Isolation's Waifs

Wisps are ominous beings. Some exist only to mislead their victims to an untimely end. Others confuse the issue by being guides, seeking to lead others to safety. More still are foretellers of fate, leading you not to where you wish to go, but to whom you must become. All know who they are and what path they lead the astray along. It is their nature.

Save one.

Shudder was reminded of the name he’d given himself as yet another of the living walked through him, heedless of the unseen spirit and shuddering from the sudden chill. The kind that no one can identify the source of. It just happens, and then one continues on with their evening. That is what this gentleman had done, oblivious to the source of his momentary discomfort.

Midnight had come and gone as the streets were near empty, a bit of snow falling upon the paved brick roads. The wool spinner’s shop closed last, its wares tucked within to endure the chill night in safety. Starlight sparkled off the mountains in the south of the Kingdom of the Eternal Sovereign as lights went out in each building. Shudder watched it every night; each warm glow snuffed as he floated along the sidewalk below.

A typical wisp would be a short, slender being with a mane of flickering mist in place of hair and pale, shimmering skin and wings like cold flame. They often had tails with a shining light on the end, and could disappear save for this light, becoming it. A light that can then lure others to their salvation or their doom.

Shudder had a few of these traits, but his wings were feathered, as were his ears.

None would notice the difference anyway. One needed to be seen for that.

Passing by a house, Shudder paused then floated back to the window. His nose might have touched the glass if he were tangible in that moment.

A valkyrie family sat there. A valkyrie mother, dishing out the night’s late meal. A father, in his chair with a weariness that seemed to fade when he saw the two children hurry over to him. Shudder could see their taloned feet running over, small feathery wings outstretched but too small to fly. He could not hear them well through the glass, but they sounded happy as they jumped into their dad’s arms and he carried them to the table. Laughter was etched into his face, even with the weary eyes of a man who had a long day of labor. Those lines seemed to lift around his family.

Pulling away from the window, Shudder hugged himself and floated onward through the brisk chill of night. It wasn’t the cold that troubled him.

A month of silence weighed heavily on Shudder. Not silence of the world; it had been as bustling as ever with conversation and connection. A wave hello. A shared laugh. A gasp of curiosity. A flare of angry words. Consolations. Celebrations. Admonishments. Encouragements.

Welcomes.

All denied to the pale figure floating down the street as the lamps were lit for the evening. He had tried to get the attention of others, though they saw him not. Sometimes he’d find the strength and will to knock something over, or write in the frost collecting on a window, but they would always retreat in fear from such methods. It hadn’t taken him long to stop trying.

Floating behind two women with shopping totes, he tried to wave to them with a smile. Yet they saw him not, even when he flew ahead of them, into view. Without so much of a hesitation, they had simply walked through him. One of the women shivered, but dismissed the feeling as most do, and the conversation they were having failed to even slow.

Silence might have been preferable to this endless suffering, of seeing this world he could not participate in. Left out. Forgotten. Unwanted. Alone.

Shudder found himself wandering back to the rural outskirts of the city where frosted trees reached for the stars above. It was where he returned to after each foray into the streets, seeking company to quell the ache of his phantasmal heart and ease his isolation. Without exception, he would return here, once he was reminded of the pain it was to see others enjoy the presence of each other with no hope of becoming part of such camaraderie.

The crescent moon hung above the snow and deep green needles decorating the boughs of the forest sentinels as Shudder floated between them. They didn’t speak, being trees, but Shudder could not shake the sense that they knew he was there, somehow. Nature was a perceptive force, as much as it was delicate and unwavering.

Shudder returned to the spot from where he’d awakened some time ago. He only saw a knee and hand after the snowfall that day. The rest was obscured until the thaw in the months to come. Still unnoticed, still forgotten. A tremble ran through Shudder, and he did not remain there. Instead, he floated down another path, leading to one of a few isolated homes built outside of the main city where there was space for privacy and livestock.

This place was less known to Shudder. It lacked the bustling that drew him to the city, but was not isolated enough to numb the hurt of being forever trapped on the outside, looking in. But it was hard to pull away from the cities and towns. A need for companionship drove him to abandon solitude, yet he could not escape its clutches. He wondered if this was why spirits grew dark; isolation was a drip of water upon a widening crack as each moment eroded it further.

One light in this village outskirt still gleamed in a window, and Shudder was drawn to it like a moth to flame. Peering inside, he observed a bed, wooden cupboards, and many herbs. A healer’s home. Within, an elderly human woman moved about, putting away the items of the day in preparation for bed. Shudder watched, feeling as though this place was not so forbidden. It was unlike the warm homes he saw in the city, full from families and complete with love. Here, something was missing. Here, the flame had gone cold and dark despite the gleam in the window. This place was hollow; it lacked what it needed to burn, to feel alive. Desolate, mired in isolation. Fading away.

An instinct from a need to guide, to mend, to lead to a better future awoke in Shudder, and he was already phasing into the cottage to study the herb beds, wondering what each were for. To fill that emptiness with curiosity and vibrance.

After a minute, he felt a gaze pass over him. Gasping, he pulled away from the old woman’s herbs, but her question stopped his retreat.

“Who’s there?” the woman asked.

Shudder’s eyes widened. She heard him? Saw him?

The woman raised her cane, eyes panning over the space without snagging on the form floating in front of her, passing over Shudder in smooth motion.

“I said, who is there? Show yourself.”

So, she didn’t see him, but she did hear him. Shudder’s fingers went to his mouth, then throat, before closing into a nervous fist at his chest. Could he still speak? He hadn’t in so long, he had to wrack his memory just so he could utter some painful sounds he barely recalled.

“C-Can’t—”

Shudder’s voice was a grating horror, and it made him wish he could tear the gash in his throat away. Coarse and harsh were his words, choked and choppy when he tried to say more, and a painful effort despite having left behind his flesh. Gone was the quiet, soft voice of his past, and he covered his mouth.

The woman shivered but did not retreat or cower. “Why not?”

Shudder hesitated, but if the woman did not cast him out from the sound of what he’d said, perhaps she would hear him again with the same mercy.

“D-DoN’t- know- how—"

“You sound awful.”

Shudder didn’t answer, not sure how to respond to the blunt statement but feeling its shame.

Seeming to realize this, the woman’s voice spoke again, but softer. Kinder.

“Do you mean me harm?”

Shudder shook his head before croaking out the word, “No.”

The woman studied the spot his voice had appeared to come from. “What are you?”

Shudder stayed silent, reluctant for fear of the conversation ending. It had been so long since anyone had said so much as a word to him.

“Do you not know?”

“N-not an-NYmoRe.” Coughing, he rubbed his throat, feeling the slit there left by a murderer’s knife. Even now, it stung.

The window shutters blew open with a snowy wind, and the woman crossed the room to close them again. Seeing the woman shiver, Shudder pulled them closed himself before she could.

No smile crossed her face, but the woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile of their own.

“Thank you, lad. Whatever you are, you at least have manners.”

Shudder had a faint smile but said no word. Only playing his fingers along the glass bottles of the shelf, letting them clink in music as his answer. It was easier than using his voice, to be tangible for a few moments.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” the woman said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “With a voice like that, can’t say I’m surprised. That’s okay. One day, I’d like to be able to see you myself, but until then, I have an idea for your little visits.”

Going to a drawer, she withdrew an old set of windchimes. Hanging them above her apothecary desk where no stray wind would seize them, she brushed the shining metal with her fingertips, releasing a cascade of bells ringing with elegance.

“Use these,” she said as Shudder floated over to them to inspect them. “Then I know you are here. Come and go as you wish, but I hope to hear them often.”

It felt too good to be true. Shudder floated over to the woman, unseen. “Why-?”

The woman’s smile was frail and somber.

“I hate being alone too.”

When dawn came, it found two where there had been one, and warmth where there had been cold. The woman was humming as she mixed a poultice, and a few chimes rang as Shudder stayed to play them, the notes sparkling like sunlight upon the snow after a night of bitter chill.