam, stop this—”

“Cathy is crazy, after all,” she says, smiling vacantly. “Just like you.”

“I’m your daughter.” I choke on the word. “Why don’t you care about me?”

She looks up from her terrible work, and her eyes are shining with moisture and light. “Oh, Silla… How could you have forgotten?”

As I watch, her eyes change. They widen, then darken—the whites turning pink, then red, then vessels bursting as she stares at me. She is shaking—vibrating and swelling—as her eyes get darker and darker. Her mouth opens, and she mouths one word. Go.

“Mam?”

I am fourteen. Nori is in my arms, half-asleep. I am sneaking out of the house—running away to live with Auntie Cath, a woman we have never met, but have been told about. We are going to La Baume, a magical manor full of love and light. I am rescuing us from this house.

Dad is asleep on the floor. The room smells like vomit and whiskey and beer. There are cans littered all over the room. Mam stirs beside him, raising her head. She sees what I am doing. Sees the bag in my trembling hand.

She looks at me, right in the eye, and there is a profound connection, I think. Then she lowers her head slowly, careful not to wake the beast sleeping beside her, and I realize everything she is saying in that one motion.

It’s okay. You can go. Leave me here with him. I forgive you.

I head for the door, but I forget about the cans and I kick one. It spins over the carpet and hits the wall with a tinny sound, too loud. Far too loud.

Dad groans, moves, raises his head. Sees us.

Nori stirs.

“Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?” he says. His voice is loose gravel covered with phlegm.

I freeze, clutching Nori to me tightly. She lifts her head, but I push it back down onto my shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Dad gets to his feet, revealing his bruised but muscled torso. He was in a bar fight again. There is dried blood on the side of his head and his left eye is swelling shut. Mam scrambles up and puts her hand on his arm.

“Stan,” she says, forcing a gentle smile. “Come back to bed.”

His hand is so fast. It whips out to grab her arm and he squeezes. She cries out and bends as he twists. “Stan!”

“You’re in on this?” His head snaps to me again. “Is it a boy? Running off to be with some goddamn teenage runt?”

I shake my head but it’s useless. He’s still drunk—I can hear it in his words. All I can think is, Nori. Hide Nori. Protect Nori. The last time he got like this, he broke Nori’s arm and collarbone. She spent weeks in agony until finally it is almost set, crooked and useless.

Dad throws Mam away from him and a tiny oof escapes her. Then he rounds on me. I spin and put Nori down, standing in front of her.

“Daddy, please—”

I wince before the blow comes, knowing the look in his eyes. But it doesn’t come. I open my eyes to a sight I have never seen. Mam is on top of him, on his back, hitting his head with her tiny fists, growling and yelling and pulling on his hair. He spins, trying to get her off, this pesky feline creature. Her head whips back and forth, but she doesn’t stop hitting and tearing. She is wild.