Embers and Shadows

Three in the morning is the worst time to be awake, I have decided.

Isabel finished her bottle half an hour ago. I take up my vigil in the rocking chair, my eyes burning as I watch Isabel watch shadows waltz across on the ceiling. I sigh, wondering how long I will be confined here, creaking back and forth, keeping tempo with the steady drumbeat of the house. I analyze every perfect chubby and small feature on Isabel’s face. Analyze every step I took in the wrong direction throughout the day.

I look up towards the ceiling, my eyes inventing the shadows that Isabel watches. I hear fingernails tapping outside the window, the noise courtesy of the horrible trees across the street with their thorny branches clattering together in the wind of the plains. I focus on the steady noise of the house to better match my rocking chair movement to the tempo, too exhausted to hum my usual music that sometimes-calmed Isabel.

The house moans from the wind. My heart seizes as the quick thump-thump-thump of the house settling seems to run from the door of Isabel’s nursery straight to my rocking chair.

Isabel begins howling and I jump violently, careening the rocking chair into the wall as I climb as far back on the chair as I can. I search the dark room wildly for any sign of someone, but there is nobody. Just the sound of nails tapping outside the window. Isabel’s screams increase in pitch. I reluctantly draw my eyes away from the darkness and towards her, my body heavy at the thought of having to start the soothing process over again.

I take a deep, calming breath that burns around the weight in my chest. It does little to calm me, but it doesn’t matter. Isabel is terrified and it’s my fault, screeching at the wind.

Braving the shadows and the phantom steps, I pace the room, bouncing Isabel back into her prior calm state. Once she has stopped crying, she begins her visual journey tracing invisible shadows on the ceiling.

“No,” I mutter with irritation, frustration staggering down my back and arms, sparking fire in my fingertips. The shadows won’t let her sleep. The mysterious presence won’t let her rest.

I change positions, resting Isabel more upright against my chest to shield her gaze from the shadows. She nuzzles into my neck. I pace the room, glaring at the darkness.

The idea of someone dying in the house has been an intrusive thought resting against the base of my neck, always lingering, sometimes consuming my imagination. I would walk into the living room and wonder if it was caused by the fireplace, if she died on the hearth. Or while washing bottles at the powder blue double kitchen sink, I would picture the room up in flames from an unattended pot, someone trapped in the heat and smoke.

The immeasurable breaths pass as my eyes grow as heavy as the weight in my chest. I glance down awkwardly and see Isabel fast asleep, her small lips parted in the tiniest “o” I have ever seen. I kiss her head and place her oh-so-cautiously into her crib, creeping out of her nursery much quieter than the footsteps that I heard go down the stairs a moment ago.

***

I am standing in the room I hate most in the house, the spare bedroom where I meticulously stripped the ancient yellowed wallpaper from the walls. But now the room is back to its original state, all wallpaper intact. But the pattern is brighter somehow. Newer. Still yellow, but vibrant. Did Asher re-wallpaper it? Why did he get a design that matched the old one exactly?

There is a pulsating throb in my hand. I look down, flipping my palm upwards, to see a woven vine design along the perimeter of my hand. The same design from the old bronze doorknob of the room.

I look up. The room is in flames.

My heart jumps and fear pricks against my neck, but I realize the fire brings no heat. Just flickering shades of orange and red and yellow, like the autumn leaves around my too-small shotgun house I desperately yearned for, back in New Orleans.

The glow of the fire illuminates new parts of the room I hadn’t noticed before. There is a small door tucked against the wall, high enough for a young child to pass through comfortably. I walk to it, moving through the flames without feeling their heat. The only burning I feel is in my hand.

I reach towards the doorknob, a matching vine design to the regular sized door. I stretch, the doorknob moves farther away. Just a little further…

***

A loud clap wakes me, jolting me upright. I don’t remember making it to bed after putting Isabel down. I reach for my phone to check the time and realize my arm is stuck in the twisted sheets. The fabric is tying me down.

Panic bubbles and I kick and thrash wildly, feeling out of place, not recognizing the room, memories swimming in the deep end of a murky pool. My limbs come undone and I am free.

The room lights up at the same time and I freeze, unable to place the source of the light. Then another loud clap arrives and I finally realize there is a thunderstorm outside. The old windows rattle. I picture the glass shattering across the floor.

Small cries sound through the baby monitor and a fresh wave of exhaustion washes over me. The storm woke Isabel. I finally find my phone on the nightstand, charged only to 47%. The time reads 5:16 in the morning.

I stumble down the hall to Isabel’s room, the hallway illuminated for a moment thanks to the lightning flashing from the downstairs windows. Isabel has freed herself from her swaddle once again, her fists rubbing at her eyes but only succeeding in clawing her skin with tiny nails, sharp as razors. I gently pry her baby hands from her face and wind my fingers in her grip. She holds on tightly, eyes shut, mouth open in a scream.

The thunder cracks. The windows rattle harder than before. It sounds like the house is roaring in response, like a wounded animal taking another hit.

“Shhh shh sh, mommy’s here, it is just a storm,” I croon, my voice laced with the slurred influence of sleep. Reluctantly, I head towards the rocking chair once again. I can’t tell if this is a dream or real. Then I remember the flames from a moment ago. This must be real…it is far too normal.

The lightning surges again. This time my heart seizes – there is someone in the hallway. A woman is standing against the wall facing Isabel’s doorway before darkness obscures her.

Thunder rolls, prickling across my skin. I stand with Isabel and feel ghostly fingertips tapping down my spine, throwing an icy fear into my veins. The room is heavy with a presence. I walk towards the doorway and the fingertips tap faster against my vertebrae, shifting my ivory bones into piano keys that only know one tune – the steady cadence of the house.

I step one cautious foot into the hallway, keeping the toes of my right foot safely planted in Isabel’s room. Suddenly I feel absolutely awake, my vision clearer than it has been in months.

The lightning flashes again and there she is. At the top of the stairs, across from the spare room. Her shadowy head turned towards us. Watching. Beckoning.

I clutch Isabel tighter to my chest, a talisman against my fear. Her warmth combats the ice in my veins, the tingling awareness spiraling down my arms and torso. The thunder cracks and I jump at the volume, louder than the previous ones. Isabel’s whines grow louder and I absentmindedly shush her, taking careful steps down the stairs. I pad past the front door when the next lightning flashes and I see the woman past the doorway of the living room, standing next to the fireplace.

My heart races. If she stays still and I go to her, will she tell me who she is? How she died? Was it the fireplace after all that destroyed the house? Her life?

I barely hear Isabel’s cries. The tingling awareness is slowly changing, a reverse sensation of a leg falling asleep. Numbness is crawling across my body. I can’t feel my legs as I glide towards the fireplace, my eyes wildly scanning the dark to see if she is still there. The ever-present weight in my chest expands across my back, into my arms, down my waist, and finally my legs.

I barely hear the thunder. The weight of my arms and legs threatens to pull me to the ground. It takes everything I have to keep standing, even as I feel my shoulders hunch forward against my will with the pull.

I reach the fireplace. The lightning flashes again. The woman is gone, but it takes a horrifying moment to realize I am completely alone. My arms, still cradled in the position of carrying Izzy, are empty. But I still feel the weight of her…don’t I?

The heaviness grows, stone by stone. I feel my breaths ragged and gasping as I stare at my now empty arms. Lightning flashes, breeding a crushing wave of panic and sorrow that cement the weight throughout my body. My eyes search for my daughter, but I only see the shadows dance along the ceiling. Did they take her?

The house quiets. There is no steady creaking cadence. No footsteps running. Even the storm seems to still. My legs work on their own, propelling me back against the wall. The weight finally wins and my body is dragged down the wall, sinking sinking sinking until it hits the floor.

Everything is silent, so loudly so. The silence is screaming at me. My arms are useless, my legs are deadened. My careening terror is certain the shadows took Isabel and now they are tying me down, refusing my freedom to find her. I chant in my head: Stand stand stand stand. My demands are met with paralysis and a rolling nausea as I strain my eyes and ears for any sign of Izzy. But darkness consumes me as the shadows swarm.

“Jess?”

My eyes flit towards the sound that finally destroys the silence. Asher is standing in the living room. Normally the sight of my husband provides an instant relief, lessening the weight in my chest enough to take a clear breath. But not tonight. Tears sting my eyes. “Isabel,” I moan to him, willing my body to work.

Asher rushes to me, confusion etching his features as he analyzes my arms pantomiming holding our baby. Slowly, carefully, he cradles my face in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

The weight of shadows steal my breath, my energy, my mind. “Isabel – they took her, she disappeared.”

Asher’s eyes search mine, his mouth turned downward into a rare frown. The kernel of hatred I’ve always harvested in myself blooms amidst the stones in my chest. Persistent like weeds that spring up through cracked pavement.

“I’m so sorry,” I pant between hyperventilating breaths.

Slowly, Asher lowers his gaze to my lap. I don’t feel his hands when he brushes my body that is now tremoring with effort and sorrow. “Jess…Izzy is right here.”

My head swims. Lightning flashes and the shadows dance. “What?”

Asher lifts his gaze back to mine, his expression entirely blank. It unnerves me. He is always so full of life, full of expression. Blank is not natural for him.

Gingerly, he takes the hand that is still cupping my face and tilts my head down. I blink through the tears and see Isabel resting in my hopeless arms, sleeping. Her lips make tiny puckering motions, a self-soothing motion. “She is right here.”

Slowly, Asher lowers his gaze to my lap. I don’t feel his hands when he brushes my body that is now tremoring with effort and sorrow. “Jess…Izzy is right here.”

It takes a moment for his words to cut through the cloying fog of my mind. Asher lifts his gaze back to mine, his expression entirely blank. It unnerves me. He is always so full of life, full of expression. Blank is not natural for him.

Gingerly, he takes the hand that is still cupping my face and tilts my head down. I blink through the tears and see Isabel resting in my hopeless arms, sleeping. Her lips make tiny puckering motions, a self-soothing motion. “She is right here.”

“But,” I begin, wading through the cacophony of bewilderment and relief, “I couldn’t find her because they wouldn’t let me move.” The shadows taunt me, weaving even closer. I try to clutch Isabel to my chest, but my arms lie flaccid. “Look,” I urge Asher, nodding my head weakly towards the encroaching danger. “Look at the shadows.”

Asher gives me a long look before turning away, making a sweep of the room with his head. “Jess, there’s no one there.”