Do Not Pass Go

The kids’ table waned by the day. I remembered when we played musical chairs just to earn a seat, and the losers would circle us, merging into a squealing dog-pile. For the little ones who stood no chance, that was the game unto itself. We didn’t hear them anymore. I raised my voice, but I still felt them on their tippy toes, dragging me down with their tiny hands, telling me to make my next move.

The tall man was watching, too. His brown overcoat trailed down the trunk of his body, sweeping the floor; it made him featureless, except for his long arms, which shot out like boughs. He pocketed his hands to hide how his joints jutted from the skin.

"We’re almost done," Lily said. "Can’t we stay up?"

The tall man massaged her neck. "You should set a better example, petal."

"Yes, sir."

She plucked a card and tapped the mahogany: Dun, dun-dun, a heartbeat. It was sloppy, but the others scrambled to scoop up banknotes and game pieces. The tall man, now sated, reached for her face. All the men “stopped and smelled the roses,” or so they joked, but only he touched Lily.

He stroked her cheekbone with a jagged knuckle. She did not shy away, but when she peeked at me through the whites of her eyes, a card fell between us.

Get out of jail, free. This card may be kept until needed or sold. We played so often, the yellow had washed away, letters rubbed missing. I laughed.

His gaze calcified. Not once had he acknowledged my existence. I didn’t tell anyone, but he unsettled me. The rest were rotted from age, rooted in their old ways. He was youthful. He would outlive them. If he grew any taller, he would touch the ceiling; then he would be everywhere, and his shadow would become our world.

"Father?" Lily called, drawing his attention again. She saved that name for special occasions because she knew he loved to hear it.

The grayish haze in his eyes thawed to the blue lake from my dreams. It was my one tether to the outside. Lily and I, only we remembered what happened there. The others were too green. They were born here.

"Lily." He petted her chin before his arms receded into that coat of nothingness. "Bedtime."

While Lily steered the little ones through pergolas and into stone hallways, I followed behind, herding stragglers. I kept my fists balled behind my back.

We turned a corner, and I pinned her to an ivy-covered wall.

"What’s wrong with you?" I spat.

"You saw. He was going to—"

I shoved her once, twice, then again, until I was using all my strength to force us through the wall.

"You could’ve killed us!" I yelled.

She grabbed the crook of my elbow. "I’m not her. I won't leave."

I threw my fists and she took them like all the others. We learned to tell night from day that way: their passing hands, where they touched. There were no clocks, no windows. I didn’t know how old I was supposed to be. All I knew was, the moment one hand let go, my body caught up, and years surged in seconds. Then another would lay on me, and time would freeze again.

"Don’t talk about her" — something cracked — "don’t even think about her!"

When my eyes stopped blurring, her nose bridge pointed in opposite directions. Blood smeared across her mouth. She smiled, and it dripped down the line between her front teeth. She held me as if the wind could spook me.

"Mari?"

The littlest one waddled closer. Lily faced the ivy, and I squared my shoulders.

He hugged a stuffed bear without knowing who it belonged to first. He wore a nightgown five others had slept in before him. He could go tomorrow without a word, and there would be ten more in his place who wouldn’t remember him. But I would.

"Are you fighting ‘cause you lost?" he asked, tugging on my pant leg. His r’s and l’s sounded like w’s. I doubted he would learn to read, let alone fix that impediment. They stopped teaching us.

I tried to tame his matted hair, but it hurt him to untangle. The men would shave his head soon. He would hate me for it.

"Fio," I chided, "did you brush?"

"I did!" he protested. He shook his greasy strings. "See?"

"That’s not brushing."

"Bedtime," Lily ordered flatly. She had wiped away the blood, but her nose was still crooked.

"Go," I urged.

He butted his head against my hipbone.

"But you didn’t read to us," he whined, tugging harder. "I wanna do the wild rumpus again!"

"Tomorrow," I promised. I didn’t know when that was, but it sounded grounded, certain. For the little ones, that was all words needed to be, to be true.

His grip slackened. "'Kay. Night-night."

Sometimes, I thought about slamming my fists into the stone until the walls crumbled. The urge never stopped, not even when I looked at the little ones, their legs kicking off the blankets we painstakingly tucked them into, snoring without a care. If anything, I felt wilder. I could uproot a tree with my bare hands.

I could kill the men. I would.

"Night-night," I mumbled.

But if the walls came down, so would I.

***

I handed the card to Lily, and she slid it underneath the gap in the door. Shadows moved in the sliver of space before they stopped. I knocked: Dun, dun-dun.

The door slammed open.

“Where were you?” Pansy tugged us into a three-way hug. She was already blubbering. “You’re late, I felt it, I swear, my body just knows! What happened?”

She pulled back and gasped at Lily’s face. “Who did that?” she wheezed, doubling over. “We’re gonna die. They know, don’t they? That’s why you’re late!”

Lily lowered them to the floor, soothing her with nonsensical coos.

I inched the door shut until it clicked softly and whipped back around.

“We’re not dead,” I barked, “but we will be if you don’t shut up.”

Pansy wailed harder, rubbing her face into Lily’s neck. Her round specs tumbled to the floor. I picked them up, peering through the huge, thick lenses. At least three rounds of tears streaked the glass.

I tutted, cleaning the mess with my shirt. “They don’t water us enough for you to cry this much.”

Lily glared up at me. “Don’t listen to that beast,” she teased, combing Pansy’s curls back. “Her yelling was loud enough to wake Fio.”

I clenched my fists. Beast was right. I had claws for nails, and I bore them into my palms for fun, to test how long I could. No wonder Fio loved it when I gave the wild things their voices. I snapped my teeth at her.

“Stop,” Pansy sniffed. She patted the floor. “Where’re my glasses?”

Lily spotted them in my hands, and her face shuttered. I tossed them over.

“Bags?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose, dark eyes doubling in size. “E-seven.”

“Attagirl, Battleship,” I praised.

Lily stood on a chair. With careful hands, she probed the drop ceiling, stopping one tile short of E-7. When she lifted it up, all three knapsacks were there, bunched together. She bought them down one by one.

Our spoils were a mere two days’ worth, but we would starve, and we would make do. No utensils. We ate out of our hands or theirs. I’d hoped, foolishly, that we would stumble across anything sharp.

“Put them in your pillowcases,” I instructed, “or under your shirts. We don’t have time to stop here before we go.”

Lily’s smile withered away. “I can’t.” She stared at her feet. “He’ll know.”

“I’ll take yours.” My stomach churned. “Remember,” I reminded them, “Thimble to Reading Railroad.” Lily nodded. “Battleship to Short Line. Collect your salary, advance to go.”

“Luxury tax?” Pansy warbled.

I pictured blood in the lines of her chubby hands, in Lily’s teeth. I shook my head. “Run. Hide in the forest.”

“What about you?” Lily asked.

“Bankers can’t hide,” I joked.

They went silent. In the lull, Lily set her own broken nose with a horrible pop. She blinked through it mindlessly, face blank and unflinching. I could hardly watch. Beast, I thought.

“When we’re out,” Pansy started suddenly, “I want new glasses.”

I laughed. “I want to swim in the lake.”

We turned to Lily.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’ve never thought about it before.” She shot up, rigid. “He’ll be looking for me.”

I nodded, gathering our bags.

“Rest,” I said. We both knew she wouldn’t.

As she slipped around the corner, Pansy rounded on me.

“You know what they say,” she rattled off from some script in her head, the way she read game manuals to us. “Why the others leave, but she always stays?” She panted. “She’s really his. That’s why he touches her."

"What?"

“Next spring, she outgrows us, but she’ll be safe from selection,” she spouted. “Can you say the same?” Pansy never learned how to shut her mouth. If I was a beast, she was nothing but trouble. Always had to have the last word. "They might even take you before you’re ready, like Zinnia—"

I slapped her. “Do not say her name!”

“She’s not like us,” Pansy begged. She cradled her cheek, sniveling. “She has nothing to lose, nothing!"

“Enough!” I hissed. “You’re paranoid. You need sleep.”

Before she could answer, I grabbed our bags and left her swaying there, a spineless, wet leaf, too soggy to crunch beneath your heel.

***

That night, I dreamed of the lake. We were there, all of us: the little ones, Lily, Pansy.

Zinnia.

She dunked my head under the water, and I woke gasping for air. Dozens of hands ghosted my back and shoved me out of bed, into the hallways. My bare feet echoed with the past, when we marched in single-file lines, hands on the shoulders in front of us. That same momentum carried me to the grove. A massive tree stood at the center of it, branches stretched skyward, covering the glass ceiling. It was the only living thing that towered over the tall man, and for that, I loved it.

“Marigold.”

My heart sank. I turned.

“Do you know why we named you that?” His coat obscured his frame such that only his face was visible in the dark. It bobbed closer. “They protect the garden. Their scent scares away all the pests.”

He extended his rawboned hands to pat a heavy branch.

“You were designed to nurture. That’s why the seedlings have taken to you, Marigold. When you bloom, you do so beautifully, and for so long.”

He twisted the branch from its body with a splintering crack, like Lily's nose.

“That is, of course, until the first hard frost. Marigolds need full sun, you see.” He held it out. The lines of his teeth were straight and thin where the branch was crooked, tapered to a sharp end. “I hope you survive this winter. The nursery will suit you well.”

I could not speak. I looked to the great tree again. No foliage, I realized.

When I stood there, frozen, he dropped it in my open palms. Pansy was right: Lily was his, after all. Their fingers curled the same.

“I believe this is yours,” he said.

I ran.

***

I ripped Lily from her bed.

“It’s winter!” I dragged her face to mine. “Not spring — winter!”

She scrambled to stand.

“The little ones,” she breathed. “They’ll die.”

“He knows,” I said through my teeth. “You told, didn’t you?” I shook her so hard that her toes grazed the tiles. “Traitor!”

I threw her to the floor.

“No,” she lied, eyes wide.

“Where’s Pansy?” I demanded. “The others, where are they?”

Lily blinked, slow and measured. “They aren’t awake.” She flipped an orange card in her hands. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. “I’ll go. I’m quieter.”

She reached for her knapsack, but I held it above her head.

“No!” I yelled. “We’ll never see the sun again!”

She yanked the straps toward her.

“They’ll die,” she said calmly. “You’ll die.”

“No!” I sobbed. The lake, I thought. I tasted it. Freshwater lingered on my tongue.

Her thieving hands snatched the other bag. I pounced, but she was faster. She darted around the corner, disappearing into the dark.

I couldn’t give chase and make it out, so I turned, fled. Landmarks passed by: the stall-less toilets of Waterworks, the jaw-like stairs down the nursery’s endless gullet. Go directly to jail, I thought. Do not pass go. I tripped on a step and skinned my knee through the halls of Short Line.

Pansy was gone. So were the little ones.

“Pansy!” I screamed.

I saw the start of Boardwalk, where stone turned to terracotta. There were no doors. It taunted me before, but there were no men standing watch now. I charged into the light. The air stung.

I blinked in the outside world. Before me, a monstrous lake hugged the forest, reflecting every last ray of sunlight. It was frozen over and gleaming.

My knees buckled. I collapsed into the fresh snow. I grabbed the roots of my hair, howling as I tugged. The lake. It was here all along. Zinnia had not even made it a foot past the greenhouse.

At the lake’s edge, Pansy trembled next to the tall man. The children swung their hands and sucked on their thumbs.

“Pansy!” I shrieked, voice torn in half. I tasted blood in my throat. “Pansy!”

Birds bolted from the trees.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I’m not like you! I can’t do it!”

I flung my body at the lake. Beyond the forest, a train sliced across the horizon. The tracks, I thought deliriously. Zinnia loved them. She used to lay her head on the iron rails and listen to them rumble. It was a breath away from where her body rested beneath the ice, frozen in time.

In the distance, Pansy screamed again. “Don’t hurt her!”

The children broke free, laughing as they tailed me. They thought it was another game.

I turned. The tall man was a few paces behind. One step of his was two of mine. I bent my knees and stormed on, one leg thrusting forward at a time.

The man tackled me, and we both fell with a sickening crack. My knapsack opened, contents soaring across the ice: berries, books, papers. One story skidded to a stop near my head. Wild things danced on the page, their terrible claws pointing at the moon.

I elbowed him in the gut and he let go, grunting.

I slipped before I found my footing. My hands were numb and red, my feet cracked and bloody. The branch, I remembered. I lunged for my knapsack, but he was quicker. He slammed my head against the ice. I saw white. I felt for the bag blindly and shook it. Nothing. The branch was gone. Dizzy, I spun around.

It was Lily’s bag. She had taken mine.

I spat up blood, roaring as I grappled with the tall man again. Each time we rolled, I brought my fists down upon him. His throat gurgled.

Rearing his head back, he smashed his forehead against mine. I bit my tongue as the wind was knocked from me. A second crack split the ice.

“Sick beast,” he frothed.

His tendrils wound around my waist, heaving me back to the shoreline. I kicked, but he was a grown man, never tired, never hungry. I saw double as the little ones toppled over each other to get to me.

Another crack, and we plunged into the icy depths. It was cold, muffled. I thought I was dreaming. Zinnia was here. She was everywhere, weedy arms dragging me down. I opened my eyes. Sun pierced through the hole to the surface, dozens of little shadows wobbling above. The contrast was all I could see. I kicked his stomach to propel myself upward, and my body floated.

The mass of shadows formed tiny hands that reached for me. I grabbed them, and together, they pulled me out of the water, over the lip of craggy ice. I rolled onto my stomach, spewing freshwater in hiccups and coughs, my lungs burning. There were too many cries to make out a single word. A coat of arms wrapped around me, and they dragged me away from the hole. I sobbed as they held me, watertight.

The man resurfaced again with a gasp. I screamed, kicking.

“Rumpus!” Fio bellowed.

The little ones bombarded the man with their limbs. He tried to snatch them, but he was outnumbered. Pansy’s battle cry sounded out above the rest. She stomped her heels into the crown of his head, pounding like a drum.

A final shriek stopped us. The waves of little ones parted, and Lily launched forward. She rammed the branch into his eye, blood spurting from the socket. He shouted. Again, she ripped it out and jabbed it back in. Once more, and he was sinking, arms flailing like a child, begging to be lifted. The murky water engulfed him, forearms to fingertips.

For a moment, it was quiet. Dragon’s smoke rose above our heads before I noticed it was just our breaths, mingling. We waited for him to come back up for air.

Nothing happened.

Lily held the branch out. Clumps of eyeballs were stuck to its point. Roots dangled there: his exposed nerves, frayed pink.

I feared we would crack the ice again, but we were too light to break the surface. Only an adult could fall in now. At the lake’s edge, the other men were pinpricks, as small as wriggling ants.

I looked up. The sun was a white hole in the sky. Winter had nearly buried it, but still, it remained.